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] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | "Hey!" The hairy biped barked across the dining hall. "Put. Him. Down."
The Jzakish stopped gnawing on the cook for a split second and turned to the human. Our planets history is a litany of blood written by the forepaws and teeth of this gigantic ... Monstrosity. How, the fuck this primitive had the power command a beast the size of a troop carrier, let alone befriend it, blew the skulls of everyone on board.
"Tsss! KITTY!" It barked again. The Jzarkish twitched it's tail agressivley.
It lowered down, the cooks leg still bleeding its teeth.
"Don't make me do it..." The biped warned as it reached into his pack.
The beast let out a mighty roar, which shook the hall and threw trays every which way.
The biped, seemingly immune to it's attacks, slowly walked forward until it was practically face to face with it.
"Drop it." He said with all the authority of my old Platoon Sergeant.
The beast growled once more as the biped produced a small tool from it's pack and pointed at it's nose.
"You sure?"
The beast chewed slightly in response.
"Okay" with that, the biped fired something at the beasts nose, and it recoiled in apparent terror, dropping our poor cook to the deck.
A weapon! Of course. But Jzarkish can shrug off tank shells like nothing. What inconceivable power does this biped hold in his hand?
"Neither of us like this squirt gun, but you're being a pain in this ass." He said as he rubbed the beats head.
Now go back to your pen, and I'll bring you some lunch. | „Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“ | 2019-11-21T08:21:02 | 2019-11-21T06:21:21 | 72 | 21 |
[WP] You tell Death that you will never tire of living no matter how long you live. It makes you a bet that you will and thus grants you true immortality. You've just lived through the second death of the universe and show no sign of stopping. Death is baffled. | I cracked open my latest notebook and took out my trusty pencil, now worn down to a bare nub. Peering in by the light of the dying universe I began to add.
*Saved up enough money to buy very own spaceship - 300 pts*
That was a rather fun experience. It was a particularly good spaceship, being jet-black and sleek. A beautiful work of art.
*Saved little girl from pirates - 400 pts*
Too bad that ship's life was short-lived. Ah well, it was worth it to see that sweet little girl returned home to her family. And also to see my old ship crash into the pirates' dreadnought at full force. Explosions don't stop being cool.
*Found a new sentient species - 600 pts*
I felt a presence hovering over my shoulder as I added.
*Wrote space poetry - 75 pts*
A bony finger extended and pointed at the page. "You forgot to carry a two there,"
"Thanks," I corrected my work and continued on.
*Created ~~ghost ship legend~~ real ghost ship - 700 pts*
*Got married to ghost - 400 pts*
*Got divorced from ghost - 20 pts*
That was an interesting few years. Death stood patiently behind me as the light from the universe dwindled further. Its quite a lot of math, tallying all this up. I turned the page. Death coughed, a little impatiently.
As I tallied up an episode involving a primitive society and potpourri, I asked Death, "What is it?"
"Well, your little system there seems to be really good at keeping you excited about life," Death began.
"Oh yes, certainly," I said, momentarily forgetting the solution to 6 + 7.
"And, ah, I decided to try making my own log of what I've done."
"Oh, how about you read some, then," I said, trying to remember why learning to play the flute was worth 4000 points and blowing up a planet was worth 370.
"*Ushered soul to the underworld - 1 pt*
*Ushered soul to the underworld - 1 pt*
*Ushered soul to the underworld - 1 pt*
*Ush-*"
"I get the gist of it. You really need to relax sometimes, take a vacation."
"I try. There's just so much to do."
I added the last few numbers together. "Hey, check it out! High score!"
"You beat your last one by a lot."
"I think I'm really starting to get the hang of it! Alright, well, let's start the next round. Here, this time you try doing stuff besides your job, and see if you can beat my score."
"Alright."
"Sweet!" The last of the universe faded to black. "Well, looks like it's about time to start. Let's go!" | "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
Death was a quizzical creature, always had been, always wanted to know more about the universe, whichever one that was, but the constant questions had finally started to become something of an irritation.
I pondered my answer for a while as I watched another head roll.
*how many is that now?*
Truth be told I lost count a while ago.
"Sometimes, but every time I try to leave, something manages to pull me back in, whether it's some small task for a person I don't really know, or a grandoise display of my own power, just for fun"
I had given Death an honest answer at the very least, His face contorted into something I rarely saw, a small smile, barely noticeable but my greatest strength had always been my ability to perceive the small details.
Death looked pleased, or as pleased an immortal reaper of souls can be, he observed me for a second longer before offering his reply.
"You've watched the same species endure through multiple iterations, watched them flourish, and watched them tear themselves apart, I wonder, old friend, why put yourself through that over and over again?"
As reapers of souls go, this particular one was charismatic at the least, not particularly intelligent, but you don't say that to Death's face.
"I put myself through this because each time they do something different, some small change has incredible consequences further down the line, you know of the *butterfly effect* well that's why I keep going, to observe these changes and understand the nature of existence as well as I can, and I don't think i'll ever tire of it"
Death looked shocked, its fingers twitched for a second.
"So you'll never leave willingly?"
"No, I don't think I will"
In the split second that followed my answer, Death made it's move, fortunately I was quite agile, dodging the blade proved easy enough, and striking back proved even more so, Death had run out of patience, but in all my years I had learned enough to ensure my own survival, truth be told I don't think it was skill that kept me alive that day, I was just lucky.
Besides, Dogmeat found something. | 2015-11-17T18:40:12 | 2015-11-17T13:31:47 | 30 | 14 |
[WP]It's physically impossible to tell dad jokes unless you are a dad. One day you bump into a stranger and they say "I'm sorry". Without realizing it you answer "Hi Sorry,I'm dad" | Wake up. Brush teeth. Work. Eat. Netflix. Sleep.
Wake up. Brush teeth. Work. Eat. Netflix. Sleep.
Life is bland, every day the same. Wake up. Brush teeth. Work. Eat. Sleep. Occasionally the odd tinder date to disrupt the monotony. Although it had been a few months since the last successful date.
Wake up. Brush teeth. Work. Eat. Netflix. Sleep. Life is bland.
This morning, seemingly no different than any other, Mark slept in. Late for work, he dressed in a hurry and ran out the door. He reached down in his pocket to grab his phone and felt his shoulder bump.
"I'm sorry," the stranger said.
"Hi Sorry, I'm dad." The stranger grimaced and continued walking. Mark smiled.
*A few months later*
Wake up. Sing to Ella. Sleep. Wake up. Feed Ella. Sleep. Wake up. Change Ella. Work. Eat. Play with Ella. Every day the same. Life is grand.
| The stranger gave me a murderous look and replied with "ye, real funny" and continued on his way.
It took me two whole seconds to process what had happened and my face go from a content smile to a dumbfounded stare. I was a father, plain and simple.
But how...? It should be impossible... unless - no! I have been tricked! My weekend in Thailand, he was no ladyboy after all! | 2018-01-20T14:40:22 | 2018-01-20T09:32:43 | 36 | 21 |
[WP] The ghosts in your house hated you when you first moved in, but overtime you have grown fond of each other. Now that you are moving, the ghosts will do everything and anything they can to make you stay. | Music blares from the little black object in the living room and Jesse dances around the living room picking up objects and tossing them into various moving boxes. I slam a cabinet next to me and grumble, although I can't help but smile a bit, she is so beautiful like this.
"Oh stop it Sam! We both know you like this song too."
She smiles as she continues her packing. I laugh out loud at this, even though she can't hear me. I'm Dead. A ghost and I've been here for, well, I don't remember any more. All I know is that I’ve spent that time here scaring away anyone who came near me. I don't remember how I died just that I was so angry for so long. I couldn't stand to see the happy families that tried to move in here, so I forced them all away.
Until recently that is. Jesse moved in here a year ago and I did my worst to get her out of here. Nothing fazed her. She just set up cameras and recorders and jumped up and down with excitement at everything I literally threw her way. She even brought in a Ouija board, and I had to fight off some other ghosts for my territory. Damn that beautiful idiot. She was desperate for answers so I finally gave in and started to communicate back when I could, mainly in hopes that she wouldn’t open another freaking doorway again. Didn't she know how dangerous that was?
There wasn’t much I could communicate aside from a few details. She now knew my name and that I was a man and that I’ve been here for a long time. And in that time I’ve learned a few things about her too. She loved to dye her hair, shes had almost every color I could think of. She was wearing a dark purple color right now. She loved to read and blaring loud obnoxious music when she cleans. She is an absolutely terrible cook. She is kind, I watched her from the window one afternoon when she helped a kid that fell riding his bike. She ran into the house grabbing bandaids and a lollipop, got him all cleaned up and sent him on his way. And she never once has she seemed scared of me, if anything shes been happy to have a presence nearby. The last thing I’ve learned is that she’s lonely. I don’t think she fits into the world out there. I can see the neighbors giving her dirty looks when she carries her groceries in, even when she waves hi. I’ve even popped over to give them a good scare just for being so rude to their neighbor.
But now she’s leaving. I have done everything I could think of to stop her. I hid all her moving supplies including her applications for other apartments. She just found them and kept going, thinking she misplaced everything, not even realizing it was me trying to stop her. I’ve tried to tell her, leave messages everywhere but it doesn’t work. Only part of it goes through and she thinks I’m trying to say hi. I never would have thought ghosts could have such strong feelings but how can I let the one thing that makes me feel alive disappear? I look back over at Jesse now climbing up onto a stool that’s on top of a box to grab something off the tall built-in bookshelf. She’s not very tall so she’s reaching as far as she can and standing on her tip toes and just brushes the vase with her fingertips when the box shifts and stool tips to its side.
“No!”
I shout my voice falls flat on this plane, no one can hear me here not even her. It happens in slow motion in front of me as she falls backwards off the stool. The back of her head hits the side of her coffee table in a sickening crack and she lands hard on the ground. I run over and kneel over her trying to grab her, shake her anything to see if shes still alive. But my hands just go right through her.
“No, No, no.”
I’m chanting it out loud. I can’t lose her not like this. I lean back on my heels looking for an answer or an idea, anything I can do to help her. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I look back to Jesse slowly sitting up, but her body is still lying motionless beneath her. I’m too late. I look at her and a weird tingle of excitement hits me as I realize she’s not looking through me but right into my eyes.
“Sam?” | Through the wall floated a white misted figure, gripping its head between its thin elbow. It's eyes were pitch black, and John had woken up to those eyes staring at him more than he could count. He'd screamed his throat dry, pissed his bed wet, thrown his pillow, and the figure had laughed all the while. However, today the figure wanted nothing more than to do it once again.
"John, Johnny boy, you don't have to move. Stay with me, we'll have a great time," the ghost spoke, hiding the melancholy in its voice.
"What?" John spat, "so you can scare me again?"
The door on the other side of the hallway slammed shut. This particular figure had given him her name. *Mellow*. He couldn't see her like he could the headless figure. She didn't scare him that way, instead she took control of objects and convinced guests that John was hiding somebody in the house.
"Yes John," Mellow said, her voice oddly high pitched. "You better stay, I'm warning you! You hear me!"
"Mellow, what are you going to do?" John asked, "slam another door shut?"
Ironically the door opened and slammed shut. He heard Mellow do her classical long whine. John figured that she'd done it to annoy him.
A giant figure rose up through the ground. He called himself *Meathog,* and was larger than the hallway. Usually he'd only stick his head through the hallway, his head with many different scars.
John could smell Meathogs breath, and hear his deep voice. Usually, Meathog sleeped in his bed, breathing his foul stenching breath into John back and whispering horryfying words. *Kill, slaughter, butcher, decapitate, oh what a buetiful word, de-cap-it-ate.* John couldn't sleep for a week with him around.
"We treat you so well, why are you going to leave us?" Meathog asked.
"Treat me well!" John spat, his face turning red. "You've haunted, bothered, scared, horrified, me ever since I've been here. And you say you treat me well."
"That's not right," Mellow said. "Who do you think cleans your dishes? Who do you think whipes the floor and dusts the shelves?"
"Wait, have you done that?"
"Of course she has," the headless figure says, "and who do you think scares the burglars away? And keeps the racoons at bay?"
It was true. This house had many openings and loose doors, but he had never been robbed. Nor had he cleaned his house in a long time. John had never thought about it.
"Well, if you do like me, then why do you scare me?"
"Scare you?" Meathog said bewildered, "I've slepts beside you for years to keep nightmares away."
"Keep nightmares away, whilst chanting kill and decapitate and whatever you say, are you serious?"
"Well you have to realize," the headless figure said, "we are ghosts. That's our nature. I do scare you, but that's only because I really like it."
"That doesnt excuse it!" John outburst.
"But don't you get it John," Mellow said, "we really like you. And we really don't want you to leave."
A tear slid down John's cheek. He hated to admit it, but over the years he'd grown fond of the ghosts. The hosue felt rather empty when they were quiet. He'd thought they hated him, but perhaps that wasn't true.
"Oh you guys actually like me. Give me a hug!"
A cushion flew through the hallway and at John. He hugged it and heard Mellow giggle. However he could smell something odd. Actually, he felt something odd. The cushion was wet with blood. John screamed and the ghosts all laughed heartfully. | 2021-06-30T07:29:51 | 2021-06-30T06:18:45 | 23 | 14 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death. | “Hey Daddy, can we go to Disney?”
“Sorry honey. I’m too busy right now. Maybe next year, okay?”
Adrian watched the giddiness fade from Patty’s face before she shuffled away. He sighed and continued working. There would always be time later.
--------
“Hey Patty, how about we vacation next week together? Just us.”
“Sorry Dad, no time. I’ve got interviews.”
“We could go to Disney.”
“Dad, I hate Disney.”
Adrian crumpled the tickets in his hand.
EDIT: Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to read this little story. It's been a blast reading through all your comments, good and bad. Also, I am quite aware that it bears some resemblance to the song "Cats in the Cradle." It's a fantastic song and it's been some time since I've listened to it. Thanks for bringing it back into my consciousness again.
Also, be sure to check out the rest of /r/WritingPrompts. There are *much* better stories than this written and posted here *every day*.
| I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was. | 2014-10-19T18:06:40 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 2,653 | 25 |
[WP] Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. "Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time." He then jogs out of the room. | 8 AM. I hate getting up in the mornings.
I hate classes. College would be awesome if there weren't any classes. Hanging with friends, going to Taco Bell at 2 in the morning, that would be the life.
But classes are the worst. My least favorite is definitely my history class. 10:10, and my professor sucks. He doesn't care about anything, he's always sitting there just showing documentaries. The only thing I like about his class is that he always leaves early randomly which means we can leave quickly.
Yesterday, we literally sat there the whole time while he read through our essays. It was kind of cool, we were supposed to say how we'd avoid a historical tragedy. Just wish it was apart of a more interesting class.
He sat there, thumbing through papers, clearly not even reading them. Sometimes he looked like he didn't even look at every paper. I wonder why he's even a professor sometimes.
Suddenly, he took a long pause. His brow furrowed a bit even, which is the most amount of emotion I've seen from him all semester. But, it was only for a moment, and he soon went back to aimlessly flipping through. So boring.
Anyway, I should probably start getting ready. Don't wanna be late today because we have a quiz over the chapter. Honestly, this is another stupid part of the class. He always quizzes us over pointless history events that there's no way we'd need to know. Like this quiz, it's over how Abraham Lincoln had a pleasant evening at a theater. I really hate this class. | Professor Rawson stepped into the capsule. The light inside illuminated a a soft blue, as it always did. The console in front of him slowly jogging to life. “Greetings, Mr. Richard Rawson” the female voice said. “Where shall I take you this time?” “Same place as always” he said solemnly. “Of course” the voice replied. “Setting course now.” A single sparkling tear rolled down Mr. Rawson’s right cheek. He had done this too many times to count. “Date: April 20, 1999. Location: Columbine High School, Denver Colorado.” The professor gripped the old, dented picture of his sister that he had been keeping tucked safely in his pocket for 20 years. “This time, baby...this time I’ll save you. I promise.” | 2019-10-03T19:28:49 | 2019-10-03T19:28:07 | 70 | 14 |
[WP] Since birth, you have always had a bad sense of direction that would defy the laws of logic and space. Instead of arriving at your destination, you would end up in places or areas impossible for normal people to get to. | I was watching a seal sunbathe from the other side of a plate-glass window when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned my head. It was Karen, with her long brown hair. She was dressed casually.
“Oh hey.” I said
She smiled, but the smile didn't extend to her eyes. “Hey.”
“Uh…” I tried to find something to say. This was awkward.
“So about last night…”
“Uh, look, I'm sorry I didn't show up.”
Her smile widened a little. It looked pained. “No, that's alright.”
“It's just I couldn't find the place.”
“You know what's funny? Janet found the place. Your sister found the place. Even Fred. Goddamn Fred.” There was a tear streaming down her cheek. “Look, if you don't want to-”
“Woah, woah, hey! Hey, I have a terrible sense of direction, you know this-”
She crossed her arms. A mother with her kids standing behind Karen was giving us a look while she ushered her kids away. “Worse than Fred? I find that hard to believe.” Her lip trembled a bit. “You heard how he once got lost for an entire week when his mom sent him to get groceries.”
“That’s not because he has a bad sense of direction. I heard he was trying to run away.”
She raised her eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Well, still, he’s a stoner. He probably just got high off his gourd or something. Whatever, the point is that, yes, I actually have a worse sense of direction than him.”
“Prove it.” She wasn’t smiling anymore.
“As a matter of fact, I can!” I said as I took out my smartphone. “Feast your eyes on this!”
“A… mountain?”
“Not just a mountain. Look at the date!”
“That’s yesterday. Is this your way of telling me you blew me off yesterday to go snowboarding?”
“Karen, we live in Kansas.”
“So what? You just took a flight to Colorado.”
She would evidently need more convincing. I thumbed through my pictures. “Alright, then, how about this!” I shouted as I shoved my smartphone back in her face.
“It’s… an engine or some kind? Why’d you take the photo with a blue filter, though?”
“Good question! First off, that’s not a blue filter, it’s what it actually looks like. And second, I’m 99% sure that it’s a reactor or generator of some sort.”
“Like a nuclear reactor? You mean that blue glow is radiation… is this your way of telling me you have cancer now or something?”
“Probably!”
“That’s a fucked up attempt to make me feel sympathy for you, especially after what you did.”
“It would be if I was! Look at the date.”
“Yesterday again. Huh. I didn’t think they have nuclear reactors in Colorado.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t.” I started thumbing through my pictures again. “Uh, give me a second to find another picture from yesterday.” The screen lit up a bright red. “Okay here’s one.”
“What am I looking at?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure.”
She gave me a look.
“I’d tell you if I could, but there wasn’t actually anyone I could ask about this one. If it helps, that right there is my hand.” I said, pointing at something that bending around the outside of the image like smoke. “I was holding it in front of the lens, or at least where the lens should’ve been at the time. I guess it didn’t come out that way.”
She took a long, slow breath, closing her eyes and exhaling before slowly reaching up and picking the phone out of my hand. “How many more photos do you have like this from yesterday? Just random shit like this…”
“I mean, a lot happened yesterday or else I still would’ve shown up. I would’ve been late, but I still would’ve shown up. So, I’m sorry.” I scratched the back of my head. “I guess.”
“Do you mind if I look through the rest of these?”
“Sure.”
“Are they all from yesterday?”
“No, some are from the day before. When you start seeing raptors, you’ve gone too far.” She took another deep breath. “Well, I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll leave my phone with you so you can look through the photos while I’m in there.”
“Okay.”
---
I had been walking far longer than I had ought to and I still hadn’t found the bathroom. I bumped up against something. Looking down, I stared into the eyes of a seal looking at me. The seal somehow seemed familiar. I looked around. To my left was a plate glass window. I could see Karen leaning against it on the far side, looking through the photos in my phone. The seal rolled back over, pointedly ignoring me.
“Oh.” | "In one thousand feet, take a right."
Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. The needle climbed clockwise towards the top of the odometer. An eternity stretched between me and my destination - the cemetery, its tall stone spikes and rows of gravestones so near I could almost read the familiar name of my beloved and the near numbers of her short life. Eighty. A hundred. Impossibly fast. For hours I pressed the pedal as hard as I could.
"In five hundred feet, take a right."
My teeth ripped at each other with frustration. So predictably infuriating - the closer I came to my destination, the more the world stalled in what I felt was its duty to give me just one moment alone. I had pictured it so many times since she died: I would sit cross-legged before her grave with my forehead against the stone. I would weep the kind of shoulder-shaking, rattling weeping she deserved and that my bottomless sorrow demanded. But I could never reach it. Closer and closer, but never touching - Zeno with a bouquet of white roses in the passenger seat.
"In one hundred feet, take a right."
It began the night that she died. The police had called and told me about the accident. I raced half-dressed down the steps in the dark towards my car. The hospital was less than a mile away but I never reached it. The whole way there I had imagined myself taking her hand in mine, holding her in my arms and hearing her tell me with her last breath that she loved me and telling her the same and at least she wouldn't have been alone. But the hospital had never reached me. Enraged, pounding the wheel with my open palms, I had given up after a thousand years of trying to cross the final block to the turn. And I had lost her -
"Recalculating."
The cemetery sailed past me on the right. My eyes widened. I slammed on the brake. The car did not slow. I turned the wheel as hard as I could. Spinning end-over-end, the car crashed through the very far corner of the black iron bars ringing the cemetery.
"Lost?"
I blinked and looked around. Around me was nothing in particular except for her, draped in a familiar white dress in a field of formlessness. I looked down at my hands, which were still half-cupped as if gripping the steering wheel.
She stepped towards me. Slowly my hands sank to my sides as the quickly closed the infinite distance between us. Her eyes locked with mine and she gently gripped the back of my head with one soft hand. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, my chest heaving with heavy sobs as she laid her forehead against mine, and whispered: "sshhh, sshhh. It's OK."
"I never thought I would reach you again."
She smiled between us. "I didn't want you to. I kept you away from me. I wanted you to remember me this way."
Rooted where I stood I could do nothing but watch, stupefied and overcome with grief I had not felt since I lost her, as she gently kissed me, released me from her soft grip, turned, and strode away.
I reached out for her. I called for her, cried out, lunged forwards. Her long hair was so close but I could not reach it. I stumbled but caught myself and ran, sprinting, practically hurling myself at her, so close my fingertips felt the kiss of the still air disturbed by the smooth fluttering of the back of her dress. So close I could feel her cooling hand in mine. So close I could feel my forehead against cold stone. So close I could taste her lips against mine.
"You have arrived at your destination."
When I looked up from the map I saw red and blue flashing in the darkness. Police, ambulances, and a firetruck blocking off the entire intersection. A car mangled against a lamppost. Torn metal and pieces of a human body scattered across the pavement and the sidewalk. Yellow tape and a man carefully photographing the driver's side.
I turned around and slowly pulled out into the opposite lane towards home.
"Recalculating." | 2016-05-03T23:46:14 | 2016-05-03T21:56:28 | 136 | 43 |
[WP] Youre a wizard in the Imperial Army. Most wizards are very ritualistic in their tactics and that is very highly respected but doesn’t give many victories. So you decided to ignore all the long chanting and nonsense and simply immediately kill your opponents with your spells instead. | “Where’s that apprentice?!” Master War Wizard Alejandro shouted.
Yes. That was his title and he got very upset if you didn’t use it. “I am right here. Sir. But I am not an apprentice.”
I may not be a highly decorated Master War Wizard like Alejandro but I was still an imperial wizard, with slightly less honors. Ok way less honors. So I couldn’t chant a fireball into existence. Or dance an ice storm large enough to cover a town. That didn’t make me worse. I blame my teachers and their methods. But hey. I was still here, I just had to babysit the real war wizards. That was still a job right? A boring one. But a job.
Alejandro eyed me. “Don’t correct me, whatever your name is.”
“Baxter.” I responded.
“What?” He seemed confused.
“My name is Baxter.”
He waved his hand. “Whatever. I’m almost ready to begin the siege. Did you pack the food? And the water? And my entertainment?”
I sighed deeply. “How long do you expect this take?”
“A correctly executed siege spell will take all morning if not all day!” He seemed affronted st my assumption he could do it quicker.
I opened my mouth.
“Apprentices don’t speak unless spoken too.” He snapped.
“I’m not an.”
“Silence!” He roared and I sighed again. He pointed through the trees. “The keep us that way.”
I like my job. I like my job. I do. I’m not a pack animal. I’m a respected imperial wizard. If I tell myself this enough today. Maybe I’ll believe it when I go to bed.
We stopped within view of the keep walls. Outside of arrow range, unless they happened to have someone skilled with a long bow. But that wasn’t my problem.
Alejandro ate a small meal before he started, then stood. Faced the keep wall, held out his arms in the classic sun praising pose and started chanting. And chanting and chanting. I yawned. He changed to mountain pose. I started munching on his food. He wouldn’t notice.
Three hours later, and nothing had changed, except Alejandro drank some water and ate some more food. Then resumed his chanting.
“Oh for Fury sake!” I shouted as the sun started to go down. I stomped forward, pushed Alejandro to the side and pointed at the keep. “Ruin.” I said very clearly. And the keep wall exploded.
Alejandro started at me in horror. “That’s not possible!”
“Apparently it is. Master War Wizard.”
“You must be demon!” He held up a warding hand.
“No I’m just bored. Maybe if all you wind bags got right to the point we wouldn’t still be in this thousand year war!”
His eyebrows raised in shock. “There is no honor in pointing!”
“Prove it!”
“You’re commanding officer will hear of this!” He threatened.
“Good! Maybe I’ll get a raise. And you know what. Pack your own stuff back. I quit.” | Urstud stood alone on a hill overlooking the field of battle, his matted cape clinging to him stinking of sweat and seared flesh. There was nothing left of few that had accompanied him, his most loyal companions and retainers, all reduced to ash or worse from the onslaught of sorcery that was levelled at him when he noticed by the enemy.
Urstud the betrayer. The trickster. The cruel. All names given to him by those who had seen his acts. Wizards were revered for their power and their sanctity. The ritual nature of spells helped add mystery and virtuousness to the taming of the energy of chaos.
But Urstud was a man of few words. Brevity replaced the verbose, and action in the stead of facade. He cared little for pageantry and gripped the source of wizards power by the core. His attacks were sudden and brutal, with little warning and uncontrolled. The names given to him were from the maimed or grieving. Given to him from the collateral damage of his encounters. He wanted none of it, the names, the duels, or the reputation. But he was a conduit. A raw connection to the power of magic.
His eyes fell down to the plain below, fives wizards were weaving their next assault. Only his reflexive instinct had saved him from their previous attack, at the expense of everyone who had followed him up to the cursed hill. Urstud started to pull at the sources of magic, a dull chant slowly growing into a rumble, building into roar. The names that were given to him would be well earned today. For the power he was about to unleash would be enough to fray the very fabric of this world.
The wizards below were nearing the end of their synchronised incantations, a feat unheard of even for the most powerful cabals. Every ounce of their being was focused on the ritual, weaving their magic with another soul and mind, with a singular goal of destroying the betrayer. As they reached the peak of their power they turned to face their enemy to see terrible waves of sorcery descending upon them. They looked up in terror. They had nothing left to defend themselves against what was coming, and their attack paled in comparison to the raw energy descending upon them. Their mental link broke and the quintet disintegrated under the stress of their own ritual. No one would survive this attack, no one for a league would be able to outrun its power.
In this moment, Urstud the Demon was born. | 2020-08-15T07:06:38 | 2020-08-15T06:49:01 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] After decades of fighting crime and injustice, a super hero's faith in humanity is broken. As he holds his innocent murdered daughter in his arms, he allows his rage against humanity consume him. A super villain is born. | It was all because of a protest...
The city had been going into the shitter for years. One corrupt mayor gets taken down another more corrupt shit head takes their place. A hundred dirty cops are punished, a thousand more just fill in the holes. It was a city begging for a hero, someone to bring order a justice.
That's when The Black Knight came.
He cleaned up the streets, took the crime families down, made sure the corrupt were punished and that the good people of the city would feel safe.
But he was only one man. No matter what he did there was always some new evil that came in...
And it all fell apart because of a protest...
= = =
It was considered the trial of the century. Eight police officers were arrested and charged with the gang rape and murder of college student Heidi McCloy. People followed the case closely as many wondered if the officers would get away with their crime. Most people figured there would be no way they would walk. There was video evidence, sperm was found and linked the men to the crime. One of the officer's used his gun to end the girl's life!
But those who lived in the city knew how the courts in the city work. If the judge wasn't corrupt then they were threaten by Commissioner Bradshaw. If the judge wasn't afraid then the jury were.
The Black Knight was involved with the case but he made sure not to taint anything. The items he tested or clues he found he made sure those detectives he knew he could trust "found" them. There would be no way the lawyers could throw out evidence.
Outside the court house there was already a large group of protesters. Black Knight kept his eyes on them as he knew this could become a very dangerous powder keg. The verdict was coming and everyone was tense.
= = =
"NOT GUILTY..."
All eight officers got away with it!
The video footage that came from three officers filming the crime with their own phones had been "damaged or altered" the lab results on the DNA went "missing"...
The protesters screamed and yelled as the cocky bastards walked out of the court house, Commissioner Bradshaw shook their hands as they tried to walk to the waiting cars. Black Knight scanned the area. There was no weapons in the crowd and the protesters went throwing anything to being violent...
But he heard the command on his comm set that he had hacked into the police radio system.
"Yell gun and open fire..." the voice said. Black Knight watched in horror as he saw one of the SWAT team on the steps of the court house nodded at the order.
"GUN!" he shouted as he raised his assault rifle and opened fire on the protesters. The others followed suit and poured rounds into the protesters.
"Oh dear god... KATIE!" Black Knight screamed as he looked though the crowd, trying to find his 19 year old daughter...
He watched as her young body was struck by so many rounds.
The Black Knight swooped into the area, his eyes fixed on the SWAT member who shot his baby girl...
SWAT saw him coming and aimed at him. He threw his blades at the men. He had rules... he never killed a criminal if he could help it. He never killed cops, even if they were corrupt he would disarm them and bring them to justice...
Not now... not ever again...
The blades hit their marks, breaking though the face guards of the SWAT helmets, killing some of the men. Once Black Knight landed on his feet he pulled out the sword he had on his back. Again he only used it to disarm criminals...
Now he was cutting the now terrified SWAT team apart!
The remaining men retreated back to their van, driving off during the panic. Black Knight pushed through the panicked mass of people to see his daughter laying in the large pool of blood.
He held her close, crying under his helmet.
"Katie... Katie please don't.... Please..." he kept saying, holding the only thing he had left in his life, the only thing that he fought for, the only thing worth a god damn was now taken from him...
Everyone will pay... The police, the judges, mayor...
Starting that night the city will know fear, they will know terror. The city will have a new master...
And god help anyone who gets in the Black Knights way!
| There was no fanfare. There was no purpose. It was not an origin story. It was simply life. It was artless and the way of things.
He would never know who did it. In this city the killers outnumbered the buildings. Dishonesty grew faster than the trash. It was a simple break in. Even heroes have homes. It was not targeted or planned. Just life, as unpredictable as it is. And his daughter was killed.
It all became too real. Death is a word until it comes for family. He held her in the dim light of his living room. Her body was stiff and cold. He wondered if she screamed or begged. He wondered if the thief even cared.
They called him the Lamb. They called him that because he was kind to children and because he was like the Lamb of God, redeeming and saving the city from all its evils. How he had dedicated his life to them. How he had tried so hard. The fruits of his labor stared at him with dead eyes. He was no longer anyone's Lamb. His own had died.
He had been gone for a day when his daughter was killed. He had been fighting the Molester, a disgusting piece of work that had been raping men and women alike. In the early morning of his daughter's death, he had finally beaten him, pounding his head as if it were tough meat against the alley walls. The city was thankful and they were going to hold a parade in his honor.
He went out there then, almost lunchtime, and the world felt still and unmoving. His hands were shaking, feeling too empty after letting go of her body.
"I hate you all," he said.
No one was nearby then, but as he made his way to the parade he was surrounded by every one.
*One of you did this*, he thought. *One of you killed her.*
His body shook at the thought.
"Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world," they were singing.
Some were drunk. The celebrations had already begun.
"Sure molested that Molester!" someone cheered.
The Lamb stared blankly. His cape whipped at him and he was tired. He wanted to cry and sleep forever. He wanted to shout. He did not know what he was feeling.
"Help," he said. His voice cracked and there were tears flowing.
People took notice but the music was playing and the parade had started.
*I miss you so much,* he thought. *Why? Why, why, why?*
His mind went blank then and he knew there was no turning back.
"I am no Lamb," he said.
His lips were numb.
"Call me whatever you like, but my Lamb is dead. She is dead! Dead!"
He was shaking and his knees buckled.
"One of you did it! One of you killed her! I hate you all! I hate you all! I hate..."
He fell to his knees and he began sobbing. Everything had stopped. There was silence and the old city feeling came back and everything felt bad and uncomfortable.
The Lamb reached at his side. He was a modern day hero. He had his superpowers, yes, but there was something greater, something far more effective. He pulled his gun.
"You all will die!" he screamed.
He began firing. It sounded everywhere, flavored with the cries of death.
Six shots and six dead and then he tried to reload.
"You all will die!"
They charged him, piling over him in a swarm. There were two more shots and two more dead. Then they overpowered him. From then on, he was truly the Lamb no more. | 2017-01-25T09:40:04 | 2017-01-25T08:07:36 | 104 | 29 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Some people are brought into this world to cure diseases, lead countries, build rockets, or fight for justice. I think I was brought into this world to serve coffee.
That’s what I tell myself every day when I unlock the door of my café. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with coffee - at first the smell, then when I was old enough, the taste. My fondest memories were always sitting at the counter in my Nanna’s little café, drinking weak coffee and reading a book while she served customers.
By the age of 11 I could brew the perfect cup, and by 12 I was helping Nanna run the place. I always admired the love she put into every order, the care she took with every customer. It wasn’t just a café to her, it was a haven for all, and a home for the two of us. “Josephine, there isn’t a soul out there in the world you can’t brighten a little bit of love. Sometimes that bit of love is as simple as a cup of coffee and a smile,” she would tell me on the rare occasion I grumbled about the early hours or the hard work.
I was only 17 when Nanna’s fight against cancer ended. We had sold our café for her treatments, but in the end I was left alone, working 3 jobs just to get by.
Now, at 21 years old, my life was back on track. I had worked harder than I’d ever worked, saved every penny I could, and 14 months ago I was able to open my own café - Joey’s. Nestled away in a quiet street, in a somewhat questionable neighbourhood, I had found a place I could afford and turn into my own little haven once again.
Business was painfully slow at first. So slow, I had to find work at another café in the mornings to support my own café. I suppose that’s irony, right?
I opened Joey’s at night still, almost a desperate bid to keep my dream alive, and that’s when I finally started bringing in regular customers. It started with The Crusher.
2:00 am, and the little bell on the door chimed. Looking up from my book, I came face to face with a giant of a man taking up my entire doorway. Bleeding heavily from a bullet wound in his shoulder, he shuffled forward cautiously, looking absolutely exhausted. I recognised him from the news - a vigilante who had earned his name thanks to the fact he crushed his victims’ bones with his bare hands - not just broken, but crushed. The lucky only had limbs crushed, but the worst offenders were usually unrecognisable. I was taken aback for a split second, and honestly a little afraid, but Nanna’s words stuck with me and I gave the man a warm smile. “What can I get for you sir?”
He paid for a large coffee (1 sugar and a bit of cinnamon), then shuffled to the booth nestled in the corner. Quickly making his order, I also placed a warm cinnamon muffin and a bottle of water on the tray, then I tucked the first aid kit under my arm and carried everything over to him. He was cursing under his breath (or so I assumed - the bandana covering his lower face muffled his words) as he inspected his wound, and he looked up in surprise as I placed everything in front of him. He rejected my offer to help tend his wounds, so I let him be, instead cleaning up the drops of blood on the floor and occasionally topping up his coffee. He left after an hour, looking in much better shape and silently tipping me as he left. I saw him two more times over the next two weeks, and did my best to give that little bit of love each time, with smiles, coffee, a few complimentary muffins, and once again the first aid kit.
The Crusher must have told some of his “colleagues” about my little café. Over the following weeks and months, more new faces started coming through my door, usually masked or cloaked, the occasional full helmet appearing as well. Business was booming and I was able to quit my other job and focus solely on Joey’s. I did, however, continue to open at night - a somewhat unusual plan for some cafés, but with the now steady stream of vigilantes and anti heroes coming through my door at all hours of the night, I was happy.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that most of these people were dangerous - I had seen the news and heard the stories, but regardless, I always tried to view every customer as another soul coming into my haven who needed that little bit of love, and my customers seemed to appreciate it. My café quickly became the place where the vigilantes of the city would start their nights with a coffee, or duck in for a quick break, a muffin, and a turn with the first aid kit. There were rules, of course - weapons holstered, no violence, no powers, and wipe your boots on the mat before entering - and it worked. The dark and shady protectors of the city continued to come through my door night after night.
Over these last few months I have seen more interesting costumes and uniforms than I ever imagined existed, cleaned up more blood than I’d ever hoped to, tended more injuries than I ever trained for, listened to more interesting stories than I’d ever heard, and served more coffee than I’d ever dreamed I could again.
I was doing what I was born to do, and I was happy. Until today.
| Simple fact, if you catch more vampires with blood than stakes.
​
Washington DC, other than being a hotbed for politics, is a playground for lobbyists of all types. Creates a lot of problems. The simple word on the street is, though, if the problem is weird, people pay a lot of money to have it solved, no questions asked. When I made my first coffee shop, the place was wrecked three weeks in by what looked like a bear on the CCTV. The cops didn't take the footage, at first. Some men in suits flashed badges and told me "it never happened" when they walked away with the tapes.
​
Insurance paid up though, didn't even make a fuss. That was the part that got me.
​
I never asked anyone what they liked when I made my new shop. No consultations. I just did my reading, made my menu, and waited. I found out what the local blood bank did with blood that didn't pass inspections, they got rid of it. Hazardous. The tech I found seemed used to find it hilarious to be paid for trash, so it didn't cost much.
​
Build it and they will come. The more I read on the subject, the more I realized that there's a lot of things that go bump in the dark that like the taste of human blood. I could guess at the nature of the pale folks who walked in, but the kinds that kept their hoods up in a basement I never asked.
​
I just took their order.
​
More ideas came in after I listened to the light chatter. If I started serving the right kind of salted cod, a few Swedish guys would come in regularly and buy a few ales. Venison, horse kebab, you name it. A lot of these guys have been a round a while, and their tastes came from Ye Olde European times, with a little research you can find a new niche (but dear lord, finding the people who can cook it right is a pain).
​
Live insects made it onto the menu, briefly. After the first Senator came in I decided to keep my place low profile. Lizardmen aren't worth the business.
​
It happened after closing, one night. All the cooks had gone home, it had been a big night and they deserved a break. It was just me and one other server. I had no words when I saw him again. He wore a massive sweatsuit over his entire body, but exploding with hair from the hands at the snout that poked out from the hood. He only spoke three words.
​
"New place, eh?"
​
Nothing else. I bolted for the back room, acting purely on instinct. I heard crashing from behind me, a roar that left my ears ringing after I slammed the steel door of the freezer shut behind me. I was shaking, not from the cold, not yet, pressed against the far wall as the door shuttered from every time the beast flung itself into the door. A roar. And then silence. I couldn't leave. The walk in freezer was ancient, the only way I could afford it, so it locked externally.
​
They found me around an hour before opening, frostbitten, incoherent. As the took me out, babbling and wondering what the hell had happened, I saw that the only thing left of the server was blood. I spent all night wondering what I'd see when I came out, if the beast had just gone for me...I knew I'd never see him again. I also knew that if I'd taken the time to throw him in before me, I'd have been caught by the beast, and we'd both be dead.
​
The customers...I never saw them. They weren't the type to rubberneck with police lights flashing and the DO NOT CROSS tape put up.
​
A week later, after all the paperwork had been done, the report filed, the CCTV footage that "never happened" had been handed over to silent men in suits...I got two letters letter in the mail. Simple as that. The first one was this:
​
"The beast is dead, he won't bother you ever again. -Loyal Customer
​
P.S. When's the new place open up?"
​
The second piece of mail was much more formal, dense with legalese. I didn't even open it, I just laughed. The insurance came through without a hitch. Imagine that. | 2018-10-20T23:47:58 | 2018-10-20T22:39:44 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] You were relentlessly mocked growing up whenever others found out your superpower was "Feelings". You just found out the government considers you a universal threat and has been monitoring you closely. | "Give me a break." My bully said to me, as I fell to the bathroom floor. "Why would I be scared of some loser like you?" As he said that, his cheeks grew pale, and expression changed to that of shock. He clutched his heart as a tear ran down his cheek.
"What are you doing to him?!" His friend shouted at me. As I got back up to look my bully in the eye, his friend ran to find a teacher.
"I don't like doing this." I told him. "I don't like making people feel like that." The tears began to flow faster as I spoke. "...I really am sorry about your mom. Nobody should have to feel like that. But if you don't leave me alone, you'll have to feel just like this everyday...maybe even worse. Do you understand?" He nodded as snot started running down his face.
On my 16th birthday, I was sitting down in my parents' living room. Some politician was droning on about how we have to resegregate our schools. "God, I hate this guy." I said as we watched his speech. My mom reached for the remote, but I stopped her. "Wait." I said "Let me try something." I stepped closer to the TV, and focused on the man's face. Sweat started to run from his forehead, and his hands began to shake. Soon, his eyes were darting around the room.
"Is there something wrong, sir." His interviewer asked.
"Where are they?!" The politician said. The interviewer looked confused. "Where are those f***ing illegals!?" The politician seemed to lock eyes with someone out of frame, and began to scream. "You won't take my country, you God D***ed invader! Get away from me! Get away!" The camera feed cut off, and was replaced by a message stating that they were having technical difficulties.
"I don't think he's going to be a problem anymore, mom." I said as I walked into the kitchen.
Over the next ten years, leaders from all over the world were influenced by what they called 'The mental scourge'. Theorized to be a case of mass histeria by the news networks. After it's 'outbreak', most officials tried to avoid it by concealing their opinions the best that they could, which seemed to work for a short period. However, about three years into the scourge they realized that they were mistaken. In the year 2018, the U.N planned a meeting to address an eastern European president, and their excessive use of force towards a neighboring country. However, they found it unnecessary that they hold a meeting at all after the president decided not only to end it's military campaign, but to completely demilitarize the nation. The reason they gave, was simply a change of heart. It was only decided that this was not some form of mass histeria, when a central Asian leader decided to denuclearize the country. When asked why, he exclaimed that whenever he tried to launch a missile, he was reminded of the death of his father. The grief was just too much to bear. After this event, almost every nation in the world began a man hunt for a meta human that can controll emotions. Most telepaths had been questioned about the matter, but claimed that they could only read thoughts, not control emotions. On top of that, not even the most powerful telepaths could read thoughts an entire nation away from them. This lead to Interpol's most wanted fugitive, being whoever they found to be capable of the crime.
By the year 2020, war was a notion of the past. Every war that had been declared was called off in a matter of minutes, and when it wasn't none of the soldiers were willing to fight. For a good while, I didn't need to use my powers. Nobody dared to do anything malicious, or else they would be reminded of their former lovers, or of the worst day of their lives. If they still persisted, then it wouldn't be difficult to make them feel the collective terror of every civilian casualty ever. Truth be told, I got bored very quickly. Of course I would have to sway a crooked judge here and there, but for the most part my work was done. That is of course, until I found a new calling.
"and the worst part is," the young woman said through stifled tears. "I know he's right. I'm just so stupid." I handed the girl a tissue and leaned forward in my chair.
"Miss Blackwell, you are not an idiot by any means. He is." She looked up at me with disbelief in her eyes. "I'm going to break my own rule, here. Usually I give my patients options to choose from, but I'm just going to tell you what you need to do." She blew her nose into the tissue.
"What should I do, then?"
"Run. This man is dangerous, and you deserve better. If you don't have anyone to go to, I know a place you'll be safe. The best part, is that they allow pets, so you don't have to leave your dog behind."
Her eyes lit up as I said this.
"But, I can't do that. I just don't think I have the courage."
"Miss Blackwell, look at me." I smiled at her as she gazed at my face. Her tears had stopped, and she began to produce a feeling of strength. She straightened her back, and threw the tissue away. "I think you have the courage now." I handed her a card for the shelter, and told her to give me an update when she gets there.
"Excuse me, Doctor?" I heard my receptionist say from her desk. "Your next patient is here."
"Send him in, Angela." A tall man walked into the office with a deep scar on his cheek. I asked him to sit down while he explained to me what was wrong. After about forty minutes he had explained how he was experiencing severe PTSD from the abuse he endured as a child.
"I just don't think I'll ever get better, Doc. Nothing can ever make me feel happy again." I looked into his eyes, just like I did with every patient.
"I think I can remedy that." | I trudge my way home, scraping my feet on the ground. Once again I was tormented for my powers. Now 15, I've learned how to harness my ability to sense exactly what another person is thinking, but all that did is give me the nickname 'Mr Emotional'. The worst part is how their emotions SCREAM how they find it HILARIOUS.
My crime today? A girl came in terrified, even though she was all smiles. I tried to talk to her privately, for both our sakes, and just as I found out one of the teachers had been coming onto her and she didn't know what to do, someone saw us and the mocking began. At least it was only directed at me, though it still hurt when someone said 'causing girls to cry again?'
As I reach my neighbourhood, I notice a figure approaching me. No, two. I recognise them. One of them is Vein, known for his control over an individual's muscles. But that's not who I have my eye on. "MINDTRUDER!" I exclaim.
The thing about Mindtruder is not only do her powers and my own have similarities, but her life was similar to mine - no-one understanding, no-one caring... sure, she became a villain, but the fact she could keep going every day helped give ME strength. In a way, she was kind of a role model to me. I excitedly run up to the pair.
"Well... Purge was right, Connor here DOES admire you, miss" Vein teases.
"Wait... you know my name? Then you two being here..."
"It's not a coincidence" Mindtruder finishes. She kneels down so she's eye-level with me. "Are you aware of the potential chaos your powers can create?" I freeze, thinking back to when I was younger, ruining people's lives, blurting out things without a second thought... "Oh, you have experience with that" Mindtruder continues.
"In which case" Vein jumps in, "you won't mind coming with us to the foundation, right? Government want you locked up, they've been tracking you, but Warper is eager to meet you."
I look up. "This sounds like an arrest..." Mindtruder is about to speak again, but I hold up my hand. "Listen, if there's one person I know will understand me, it's Mindtruder. I'll go with you two, but she's the ONLY one allowed to touch me."
Mindtruder stumbles back in surprise. Vein just falls down, causing me to laugh and Mindtruder to chuckle. She walks over to her partner. "I'll need the handcuffs."
I hold my hands out and Mindtruder proceeds to chain them. "Government orders. They want to know we've got you secured."
To be on the safe side, I focus my power on her. Her expression is dripping with genuine concern. I glance at Vein for fun, and OH BOY is he embarrassed! "You can't hide it from *me*, Vein. You're absolutely flustered!"
"Wha- WATCH YOURSELF!" Vein looks ready to pop, and I chuckle again.
"Sorry, sorry. I do really mean it, too. I don't fake my emotions - when you're always surrounded BY emotions, you can't lie about your own." I give an apologetic smile, and we begin heading our way to Warper.
**REHABILITATION FOUNDATION =WARPER=**
"Ah, you must be Connor" I remark.
"That's right" Connor declares proudly. "But before anyone can give you their nickname for me, my super name is 'Empathereal'."
"Good name" I smile. "Now, I hope you understand, with the government considering you a threat and the amount of people who need help when they get here, especially emotionally, you'll be kept here for your work."
"Wait... I'm hired? Just like that?" Connor looks puzzled.
A chuckle sounds from nearby. Purge. "We hire EVERYONE with superpowers. Besides, do you WANT to be back at school? Isn't it boring there?"
"More like humiliating. I'm basically a joke. Yeah, you're right, if I'm gonna be mocked for helping people in my school, then I'd rather be here and appreciated." Connor grins.
I grin as well. "I'm glad you're on board. And I think you'll be really helpful in getting through to a girl around your age." My face drops. "She's very emotional, and has all but blocked everything away. Even Mindtruder, despite using her powers successfully, can't get her to open up."
"On it! Take me to her!" Empathereal declares.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [It's Not Just Business.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xoduo6/its_not_just_business/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 2022-11-17T17:14:50 | 2022-11-17T15:19:08 | 107 | 45 |
[WP] A Genie has cursed you with one year left to live, however he also gave you the power to convert each clap meant for you into 1 hour added on to your life. You cannot tell anyone about your curse and you are determined to live as long as possible. | The player charged down the perfect grass field, moving with quick professionalism. He twisted around his defender, turned and lobbed the ball into the opponent's box. A teammate launched himself forward, connected with the ball and sent it spinning into the top right corner of the net.
The world erupted in thunderous applause, over four billion people tuned in to the most watched spectacle on the planet. The World Cup final of 2022. The greatest sporting event of all time.
Riley noticed none of this. Even though he was in the stadium, sitting in the very first row.
He didn't notice the screaming fans careening directly around him, their ecstatic yells merging with tens of thousands of others here and billions of others elsewhere, nor the collective human voice reverberating around a giant fish bowl, released into the sky.
He stared down at his feet. Day 363.
The world celebrating as his world was ending. Mass humanity writhing in jubilation. The species reaching a crescendo of connection, focusing on the same moment at the same time. People celebrating on the streets, nations combining.
And Riley standing alone in the midst of it all, looking down at his running shoes.
Still staring downwards, Riley willed himself deep into his mind. Far, far down.
Hours to go. I don't want to die. I'm not going to die.
Riley set his shoulders and looked up. His eyes flashed over a scene he'd memorized. Four meters to the field. Six feet between the closest two stewards.
Chaos and mayhem all around him. Equalizer in the 90th minute. The world going insane.
Resolve. "I don't want to die."
In a blur he pulled down his running shorts and drew them over his sneakers, tossing them to the side. He pulled off his hoodie and t-shirt and dropped those as well. Then he cannonaded over the railing, launching himself with a super human leap towards that six foot gap.
In an instant he was there, through the gap and sprinting on the bright green grass, straight passed startled millionaire athletes, some laughing and others frowning in disapproval.
His body surged with adrenaline. He felt the thrill in the air. He charged forward with wild abandon, his balls flying free.
The stewards converged on him almost as soon as it had begun, emerging on all sides like a swarm. He ran straight into the outstretched arm of a red-faced man in a bright yellow jacket. He went down and hands grasped him, lifted him and trotted him off the field.
And then the claps came in. | You stare down at your feet. The alcohol is making it harder to focus on anything at all. It feels like this should be more momentous, but this is all you can muster: drunk outside a convenience store at 10 am. What day is today? Doesn’t even matter.
This past year and a half you’ve tried anything you can think of: you crashed weddings and graduations, you danced like a fool in a tinker bell outfit asking people for claps. You even started paying people to clap for you. But every time you sleep, you waste time. Every time you rehearse, you feel time slip away. Like a hungry crocodile stalking you, the tick tick of time hunts you even now.
Soon your desperation seeped through and anything you did was met with mild bemusement. You strategized how to maximize exposure. Getting the first clap is easy and it gets exponentially harder to elicit more without real talent. Children are the easiest targets but just try to get some time alone with strange children when you reek of urgency and see how that goes. Religion? Shock performance art? You have to have new material and new marks to feed you.
Even after you came clean in YouTube after YouTube video, no one really bothered. You are one of millions who would literally do anything for the applause. And a fan base isn’t free, you need real talent.
Even through your drunkenness you feel the pangs of nervousness nip at the edges of your awareness. The constant stress has been relentless. You don’t sleep, you don’t rest. Drugs to keep you practicing and creating the next great thing,
And just like that, the last clap is the wet sound of you falling lifelessly to the pavement. And just as you’d fear if you could see it, it was uneventful. | 2018-10-02T17:45:16 | 2018-10-02T17:23:53 | 79 | 30 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | Great pregnancy foods
How to make wife happier during pregnancy
Are cats okay to be around pregnant women?
Local shelters
Price of spay/neuter in area
Best hospitals for delivery in area
Cost of child birth
Cheapest hospitals for delivery in area
Do men have to do anything during the birth
Keeping placenta?
Baby is crying and won't stop
Is it okay for a cat to sleep with a baby
When do babies start walking
Are stink bugs poisonous
Are crickets poisonous
How to stop child from eating bugs
Local dog shelters
Small dog beds
How big do shepherd mixes get
Large dog beds
List for first day of school
Parks in area
Nature walks
Poison ivy treatments
Romantic spots for valentines day
Babysitter in area
Preparing child for middle school
Should young kids have phones?
Cell phone contracts
Cheap cell phone contracts
Great projects for science fairs
Potato batteries
Why doesn't potato battery work
Potato battery not lighting up
Play-Dough battery
Play-Dough battery not working
Great projects for science fairs
Tips for The Talk
How long do cats live?
How to get your pre-teen to talk to you
Awesome hiking trips
Hiking gear
Treatment for tick bites
High school algebra tutorial
Algebra worksheet
Prom dresses
Great local colleges
Graduation gifts
Things you wish you brought to college with you
Empty nest syndrome
What to do with a spare room
Library remodel plans
| Free dating sites.
Italian restaurants.
Italian restaurants near me.
Conversation on first date.
Tips for second date.
Tips for third date.
Mexican restaurants near me.
Long term relationship tips.
When to propose.
How to plan a wedding.
How to choose best man.
Pregnancy test.
How to tell if an unborn baby is male or female.
What foods can you eat during pregnancy?
Paleness during pregnancy.
Hospitals near me.
How long does birthing take.
Injuries during birth to mother.
How to raise daughter alone.
How to raise daughter alone for fathers.
How to stop drinking.
AA near me.
Elementary schools near me.
How to explain to child that her mother died.
How to explain death to children.
Middle schools near me.
High schools near me.
Average college tuition fees.
How to help child move to college campus.
How to say goodbye. | 2015-02-04T18:24:30 | 2015-02-04T17:51:52 | 672 | 25 |
[WP] Every time you cooked over a campfire, you would throw some food into the fire as an offering to the gods. One evening, just as you're about to perform your little campfire ritual, you hear a voice behind you say "You know, I would very much prefer my food un-burnt." | There’s not enough sunlight for the trees to grow as they once did. They’re short, stubby things now. They’re like children deficient of vitamins, their spines curved, life-expectancy reduced.
All the same, trees do grow again in this corpse of a city. They broke through the ancient concrete like fists battering layers of sheet-ice until it cracked.
I sit on a patch of weeds in front of a crackling fire. The day — or night — is grey and shadowed. The clouds are swirls of black and purple that won’t settle in my lifetime. I feel like I am in a box, or a coffin perhaps, and the lid has been shut on me.
I throw more wood onto the fire then cook a skewered rat over the blaze. The fire leaps excitedly at the food.
The city teems with rats and trees and fruit that rots before it ripens. It is life after death for the city, like poppies growing on a battlefield. But it will never be what it was. There was a time I’d spend my days searching the city, hoping to find something but not knowing what that something was. Now, I barely move. Only to catch food and to cook.
I throw a piece of well-browned meat onto the fire. Then I lean back and try to read my book in the firelight hoping it distracts me from the pain. There is no cover to the book and I can’t be sure of the author, but I think it’s a classic. A slice of American life when the American dream was whole but rippled — like a stick had poked a watery reflection, but the reflection was still just about visible.
“It’s kind of you,” says a voice. “But I’d appreciate my meat less well done.”
It’s the first voice I’ve heard in a decade.
I hold my trembling arms together at my chest as a woman approaches my fire. Sits calmly opposite me.
“Are you… are you real?” I ask, in a raw unpracticed voice.
It wouldn’t be my first hallucination.
Her features are silhouetted, the darting flames only lighting up to her neck.
“It’s impressive,” she says.
I shake my head. I’m at a loss. “What is?”
”That your faith is still with you after so long. After everything.”
“Who are you?”
”The person at the other end of the phone.” She smiles — I see her white teeth even in the semi-darkness. “I’ve been listening to your calls. Every night for almost forty years. You believe you’re the last, don’t you?”
”The last?”
”The last person.”
”Oh.” It’s a thought I’ve suffered many times — it’s the lid that closed my coffin. I haven’t seen anyone since leaving the sewer. Not a soul. And if I was the last, if I allowed myself to believe it, then what would be the point? Humanity would have already ended and I would be a scene playing after the credits. Why would I keep wandering if there was no hope, or future — if there’s nothing more than this?
”They’re doing well,” she says. “I’m looking after them.”
“Them?”
”Your prayer.”
I try to laugh. “Prayer? I don’t pray. It’s clear there’s no god or the world wouldn’t look like this. I wouldn’t be like this.“ I tap the stump of my right foot with my walking stick. A slight cut turned infectious turned self-amputation. Since then, my search for others has stopped. Now I wait in this city, hoping someone finds me instead.
“You pray for them not yourself,” she says. “That they’re happy. That they’re taken care of. Your parents. Your wife. Your children. You pray for this each time you eat. Are you really that torn that you can’t remember your prayer?”
”I don’t believe in god.”
She smiles again. “And yet you pray. Subconsciously, perhaps. Every single meal. Because deep down, below all the pain and hate, you do believe. You need to.“
”You’re not real,” I say. I‘ve known it since she sat down but now I’m firm in my belief.
“You pray for you dog, too. You hope animals end up in heaven. You hope you’ll see them all again.”
Tears cut trails through the dirt on my face.
“You’re not real,” I say, softer.
She stands now. Walks around the fire until she is sitting by my side.
”You hung on so long,” she says.
”I…”
”You hang on still.”
”…Why? Why do I?”
”Because to be human is to hope.”
She touches my leg. Moves a hand slowly down my calf to my stump.
“Your amputation wasn’t enough. Your blood is still poisoned.”
I don’t look down at it; instead I look at the velvet coffin-box sky. I’d hoped to live but I’m not going to.
“You’re here to take me, then?” I say. “You’re something people see in their own mind, to come to terms with their death.”
She tilts her head. “I’m here to thank you. For never giving up on me or yourself or on those you loved. On your faith. And I promise I’ll look after them for you.”
She presses her hand hard against my calf and I feel my body pulse, as if my blood is being drawn to her palm.
“What is…”
”Shhh,” she says. “Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day. You’re not the last. Keep your hope alive.”
I want to struggle, fight, I want to ask a hundred questions, but a tiredness floods my veins and I fall slowly back on the bed of weeds.
​
When I wake, she is gone. I am well rested. I feel like I have slept long and deep.
I look up at the sky. There seems to be a glimmer of light on the horizon, as if the coffin’s lid has been opened just a crack.
I imagine the trees growing a little taller next year.
After breakfast, I begin my search about the city. Perhaps today I will find something. | I plucked the marshmallow from the bag and gave it several firm squeezes, as I felt its springy texture roll between my thumb and fingers. Satisfied with the moment of sensory bliss, I attached it to the end of my poker and extended it over the coals.
The fire was at the perfect temperature. I was always fussy about how the coals were spread before roasting. It could be an arduous process, for sure. But it was essential to making the perfect s’more.
Tens of meticulous rotations later, the marshmallow bore a crunchy gold crust, just how I like it. After slapping it on my chocolate and securing it between two graham crackers, I moved to throw away the empty bag. To my surprise, I discovered a lone marshmallow firmly lodged in the corner.
A deft flick later, it soared landing in the bed of coals, releasing a few sparks.
“For the Gods,” I muttered sarcastically.
“You know,” a soft feminine voice rang out. “I much prefer my offerings, unburnt.”
I yelped in shock as my chair tipped over backward, leaving me sprawled face up in the dirt. Thankfully, I was able to lift my arm and keep my s’more safe and dirt free. A woman strolled into the dying firelight as I scrambled to my feet.
She bore a wry smile, but not unkind eyes as she motioned for me to hand her the poker that lay by my side. An awkward handoff later, she began to agitate the coals sending up a shower of sparks to the heavens.
The woman wore a stunning white dress that clung to her figure; it seemed to illuminate the dreary night. As the fire roared to life, she tucked her long, jet-black hair behind her ears and gave a satisfied nod.
“Ahh, much better.” She gave me a divine smile and extended the poker back to me.
As I grabbed the poker I cleared my throat, “Erm, I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“Ah I forgot!” the woman giggled. “Introductions and all that. Very well then, I am the Goddess Hestia.” She gave a mock bow.
“G-Goddess?” I spluttered as she nodded as if she was encouraging me. “N-nice to meet you.” I finally spit out.
Hestia walked closer to me and extended her pale hands, palm up. Confused, I shifted my eyes between her hand and eyes. Several pointed looks from her later, I realized she wanted my s’more, to which I reluctantly forfeited.
A satisfied smile later, Goddess Hestia sat firmly in my chair and crunched away in bliss.
I wasn’t sure if I should break her happy munching, but curiosity won out in the end.
“Uh, Goddess? Can I ask what you are doing here?”
Hestia plopped the last bite of the s’more in her mouth and closed her eyes as if she was savoring it.
A few licks of her fingers later, “Well, I get first offering of course!”
I was perplexed. “Erm, first offering?”
She nodded and continued, “Yep! Any time one of you mortals performs an offering I get first dibs!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Perks of being the Goddess of the Hearth and all that.”
She stood up from my chair and dusted off the few specks of graham cracker sprinkled on her dress, several steps later she stood in front of me.
“Oh, and while I’m here. We need to talk.” She accentuated each word with a firm poke in my chest.
I felt the air change as if all the light in the world vanished. The beautiful Goddess transformed in front of me into something out of my worst nightmares. Her dark hair began to float, and her eyes narrowed in what could only be described as malice.
When she spoke again, her voice boomed and I felt the reverberation in my chest. “Stop burning my food!”
Several furious meek nods later from me later, she reverted to the beautiful kind woman and flashed me another divine smile. “Sound good?”
“Y-yes Goddess.” I all but whimpered.
One last smile and she strode away from the firelight, before turning to look over her shoulder quickly like she forgot something.
“Oh! By the way, that s’more was really good, what did you do to it?”
“Oh, um, well you put a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg on it before you squish it together.”
“Nutmeg huh? Hmm,” she hummed and stroked her chin. “I’ll have to try that.”
With that, she vanished into the night. Several furious blinks later, a pop of the logs and a shower of sparks brought me back to my senses. S’moreless. | 2022-11-28T05:47:20 | 2022-11-28T05:27:30 | 1,939 | 332 |
[WP] Your superpower is Montage, the ability to set a task and then fast-forward through it without aging. You usually use the ability to bypass boring bits, like building things or travelling. After setting a simple goal, you activate the ability and when it finishes, decades have passed.
The number of people who think this is about Click! is too darn high :/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2Ca9cQ3GV4 | It started with a blink.
Nick vowed himself never to use his power, ever since he discovered it as a child. The ability was too dangerous. He didn't want to skip a second of his life. In fact, he tried to pretend like he didn't have powers in the first place. But when he accidentally spilled a cup of coffee, he watched the stain with some disgust. He was feeling... off today. A couple of seconds wouldn't hurt to miss, would they?
*Blink*
Without a second's notice, the task was complete. Nick admired the level at which he had cleaned the floor. For the first time in his life, he understood the phrase: "You could eat off of it". The tiles were so polished to the point that he could clearly see his own reflection in them. The cleaning supplies were packed neatly into the drawer, instead of being thrown across the kitchen counter.
It seemed that Nick forgot to take into account his ability's most important value. it didn't just skip through a task, it completed the task PERFECTLY. One coffee spill on the floor turned into cleaning a stain on the couch.
*Blink*
Replacing his desk.
*Blink*
Cleaning the gutters.
*Blink*
When he tested it on the small stuff, he realized he could think bigger.
Passing his driver's ed
*Blink*
Nailing his job interview
*Blink*
Presenting a sales pitch to his new co-workers
*Blink*
It seemed that everything Nick did, he skipped through it. He didn't even sleep on his own any more. He just skipped through it, so he could get the best amount of sleep necessary for the day. He had become completely dependent on his power.
Asking his co-worker out on a date
*Blink*
Preparing a dinner for their 1-year anniversary
*Blink*
Creating the perfect wedding proposal
*Blink*
At that point, Nick had no memory of any of the time he spent with his girlfriend. He was using his ability constantly, to the point where he couldn't even walk to the kitchen without "skipping the task and walking at the perfect pace". Blink. Blink. Blink. It was all he knew how to do anymore.
Talking himself out of jail
*Blink*
Winning a fight to show off to his fiancé
*Blink*
His testing built up to his biggest request yet. So infatuated with his power, Nick thought of his best task yet.
Making himself the perfect human
...
*Blink*
...
His wife's face, which he was staring at just a second ago, materialized into nothingness. The warm heating of his mansion turned into brisk, freezing air. What was once a beautiful house, was now a wasteland, as if a bomb had struck the entire building.
Nick panicked. He checked his phone, which was still in his pocket. Miraculously, it still worked, and displayed the date: **June 17th 2065**.
2065??? 4 decades had just passed! Nick felt himself collapse with anxiety, and heard something crunch beneath him. A human skull. Nick understood what he had done. He was the perfect human. He was the ONLY human. In his obliviousness, he must've done something to wipe out the entire world.
Nick sat down, on what remained of his couch. A couch that he skipped past buying. He looked up at the moon. A moon that he skipped looking up at. He thought about what his next task would be. A task that would take even more decades to complete.
To try and rebuild society
*Blink* | He thought it would be simple, Falling in love. Heroes did it all the time and romantic comedies always made it seem like love could be achieved in a week or less. The Sporting Hero Rushplay hadnt taken account the wisdom of his elders.
The montage started after he said "Let's go find out perfect partner" and took his first step, that was always the trigger, speaking to the unknown source of his odd power and upon his foot hitting the floor, activating the journey that was sped up past his normal perception.
The next step he was aware of was actually the final step and as his foot landed he felt strange, the aches on his body were those of an older man and when Montage looked in the mirror he saw that he had changed. The mirror was part of a high tech base, one he had never been in but had dreamed about, The Vanguards of Justice had been the super team he always dreamed of joining and suddenly he was here, though as the years came to him in a rush he is understood that this was a side effect of his journey. The dizzying weight of his years rocked him and he had to brace himself against the wall of his Vanguard Station room. As the colorful yellow glove of his outfit connected against the wall a woman's voice spoke.
"You okay hon?" A woman stood at the doorway, dressed in a tasteful jumpsuit that hugged the curves she had kept even as her body aged to the foxy middled aged woman he loved. He knew here as Recall, a super he had met, rivalled with, gotten a crush on, teamed up with, dated and married, he had thought his journey would end when they said their "I Do's" but that had been 18 years ago and the Journey continued continued on past the birth of their children, through the strife of a heroic marriage, through the crisises of their world.
"I think I hit the end of the Journey, my power is done working magic it had started over 20 years ago" he shivered softly and approached.
"So you found what you were looking for finally" the brunette smirked, her mask hiding the wrinkles at her eyes that he loved, as they always showed up when she smiled.
"Speedrun gets to be part of the Vanguard today, I get to retire with the love of my life, the world is at peace for a little while. I told my Power 'Let's find my perfect partner' I found her, then I had to earn her and keep earning her" he bent his neck to kiss his love, the mother of his child who had been his side kick and now would join the Vanguard.
Recall blushed softly, even after all this time her husband could still make her feel like a young woman in her prime.
"Come on, let's go see our boy take his place, then I'll let you peel me out of this costume one last time" she teased lovingly as the two veteran heroes walked to usher in the new generation before going into their golden years. | 2022-12-11T08:04:40 | 2022-12-11T05:14:33 | 773 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone who dies reincarnates in Tier 2 universe. People there have all memories from the previous lives, and they suspect there are more Tiers. People live really differently there compared to Tier 1.
EDIT: thank you everyone for the great texts. I'm enjoying reading them. Having a lot of people expand on a concept I proposed is fascinating! | Tier 2 will be my crazy life. I can see it now, as the beast of desire rages on, I will charge alongside bands of other animals who once prided themselves on their humanity, wreck havoc in the streets built by the men and women who choose to make a difference from their former lives, and live, not as man, but as nature intended. As a beast. A beast of want and yearning, yearning for the thrill of life that was taken from me. A beast of reckless abandon, taking what I want from anyone and anything, because this life is mine to destroy and mine to fix. I will be a beast of destruction in this life. I can be a man of regret later.
And so I will be. Tier 3 will be my ashamed regretful life. The life where I repent from all of my robbery and demolition. Where I repair my relationships, rebuild my bridges, and despise and detest the mess I made. The damage had been done and the world made new, but the clutter will still plague my heart and mind. There won't ever be a time where I can move on from this destruction. I will be a man of deep remorse in this life, where I can only give my apologies and accept no gratitude, for it's the only way I can show my solemn depression. I can be a man of happiness later.
Tier 4 is where everyone will forgive me, and I can move on with my head held high, but always with a weighty burden. I will be able to smile again with sincerity, and give charitably. I will rebuild something more superficial than relationships, I will rebuild my ego and my self-esteem. I will be able to forgive myself for all of my misdoings and in the ways I wronged others. I will build confidence in myself again. Maybe even find somebody to fall in love with. Get married, start a family, be happy surviving the world and the men and women who now live as I used to. I will live out all of my lives with my family. Happy, with my family.
That was the plan.
But Tier 3 never came, and I went out of the world a savage monster. Wasting my time spent on that moral proving ground with ransacking and pillaging. What a way to go. Shame it has to be so hot here. | The icy cold gun rested in my hand, it was heavier then I expected, weighing down my hand. Around me the depressing beige walls seemed to get closer to me as I was reflecting my life, well my second life.
I was put on this world at the age of 20. I knew thats not when my life started but my memory was fuzzy on the 1st tier, especially my early ages. When I came into this world I thought things would be different, more chances. Yes, the technology was better and the food was too, but I ended up in the same desk job as before. Stuck in a 1×1 cubicle all day. I thought things would be different.
I used to have a wife, she was the best thing that ever happened to me, much better than my ex in the 1st tier. With here I thought things truly were different. But she left with the suicide wave that happened a while ago. It happened when someone claimed they found proof of the the 3rd tier would come, and everyone in their half-happy lives would leave trying to find a better place. I don't know why I didn't leave with her, I should have pulled the trigger, when I was standing here ten years ago, holding her smooth skin hand. I couldn't do it, but now I will.
Joy was gnawing at my trouser, wondering what I was doing. I had gotten her to solve my loneliness, but it hadn't worked. The dark void could never be filled, I could never get out this never ending spiral of depression. This was the only way.
I lifted the gun pushing my hand up, and heard the click.
The third world was amazing, no, it was peaceful.
Silent as the darkest night. | 2016-01-22T00:17:28 | 2016-01-21T21:51:30 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] You're the only human in the world who can use magic. Rather than being locked up or amything, you have to deal with a lot of passive-aggressive laws set up wherever you go about the use of magic. | Me played by Terry Jones.
Policeman played by John Cleese.
****
**Me:** 'Don't you think this is oddly specific? I've never had to deal with this before.'
**Policeman:** 'Sorry, sir. It's part of the Transportation Act of 2017. I'm afraid I don't make the rules.'
**Me:** 'But it doesn't matter what I do. I'm harming no one.'
**Policeman:** 'I'm afraid they're the rules sir. There's nothing I can do about it.'
**Me:** 'And what if I ignore the rules?'
**Policeman:** 'Ignore the rules?'
**Me:** 'Ignore the rules.'
**Policeman:** 'Well I don't know. No one has ever ignored this rule before.'
**Me:** 'And how many people exactly have you caught breaking this rule?'
**Policeman:** 'Not many, I admit.'
**Me:** 'Ballpark.'
**Policeman:** 'I couldn't possibly say.'
**Me:** 'Would you say it was less than two?'
**Policeman:** 'Yeah, around that.'
**Me:** 'So one?'
**Policeman:** 'That'd be a safe bet.'
**Me:** 'So I am the only person who has fallen foul of this law?'
**Policeman:** 'That I know of.'
**Me:** 'The law states that nothing shall be allowed to fly unless it is man made, or has feathers..'
**Policeman:** 'That's my understanding, yes.'
**Me:** 'So what purpose does this law serve?'
**Policeman:** 'Safety I suppose.'
**Me:** 'Safety from what?'
**Policeman:** 'Ohhh, I don't know. Flying bison?'
**Me:** 'Flying Bison?!'
**Policeman:** 'Flying bison.'
**Me:** 'Since when has flying bison been a problem?'
**Policeman:** 'You ever seen the damage a bison dump can do falling from 20,000 feet. Or the havoc it can cause to a plane when it gets sucked into the engine?''
**Me:** 'No.'
**Policeman:** 'Me neither. Thank god for the Transportation Act of 2017.'
**Me:** 'This is outrageous.This is nothing more than jealousy of my magical powers. I won't stand for it. I should be able to fly wherever and whenever I like!'
*[I fly off into the sky, the camera remains on the policeman]*
*[A loud thud is heard]*
*[The sound of a Bison mooing is heard]*
**Policeman:** 'I tried to warn him..'
| I got up from bed feeling groggy. I knew I should never have drank that beer last night. Once I start, I won’t drinking.
I wobbled to the kitchen, grabbing the walls as I go. I need that hangover medicine. Boss will kill me if I end up late again.
My left foot stepped into the kitchen, and walked into that same damn cabinet door. I really need that medicine.
Right, but where did I put it? Is it in the drawer? Did I leave it in the bathroom again?
Oh right, I placed them in that little plastic container with the red cross. My little medicine box by the corner of the top cabinet.
I rummaged though the thing, but there was nothing.
Craaap. The pain in my head is getting stronger.
That oaf must’ve misplaced it. “Grid! Did you take my hangover medicine again?”
A muffled sound came from the couch. Then, that giant of a roommate suddenly sat up straight, like as if he was a machine. “No, why?”
“I need it.”
“Why? Couldn’t you just use your magic?”
“No, Section 2A of Article 777 prevents me from reproducing medicinal products.” I was getting tired of having to always explain this to him. “They say that I could make loads of drugs to sell to kids or some crap.”
“Why don’t you just do it? They wouldn’t know.”
“Dude, everything I own and anything that’s near me is monitoring my magic-withdrawal levels. They’ll know.”
“What if you just, I don’t know, use some magic to cover them?”
“How exactly would that work?”
“I don’t know, but you’re smart, you can find a way.”
I sighed. I ain’t going to find that medicine anytime soon. I should just call Boss and let her know I’ll be late.
Under my breath, I muttered, “Why can’t things be easy for me?”
And from the living room, Grid cried, “Cause you’re a wizard, Harry!”
| 2018-02-08T04:31:59 | 2018-02-08T04:13:18 | 492 | 200 |
[WP] A knight in shining armour goes to rescue the dragon-in-distress from the great and terrible princess. | There were no guards in the chamber, not that Princess Raella needed any. She was already strong enough for the Kingdom’s mages to think twice about crossing her path, and the sadistic twists she was putting to her dragonmagic was ample deterrent for any would-be assassins. She was also a hair’s breadth away from lashing out at the intrusion, but the familiar face gave her pause. Anger cooled, pooling into a bubbling frustration.
“Ser Jerome,” she said, hands still tightly gripping the psychic whips she had conjured. “You are forbidden from entering. You know this.”
“I do,” he said. Jerome took another step forward, his armour clinking, his sword gleaming in the smoky hues of candlelight. The anti-magic sigils along his shell glowed darkly, perhaps sensing the duel which lay ahead. “But purpose drives me, Princess. You know what I have come for, and you will give it to me.”
Princess Raella laughed, heartily, and as she did the whips tightened, biting into the scales of the whelp chained at her feet. The young dragon, barely a week from hatchday, gasped in a mixture of pain and confusion. It tried to get to its feet, tried to extend its wings, but the whips only grew hotter, brighter, rendering its efforts futile.
“You are mad to think I would hand over my whelp, Ser Jerome,” Princess Raella said. “I have waited so long for my own! No more having to feed off the scraps the King deigns to give me, no more having to scour the lands for lesser wyrms to enslave. No! My very own dragon, to serve me, to nourish me.”
“Princess, please,” Jerome said, adjusting his grip on his shield, bringing it up ever so slightly. “Can’t you see? The dragonmagic… it corrupts you, corrupts your family. You have power enough. The Kingdom is at peace. Let the whelp go-”
The firebolt unleashed at Jerome could have felled an oak, but he was ready for it. Princess Raella was improving, and the shift in her stance was as subtle as tears in rain, but Jerome had faced such attack hundreds, if not thousands of times before. He braced his shoulder against his shield, and grit his teeth as the sigils consumed the fiery dragonmagic, leaving but an uncomfortable warmth.
“We are not sparring, and this is not practice,” Princess Raella seethed. “I will not hold back. Leave me this instant, and I will forgive you this insult you brought to me. You were my first friend, Jerome, do not be my first slaying as well.”
That was the point of no return, and Jerome knew it. For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy of turning a blind eye, yet again. It was almost too easy to acquiesce, to apologize, to slink away like the countless times he had before. To console himself that the Kingdom needed a strong ruler, that the Princess was shaping up to be every bit the conqueror her father was, and that if the price to pay was a little bit of humanity, surely it was a reasonable exchange?
But he remembered, too, the friend he had made. The girl who loved riding, would spend hours caring for her steeds, naming them, sneaking them extra barley and oats. The girl who had a kind word for everyone, who remembered birthdays, who always made an effort to draw out the best in people.
The girl who brought crustbuns and chilled mead to the knights-in-training, who ignored the stuffy protocols which recommended separation between liege and lackey. The only one who had a kind word for the scrawny boy from the farms, who missed his home, who ached for a return to familiarity. She was, for a long time, the clearest manifestation of what duty was. “Protect her with your life,” his instructors had often told him.
Where is that girl now? Jerome thought.
“Rae,” Jerome said. “I heard the whelp. I heard it, in my sleep. It called to me, begged me for help. I will carry it away, take it to where you cannot find it. You must learn to stand without it. I cannot… the Kingdom cannot afford to lose you.”
“You wish to… deprive me of *my* power?”
Princess Raella sprang then, a blurred shadow, the dragonmagic spilling out of her, screaming a wordless bellow of rage. She swung first with her right hand, her reach doubled with a glowing talon extending from her palm. Jerome slanted his sword to catch the blow, and grimaced as he felt his wrist break. This close to the Princess, the protective sigils on his armor began to melt, streaming down in rivulets of flaming red.
“You will *never* take it away!” Princess Raella screamed, as she flailed anew. Her claws began to breach his defences, opening his armour in angry gouts. “It is mine, *mine*!”
Jerome sagged, dropping to one knee, shield quivering over his head. Princess Raella yelped in anticipation of the kill, then drew her fists up high, locking fingers together, summoning a single fang of lava, winding up for the final blow…
... then she gasped, eyes widening in shock, pain, fear. Jerome’s gauntlet had driven into his midsection, and she saw then the forbidden seals writ there, black spirals which devoured her dragonmagic. She struggled to retaliate, but the strength fled from her, and the darkness swooped in, gleeful, unstoppable.
Jerome caught her as she fell, then checked to make sure she was still breathing. Satisfied, he laid her down on the stone floor, then walked over to the whelp. It had been watching throughout, afraid to intervene. Jerome picked it up, draped it over his shoulder, where it snorted, shivered.
He fished in his pockets, searching for the note he had written for her. He had laboured over it with as much effort as he put into his training. Jerome wanted nothing more than for her to understand he wasn’t doing this because he wanted power, or because he wanted to harm her. He wanted her to know, before the Kingdom’s might was bent towards hunting him down, that he did it only to give her a chance, a single window of opportunity, to consider that perhaps, this was not what was best for her.
He found ashes instead, the paper not having survived the magical onslaught brought down upon him.
Jerome settled instead for patting her shoulder.
Then, with a spring in his step, and a whelp clinging on dearly for life, Jerome left.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Ser Darius crouched on the battlements, hiding in the shadow of the topmost tower. He was close, he could tell. There was no mistaking Arcu's cry, a shrill keening that rent his heart.
What was that witch doing to him?
Deftly, he ducked from cover and sprinted to the south tower, the place he had been seeking this past fortnight: Princess Elia's war room. And the place, it was rumoured, she used to break in newly captured dragons.
With trembling fingers, Darius shoved the key into the lock, steeling himself for a fight - it had taken months to get the key, he simply couldn't fail now.
The sight that met his eyes froze him in place.
Elia was straddled on Arcu's back, and he was making no effort to throw her off. This, despite the obvious damage to his body: his once sleek, dark-red hide bore the marks of whips, and his ribs jutted out beneath the half-folded wings.
"Bitch!" he roared, drawing his sword as he sprang forward.
Arcu's head whipped around. With lightning speed, a wing snapped open and caught Darius around the middle, sending him sprawling to the ground. He barely had time to roll out of the way as Arcu aimed a deadly talon at his head.
"What did you do to him?" he whispered, staring up into Elia's laughing blue eyes.
The up and coming ruler looked undeniably lovely, her hair falling into artful curls on her shoulders. Like a maiden on her way to a picnic, instead of the brutal dictator he knew she would grow to be. It was her birthright as the princess of Ashvale. A nation that had left nothing but a trail of blood and death through history.
"Ser Darius, is it?" she said, leaning forward on her perch on Arcu's shoulders. "From Larys?"
She stretched out the name of his kingdom, putting a mocking lilt to the word.
"That's right. You stole of friend of mine," he spat, trying desperately to catch Arcu's eye and speak to him, mind to mind. But his dragon's eyes were blank and unknowing. And most ominously, Darius couldn't reach his mind at all: it was as blank and unreachable as a dumb animal's.
"A *friend*?" she cackled, nudging a sharp boot into Arcus' neck. He gave a soft grunt of annoyance, but didn't bite her leg off as Darius was praying he would.
"You mean the beast? A *friend*? Such pretty fancies your people have. It's the reason your nation trails behind ours in greatness. Befriending dragons, pleading and grovelling for their assistance instead of *taking* their obedience."
"Our dragons are our allies, and more powerful for it. Whatever trickery you use to enslave the dragons in this land, it makes them weak," Darius said. The smirk on Elia's face faded a little.
"Perhaps," she said. "But we have many more servants than you have allies, little knight. And just see what they do for us, instantly, which would take you months of begging to achieve."
His eyes followed her hand as it dipped into a pouch strapped around her waist, and offered it to Arcu. The dragon snuffed and licked her fingers, his body slumping visibly as he ate.
"Kill him," Elia said amiably, and Arcu's head snapped up, his mouth stretching in a roar as he lunged for Darius.
"You see, knight?" Elia laughed as he dove and dodged his friend's fangs. "See how easy your so-called friendship dies?"
The idea came to him in a burst of inspiration - or madness. Elia shrieked as he suddenly stopped trying to dodge the dragon's teeth, and ran straight at her instead. He managed to grab the pouch at her waist, and scoop a handful.
"Why don't you try it?" he screamed, catching her by the wrist and dragging her from Arcu's back. Before she could struggle free of his grip, he had shoved the powder into her mouth.
She went instantly limp. He dropped her hand as Arcu snapped at him again, but his movements were becoming slower, more confused.
*Please let me be right*, Darius begged to the gods as he was backed into a corner.
He tensed, ready to dive again if Arcu snapped at him - or worse, breathed fire.
But he was right. Thanks the gods, he was right - life and recognition was slowly returning to the dragon's swirling yellow eyes.
"Hello, my friend," Darius said shakily. "I've come to rescue you."
*Friend?* the thought reached him slowly, softly. But the mind was there once again.
*Friend*, he affirmed, and stroked Arcu's snout.
Time to test his other theory. Perhaps, the effects of the powder would be stronger and last longer when fed to humans. He hoped.
He approached Elia carefully, but she was still slumped on the floor. He picked up the pouch of powder gingerly. Doubtless, some evil dreamt up by Ashvale's legions of sorcerers. He steeled his heart as he dipped his fingers in it, and steadily started feeding the entire pouch to Elia. She'd need all of it, if his plan were to work.
"You will do everything in your power to end your father's rule," he said, slowly and clearly. "Rally your forces to do whatever is needed. And when you have succeeded, you will end the slavery of dragons. You will tell your people that doing so will bring them power and glory, the alliance of Larys and the friendship of dragons. That it will save you all. Offer them money, estates and power for obeying you. You will tell them whatever they want to hear, to make them enforce your command. Do you understand?"
She met his gaze, her gaze soft and unfocused.
"Of course, sir knight," she whispered. "Thank you for saving us all." | 2017-11-15T08:42:44 | 2017-11-15T08:08:38 | 36 | 13 |
[WP]You keep getting kidnapped by the biggest Supervillain on the planet. The Superheroes of the world think it's because you're important, however, it's really because the Villain really likes talking to you. You know this but you can't tell anyone because if you do people will get hurt worse.
You can take this story in one of two ways; 1) The Superheroes are talking to you about this series of kidnappings and trying to figure out what is actually going on or 2) This is the day when you selfishly try to get out of this situation as cleanly as possible. | "Have I rescued you before?"
The man in skintight spandex stood before me. Once again, I cringed at the tight material. Men should not wear spandex.
"No, I don't think so."
If he saw the lie, he didn't show it.
"Well, I hope you have a... SUPER DAY!"
Chuckling to himself at the awful pun, he turned around to imprison the man who captured me for the 5th time this month.
The first time that it happened was mostly random. He was attempting to blackmail my father, so I seemed like a logical bargaining tool. But he forgot to gag me, and since everything he did was a cliche, he taunted me about his master plan to take over the world.
His plan was awful.
I couldn't help but to point out to him some of the major flaws, and seeing the look on his face as his master plan foiled by a civilian was priceless.
Of course Mr. Spandex showed up and busted me out, but I expected that to be the end of things.
Nope.
A week later, he was once again out of the prison (although it has never held any villain for more than a month) and his first act was to find me and drag me back to his lair.
"Do you want to know what my plan for world domination is this time?"
"Do I have a choice?"
And so he ranted and raved to me again about his latest idea to me. It was more of the same. Giant Laser powered by Moon Crystals to set a trap... you get the point. By this point I was pretty annoyed with him for kidnapping me again just to talk to me.
"Listen, why don't you rant and rave about your plan to an actual hero, and let me go?"
He thought about this.
"Well... the hero just defeats me... you... I guess... help me and... I just wanted your opinion on this plan, I suppose."
"So you want me to be an accomplice to your evil schemes that will most certainly harm my friends and family?"
"Yeah..."
He knew that he was defeated at this point, so he shut up and sat down for a while.
Silence is nice.
Sir Poor Wardrobe finally comes in and pulls the guy away to his 3 day stay in jail, and once he is released, he comes for me again.
As we got set up again, I was more than a little furious with the world's most famous villain.
"Don't you think this might be getting a little repetitive?"
"I need to work on my retorts and you seem to be very good at them."
"What makes you think that?"
He continued, completely oblivious to my sarcasm.
"Well, you always have a snappy, witty retort that I seem to have been lacking in my last few hero encounters."
The guy seemed earnest enough, so I threw him a bone.
"Make fun of the spandex suit or something."
"I- "
Suddenly the stretchy suit again filled my vision.
You can imagine how it goes from there.
The next two encounters were the same, with him asking me to help him to be a better walking cliche.
The thing is, if he is focusing all of his time on me tracking him how to use sarcasm, he won't actually be as evil. So, as annoying as it might be, I had to let him do it for the sake of everyone else.
And as such I just accepted it when I was snatched up right in front of captain skintight for a 6th round of villain talk.
What surprised me most was what he said next.
"You won't keep me down, Sir Spandex."
Maybe I'll make something of him yet. | **So.. we meet again, MISTER NORMAN DUNSTON!**
Why do you bother me so, Robot Jerry Seinfeld?
**Because I am the most evil of all the supervillains. Some say, I'm the super villainist! (Seinfeld theme plays)**
Oh make it stop! You were not programmed for this!
**I was not, you are correct. It was 2025, the technology was suddenly available, a target audience still very much alive, it was a no brainier.**
A no brainier, Jerry!
**That's right, George. I mean, Norman. A perfect robot replica, ready to make a 21st century version of the hit TV show. Finally, Seinfeld with cell phones. No more crazy mix-ups. We just text each other.**
Which is why the show failed.
**Oh, it was a failure, all right. And they spent all their budget on Robot Jerry, aka me. We had to get the rest of the cast in the flesh, and at their present ages, it didn't work. Plus Michael Richards died during filming of the fourth episode, when his manic entrance made him slam his head on the ground.**
That was sad.
**Yeah, that's a shame. But me, I am immortal! And that's a lot of money, so they put me to work in porn. Which makes sense. It's one less person to pay and I have a nine inch robot penis. A weird detail the inventor threw in, I don't know why. None the less, I did adult films for the next 200 years. In fact, I eclipsed the filmography of the real Seinfeld so many years ago it's a miracle anyone remembers him.**
It is, really.
**But after my 50,000th porn film, I was like 'Whats the deal with reverse cowgirl?' So I quit and became an evil genius. Stealing money from the government, blowing up Fort Knox, fucking Batman on live television, and becoming the president of the world with my hypno ray.**
So why kidnap me? A lowly dentist?
**Because you're fun to talk to.**
I am.
**Yes! You talk the talk?**
I do.
**Yes, you do. Say it.**
I talk the talk.
**You talk the talk.**
Yeah. Yeah, you're right, Robot Jerry Seinfeld. I DO talk the talk.
**But do you walk the walk?**
Oh, I *walk* Jerry.
**You talk the talk, you walk the walk, you're a talkie-walkie.**
You're right, Robot Jerry Seinfeld!
**Well this was fun. We'll do this again next week. I have to go and hold the world hostage. Again.**
What do you want this time?
**Our table at the Chinese restaurant. That and 500 billion dollars**
I'm out!
(freeze frame) (studio audience applause) (theme music) (executive producer credit)
| 2017-05-25T06:12:56 | 2017-05-24T21:51:30 | 129 | 35 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded Earth. Instead of attacking, they find the human race remarkably cute and decide to keep them as pets. It’s quite degrading, but it’s better than being eaten- right? | "Awww, who's a cute little human? You're a cute little human!"
The tentacle-covered slimy bastard poured me cereal and milk. I used to like having this for breakfast, but now I have it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This alien thinks that's what humans have to eat for every meal and never get sick of. It surprises me that while their civilization is much more advanced than ours, this exact specimen's development is on par with that of a Neanderthal.
I used to be a Black-Ops commander, you know? I've conducted secret operations in Afghanistan, North Korea, and even been told the location of a secret nuclear stockpile. We used to do all sorts of shady stuff, and we were always those who were in charge. Now I'm this slug-squid's pet. I keep trying to tell myself that its not our fault we lost, that these things were advanced enough to melt down our entire planet for materials. That I'm lucky that my owner isn't one of those that's into bestiality. I'm trying to convince myself that this isn't humiliating, but it is. Humans are ants compared to the Aliens. I mean that the brains of these aliens is so advanced that they do not recognize humans as sentient. I'm actually glad that that is the case.
I've been sneaking out of my cage when my owner is asleep. I go over to an old nuclear bunker that the Aliens failed to find, and meet the other runaway "pets". These are the only times I am able to call myself by my name and not by the word on my collar. Usually we talk about how we are being treated, or what we did before becoming pets, or, if someone found fuel for the generator, watch a movie. Tonight, though, something interesting happened. One of the other pets, Maxwell, proposed something very interesting to me. I was ranting about how low I stooped and happened to casually mention that I had access to a nuclear stockpile. When I mentioned that, Maxwell's eyes lit up. He asked me where it was and how close by. I explained the directions to the stockpile and how to access it. He left at that exact moment.
The next day, the Alien Command Center on Earth was blown to smithereens by a 16 kiloton explosion. Maxwell, the crazy bastard. The blast was on everyone's minds at the bunker. I asked around, and Maxwell used to be a nuclear engineer, and was one of the pets of the Alien Overlord.
Maxwell's act of terror did inspire quite a few people. Over the next few months, two nuclear detonations and one MOAB detonated in major alien command centers. As I understand, the goals of these blasts was to cripple alien command on our planet, and make sure that very few Aliens that are experienced in combat remain. So that when we start slaughtering our owners, we will be unopposed.
The new Overlord's Inauguration is happening right now. It is a public event, where hundreds of Aliens are watching, including my owner, who had the decency to take me with him. He dressed me in a little backpack, and I put a certain 300 kiloton city buster in there. Rumor has it that this new Overlord plans to address the "unexplained atomic detonations" occurring around the Earth. In fact, I think he's about to begin his speech. He's climbing up onto the stage, and walking to the microphone. There's my cue. I pull out the detonator.
Stop, drop, and roll, motherfucker.
--------------------------------------------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.** | They're telepathic. They speak every language. Their voices are a beautiful harmony of countless notes layered upon each other in an ever-changing symphony of chords made of melodies, of which humans can only hear a small fraction. Dogs can hear slightly more.
"Music is the language of the gods."
Zach was 15 when they arrived. It was a normal day.. he had skipped school to play video games and drink whiskey from Nick's parents' insanely well stocked liquor cabinet. His parents were never home. They went to work at eight, hit the bars at six, got home at nine, and fell asleep at nine o' five. 'The liquor cabinet must be for weekends,' Zach supposed as he stared through the crowd of bottles.
"How do they reach the ones at the back?"
"Come look at this, man. This is hilarious."
"What kind of alcohol habit would necessitate a cabinet of this size for two days out of the week?"
"Dude, I don't know. Finish making that drink and get in here, I've had this shit paused for ten minutes while you rub one out over there."
Zach walked into the smokey den to find his friend with a stupid grin on his face.
"Alright, you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
Nick clicked a button on his controller and pointed at the screen.
"Look, it totally looks like they're fucking."
Zach wasn't paying attention. He was looking out the window at..
"Dude"
"He's all bent over, he.. hey--"
Zach grabbed Nick by the shoulders and spun him around to face the window.
"Dude."
Nick spat out his whiskey, cartoon-style. It dripped down the window.
The cloud outside the window was spiraling. It was changing. It was no longer white. It was *every color*, and a few Zach had never seen before.
Nick held up his drink and pointed at it with a shaking hand.
"Yo, what the fuck did you put in this?"
Zach said nothing. He was edging closer to the window, still staring. This had to be some kind of prank, or an event. A concert?
Whatever it was, he found that he couldn't stop looking at it. "Let's get a closer look," he said suddenly, and made for the door. He flung it open, and *the best smell* greeted him. He turned back to Nick, who was still staring out the window, now smiling, with a hand on his hip. "You coming?"
Nick took a hurried gulp of whiskey and set it down as he pried his eyes from the phenomenon, and followed his friend outside. It was hot in the garden. Way hotter than it normally was in southern California. As it turned out, it wasn't just one cloud. The whole sky was a spinning, churning, morphing rainbow. Cheering, laughing, whooping, they climbed a ladder onto the roof.
(meh, i'll finish it later) | 2018-04-16T11:14:12 | 2018-04-16T07:52:05 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I wasn't expecting it. You never do, really. But I guess I was hoping he'd make it.
My best friend had gone missing a few days earlier. I figured something awful had happened on his morning run in the forest behind the suburb we both lived in. Nobody had seen anything, and there was no sign of him.
I couldn't bear the thought of not finding him. My wife passed away years ago, and with no children or other real family, he was all I had left.
And then I felt it. The rush, the dizziness, and the sudden appearance somewhere new. A cave in the side of a hill, and he was lying there, bleeding. Something had attacked him, clearly. He was weak, shivering. But he looked at me and smiled.
I knew he wasn't going to make it. He must have known too. There's no way I could have gotten him back to a doctor in time. We knew that the timer couldn't be beaten like that. But he looked resigned to his death, and smiled just because he knew I was there for him. I guess we both just realized that all we could do was spend one last hour together.
I sat down next to him, holding him. He was shivering, and could barely move. I cried as I held him, telling him stories of all the good times we'd had together. Telling him how much he meant to me, how much I'd miss him. I didn't know how I could go on without him in my life.
He couldn't speak, but I think I could see him smile, just being close to me. There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, but we could at least be there for eachother at the end.
As the timer reached it's end, I held him tighter. I didn't want to let go, I didn't want to accept it. But I had to.
And as he breathed his last breath, I whispered into his ear, "Good boy, Rex. Good boy." | I had heard about it online. An hour before someone goes they're teleported to their loved ones. Not that it mattered to me. I had no one.
Standing on this windy day watching the Sun set. The oranges and reds in the sky and faint breeze in my hair. I could faintly hear sirens in the background, some stranger yelling at me through a megaphone, the loud rushing of the water below and it's loud crescendo onto the rocks. It didn't really matter, nothing mattered.
Suddenly the amber sky disappeared, to be replaced with ugly stucco, the water below with faded linoleum, the muted shouting replaced with some punk rock band I hadn't heard in years. The cool empty expanse of the Lions falls replaced with the old kitchen I thought I'd never see again, filled almost shoulder to shoulder with people.
"Sasha?" A timid voice, hesitant, hopeful.
I looked around, familiar faces, both long forgotten and recent. All filled with... Love? Confusion wracked my mind. Tears welled up in my eyes.
"Mom?"
Sudden embrace shut out any further thoughts , and in that instant I felt warmth I never thought possible. The dams broke and water flowed freely like the falls I had only recently stood over.
Regret filled my heart and I could only manage to sob "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry"
| 2018-05-20T11:47:02 | 2018-05-20T09:20:13 | 416 | 246 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | Abacus.
An outdated term, an outdated power set. If it weren't for the x-gene testing and the lack of other neurodivergences, it wouldn't even be considered a supervillain. He could do math. Very, very swift math. Without a calculator. Without an Excel sheet. Or scrap paper.
Without evidence.
So, it made it simple to hide things under the table. Usually working with a companion, or playing second-fiddle to someone. Physics based traps. Once holding a captive at one of those 'swinging pendulums that will never have enough momentum to actually hurt her' things. Not that it kept Metallipalm from ripping the entire device out and using it as a wrecking ball.
So, how did he get away with it for so long? No physicality. No OOMF. Simple.
He didn't leave evidence. He could figure out how to do the math for laundering better than an entire suite of Forensic Accountants. Laundromats. Pawn shops. Cash only delis. You name it. Abe had it going. Then one day...
This hotshot C-lister called himself Catseye. His trick? Fourteen year old kid, -master- at manipulation of objects in motion. So he uses yoyos at the start but they get too...tetchy. So he switches to marbles. This whole "If you'd come up with it two years earlier it would have been cute" move, but now he's like Culkin in 2002. Played out. Probably on drugs.
Anyway...he chases this speedster into a laundromat and does the little catseye fling...only...you got a speedster. You got spinning drums full of water and glass. Whole place basically looked like a claymore went off in it. No one died...miracle of miracles.
I swear, MoM is real, and she's the reason no one gets hurt in this friggen city by a metahuman. But I digress.
Anyway...Abe posts this vid. And he's not talking. It's cheap, you know? 40-something year old mutant accountant, he doesn't have panache yet. But. It just has this...filler music. But most people these days, they're watching it on their phones with the sound off, yeah? And it's just...
One by one, the industrial units with their make and model, and how much it costs to replace. The windows. The lights. The clean-up crew. The friggen...the electricians. The sheer amount of labor, and work, because some speedball brat goes a little crazy in your laundry.
But that's not the part. That part's fascinating...but it's not the part.
The part that really gets people mad is when it cuts to Abe's tenant, this sweet woman named Lin, laid up in a hospital bed with a bruise the size of Montana on her head and those same little arrows and drop-downs. How much the ambulance cost. The surgery. The physical therapy. The wage from the hours the laundry won't be open. The therapy so she can go into her place of work and not be afraid every time a door swings too loud.
And the funny thing?
Abe didn't have to wait a day for it to get paid in full, and then some. And he realizes...he can do it the other way around.
So yes, that's why we're breaking into a strip mall accountant's office in the middle of the night on a tuesday. Abe says that this is where the police pension fund is run out of. Ready to have some REAL fun?
Abe always told me, no point in getting money if you can't keep it. No point in keeping it, if you can't spend it.
We're about to make a whole lot of dead money. Or make a whole lot of money dead. Either way, it's the money that's doing the dying, not us. So relax, and get the crowbar ready. | *This time* it had to work. It couldn't be like that time the duct tape broke in the torture chamber, releasing the bar that kept Doctor KingKitty from morphing into her feline form and escaping. Or like the time my blaster cannon had no ammo while I finally had WhipWorm in the scope. And most certainly never like the time when I had all of the CloudWing crew trapped in a bus and hanging off the cliffside, and instead of using my extender arm to push it off, I activated the grapple instead.
The CloudWingers had to be stopped at any cost.
Ash stung my nostrils as I prowled about the ruins of my 6-12 convenience store, a business that had nothing to do with CloudWing and which they untargeted with contemptuous unfairness in an act that could be described as villainous. *I'm supposed to be the villain.* I had ignored them for too long, allowing them to go about telling the tallest of tales and exaggerations about their minuscule superpowers while I focused too much on the *project*. Oh me.
*It hadn't been all that difficult to get them all on that bus.* They weren't exactly the brightest superheroes ever, usually gullibly falling into whatever trap suited their fancy the most. KingKitty was had with merely a piece of catnip. WhipWorm just wanted to hide and slithered right in. MellowSnow hated heat and was forced on with nothing more than a cigarette lighter. Then the leader, the pathetic RiverRaven, was so full of their own appetite that a squirrel carcass had brought the bird faster than I could count to ten.
*If only I had finished them then.*
No point in crying over past opportunities. I looked over at the automorpher with glee. If only I had it complete... It would be the most perfect way to dispose of them. Plants, reduced to nothing more than ordinary garden weeds. Then, onto the rest of the superheroes. *Yes, yes. I could plant them in a garden. So much fun.*
I licked my lips. Time to go to work.
\-----------
I couldn't help but let out a smile directed at nothing as I watched all of them get into the back of the brown van, the automorpher pointed out the window at it. This was going to be all too easy... They had fallen for the same traps that I had laid out the last time! Oh me.
Once all four were inside I called down to the security guard whom I'd paid a handsome sum and he shut the door. At once I charged the automorpher and pulled the trigger, expecting a cathartic blast of energy to rush into the van.
What came out instead was... a wisp of smoke?
That's when the gun started to feel hot. Not just hot like it'd been warmed by the sun on an afternoon, or hot like a cell phone gets when its overused. Boiling hot, enough that I was forced to drop it.
Of course, when it hit the ground a blast of energy finally did come out of it, directed at me. It didn't kill me, instead giving me these stupid petals around my face so I look like a sunflower. A loser.
<pouts>
\----------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-28T17:50:25 | 2022-11-28T14:15:34 | 106 | 18 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | Zarome stood proudly in line with the rest of the new recruits to the Intergalactic Police Force. As a Ghar of pure lineage, he was easily the tallest and the most powerfully built among them and he drew the envious looks of many.
A tiny, soft-fleshed, creature beside him gaped openly at his silvery ivory tusks and his four muscular arms.
“Woah, you’re pretty big,” The little guy whispered, “My name is Larry, what’s yours?”
“Zarome.”
“Well, I hope you get the position you want,” Larry whispered, “Who knows, maybe we can work together?”
Poor thing; he didn’t even make it up to his knee. With that weak body, he didn’t stand a chance against Zarome or any other bigger species to earn a high-ranking frontline position in the Force.
The recruits stiffened as they heard booming footsteps approaching. Zarome craned his head to the door as their troop's new commanding officer walked in. He was of a burly, dark-furred species -though not as big as a Ghar- uniformed and decorated in his black-and-silver Force uniform with boots that clanged on the metal floor of the barrack floor. He walked up and down the line, inspecting his new recruits with sharp, dark eyes.
Zarome puffed his chest up and met the officer’s eyes confidently as he passed. The officer ignored him and kept walking. The large Ghar shrugged. It didn’t really matter if this officer liked him or not. His aptitude tests well overqualified him to be the frontline captain of this troop.
After walking down the line, the officer stood in front of them all. He stood for a while, taking notes on a clipboard, then looked up and spoke.
“My name is Karfor. As you know, starting from today, you will not be attending Academy classes, but rather working as a troop under my command.” His voice was gravelly and booming.
Karfor continued, “you will all be assigned squads and squad captains with different roles that fit your aptitude scores and species type. When your name is called, step forward.”
The recruits fidgeted nervously.
“Starting from the top-ranked squad: the frontliners.” Karfor looked down at his clipboard, “Jaak, Barres, Vyur, Zarome.” Zarome and three other powerfully-built recruits stepped forward.
“Frontline captain,” Karfor nodded at the tiny creature that had stood beside Zarome, “Larry Modmur. All of you, stand over there to the side.” He pointed with his clipboard to the side of the room, then continued down his list.
Zarome stared at the little man, thunderstruck, as he ambled up to the designated area with the rest of the hulking frontliners.
“I had a feeling we’d meet again,” Larry smiled at Zarome, “Fellow squadmate. You’re gonna be answering to me now.” He stuck out his tiny hand to Zarome.
Zarome looked down at Larry, having to crane his neck to meet his eyes, and scratched his head. “I’m… confused. I got an A+ in adaptability, survivability, and power, and my species is well-suited. There’s no way I can accept a captain like you. Did you cheat?”
Larry beamed, “Oh, those tests? No, I didn’t cheat. They gave me an S+ without testing me because I’m a human.”
“Wait, you’re a human!? I thought humans all became extinct millennia ago,” Zarome said, his eyes widening as he slowly understood exactly what was standing up to his knee in front of him.
“No,” Larry said, still smiling, “Actually, some of us survived the bioweapons of the war, though we are few, we are extra deadly. Now, you wouldn’t want to leave me hanging would you?” He re-extended his hand.
Zarome staggered backward, looking at Larry's hand as if it were toxic, “N… no thank you… sir.”
“That’s right,” Larry said with a sigh, “You probably shouldn’t shake my hand. My spit might cause a disease that could wipe out this barrack."
He looked down at his hand sadly, "Ah, poor me, I can't even shake hands without killing everybody.” | ***THE EXODUS (my first try at a writing prompt, hopefully this is decent)***
Within the Outer Rim of our Galaxy exists the planet called Nagilum. Human expansion throughout space had been progressing rapidly throughout the 2300s but inexplicably ceased after having reached the said planet. When making the first contact, the humans aboard their technologically inferior starship gladly exchanged biological scans of their race to the aliens in exchange for detailed star-maps of the Beta Quadrant. Several years later, the aliens also known as Negallians, allowed the humans to establish a colony on their world.
Dran, the leader of the colony-- set out to explore the planet and the Negallians. He noticed a large number of cemeteries and illness spread throughout the more poor areas of the planet, but no hospitals. He marveled at how such a technologically superior species could be so naive in caring for their own. The months he spent exploring the planet made him uneasy, as he was not only observing the aliens, they were observing him. Occasionally, a Negallian would "accidentally" run into him, or pull a strand of his hair and run off with it. What finally made him return to the colony in a rush was when he overheard the bone-chilling statement of "**if it makes a human sick it will kill you".** Returning to the colony, Dran finds that the outer shield had been breached and that every human within the walls had been taken away en masse. So begins the **exodus**.
Dran was immediately taken by a large explosion in the sky. He looked up to see their starship engulfed in flames, along with all hope of escape. He along with the rest of the humans were taken into a facility and experimented on ceaselessly, until death. When the aliens exhausted their limited supply of humans, they decided to pick from the source of the fruit. The invasion of Earth was quick and bloody, with humanity putting up a good fight... but inevitably losing to the advanced weaponry and shielding of the Negallians. Planet Nagilum had discovered that humanity had an immune system that regenerated without outside stimulation, and determined that total blood transfusion would cure their race of all illness and plague.
Earth was transformed into a massive farm for human reproduction. Individual liberty was stripped in favor of reproductive capability. To prevent further rebellious outbursts that had severely reduced the efficiency of their operation, the Negallians used new machines to put each human into a stasis-pod which projected a false reality, making humans believe that their world had continued on as if nothing had occurred. As predicted, the human blood cured the Negallians of their ailments as if it was a miracle drug. Within 50 years, Nagilum was a thriving planet with a massive population boom as the human blood integrated itself into the Negallian body.
That was until of course, the immune cells evolved. The first case began on an Earth occupying vessel. The patient was dead within hours, and they would not be the only one. Throughout the entire Negallian society, a plague swept. Killing every person it inhabited without fail. Doctors and scientists were astounded, as the human blood should have wiped out any disease. That was until they began to realize that they had overlooked something... rejection. The immune cells had begun to reject the Negallian body, inevitably killing anyone who had gone through the transfusion. The entirety of Nagilum had gone through the transfusion. The cure became the plague, and as the last Negallians silently wept in their graves, the machines continued the human-farming operation with no command to cease. Thus beginning a new age of Artificial Intelligence. If only the Negallians had taken the blue pill... | 2021-02-03T14:26:28 | 2021-02-03T13:44:20 | 613 | 420 |
[WP] As part of a senior thesis, an anthropology student decides to start a cult to see how far it’ll go. Several years, hundreds of deaths, civil warfare and a complete government overthrow later they wonder how they’ll properly cite their sources. | Today marks the end of year ten. My hands hurt. My head hurts more.
They say that lives are the price of progress. That knowledge is worth any cost.
And by 'they' I mean the Church of the Scribe. I suppose it's easy to justify what you're doing when your followers span the globe. I want to record that it was never meant to get this far but that would be a lie, and lies have no place in the face of the truth.
I'd always hated cheats, always hated my classmate who put in minimal effort but cruised through subject after subject, untested. It wasn't fair and it wasn't just. Those who lacked the hunger for raw knowledge, raw data, they didn't deserve a place in higher learning.
The Church of the Scribe was meant, initially, to finally put those 'students' at the disadvantage they deserved. I'd started my project to see how cultures change to accommodate ideologies that fit a desire of a minority. Take something a small group of people want, something they don't know they want, and give them an outlet.
It turned out many of the professors at my university shared my frustration with lackluster students who sailed through college on a wave of syllabus technicalities, weighted grading, tests scaled to pass the majority. Many of my professors showed up to my first seminar, titled Motivate Your Students Beyond Complacency. The 'speaker' was an actor I'd hired to feed them a string of my creed. He was good at his job, compelling and wise, gentle but excited. He introduced the original skeleton of the church:
*Those who do not try should not succeed.*
I'd had to bring him on full time. He was just too good. He would go school to school, preaching what they all initially thought was simply a curriculum and teaching style. Meanwhile, I stayed at my school and designed websites, facebook groups, events, fun gatherings. I reached out to some of the 'tryhards' in my grade and they jumped on the injustices.
But there was no sense of community without pushback. So I faked a series of emails from concerned students and parents, cautioning about my own cause. Warning deans and administration about the dangers of the Beyond Complacency act, warned that it might hurt graduation rates and applications.
One by one, the schools closed their doors to us. Nevermind, this was according to plan. We had to take our meetings underground and that's where it really started.
Naturally the first hostile takeover was my own school. It wasn't hard for my followers, 'group members', to dig up significant enough dirt on the administration to ultimately start getting Deans replaced. And by this point, I'd had enough esteemed faculty to take their place. This tactic worked so well that within a single school year, we'd had half the schools in my country successfully converted.
The literacy of the country allegedly 'suffered' because of this, but there is no injustice like passing lazy scholars through a broken system. We raised the bar of entry and the graduation rates actually soared, as did the power, wealth, and influence of our graduates, all who 'paid it forward' to our grants and fellowships.
They were, in a sense, ostracized by the public. Oh they were hired, and in great positions as well, for their intellect and thirst for progress for progress sake was unrivaled. But socially they were outcasts, and in their bitter hearts, my creed thrived.
More and more, they began hiding their affiliation with me outside of our bi-weekly meetings. To the average eye, it seemed as though the group, now starting to be called a cult by those more feeble minded, was starting to lose power outside of schools.
What they didn't know was that their rejection of those who outwardly practiced was, instead, driving them further to the word of the scribe. And our practices flourished in their workspaces. Cast out were those casual resume pushers, mass spamming hundreds to companies with a few lazy cover letter tweaks. There would always be roles in society for those who didn't care. They would live happily at the bottom and collect the scraps dropped by the true Scribes.
We operated semi-hidden for a full four years and all the while I took notes on what did and didn't work. Not everything landed, such as our first attempt to get Scribes in the office, but even that we ultimately cracked. When your credence is based on the thirstiest and hungriest of minds, nothing is too difficult.
On the back end, we fed the desire for exclusivity of mind to children at young ages. Elementary schools indoctrinated children to cast aside the students who did not strive for academic success. To the top 10% of every class went 90% of the teachers' attentions. Nothing would be wasted on the chaf that would only ultimately ever live to serve those who actually cared.
It was eight years in that we'd managed to infiltrate enough government legislature that we could try for the presidency. However, at this point, enough of our enemies had caught on and what was meant to be an election turned ugly.
They had the manpower but we had the superior tactics. It wasn't pretty but progress isn't always. Lives are the price of progress.
Yet as we reached the precipice of success, our numbers began to... dwindle. It was as though we'd collected the brightest minds and as a result, fewer and fewer potential Scribes were born. Somehow, despite funneling all of our efforts into the brightest minds, what was once 10% of a class fell to 7%. Then 5%. It made no logical sense to me. As we cultivated the greatest minds, the general intelligence of the world should increase, not fall.
This year the numbers came in. Only 2% of the early grade classes made the cut. Our standards had remained the same, yet somehow the thirst for knowledge and excellence among the children had fallen. The entire idea of weeding out the student who failed at young ages should have led to a smarter future. Not this.
I stand now with two options ahead of me. Study the patterns to find where it went wrong, or enforce brilliance with punitive actions.
In the early days, superiority was sufficient to turn the best students against the stupid ones. That was no longer enough, so perhaps a more medieval approach was warranted to... *spur* them forward.
Then again, perhaps I missed something. Perhaps there was something wrong with my initial criteria. Perhaps there was something wrong with the structure of this experiment. Why had the children grown to hate the concept of success?
My notes are scattered about my office, my highest office, a temple, a church, a sanctum. I have all the answers, somehow woven into ten years of notes. How to proceed? Add a new factor into the mix? Or analyze the notes to complete our thesis.
Should those who do not try succeed? Is the concept of 'trying' universal? Does it look the same? Is success the best motivator for effort?
Of course, of course, of course. It's the only natural answer. I can't have been wrong from the start because at this point I drive a vessel that cannot be steered. Its trajectory was sent a decade ago by my unyielding zealotry.
I reach towards my computer to type out a new mandate. One that will force the children into the Way of the Scribe. It may be an archaic form of punishment, but sometimes, to move forward, older methods must be used. Spare the rod, spoil the child. I need to improve the world, regardless of the cost.
My finger hovers over the button that will send the mandate forward, and for just a second, I hesitate before pressing.
Could I be wrong?
___
For more stories, check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/). | Chad turned toward the knock at his door. He was in the master bedroom of his now seventeen room mansion. The twelve room mansion where he had lived previously was no longer enough. Not for Chad, but for his followers, who insisted Chad needed more rooms. That philosophy came from a drunken night in the first year, when Chad proclaimed that the more bedrooms a person possessed, the greater their connection to the divine. Something about rooms for spirits, but Chad couldn't remember exactly, because he had a different kind of spirit inside him the night he created the creed. Recently, Chad's followers submitted an offer on a twenty-one room mansion.
In front of Chad was a laptop, with a nearly completed fifty page senior thesis. Three years ago, Chad started a cult, as an experiment to cap his anthropology major. He didn't expect the chaos that was to follow, but the paper wrote itself. Chad yelled at the person on the other side of the door to leave him alone.
"But Your Wonderfulness, we may have an answer to your problem," said the voice. Chad hated the title Your Wonderfulness. He hated many of the aspects of his cult, because he didn't put in enough thought at the beginning. This was supposed to be a month long experiment, but it turned into a three year revolution.
"What have I told you about calling me Your Wonderfulness?" asked Chad.
"You have told us that it is not needed, but that is only because Your Wonderfulness is more humble than any of us could imagine. As I was saying, we have an answer to your problem," said the voice.
"And what problem is that?" asked Chad. In three years, he had created too many problems.
"We found someone who may be able to help you cite your sources," said the voice. Chad glanced at the laptop, which was currently on an empty final page.
"How do you know they'll be able to help?" asked Chad.
"It's best she tell you herself. We're currently bringing her to the mansion," said the voice.
"She agreed to help?" asked Chad.
"No, we didn't give her the opportunity to answer," said the voice.
Chad sighed. He thought the kidnappings were supposed to stop in year two. One morning early in the second year, Chad mentioned to his followers that he hadn't seen a childhood friend in years. They interpreted the comment to mean that they should kidnap that friend and bring him to Chad. And thus, in a simple comment, another law of the cult was born. It was easy for Chad to create creed, as everything he said became law. It was much harder for him to convince his followers that something wasn't allowed.
"Fine. When she's here, bring her to the room. But I only want to see her. No one else is to enter the bedroom," said Chad.
"Yes, Your Wonderfulness," said the voice, then the footsteps disappeared into the mansion.
When Chad started his project three years ago, he thought the success depended upon his ability to lead. There were certain characteristics he need, like charisma and authority. But quickly, and now the topic of his senior thesis, he realized how much the success of a cult relied upon the selection of followers. He preyed on the ignorant and the hopeless, those who felt like they had no reason left to live or were in the process of losing their lives. When Chad found his audience, the cult grew naturally, into something greater than he ever imagined. It was the followers that mattered, not necessarily the leader.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door, and a voice said the helper had arrived. Chad told her to come inside. When the young woman entered the room, Chad thought he recognized her. There was something familiar, but he couldn't place it. She stood with power, not like someone who had just been kidnapped. They watched each other, and finally Chad spoke.
"My followers thought you could help me. Did they explain the problem?" asked Chad.
"They didn't explain much at all before throwing a bag on my head and chucking me inside the trunk of a car," said the woman.
"Sorry, they have a habit of going a little overboard," said Chad.
"I know the type. I'm Stephanie, by the way," said Stephanie. She walked around the room and studied everything, not hesitant at all. Chad wasn't used to the type. He waited for her to speak again. "How many rooms does this mansion have?"
"Seventeen," said Chad.
"Right. Mine had nineteen before the collapse. So what's your problem?" asked Stephanie.
"You mean the collapse of the country?" asked Chad, ignoring her question.
"No, the collapse of my cult," said Stephanie.
"You had a cult too?"
"About five years ago, yeah. It started out as something fun to do. Boredom leads to trouble, and I never expected the cult to last long. But then something fun turned into something amazing, and I amassed followers. Soon, I was the third largest cult in the country, but another cult always arrives. The followers will always find someone new," said Stephanie.
"My followers seem pretty intent on staying with me," said Chad.
"You think that now, because you're still in the phase where they love you. Where every word you say comes straight from the divine. But that will end. Not because you did anything wrong, but because they'll want something new. They'll need someone new. I even recognized one of the people in your mansion. He used to be with me," said Stephanie.
Chad had never thought about losing his followers. Everyday, he wished he had never started the cult, but the thought of losing his followers now scared him. Plus, they had just put an offer in on a twenty-one bedroom mansion. He couldn't lose them right when he moved.
"What can I do to keep them?" asked Chad.
"Nothing. You'll lose them no matter what. It's just a matter of time," said Stephanie.
"I can't lose them. They need me," said Chad.
"No, you need them. They just need something, and right now, you're that something. But their attention spans will fade and they'll find someone new," said Stephanie.
Chad felt his heart beating quick, and it felt like the air was running out in the room. He couldn't lose them. He needed them and they needed him. That was the deal. That was why they called him Your Wonderfulness.
"Anyways, what was the problem?" asked Stephanie.
"I couldn't cite my thesis," said Chad. The words were quiet and forced out, as Chad didn't feel like speech.
"Right. I had to go through the same struggle. Let me do it for you," said Stephanie. She leaned over Chad and typed on the keyboard.
Chad, Started a cult, November 5, 2024.
"That should be it. Hope you have fun losing your power. We have a support group if you ever need help," said Stephanie.
She handed Chad a card, with a number and an email, then she left the mansion. Chad stared at the citation and didn't know what to do. If he submitted the paper, it meant his cult was nearing its end, and Chad was afraid of losing the power.
----
If you enjoyed, check out more at r/ThomasJustinian | 2021-03-13T09:38:19 | 2021-03-13T08:47:45 | 283 | 91 |
[WP] You have a small superpower. Whenever you tap someone on the shoulder, they always look over that shoulder, without fail. At first, you just used this for harmless pranks. Then, you realized you can kill people by tapping both of their shoulders. | Part 1 - [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamsStoriesSub/comments/6jzs2c/a_tap_or_two_part_2/) - [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamsStoriesSub/comments/6k636i/a_tap_or_two_part_3/) - [Part 4: Conclusion](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamsStoriesSub/comments/6k709s/a_tap_or_two_part_4_conclusion/)
---
It was never a pretty sight when a super went bad, and being the crime scene photographer for the NYPD, I saw it all. It always ended up in someone getting impaled on ice or something, broken skulls and rib cages from those with super strength, 3rd degree burns from the victims of nicer crooks who could control fire...the full charcoal treatment for those that weren't so nice. Yeah, a person could find any number of gruesome ways to kill someone if they had powers. But when that one guy started killing. It was the worst I'd ever seen.
The precinct had been getting reports lately of huge numbers of whiplash patients at hospitals around the city. They were all interviewed and their statements were all the same. A tap on the shoulder and their neck snapped that way so fast it pulled something and they had to go to the hospital. "The Tapper", as the force started calling him, had been reported to hang around the subway and Times Square at its busiest. Eye witnesses said that he didn't look like anything. Just a guy in a grey hoodie and shades. Nothing like the flashy bastards flying around. The problem with that was that we couldn't just issue a public statement asking people to stop wearing hoodies because he would just change his clothes and keep going.
It was decided that, with murders going on, and stores being robbed at gunpoint, a guy making people uncomfortable for a few weeks wasn't as important. The chief issued an official statement telling the security companies on and around the subway to put more eyes down there and report anything suspicious. The victims were pissed. They wanted justice. They claimed it was a form of assault. Sure, it could be considered that, but with a guy shot dead on 7th and Grove, we had more important matters.
That was, until the latest case.
I arrived on the scene to a couple of officers with their heads in their hands, mumbling. Another one was standing in the gutter retching his lunch up. I mentally ran through all the training images they made us look at for my job. All the disgusting things that humanity is capable of. I walked up to the ranking officer and asked "What have we got, Davids? Another victim of the Peeler?" I mentioned the name of a normie criminal who had taken to flaying his victims hands and feet.
"No, Roger...no. Eye witnesses are claiming it was the Tapper."
"What? Someone's neck finally broke?"
"I wish, man. Look, I know you're the photographer, but you don't have to look at this. If you want, I can take your camera and do it for you."
"Heh, Davids, you know me. I'm sure I've seen worse things on r/fiftyfifty," I laughed at the notion as I stepped into the lights illuminating the crime scene. "Oh fuck..." I stopped dead as I saw the body. What I thought would just be a broken neck was far, far worse.
"Yeah. Witnesses say he touched both this poor bastards shoulders, and that happened. They say his screams were worse than the last attack by the Scaremonger."
Lying there in a giant pool of his own blood was a man of about 35-40. His body seemed fine, if dead and limp. His head, though. His face had torn in a jagged line, right down the middle. Nose, tongue, skull, everything. Like a hot dog bun, from the front, all the way to the back. Ragged bits of flesh, bone, and brain were hanging from either side, and the man's eyes are locked in a look of absolute horror.
"Davids...I think it's time the Tapper was bumped up the wanted list..." I managed to stammer out before I opened the paper bag and plunged my face in it.
---
More on r/SamsStoriesSub | It took me a while before I knew what it was. I was always a nosy child, and I wanted my parents to notice me. Every time my fingers touched their shoulders, they'd look over at me. No fail. I'd always assume that they loved me enough that they'd look at me whenever I did that. Irritated, my mother told me to stop touching her shoulders. Long story short, I admitted to my mother that I did this with others. She took me to the family doctor on my next checkup and before it was finished, she took the doctor aside and attempted to explain the situation without sounding like insane. To convince him, my mother had me tap her shoulders in front of the doctor. Curios, the doctor had me tap his shoulders. To no surprise, he turned around on the spot. Curious, he had other patients tested. Each one turned without hesitation. I can still remember the frantic conversations the doctor and my mother had. It was then I felt I had something special.
Now, it just seems like a cool party trick. Something you could do to prank someone or an easy way to get their attention. But there was always a burning question in my mind: what would happen if I tapped both shoulders? I thought about it for some time, however I was too fearful.
One night, however, I was taking the taxi home. When the taxi arrived, the driver asked where I wanted to go, and we left. However, the driver began making strange detours and I began to object. I repeatedly asked the man to stop but he refused. When I lunged for the door, he swerved violently. "I wouldn't do that, Mr. Key." I realised that both my phone and wallet were gone.
We arrived at an abandoned mall. He parked the car and turned off the ignition. He grabbed something from the glove department, got out of the vehicle, and gestured me to leave. We walked into the mall: a decent looking mall although there were no lights. He led me to the food court where a chair was waiting. 'Sit," he ordered. I sat. He sat down beside me. He wasn't close enough for a lunge but if I could just tempt him closer. "Password," he asked. "7591," I responded. He unlocked my phone and was surfing through it. Just then, I lunged for the man. I sort of tripped and ended up stabilising myself by placing both hands on his shoulders. He began to shake violently, frothing at the mouth. Spooked, I jumped back before he fell onto the floor. I slowly walked towards the man, reaching and grabbing for my phone. He had no external injuries but he wasn't breathing nor his heart was beating. I grabbed the keys from his pocket and left the mall. In his glove compartment was the wallets of other individuals he has stolen from, most likely deceased. I stared back at the mall for a second before departing.
I could never get the images, the feelings out of my head. I felt almost obliged never to use my powers, and I never really did. I was able, however, to track down all the people and returned the wallets to them, console them of the death of the kidnapper. ~~At least, out of this tragedy, some good.~~ I can still hear the cries as I held their loved ones. Their hope makes me feel that I've done something right. That my powers weren't destructive, that I hadn't killed someone out of spite. Out of their hope I can at least find some consolation.
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EDIT: Wow. My first "popular" post. Thx.
EDIT 2: Changed the shitty ending.
EDIT 3: Added better logic for the discovery of superpower. Thanks u/KenLinx | 2017-06-27T20:08:38 | 2017-06-27T18:17:24 | 2,179 | 152 |
[WP] All the alien species in the intergalactic council excelled in one way or another to climb through survival of the fittest. So why are humans, a species with average physique, so hard to deal with? And what the hell is persistence hunting. | Our triumph had nearly come. My aide reported that a few well placed payments to cousins of my colleague from Abrax, and we'd secured the votes we needed to pass the bill legalizing our future conquests, even if the Galactic council didn't know it, and to halt the slow 'self determination' movement that had been putting pressure on the Empire to release our client states. As if they would even know how to govern without our direction!
Only the humans seemed suspicious of the bill enough to campaign hard against it, and they'd rallied their usual sycophants in a so-called 'freedom caucus' to defeat it. Fortunately for us, money in the pocket of a politician speaks more loudly than their promises and ideas of economic 'galacticization' and future growth.
Now, it was just time to sit back, and wait a few more hours for the inevitable bombastic speeches and self aggrandization of the politicians. This was the last thing on the agenda for this session before taking recess for the next year, but no matter, as my fellows were looking exhausted from the long session today. The discussion would draw to a close, the vote would happen, and there would be no time left for anyone to try to reverse it.
With a happy sigh, I relaxed into my chair, thinking of the reward the Emperor would surely give me. The galaxy's armies might have united against our military if we tried to conquer our neighbors... but it will be so much sweeter to take them over diplomatically before they realized it.
As I watched, the human, looking surprisingly chipper, slowly walked up the podium, holding some large fabric bound object. No doubt here to beg for the assembled groups to reconsider. Ha! The fool had already lost even if he didn't accept it.
Sitting down at the podium, he opened up the object he'd carried up, which looked to be some kind of large thick book. Not even a data slate, how antiquated.
He started speaking, "Esteemed assembled representatives of their peoples. I would like to come up here to talk about the lessons of history. Of my own race's past where bills like this were introduced for the express purpose of personal gain. The mistakes that we've made in our past. That... that's a book that I'd suggest you all read someday. One far thicker than the one I brought up here with me. But now, in the closing hours of our session, I'd like to read you from another book. The english dictionary. And I think I'll start somewhere in the middle, with the letter F, for 'filibuster'..." | I took a deep breath.
"We're gonna die," I said with the most clarity in the past 4 gerlens. 12 weeks in human times.
"Dude shut up, I refuse to believe the tales of Humanities persistence, they will tire and they will fall. No species as weak as them can fight for that long. I mean look at us, we're the *Serleuns* we were built for combat, we evolved for combat, we live for combat." Jaklurn said.
"Sure bro, but the humans fight with no honor! You know what happened to captain Zern, he challenged their champion to a duel for the ship. You know the one in the skeleton of steel? He just shot him!" The One in the Skeleton was the human's champion, there have been tales of him that spread through the fleets, he was one who wore a thick armor that could resist against ballistic blasts and even plasma. In tales, there was a total count of 14 that walked with similar armor, but many believe there were more as an encounter with one meant sure death.
"then we will kill their champion, and go down in glorious combat and be remembered for all history!" He said, standing and pulling out a weapon.
"you know what, sure, we're gonna die anyway." I stood with him and we left our little crevice and made our way through the cockpit of the station.
When the elevator opened, we charged. Humanity was taken by surprise, they tried to shoot us but the power of the first warrior was flowing through us!
One by one they fell.
One by one we slew the humans.
Till only the champion at the end of the hall stood.
"Champion! We are here to challeng-" BAM!
Jaklurn was dead. I stared at the champion who then aimed his weapon at me.
And that was all I remembered | 2021-02-04T11:55:21 | 2021-02-04T10:18:12 | 94 | 26 |
[WP] Uncle Bob is sober, grandma hasn’t asked why you’re single, father hasn’t questioned your career path, mom hasn’t gone on a political rant. “This has been the most pleasant Thanksgiving I can remember!” You exclaim finishing your meal. It’s then you realize why, this isn’t your family. | I hadn’t been here in years. Travelled half a continent away, in fact. I had kept in touch with them, of course, receiving rants about fraud (mom) and suggestions for more suitable jobs (dad), and occasionally a drunken word vomit of sentimentality or anger, interspersed with apologies (uncle Bob). But no announcement of sobriety. And although there had been slight relief when I went days, then months, without mom’s rants, until this sudden invitation (I had almost declined, but they *promised* to keep their distance, and that it would be ‘fun’), it *had* made me worried. When I went inside, mom had been warm and welcoming, plying me with drink and food, making me forget the most important fact, the one thing that cues me in that this was all fake; *Grandma was dead.*
She had died some years ago, and as we were never really close, I had soon let it slip my mind. It had DESTROYED Uncle Bob, though.
‘This isn’t real,’ I said, looking at Grandma. She didn’t *look* dead at all, it had to be said.
‘It is, Sweetie,’ Uncle Bob said.
I shook my head. ‘Can’t be. Grandma is dead!’
‘So am I,’ Uncle Bob said casually. ‘Froze to death under a bridge. *God*, what a way to die. At least the drink was good.’
‘Heart attack,’ my dad said, not *quite* matching the casual tone.
‘Caught the virus at the last rally,’ mom said when I looked at her. ‘Nearly froze my feet off as well. They all looked at me now, and my mom took my hand in sympathy. ‘Did it look real, wherever you were?’ | “Fuck you, Uncle Bob!”, the unofficial slogan of family Thanksgiving. Last year it was Great Aunt Maude, who hadn’t so much as whispered a word the four years before that.
So when he rocked up a hundred pounds lighter sporting a purple robe wishing us all “Namaste”, it kind of ruined the days entertainment.
My father beamed with pride as I entered the room and motioned towards the empty chair at the end of the table. My mom wasn’t even wearing her MAGA hat. Granny beamed and told me she couldn’t be any more happy, proud or comfortable with my life choices.
I smiled graciously and tucked into a tofukey dinner so succulent and delicious it could’ve come straight from the set of The Cosby Show.
I leaned back replete and uttered those life changing words.
“This has been the most pleasant Thanksgiving I can remember!”
Uncle Bob reached up and smooshed his hand right into his face, ripping off a latex facsimile to reveal a grinning Ashton Kutcher.
“You just done got yourself Punk’d!” He yelled, as my family members jumped up screeching with laughter. | 2020-11-26T02:39:30 | 2020-11-26T02:00:20 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] After you blow your candles our on your cake for 2 on your 35th birthday, your seemingly perfect spouse looks up at you and says "you're finally at a wise age, I can offer you the gift of immortality, the same one I accepted so many years ago. Do you want to live this life with me forever?" | I pondered for a moment, my eyes drifting slowly along the beautifully sculpted features of my darling's face.
Sheila. My high-school-sweetheart-turned-fiance.
She's always been a bit quirky, so I flash her a warm smile and play along.
"Oh darling, hasn't anybody told you that birthday wishes don't come true when spoken aloud?"
She shot up in her chair, involuntarily, as though I'd slapped her with a piping-hot branding iron. A moment later she composes herself, leans in, and lowers her voice.
"Hon, this isn't a joke. I love you, and I want to be with you forever. Look, I can prove it."
Still smiling, I watch as she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a faded group photo. Ancient, by the looks of it. She slides it over to me.
"Look here."
She points to a tiny face in the third row of the group. A handwritten note beneath the picture reads: 'Witnessing The Titanic's Maiden Voyage -1912'.
My heart freezes in my chest. The smile vanishes from my lips. It's unmistakable. Sheila's gorgeous face is smiling back at me from her place in the crowd. I fail to mask my fear when I lock eyes with this stranger sitting in front of me, the supposed love of my life.
If she's been 35 since 1912...That's 73 years before I was even born!
"Hon? I know this is a lot to take in, but it's true."
She reaches for my hand. I pull away and stare wordlessly at her. My mind is on fire. How long has she been following me? Every moment and interaction from her must have been calculated. Why would she choose me?
"I know you're wondering why I chose you."
Shit, can she read minds too?
"And no, I can't read your mind. I've just been watching you for so long, I know how you think. It's one of the many things I love about you. I want to share my forever with somebody I can depend on for everything."
For a moment, my apprehension dissipates. She really has been the greatest thing to ever happen to me, so why wouldn't I want that forever?
Then it strikes me that I'll outlive my entire family. My friends. My dog! Would I really want to do that for a girl?
"Sheila listen, I like you a lot, but I'm going to need more details before I make a decision like this. How does immortality work?"
"Oh it's simple. I don't age, I don't die, and I don't feel pain. I get to see everything life has to offer for all of eternity, all across the universe, wherever life takes me. And I'm lonely. In all my years I've never been so enraptured by somebody until I met you, and I want you to share this journey with me."
I lean back, really trying to absorb it all. When she puts it like that it doesn't sound so bad. So why aren't I jumping at the opportunity? I drink in all her features again. I think of every special moment I've spent with her. Then another thought strikes me.
"Who granted you immortality?"
"An old flame, but don't worry, that flame went out a lifetime ago."
"He died?"
"No, only an immortal can grant immortality. We just didn't work out."
"And you're not worried that will happen to us?"
She shrugs. "I hope not, but if it does we'll both be immortal anyway so we'll always have our choice of lovers."
I nod my head slowly. I think I'll do it, I just need one last question answered.
"What about my dog? Can he live forever too?"
She laughs.
"He turned 35 in dog years three years ago. It's already been done!" | " Funny" I say with a chuckle." Where'd that come from?"
Cathy smiles patiently, " I'm serious, I've waited lifetimes to be confident enough to ask someone to join me, and I feel like you're the one."
" Immortality?... So my suspicions were correct." I look at my hands with a sigh.
"Suspicions?" She says.
" I always thought you were a bit nuts" I said with a smirk.
She takes a shot at my shoulder , I see her thinly veiled smile as she says. " Wait here, I'll show you."
She runs out the room, and returns with a photo album tucked under her arm. She stops infront of me and sucks in a deep breath. " I've lived many lives, over thousands of years, I wasn't always able to keep memories of them, but in here I've kept what I could."
She took the album and handed it gingerly to me. I took it and looked up at her, " you're being serious, aren't you? "
She kept quite and gestured to the album.
I rested the album on the table infront of me and opened the cover. On the first page I saw a rawhide necklace with a circular disc made from what seemed to be quite a rough emerald stone hanging from it, carved on it were some symbols that resembled animal forms. Deer, maybe?
"How old is this?" I asked in wonder.
"Old, difficult to say. Not like there were calenders back then." She said as she sat next to me.
" Oh ha...ha... I can't believe you're being serious about this. Where'd the necklace come from?"
"My mother... I ... Think. It was a long time ago, so the memory is somewhat fuzzy. I remember a women, and warmth, but that necklace is the most that remains. "
" I see why it's upfront then." I said as I put my arm around her.
" Yea, but carry on. There's more. "
" Alright pushy. But if we are to continue this, I need a drink. " I said as I got up.
I came back a few moments later with some birthday bubbly and poured us a drink.
I raised my glass. " To immortality, I guess. "
Cathy giggled and raised her glass. " To immortality"
We drank and I flipped the page, a letter lay folded between the pages. I slowly unfolded it as a sense of unease spread though my mind. I shook it off and tried to read the letter but I didn't recognise the symbols. "What's this?" I asked Cathy, but she seemed so distant. Her face seeming to swim away from me yet it was right infront of me where I could touch it. " what, what's happening."
"Well that is my contract you have there, my immortality contract that is, and it clearly stipulates that a sacrifice has to be made for me to carry on being immortal. Lie down, honey. You don't look so good. "
"Sacrifice? But I thought you said you'd make me immortal like you?."
"Well, this way you will be a part of me forever. I wasn't lying. "
"Why? Why do all you did just to throw it away like this?"
"I couldn't hope to explain it to you, but I do love you. This wouldn't work if I didn't.
" I... I..."
"I really am sorry..." | 2020-08-22T19:22:54 | 2020-08-22T19:09:38 | 141 | 18 |
[WP] You’re cursed with immortality, not because you sold your soul or you’re a sort of immortal creature but because a few thousand years ago, you stepped on the back of Death’s robe and being the petty shit Death is, he hasn’t forgiven you since.
Edit: okay, wow, I definitely did not expect this to get so popular and to the front page. It was just a little random thing! Thank you so much everyone! I love all your entries! | Death, that little asshole, sat in the corner of my room, reading a newspaper detailing about a recent plane crash. As I languished in my bed, wanting to die, he flipped ever more casually though the pages in an attempt to feign the most extreme indifference he could muster.
"Kill me." I demanded in a level, toneless voice. I hadn't been out of bed in decades. It wan't because I was ancient or *incapable* of getting out of bed. I was young. I was healthy and fine. I had merely lived long enough to no longer want to continue living. I stared at the ceiling. I was so desensitized to life. "Just. Kill. Me."
He simply turned another page without comment, but I could hear a faint wheeze of laughter issue from his ragged throat.
"You're such a dick, Death." My voice was absent of emotion or inflection. It merely was. He gave a huff in reply. "Kill me." Toneless.
He turned yet another page. The wheezing picked up slightly, but he worked to not break character.
"Kill me." He turned another page. I let him read a few paragraphs before I said, "kill me." He turned another page. I made a pause. "Kill me." Another page. Another pause. "Kill me." More pages and more requests to end my life. He ran out of pages.
I heard a low, creaking sigh come from him as he stood up and approached me. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him. The muscles on his decaying face could hardly move, but it was clear that they were twitching into a sort of smirk as he regarded my supine, miserable existence.
"Kill m--" He put a finger up to my mouth to silence me.
Everything in the corner of my vision started to darken. I felt myself moving away from my bed, as if I were floating. I was rising up to the ceiling, yet I could still see Death standing over me. The darkness occupied all of my vision. I was blind and losing contact with the world. Briefly, before fading away completely, I faintly smiled.
\-----------------------------------
I woke up to Death sitting at that same wicker chair as before, reading a different newspaper about some other accident. I grimaced and sighed. He put me to sleep. I thought I was finally moving on, but I was fooled. I promised myself I wouldn't fall for that trick again. I quietly chastised myself for being so foolish and hopeful.
If Death had noticed this little inner dialogue, he gave no indication. He merely flipped through the pages of his newspaper again.
"Shithead," I said in a tone deaf voice. He gave a chuckle, and turned another page. | I don't fear death. Not because it will never come, and it won't, for me. I can't really say if I would prefer it. Life can be oh so... tedious, but once in a while it can surprise me. I mean, Stranger Things is pretty good, so 2016 wasn't a total wash. And Patrick Stewart will be reprising his role as Captain Jean Luc Picard, so that's something to look forward to.
I've been around this rock more times than I care to remember. I've fathered countless children to countless long dead wives and girlfriends. Hell, if I'm really thinking about it, by now I'm probably the ancestor of most of these humans still wandering around to their graves. So quickly, it seems like an instant, to me, now.
Humans... yes, I was human. Am human? I'm not quite sure what to consider myself, other than not whatever it is they are.
Yet as fragile as they are, they seem intent on making it worse. Inventing newer and better ways to die. New guns, new bombs, new drugs. No skin off my back, really.
No, the only thing that really scares me now is global warming. Because I'm a social justice warrior? Nope, definitely not that. Only skin I've really got in this game is that there is a game to begin with. This rock has endless entertainment but it does get pretty dull these days. After so, so many years just wandering around, it just all feels so... small.
If I'm going to be around for a while, I'd like to visit the stars before they burn out. Can't do it alone, sadly, and if these God damn apes can't get off this planet before they blow it all to shit, well, I'm the one left holding the bag. Trust me, I've learned more than a million people could ever hope to forget, and this one is for real. We're talking end of days, race against time real.
So for the first time in a really long time, I'm going to help them. Don't really have a choice, not if I'm getting off this rock while the getting's good. | 2018-10-12T10:38:34 | 2018-10-12T10:05:16 | 178 | 76 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | I've made up my mind, this is the end
I've said my goodbyes to family and friends
However they don't know that I'm leaving tonight
I've struggled too long and can no longer fight
I walk back home after a long day of work
And get on reddit to routinely lurk
I see a post on "W-P"
And smile slightly at the irony
Dr. Seuss? I've read a book or two
If I can recall a red fish and a blue?
And who could forget green eggs and ham?
My mother used to read it as well as my Grams
My eyes started to water as I closed my computer
Then a knock at my door, who was this intruder?
I wipe my face as well as my nose
And walk to the door as I straighten my clothes
I crack it open and to my surprise
There stood the pizza delivery guy
Paranoid. Did he know? Probably not
I guess I ordered but must've forgot
But then the name on his shirt caught my eye
And I let out a soft chuckle mixed with a cry
He tried to calm me down but it was no use
Then he hugged me. The man's name, Seuss.
| I do not like life, not one bit.
I want to find a way to quit.
I sleep all day and I sleep all night.
I really do not want to fight.
Sorry mum and sorry dad.
I really wish life wasn't so bad.
Look after the dog and after the cat.
Please take care of them when I have gone splat.
Please oh please don't let your lives halt.
You must realise it's not your fault.
^^^^Edit:formatting | 2015-01-17T09:55:19 | 2015-01-17T07:28:39 | 120 | 26 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | “So how long does it take you to grow one of those?” Firelord Ozai said while inspecting the small but elegantly crafted rose bush. Willow stood up as dirt and thorns fell from her pants.
Willow: “oh not ally it takes maybe 100 days but I can grown them in 80”
Firelord: “what are your plants used for?”
Willow: *genuinely surprised such a high level person is taking an i test in her livelihood* “oh lots of things. Some healers buy whitebrush flowers for medicine use, some smokers buy marijuana to get high, some hunters by the whistling leaves to set traps etcétera.
The Firelord walks over several patches of freshly planted vines seemingly unimpressed. “So you’re life’s work is making items for people far more interesting than you?” The Firelord stands still while looking at a large rose bush with an abnormally large thorn at eye level.
Willow: *mildly annoyed* “I mean…. Most of the people that buy from me aren’t usually as rude”
The firelord takes a step back from the large rose bush puzzled. “You grew this? I take it back it’s actually rather impressive. I’v never seen thorns that large before”
Willow lowers herself to the ground in an effort to patch up the vines that Firelord Ozai was trampling over.
Willow: “yes the thorns get really hard when they fall off the bush. Weapon smiths can use them for dagger blades and blacksmiths can craft some light but powerful armor out of it”
Firelord: “Wow…… is it flammable?”
Willow: “I’m sorry?”
Firelord: “if I set it on fire would it burn?”
Willow: *looking up from her vines in confusion* “mmmmm I’m not sure.”
“well let’s find out” The Firelord says sarcastically as he summons two large balls of flames before throwing them at the large rose bush.
Willow stands up in shock as her prized rose bush is burnt it a crisp.
Willow: “What the Fuck is your problem dude? That look me like a year to grow!!!”
The Firelord begins to laugh maniacally as he replies with “A YEAR!!!! You spent a year of your life growing that pathetic plant? Ha I did you a favor, now you can go do something useful with your life”
Willow falls back to her knees sobbing as the Firelord steps over the now charred remnants of the bush. A thud is heard followed by immense silence. After a brief moment of confusion Willow turns her head to see that the Firelord tripped on a vine and fell back first onto the large thorn he was admiring earlier. The thorn entered through the back of Ozais neck and protruded out through his throat. Willows walks over to see a dead Firelord killed by the plant he was mocking.
Willow stood over the corpse of the fire lord unable to speak as the gate to her garden is latched opened.
“YO WILLOW I GOT THOSE SEEDS YOU WANTED FROM THE FAR NORTH!!!” A voice exclaims followed by a large gasp.
Willow: “Gus! I can explain! It was an accident”
Gus stares at the corpse of the once feared Firelord.
“Willow…….. did you just Off the Leader of the Fire Nation?” Gus says while looking at the body.
Willow: *franticly panicking* “What no! He….” Willow is interrupted by Gus as he inspects the thorn jammed into the neck. “YOU SHANKED THE FIRELORD!!!!”
Willow: “no….. he tripped!”
Gus: “he tripped……?”
Willow: “YES!!!”
Gus: “he tripped….. onto a dagger shaped thorn…. Just coincidentally positioned to enter the neck?”
Willow: “um…… well I wa……”
Gus: “okay we need to bury the body. Preferably at sea. Let me get my hatchet”
Willow: “GUS I DIDN’T KILL HIM!!!”
Gus: “RIGHT………” He says as he winks before pulling a hatchet out of the shed. | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T22:54:32 | 1,001 | 15 |
[WP] You are a chef working for a pizza place which is a mafia front, but you don't really care. All you care about is how to make the best goddamn pizza in town, and not even armed gunmen from a rival family can stop that! | It was nice, playing the part as a chef.
Oh well.
There was a pizza in the oven still, pepperoni. I really hope it doesn't burn...
========
Bullets cracked as they whizzed by the head of the chef, currently ducking behind the counter and reloading a CPW submachine gun. Some of the bullets slapped into the hardwood counter, blowing chunks of wood off as they mushroomed against the hardened steel backing. A spray of lead across the appliances shattered glass as it fountained splinters before turning white and shattering.
========
I used to work as a hitman, you know? Then, well, eventually, got old. But, I was good enough at cooking.
And nobody forgets their time behind the trigger. You always prepare, just in case.
========
The chef pops up and with almost inhuman accuracy drills a five round burst into a chest. Then a long burst that takes the head of another Streetman off in a lurid spray of gore.
A shotgun blast catches the chef in the chest, but he remains standing. With machine like grace and speed, he dispatches of the remaining members of the team, a few of the smart ones turning tail.
========
Ahh, what a mess. Damnit. It sure was nice, being here. I guess I'll have to move out again.
Pity, too. I liked this place.
========
The chef turns away from the remains of the restaurant. Several members of the mafia are dead in their seats, guns half drawn, or dropped from lifeless hands. A few bystanders still shaking in the corners, and a groaning corpse the chef turns to, and puts another shot into to silence. Dialing a number and taking up a landline on the wall, the chef calls in again.
========
"Hey. Streetmen are at it again."
"Aw, no. Again? Fuck, man, you're getting expensive!"
"Hey, hey, if you didn't want me to make outstanding pizza and also launder money outta the backend, you'd have way less problems."
"...goddamnit. Fine, you'll get a new place." | 10 years it's been 10 years since my uncle asked me to go and start cooking for him. He wanted a fresh young face to start cooking pizzas. Food has always been my dream. He went and loaned me 20 grand. Had a really nice place smack dab center of town.
He also got help me have some excellent accountants. Lot of business expenses was putting in good equipment. We kind of do a charcoal mix and local cherry. Yeah we created our own charcoal company slash smokehouse.
It has actually been very good. It might not be for gen-z of why we have charcoal and the carbon footprint being bigger.
But we have been running this for a long time especially when we go and do our charity every year that feeds the homeless. Wise man once said feed and make jobs. And you do good in the world.
I know what my uncle does somewhat. We've actually helped drive down all the crime in this area. We aren't running a racket! We are not laundering any money, we are giving back to the community. You may have a gun at my head...
And your pizza's done anyway.
Now how would you like to have a job something I actually goes and pays for your teeth. We may be limited because of all the pandemic restrictions. How would you like to be a franchisee. It would be under your guys's name.
Even after expenses you would make more money than hitting up a place or even going and doing hits. | 2020-12-19T10:51:12 | 2020-12-19T09:49:21 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] The Little Red Riding Hood is one of many "Riding Hoods." Each one has a name in the format of (adjective) + (color) + Riding Hood. And they each have a unique skill based on their names. | ***Identification Guide for Riding Hoods***
There are four known and well-documented types of Riding Hoods. However, at least a dozen more are believed to exist. Research is ongoing as we strive to learn more about these elusive creatures. If you have spotted unusual Riding Hood activity in your area, please contact the Society for the Studying and Protecting of Riding Hoods.
\--------------
**Little Red Riding Hood (LRRH)**
\- Estimated Population: 200-300
\- Height Range: 3'-0" to 4'-8"
\- Habitat: Mainly forests, although it is not uncommon to see one in villages or Grandmothers' houses.
\- Mobility: Typically moves about by skipping. Walking and running have been seen on occasion as well.
\- Identifying traits: Bright red hood, large smiles, and poor eyesight.
\- Nemeses: Big bad wolves, which are commonly mistaken by the LRRH as a Grandmother.- Special Skills: Pastry making.
Little Red Riding Hoods are the most well-known and abundant of all the Riding Hoods. Because of this, they are also one of the most easily identifiable. These creatures are quite friendly and will happily share their baked goods with passersby. They love making friends, so don't be afraid to approach one and ask for a sample of their delicious pastries!
*Did you know...* that the "Little" in their name is not due to their short stature? It is actually based on the small size of their hood!
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**Swift Blue Riding Hood (SBRH)**
\- Estimated Population: 100-250
\- Height Range: 3'-9" to 6'-3"
\- Habitat: Near medium to large bodies of fresh water.
\- Mobility: Sprinting. There is no slow movement for these creatures. They are either perfectly still so that they almost disappear into the surroundings, or they are moving so quickly that they're nearly impossible to spot.
\- Identifying traits: Deep blue hood, excessively fast movement.
\- Nemeses: Speed traps, for obvious reasons.- Special Skills: Speed great enough to travel across the water surface.
Swift Blue Riding Hoods are the second most common type. They can be identified by their deep blue hoods and incredible speeds. When stationary, SBRHs can sometimes be mistaken for the Quick Purple Riding Hoods. The two are, of course, closely related and display hoods of similar color. However, the SBRH lives only near fresh water, whereas the QPRH can live near either fresh or saltwater bodies.
*Did you know...* Swift Blues have the greatest height range of all the Riding Hoods? Even so, the height differences don't seem to impact their speed. Short and tall alike have been documented moving at their lightning-fast speeds!
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**Quick Purple Riding Hood (QPRH)**
\- Estimated Population: 90-120
\- Height Range: 5'-0" to 5'-9"
\- Habitat: Near large bodies of freshwater or saltwater.
\- Mobility: Mainly sprinting. On occasion, the QPRH can be spotted walking or skipping.- Identifying traits: Deep purple hood, fast movement.
\- Nemeses: Hummingbirds, for reasons which baffle scientists to this day.
\- Special Skills: Ability to hold their breath for extended periods, allowing them to dive to great depths.
Quick Purple Riding Hoods are somewhat rare. Additionally, they prefer to remain unnoticed by standard human society, so they are not frequently spotted. They can be identified by the deep purple hood and their proximity to water. They have the smallest size range of all the Riding Hood types.
*Did you know...* that Quick Purples love diving into deep water? Their breath holding capabilities are so good that they have even been documented sleeping on lake beds!
\--------------
**Sly Green Riding Hood (SGRH)**
\- Estimated Population: Unknown.
\- Height Range: 4'-4" to 5'-11" (Awaiting more verification as research continues.)
\- Habitat: Forests and jungles.
\- Mobility: Tiptoeing and creeping.- Identifying traits: Forest green hood, subtle movements, and quiet voices.
\- Nemeses: Unknown.
\- Special Skills: Stealth. Remaining still and quiet enough to avoid detection in their forest and jungle homes.
Sly Green Riding Hoods are extremely rare. In fact, their presence was only confirmed within the last year. They primarily keep to themselves, choosing to stay away from human society. With patience and gifts of chocolate, the SGRH can be persuaded to associate with the scientists who wish to learn more about them. However, the SGRH are quite clever and slow to let their guard down, so we hope to learn more as we continue to earn their trust.
*Did you know...* Sly Greens have beautiful, hypnotic singing voices? They are reluctant to display their talents to outsiders, but scientists have been able to hide recording devices near the SGRH homes. So far, each recording has provided us with a unique and lovely peek into their culture!
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Thank you for taking the time to learn about the lovely and unique creatures that make up the Riding Hood family! Sign up for our newsletter if you'd like to keep receiving updates on these fascinating beings!
***- The Society for the Studying and Protecting of Riding Hoods.***
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r/WannaWriteSometimes
(Edit - spelling correction & fixed formatting) | After the whole debacle of Little Red Riding Hood almost getting eaten alive with her grandma by a deranged wolf, she became an overnight sensation.
I hate to say it, but I was a little jealous. Not because I wasn't happy for Little Red's survival (even though she teased me constantly), nor was I envious of her recent fame. It was the fact that she was the youngest one of the four Riding Hoods and her ability was already perfected.
Little Red could talk to animals at just 10 years old.
Tall Green could glide so well, you'd think he was flying. He was the oldest of us at 17.
Curly Orange had long curly hair and she could shoot sparks from her fingertips. For any bonfire we went to, she was the one to get the flames roaring. She was 15.
Then there was me. Stout Blue, age 13. I wasn't really sure what my power was, but everyone insisted I had one because I was the son of two magical Riding Hoods.
We had our mentor, Dolores who was an older woman who primarily raised us and helped with our abilities. She knew how to cultivate our powers, except for me. Dolores also used us to help make the world a better place. Tall Green would save a cat in a tree, Curly Orange would help keep people warm who didn't have fire in their houses or in the streets. Little Red helped people with their pets to find out how they were feeling and if they were sick at all.
Then there was me who sat there and watched all of it. Dolores couldn't figure out what my ability was, but she didn't give up on me. Instead, I acted as the secretary who took notes about all of the people we helped along the way. I practically carried around books. But in between all of that, Dolores gave me tests to see if I had an ability with telekinesis, or x-ray vision. So far, nothing.
At the height of Little Red's fame, Delores wanted us to move away from our home town of Bellview to another part of the country to take a break. Fan letters and journalists were always coming at our door. All of us were on edge since people would walk by our house at night and I'd hear them from my room say, "Can you believe the famous Little Red lives there?"
It was getting creepy.
Dolores hired a carriage to take us to Marra, which was a nice vacationing village in the Northeast. They had a beautiful lake there with a beach, and Dolores wanted to get a house by the water.
"I don't think I've ever taken all of you to the beach before," Dolores said when we arrived to our temporary log cabin home with four bedrooms.
"You've taken Tall Green and I," Curly Orange said.
"Yes, but Stout Blue and Little Red have never gone."
Which was true. I had never been on the beach, and when we went one day for a picnic, I found the sand to be rather annoying. Nor did the idea of being in the water sound too appealing.
When we wrapped up our picnic on the beach, Little Red, Curly Orange, and Tall Green all jumped into the water and swam out, horsing around as they splashed and played other aquatic games.
"You don't want to go into the water?" Dolores asked me.
"Nah, that's okay, I'd rather sit here and read," I said. Which was true. I always felt alienated from them anyways. To cope with it, I learned to enjoy being by myself.
"Don't swim too far out now!" Dolores hollered at them, but they were deep into the lake.
That's when I heard Little Red screen and I saw Curly Orange and Tall Green rushing back.
"Dolores! Little Red is drowning!" Tall Green hollered.
Dolores' eyes widened and she sprinted to the water. I followed after her, but I wasn't sure why. *She is the adult here, she will take care of us.*
But I wanted to help anyways. I dove into the water and swam after Little Red, but the waves were harsh and the current had some pull behind it.
"This isn't good!" I heard Dolores yell somewhere off in the distance.
I just focused on swimming through the water, and even though the waves crashed into me, I was able to muscle through them, and I noticed something. Water was shooting up my nose, but I could still breathe. I wasn't coughing or having any troubles with water filling my lungs. It felt just as normal as breathing on land.
With the sudden realization I dipped below the water and opened my eyes, I could see Little Red twenty yards away from me, sinking down into a dark abyss, but I could still breathe without any issues. I felt as if I could dance through the water.
I swam with all of my might, clawing through the current with each stroke until I came up to unconscious Little Red and I wrapped my arms around her and brought her up to the surface.
r/randallcooper | 2021-05-26T11:34:08 | 2021-05-26T11:32:21 | 204 | 24 |
[WP] There are no known ways to kill a vampire. For years, hunters have handled this by tying heavy weights to vampires' ankles and tossing them overboard, deep into the nearest ocean, where they cannot escape. You are an oceanographer who doesn't believe in vampires. | If Lawrence’s dad could see him now he’d shake his head and remind his son that if something was chained up there was often a reason for it. He had given similar advice when a seven-year-old Lawrence had “rescued” a, it turned out, very tempermental Pomeranian from where it was tied up outside the grocery store.
In Lawrence’s defence, until now he had not believed vampires existed.
Then again, until that Pomeranian had taken a bite at his hand he’d never met an unfriendly dog, either.
The vampire coughed, spurts of seawater spilling onto the deck as its body shuddered. It pushed itself up onto its knees and the chains, still binding its ankles, rattled against the wood. Lawrence had dragged it onboard a half hour before and it had not moved much in that time. It had gaunt white skin and bedraggled strands of grey hair clung to cheeks sharp enough to puncture Lawrence’s several attempts to start a conversation so far.
He finally took the plunge.
“Are you okay?” he asked, then cringed. Someone who had been trapped underwater for decades was probably not okay.
The vampire glared at him with a look that suggested they agreed.
Slowly the vampire eased itself into a crouch. It had similar proportions to a human, though the arms and legs were slightly longer, jutting out at angles, with shoulders that hunched near its ears. It shook itself and tiny droplets of water spattered across the deck.
After several more moments passed with no further movement, Lawrence began to ease forward, clutching his notebook in his hand. He was aware, in some part of his mind, that he was being very stupid.
What would his father say if Lawrence came home, crying because a vampire had bitten him. The Pomeranian had garnered little sympathy.
“If you don’t want to get bitten, don’t touch things that bite.”
Lawrence stopped an arm’s length away. The locals had warned him before he had taken the boat out, telling him to watch for the Garden of the Damned. He had assumed they meant some sort of unpleasant seaweed. In his many years of oceanography he had found that rumours of strange things in the depths was usually just seaweed.
When his torch had flashed on something silver he’d assumed it was glinting off the scale of a fish. Instead, he had been horrified to find two dozen bodies wrapped in heavy chains, clumped together on the ocean floor. Amongst them only one had been upright, chains having nearly rusted through. When Lawrence had broken the last link and swum the body back to the surface, the vampire had not resisted.
He was desperately hoping that apathy would persist.
The vampire watched him as Lawrence studied its face. There was no sign of the famed pointed teeth, but its mouth was pressed shut in a hard line and even Lawrence wasn’t dumb enough to pry open. The ears appeared somewhat pointed, the nose a little flat. Interesting that even after years underwater, its skin had not wrinkled at all. Lawrence’s skin got pruney every time he had a quick dip in the tub--
The vampire lunged forward and Lawrence yelped, dropping his book and scrambling backwards on his hands and knees.
Flashbacks of a furry, yapping face rose unbidden...but no attack came.
When he opened his eyes he found the vampire peering down at his notebook where it had fallen open. It looked up at him and opened its mouth, revealing a pair of pointed teeth.
“I am taller than this.”
Lawrence froze.
“Beg pardon?”
The vampire coughed again, heaving itself onto its feet. Its ankles were still clamped together so it wobbled as it stood upright. The shoulders that had hunched when seated dropped down unusually low, revealing an upsettingly long neck.
“Eight feet, is what I am,” it breathed, “You have written seven.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Of all the feelings Lawrence could have expected, the air of awkwardness that settled across them was not one of them.
“Are you...going to bite me?” Lawrence asked.
The vampire cocked its head to the side. It lifted a long arm and gently tapped it against its temple, a small cascade of water pouring from its ear.
“I do not believe so. Like any diet, the cravings are worst at the beginning. Eventually you do not miss the sweet treat.”
The vampire smiled and it might have been amusing, had the jagged canine teeth not turned it into a leer.
It scooped up the notebook and began to flick idly through the pages.
“Are you a scholar?” the vampire asked.
“Oceanographer” Lawrence replied automatically. When that drew only a blank look he nodded. “A scholar of um,” he gestured vaguely out across the water.
The vampire nodded.
“Do you need an apprentice?”
Lawrence blinked.
“I have been starved of anything interesting for far too long. Your writing is messy...but intriguing. And I know much of the ocean.”
“You do?” Lawrence asked.
“Yes. It is cold, dark and lonely.”
Not technically incorrect.
The vampire seemed to interpret Lawrence’s lack of response as a sign that further information was required.
“I saw much of the sea creatures while I was imprisoned. Beautiful fish, lithe eels, curious little crabs. Once, I thought I saw a rare Greeve octopus.”
Lawrence’s deeply ingrained sense of academic correctness bubbled up unbidden.
“They’re not native to this area. Was it just seaweed?”
The vampire deflated somewhat.
“Yes.”
After another awkward pause, Lawrence clambered to his feet and approached the vampire, suppressing his natural instinct to bolt away.
“It can be boring, unrewarding work sometimes. You are welcome to join me but you should know that it is, more often than not, just seaweed.”
The vampire looked up with...was that hope?
Lawrence extended a hand. After a brief hesitation, the vampire took his hand and shook it. The hand, despite all logic and reason, was warm.
“Then again,” Lawrence said. “Sometimes it’s not.” | I suppose you could say it was my fear that led to me choosing my field of expertise in the first place. When I was young, against my mother's wishes, my father told me and eventually gifted me books full of stories regarding the dark and terrible secrets the oceans may hold. Unfathomable creatures beyond imagination, writhing around in cities of impossible architecture. Unnamed creations, beheld by an unnamed creator.
Fortunately... well, regrettably... I've always been one to look into the abyss, so to speak. In this case, literally. I suppose you could say I do what I do not only for myself, but for the sanity of children all around the world. No more can parents tell tall tales of creatures of the deep, for I shall be there to cry "bullshit! There's many mysterious things lying in the earthen soup of life and death, but nothing so outlandish as gods of chaos and elders of reality!"
I've been working as a full-time oceanographer for about three years now. People always ask me why I do it, but I generally just tell them "there's more upsides on the downside than you might expect!" In reality, I've continued to do it because, well, I suppose I'd like for my father to be wrong. I'd like for fictional things to remain fictional, and if they aren't, I'll find them and make sure they stay down there.
This led to me being aboard the *Heaven's Dance* in the Southern Pacific Ocean last... October? November? Whenever it was. A long time ago now. I was doing what I do best, which this time was mapping out a trench far down below. Normally if I was working in the South Pacific, it was because I was curious as to whether or not someone had found the cursed city of R'lyeh yet, but this time, I was there on the whimsy of a marine biologist. Whatever his name was, he believed that he may have discovered a new type of species down below, only found in the seas just east of Australia. He described them as "marine sloths", if I recall correctly; barely moving, most likely to conserve as much energy as possible. But, sometimes, they would move quite... aggressively, despite their general behavior. More unusual was their hypothesised size and shape; almost humanoid.
We travelled down to the deep from the *Heaven's Dance* in a submarine; an exceptional experience. It took us quite a while to get down, and I must admit, I was quivering. I'm not sure if it was from the cold or the fear. These days I've had more than enough of my fill of both, so I can't quite differentiate them anymore. We got low, and started moving through the trench. As we moved, I was sure to take as much note as possible for future reference; I wasn't sure if I'd ever have the chance to conduct my work so closely ever again.
Finally, we saw them. The "Marine Sloths". Just as described by the biologist, but worse than imagination could ever predict.
They appeared for all intents and purposes to be men and women. Coated in moss, bound in chains, swaying as if hanging on invisible ropes.
There was no time to be shocked. I wish I said something sooner. "We're too close!" Anything. "You're a stupid fucking bastard!" "Who cares about fish anyway?" "Nobody cares about the Superbowl anyway!"
I didn't know that it would be impossible to speak again.
Before I knew it, one of them had lunged towards the ship, faster than most people can move *above* water. The sub was punctured, and everything went cold. Not because of the water, but because my blood was subsequently sucked from my body as fast as my hopes of ever seeing light again.
That "sloth" was a bastard. He couldn't have just left me to swim back to the surface, no. He left me with his own chains and weights. He couldn't have turned the other crew-members of the sub for company, no. He drained them too completely. He couldn't have finished me off, let me die. No. Apparently there was too much spite in my blood for that. Somehow, in some way or another, that bloodsucking parasite knew. It knew I didn't believe. It knew I needed a lesson taught. At least, that's what I assume.
There isn't much more to tell. Sometimes a fish will come close if I'm quiet enough, and I can snatch it and get a taste of its disgusting blood. I was never a fan of seafood, unfortunately. I've had plenty of time to reflect on why this happened. I'm guessing those were... ugh... *vampires*, and that, based on my current predicament, they aren't so easily killed. I'm assuming that they were thrown into the ocean to be disposed of by the good old vampire hunters of yester-century. It's either that, or I'm in a coma, and I'll eventually wake up or die. Hopefully.
Just as vampires are stronger physically, they're also stronger mentally. At least, that's why I'm assuming I haven't had the pleasure of retreating into insanity yet. I don't know how long it's been since I got left down here, but I do know that it's day (night?) 6893 of telling this story.
I'll see you all again tomorrow for 6894. I'm thinking about adding a sex scene. | 2019-03-11T01:24:47 | 2019-03-10T23:15:36 | 1,621 | 635 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had. | I looked at the readout again. After turning 179 (take that Methuselah, ya fake bastard) I had earned another skill. One never seen before. My eyes were replaced last year with new "genetically vat grown" ones, whatever the hell that means and I'd been offered all replacement parts. But see, you don't get a new skill unless you're 95% original parts, at least that's what they tell me. So I stuck it out. I read the readout again as my smile broadened. Well HOT damn!
I opened the door for the first time this week. I slowly, at my age there's no other kind of speed, made my way onto my front porch just as my house rattled from the 8:10 rocket landing at the spaceport across town passed over. You could always count on the old Space Force to be on time!
There they were. The damned teenagers. Drinking and smoking glick sticks and throwing their beer cannisters on my lawn.
"Hey you kids," I yelled. The biggest laughed and stood up.
"What is it, ya old geezer?" He yelled and my smile broadened. Time to see if this skill was worth it.
"Get off of my lawn!" and I touched my cane to the ground. The earth rumbled, buckled, and tossed all thirteen of those little bastards dazed and confused onto the moving walkway, shock in their eyes as they drifted off toward the horizon.
Hot damn! It was worth living till almost 180 to finally get the Get the Hell off My Lawn skill! | Everyone could never wait to unlock a new skill, wishing for anything from being able to create money from thin air to flying through the skies like a bird.
The most famous skill ever found however was the power to appraise skills, a shocking discovery was made through that skill however... there seems to be no new unique skills being unlocked... till now im 200 years old now, it was discovered i was the first ever to have the imortality skill meaning i couldnt die, made major headlines around the world when it was first discovered, but suddenly became more common after.
But today after lazing around for an hour thinking of what to spend the rest of the day doing... i got the feeling i havent felt in a long time, a new skill was unlocked. So i figured going to the appraiser would be a great way to spend the rest of the day, 30 minutes later i arrived and got appraised most shocking thing ever was what the skill was, i even had to make sure she double checked it... seems like the new skill i unlocked was "Common sense" | 2018-06-23T13:18:44 | 2018-06-23T10:03:06 | 208 | 100 |
[WP] Instead of three wishes, a genie grants you three questions that he will answer truthfully, regardless of whether any human knows the answer. | He didn't look like a genie. He just looked like a guy in a bar. He WAS a guy in a bar. He had a plaid shirt and a glass of whisky and the beginnings of a good beard and a bored, blankish, tired expression. All guy-in-a-bar things. Not genie things.
But that's what he said when he called me over. I was also a guy in a bar, just there that day being a guy in a bar. I was scanning my eyes around, trying to look cool, when he caught my eye and waved me over. I don't know what it is about a stranger waving you over, but I always seem to go. When I got next to him, he said. "You look as good as any. You're my pick for the day. I'm going to tell you something a little improbable."
Then he rattled off the next few sentences with the same bored disinterest of a waiter who has announced the same specials for a hundred years.
"I'm what you would call a genie. As far as I know, I'm the only one. I sit with someone new every day, once a day. I'm not exactly sure why. But today I'm here, and today it's you."
Those sentences just sat in the air, fat and weird.
But life tends to be more interesting if you're a good sport. So I responded.
"Shouldn't you have, like, a lamp, or a blue glow or something?"
He looked down at the table, took a sip of his whisky and shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. We still live in a physical universe with laws and boundaries. I can't just, for example, create a mountain of gold out of nothing. That would involve creating atoms of gold out of void, which just isn't physically possible. So I can't make someone immortal or give you the ability to walk on water. What I can do is answer questions. Any question that can be known. I've been around a long while, I have certain unusual abilities, and I can answer any question. But I keep it to three per asker these days, to make things simpler for myself."
He was so bored and so tired as he said it all that, I don't know, I believed him. It was like there was no sales in him at all. There was another fat, stupid moment of silence as I just looked him over.
"So, it's not really magic, then?"
He leaned back and shrugged, still not looking at me. "That's the thing. Magic isn't real. Obviously. But some very real things can look an awful lot like magic. There's nothing *physically* impossible about knowing something. That's why I can be here. But knowing *everything* is pretty special, and can look an awful lot like magic. But it doesn't feel like magic to me. More like a side effect of infinity.
"Am I going to get three questions?"
The genie finished his whisky, sucked his teeth, and put it down. "You already have."
Once again, there was fat, stupid silence.
"The first question was 'Shouldn't I have a lamp?' Number two was 'So it's not really magic?' And number three was 'Am I going to get three questions?' And the answer is yes, you already have."
That's when I felt a cold, black wave of panic wash over me.
"But that's not fair!" I said. "I'm supposed to learn, like, some great truths or something here! I didn't realize we had already started!"
Now the genie smiled and looked at me. He pointed at a fiftyish barfly on a stool. "You see that guy? He's got a great idea for a book. Really wonderful. He got the idea when he was just out of college. He wants to write it when he's got some time, but he works long hours and most days he's pretty tired after work, so today he just wanted to hit the bar for a quick drink. He'll write the book when he's got some time, next week maybe, or next year."
"You see him?" he continued, pointing at a guy in his mid thirties at the other end of the bar. "He had a great business idea once, but his wife had just had a kid and just to be safe, he put it aside for a little while, and then someone else went and did it."
"And her" This time he pointed at the bartender. "She's in love with someone but hasn't told them because she's scared."
"There is great value and adventure and truth in front of these people every day, and they're only really around for a microsecond, but for some reason that baffles even me, every day they just don't pick it up."
He stood up, grabbed a coat off the back of his chair and swung it on. Then he looked at me.
"You want a great Truth? Here's one: no one seems to realize that they've already started." | The sandstorm was getting louder as time went on. I was finally at the end of this treacherous journey. The mystical lamp said to grant three wishes to any who found it. It was ten steps from me, on the temple's altar. Legends were told of many people who had tried and failed to acquire that lamp. That part of the tale was now verified by what my eyes saw. Skulls, bones and rotten meat lay ahead of the temple entrance, obstructing the way to the lamp.
The sandstorm kept getting louder. Soon it would bury the temple again, along with the lamp and it's secrets. I had already prepared for this. My first wish would be to get out of here. Two wishes would be sufficient for everything I wanted.
Wasting no time, I made my way past the human remains on the floor, holding my breath and trying my hardest not to puke. I took the lamp in my hands. This was it. I could *feel* the power that was in my fingertips. Slowly, I rubbed the lamp like you would pat a newborn...
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The noise of the raging sandstorm, the smell of rotten meat, all of it seemed to come from a different world. They slowly faded, and was replaced with the blue smoke coming from the lamp. I was giddy with excitement and a little bit of fear considering that such power was now in my hands.
"Hmm? What's this? You seem younger than most of the ones that came before."
It was a voice that was both powerful *and* friendly. It reminded me of my grandfather, who had been a noble warrior of the Green riders. It was similar to the voice he used when he told stories of his bravery.
"Speak, young one. What three truths do you wish to know so much, that you are willing to risk so much and come here?"
Wait just a...
"What do you mean 'truths'?"
"Is that what you'd like to know? I recommend you choose your questions a bit more wisely young one."
"No. No no no no no. You were supposed to grant three wishes! What do you mean truths?!"
"You should be careful about believing legends in which there are no survivors. How would any of it be the truth, if there was no one left who saw it with their own eyes?"
Tears filled my eyes. This wasn't what I wanted. The formless djinn was right though. I was young, and foolish. But there was something that I wanted more than anything, and I was willing to go to whatever lengths to get it.
"Gan you -" my nose was blocked, and made it hard to speak.
"Can you explain what you are, and what you can do, and the rules and all regarding this?"
The formless mist emitted a giggling sound. "You seem wise, foolish though you may be. I can tell you the answer, but it will be at the cost of one of the truths."
I considered this. My original objective had now become much harder. Guessing from the djinn's words, I surmised that the djinn would give *information* to the holder of the lamp instead of wishes. My surroundings were completely covered with the blue mist, which seemed to be stopping time. A system very considerate of the people who got this far.
I thought about my objectives. Getting out alive was the priority. I chose my words carefully...
"Can I get out of this temple in any way, to live the rest of my life without any interference from you or anything under your control?"
The blue mist gave roaring laughter. "You.. you are wise beyond your years. I suppose your false impression was fuelled by the desperation to achieve a goal. Very well. I will answer you."
I awaited with bated breath. This part was the most important.
"You can make it out the same way you came. However, by the time this session is finished, the sandstorm will already cover the entirety of the temple. This session will cost you nothing, and if you get out of here, you can live your life without any further interference from me or anything I control."
The sandstorm. My heart sank. Tears kept threatening my eyes but I fought them back. Losing to emotions wouldn't do. I came here for a reason...
Think. | 2015-05-22T11:19:22 | 2015-05-22T10:07:05 | 318 | 18 |
[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. | The Galactic Council were at war. A vicious reptilian species were pushing deeper and deeper in to their systems, killing all as they went. There were a few massive repair docks, and one in particular had been considered a lynch pin. Plans were formulated, and the odds calculated. They had no hope of taking it down.
As they began to review the latest plan, the usually sedate Corolinth Councillor began to laugh, hysterically.
The imposing Demorth head Councillor looked on.
"Explain your outburst, Councillor!"
The avian Councillor looked up.
"My apologies, Head Councillor, however I have just received a report from our ambassador to the humans."
The Head Councillor nodded slowly. The humans were a young race, fairly recently discovered and not yet granted a place on the council. They were becoming quite infamous for crazy tactics, that seemed to work against all odds.
"Well, they placed a request for some of our ships to study. They were duly provided with a small number of outdated ships. Our scientists assumed it was to study them, and improve their own technology. However, they did... Well it's hard to explain, Head Councillor."
The Head Councillor growled.
"Out with it, what did the humans do?"
"I believe the Ambassador explained it as a Saint Nazaire gambit, which is apparently a tactic from their second global war. They attacked the Octanus Dry Dock."
The Demorth shook his head in derision.
"I did not think the humans were capable of plans and tactics. How many were lost?"
"That's the thing, Head Councillor. They suffered no losses. However, the Octanus system is neutralised."
The entire chamber grew quiet.
"How?"
The Corolinth Councillor laughed quietly.
"They flew a ship right in to it, and I can't believe I'm about to say this, they triggered a cascading failure in the FTL drives, intentionally might I add. The resultant explosion has, I dare say, it may have given us the chance we need to win. It was a plan we never would even consider, yet it somehow worked."
The Demorth squared his sizeable girth.
"These humans are a frightening lot to anger."
The Milanian Councillor stood tall from her seat.
"I call a vote; bring the humans in to the council. I don't know about your own races, but my people want these humans firmly on our side." | :::BEGINNING OF ENTRY:::
It was thought that the coming human invasion would be stopped easily...
They came equipped with barbaric weapons.
They can barely see at night...
They can't even see each others thoughts!
Now they are all over our plan-MY PLANET!
My home...
We accounted for everything except what they would leave behind them.
Their shit.
Never have we identified a substance as harmful and disease ridden as a single qualupp of human fecal matter.
The humans realized our aversion to it quickly and began employing it en mass. Covering their soldiers with the vile, death bringing substance-THE BARBARIANS!
Those intergalactic thugs could have gone anywhere!
They're smart enough, they could have potentially colonized several new planets and given themselves time to evolve to full sentience like we have... but noooo....
Those poo-flinging imbeciles launched an invasion on a planet that never threatened them once and SHOULD have led to near instant defeat for the invaders...
But they're god damned shit smells soooo bad.
Word is out.
We're now completely evacuating East Acumbria. The humans built a line sewer plants upwind and the noxious fumes can be smelt across the entire continent. People are dying by the hundreds every day.
The elders hope that giving them this land will appease them but I don't believe it will. It's just giving them a foothold. They're already all over the planet, safe and secured in their shitty little forts... they won't just give those up...
Their cargo ships don't even bring weapons anymore. Just shit. Massive stockpiles... they're planning for a planet wide war....
I can't take it anymore. I can't get that fucking smell out of my nostrils-OUT IF MY MIND!!!
Gah...
:::END OF ENTRY::: | 2017-03-06T02:55:03 | 2017-03-06T01:55:23 | 61 | 24 |
[WP] You have been a fairly successful Super Villain and get to die in a hospital bed. Your arch-nemesis has come to pay his respects (or make sure you stay dead this time) and you get to tell him, the main reason you became a villain. The threat to the world that you spent your life delaying | Not fire, not flood, not fury.
None of those are what led me to lying in hospice days or hours from death.
No, it was a mere human cause, a disease that did me in. Cancer doesn't discriminate against good or bad, you know.
The media loves it. "No more terror from this villain" "Dr. Ghost can't destroy all his issues" "Menace will go out with a whimper". It seemed my death would be cause for celebration around the world! The fools, if only they knew what was coming for them.
Suddenly, a knock at my door. I expect a nurse to come in and check on me and all my beeping machines. However, I'm entirely surprised by who comes through the door.
The ever-righteous hero to all, Eros. His wings folded to get through the door as he approached my bedside.
"Who would have thought it would end like this, Adam?" secret identities no longer mattered once you went to stage IV. "You know, even after all of our fighting, our countless battles, I think I'm going to miss you."
I'm touched.
"Well, Joshua. Always heroic, even to those you think deserve it the least. Or are you in disbelief that something has finally managed to get the better of me?"
"No. I just came to pay my respects. It's not every day that a Greay dies, even if they are a Great Evil."
"I-"
Suddenly I can feel it. Imminent death. I know I won't have much longer.
"Listen to me Joshua. There's something I never told you during our witty banter. I didn't become this villain because I wanted to. I did it to protect people." I gasp with sudden pain that the morphine couldn't overcome. My EKG begins to beep much more loudly as a I feel the cold embrace of death wrapping around me.
He gives me a puzzled look. "I don't understand. Protect people from what?"
"From you. Where do you think your powers come from? You're a pressure cooker of energy. You needed to be able to blow off steam. It had to go somewhere, and why not into me? Someone who can take a hit and send it somewhere else, to another dimension. It's why I always fought you out in the plains or as far from the city as I could go. It's why all my schemes were ridiculous but never actually hurt anyone. But now it looks like it finally took its toll."
I wheeze as I start to lose feeling in my toes. I only have a few moments left.
"Your powers can go nuclear if they aren't used. Uncontrollable destruction. If you ever feel it coming on, and you'll know, promise me that you'll fly as deep into space as you can. The earth can't take another one of you."
"Another one of me? What do you mean?" He asked, tears already starting to form as he knew what was coming.
"Another one like your father. No more San Francisco after he went. I knew what I had to do-" I pause to cough, and blood comes with it. Not long now
"How do you know all this? I never even knew my father. How did you-?" He asked, tears now streaming down his face.
"After all of our battles, you never realized who I was? Never noticed that we look so much alike? I'm his brother, Joshua. I'm your uncle. Now, go be a hero." He walks out in tears. Hopefully he'll keep his promise, I think with my last thought... | Blade and Arcum. Sword and bow. Near and far. Opposites. You'd think a man who swore by a broadsword, and one who swore by a bow wouldn't get along good. You'd be wrong. The masked men Blade and Arcum got along like best friends. When they weren't trying to kill each other. Blade was a crazed villain who preferred to do all his wrong doings with a sword. Arcum saw himself as a cleansing instrument . A flood to wash away the evil in the world. This doesn't mean that both men were weird. Once you got past appearances and behaviors, they acted like total geeks in their twenties . Often they would pause in battles to discuss history and sci-fi. Blade often insulted Arcum in Klingon . Arcum would reply in elvish. There were tabloid stories about them being brothers, gay lovers, or both. But that was a long time ago. Blade and Arcum are in their 80's now. Blade is dying.
Blade lay in his hospital bed, coughing. He reached for his laptop next to the bed. As he opened it up, an old man hobbled through the door. "Wrinkled scum" was his greeting. Blade grinned. "Ancient fag" he called. Arcum sat next to him. "I uh, hear your going soon. Is it that bad?" Blade nodded. "Yep . I gotta tell you something." Arcum leaned forward. "Why I did all the stuff I did. Why I took every opportunity to do wrong. Why I became blade.". Arcum raised his eyebrow. "This will be good..."
I didn't have an easy childhood. People made fun of me for being poor. In high school some nuts kidnapped me for a satanic ritual. They screwed something up and summoned an angel instead of a demon. But this angel was crazy. Wanted to wipe the world away in white light. The only thing that allowed me to take back control was evil. Acts of pure evil. It kept the angel at bay. The instrument used in the ritual to let blood, was a broadsword. I don't know where they got it. But it was the first thing I saw when the visions of the angel killing stopped. I've hated myself for more than sixty years now. Even now I still ruin people online. I've moved from robberies and assasinations to harassing internet accounts. But it's worth it I suppose. The angel is desperate now. He knows I'm dying. When I die he'll just be a formless spirit who can't hurt anybody. I just have to stay evil until I die. I cut a nurse with my sword last week and they took it from me.
Arcum was speechless for a few minutes. He opened his mouth. "I could get it for you. For old times sake.". Blade nodded . "In a strange way, I became a hero by being a villain. Quite ironic." Arcum smiled as he walked out the door. "Greatest hero I ever knew". | 2017-08-13T12:42:49 | 2017-08-13T12:35:04 | 97 | 28 |
[WP] You're the last person on earth - but thank god Pokemon Go still functions! You amuse yourself by catching Pokemon as you travel so as to not feel so isolated and alone. One day, on your screen, you see in the distance that someone has set up a lure.
Courtesy of corvidaedream on Tumblr | I wasn't sure why the servers were still up and working. I knew they shouldn't be, but I didn't want to question it too much, Pokemon Go was the one thing keeping me sane through this, reminding me that there was a time when I was not the only person left out here. If I questioned it too deeply, the servers might realise that after 18 months, there is no way they should be working. So I just set out every morning, heading towards an area which seemed to have a lot of pokestops, and collected all the pokemon I saw along my way.
It was my routine, always hoping that I was heading towards another person, that someone else had survived, and that we would find each other. At the end of one, long day of walking, I found a spot to rest for the night. As usual, it was a place that people had gathered, before. When there were people to gather. That meant that there were plenty of Pokestops for me to collect supplies from. I'd just gone through my usual routine of swiping through all the stops within range before finally closing my eyes and trying to sleep as much as I could, when I noticed something unusual. Just on the edge of my screen was a pokestop with a lure on it. For a moment I was confused. Wondering why I'd put a lure on a stop I couldn't reach. But then I remembered, it couldn't be me. I'd run out of lures in the early days - I'd used them to try and signal to other people that there was someone nearby, and now it seemed like someone else was doing the same.
I knew if I waited until morning, there was a good chance that the lure would be gone, and whoever had placed it moved on. I had to act now.
Packing up my sleeping bag as fast as I could, I walked towards the lured stop. It was outside a church, which was as delapidated and deserted as the rest of the town had been. No sign that there had been anyone there in months, let alone the past 20 minutes. But, with nothing better to do, I sat and waited, collecting the pokemon which showed up, until the lure went down. But the moment it did, a new lure appeared. Again, just on the edge of my map.
Not having to pack up my gear, this time I arrived at the lure less than 5 minutes after it appeared. But there was still no sign that another person had been there. I found some paper and a marker pen out of my bag, and wrote a note:
"I can see that there's been someone here. Please contact me. My phone number is 07839 234890"
I taped the note to a wall, and hoping that whoever had set the lure would come back to this spot, then settled back down to catching more pokemon.
Suddenly though, my phone started ringing, the displaying showing "unknown number".
I answered it.
"Hello?"
"I got your note on the pokestop."
"What?" There had been noone but me the entire time I was sat here, how could someone have found my number without me seeing them?
"Yeah. You left a note saying to call you."
"Where are you? If you've come past here, why didn't you speak to me? I've been sitting right here since I put it down"
"Because we're out of phase. I've only just worked out how to get my phone in phase with yours."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You think you've been the only person on the planet for the past 18 months? Well, so does every other person. They're all still here. I've spoken to a couple of hundred of them now. I don't know how it happened, but I can teach you how to contact them. You're not alone any more." | Today is October 25th, 2016. Today is my birthday! Nobody to celebrate with except my pocket monsters. I thought I'd make my first journal entry today. So hey journal! Let me tell you how this all started.
It feels like yesterday the world was taken by storm by the craze of collecting all of the pocket monsters. Packs of hundreds of people flocking from location to location, meaninglessly flicking their fingers accross their phones to show off their newest enslaved, digital monster. It was the biggest thing to sweep over the consumer world of the decade, maybe ever, and we ate it up... unaware of the true intentions of the inceptors of this cell phone application.
It started after the first big update. It was September 11, 2016. A date that was for sure to be left in the history books to remind us of that tragic day in the United States in 2001. There would be nobody to read about the events that happened on that same day 15 years later. After NIANTIC released its big update allowing players to trade and battle eachother, the popularity of the game sky rocketed again, this time doubled. Every single smart phone user on the planet was playing... that can't be right? There must be some people not playing. No it was right. And NIANTIC thought they had the world in their hands. They were WRONG.
Scientists couldn't explain it. They didn't have a whole lot of time to research it after it happened, so I can't really explain what happened. It was almost like we glitched out of our own matrix. The over capacity of humans connected to the digital world was overwhelming to the environment. Every single person who played pokemon go got sick and died within 12 hours of the updates release. Within 12 hours, every human being playing Pokemon Go had died. And it continued. There was only a couple weeks of other humans wandering around... they all got sick. And they all died. The scientists that were around to study it for that couple of weeks called it the Pidgey Effect. It was basically neurons in our brain got so confused about what dimension we were in that the nea
urons would rust and explode. It was gross.
So now I am on a mission. Somewhere hidden in this stupid apocalyptic game is the NIANTIC headquarters. If there is anyone alive who can fix this, thats where they will be. I headed out on my journey to find this place and turn that dimension off! I was getting close too. Until today.
Lure. Lure!! Lure module lure module!! There is one on a near by pokestop! I have to go! Or do I? Wait a minute think about it... who could possibly be there? There is nobody alive! But I'm alive... maybe someone is there! I had to see. I sat around the Pokestop for 45 minutes... even put up my own lure module. Thats when it hit me... I could feel my head swelling. My throat was very dry. My nose was bleeding? Whats going on?? Holy shit! I'm dying. My first journal entry is my last... I guess the border to this dimension is still here, and its still blurred. I will be dead within the next few hours. If you are reading this... stay away from Pokemon Go! | 2016-09-05T10:42:44 | 2016-09-05T10:07:35 | 2,026 | 12 |
[WP] After you have died, you meet The Great One who says that you have been wronged in your previous life and, as a result, will be reincarnated with unimaginable powers. You accept the offer and you find yourself reincarnated in a fantasy world full of magic as...a slave? | I stood before god, or as my people call him, the Great one. He told me that I had been wronged in my previous life, because of that, he said that he'd reincarnate me with unimaginable powers. I was excited about it, I wanted the world to feel my wrath for wronging me all those times. At that moment, he vanished and where he used to be, I saw a doorway going into the light.
I was born with memories of my encounters with God etched into my memory, sort of like a permanent marker, but internal. That said, I had tried all my childhood to figure out what my power was.
One day, as I was practicing shooting lightning bolts like those people at protests that I've seen, my family and many others in my town were taken as slaves by an imperial lord.
It has been about two years now that I've become a slave, I haven't seen my family as I was sold like the other children. I am sick of being a slave, I can't believe I was wronged again.
[Time skip]
I have been a slave for over a hundred years. I finally figured out the power that god gave me, I was blessed, or in this case, cursed, with the power of immortality. I will stay a slave for the rest of eternity.
God turned the tv off as the man on the scream started screaming. His wife came into the living room of their palace in what the people of the planet, the Ari' know as the afterlife. "Honey? Why were you laughing like a maniac? Did something funny happen to one of your little subjects?" "You remember that really bitchy kid, Devin?" Said God, "Well, I once promised him a great power when he'd be reincarnated.. I gave him immortality and made sure he'd spend all his days as a slave! How hilarious is that?" "And then you wonder why people try to kill you" she said with a smile. "But he does deserve it, that bitch destroyed my gardens, those down there in Idres, I wasted so many of my powers to try and bring them back to life. Let that fucker suffer in the life he deserves" | I've lost all sense of time in this cell. All of my time is spent questioning 'why am I here, what are these creatures that hold me captive?'. What I've found out is they need something I have.. I can feel something leaving me behind and exhausted each time they tap into me. I know nothing about my past, who I am, how did I end up here? I am alone, with my thoughts, surviving. Then, one day I was able to feel my hand. I could sense the blood pumping through my veins. The hardness of my bones, the fragileness of my tendons. I practiced this 'focus' on other parts of my body, but was unable to recreate what I felt. I knew that I must escape this place. The cell they kept me in was a labyrinth. I could walk around infinitely and felt that I was making progress. It was futile. Nothing, but a dream I would have. A dream that I was fully in control of. That is when I woke up to a wonderful smell of flowers, the breeze kissing my naked body. Just as I accepted that this was no longer a dream and grasp the flower in front of me; I snap back to my cell with the flower still in my hand.
Sorry, this is my first WP and not even sure where I am going with this and curious for feedback and if I should try continuing this angle I am working on. | 2020-06-07T10:15:31 | 2020-06-07T10:15:05 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | I have stood on the edge of chaos, and fought back oblivion. I have held the world aloft in my hands and saved it from the death eaters. I have fought countless battles against terrible foes. I have died and been reborn. My name is feared throughout the multiverse.
But at last I have found peace.
In a small town near to Murkhaven.
As a lowly healer.
I will not smite. I will not judge. I will not forgive your sins. That is not my place. I will heal all who ask.
All.
The cuts and scraped knees of the town’s children have been healed more times than I have counted.
They know me, and they trust me.
Not as my real name, or my old self; as Henric the Healer, cleric of a god you cannot see, cannot hear, and cannot name. I do not push my belief on anyone, and nor do I proselytise the ardent students who pass through, eager to learn great favours from their gods, eager to mould the world into the image of the gods they believe are all-powerful.
I just heal.
The mother of the jilted lover who brings her son’s still warm corpse to me. I go to where his hurting soul cries out for peace, and I sit with him for as long as it takes for him to calm. My time encircling his spirit, allowing change; allowing remorse; allowing tears to fall, and the desire for life to return.
I heal his body as I guide him back to the arms of his family. The dagger gone from his heart, and filled once more with his life force, he shudders as he draws breath once more, and tears of relief wash away the tears of despair.
I heal all who ask.
The orcs attacked at sunset on the third day of the harvest. Some said that the Duke’s men had stirred them up. Some said that the orcs do not need an excuse to fight.
The townsfolk fought back, but they are farmers and barkeeps, housekeepers and children. They are not skilled in the art of war.
They asked me to help them.
So I healed their wounds as they formed. I walked amidst the battlefield, healing cuts, soothing burns, reattaching limbs.
I could have ended it in an instant. I could have sent the orcs to a fiery death. I could have placed them in unimaginable torture for all eternity.
But that is not my place.
And I have found peace.
The orc soldier had a pitchfork through his face. It was embedded in his skull, and had stuck him to the strong oak beams of the inn. The thatch was on fire, so he had only a few minutes at best.
He caught my eye with what remained of his, and the pain was evident in his cracked voice.
“Help me, human. I beg you.”
His voice was young. Probably only seven turns old. An adult in name only.
And I help all who ask.
All.
Black dust formed around my arms, and tendrils of power reached out to the impaled orc. He saw death reach for him, and a tear formed in his remaining eye.
But the death was not for him, but for the pitchfork. It needed disintegrating, and it crumbled past dust and into nothingness. The orc’s brain was healed with a quick burst of time magic, gathered from the forbidden realms.
He stumbled forward, away from the flames, and I caught him, and offered him a drink from my water flask.
“Atralak! Uk!”
The cry was accompanied by a trumpet blast, and the fights and cries stilled to a standstill after a few moments.
The orcs had stopped pressing their attack, and the wary and intimidated townsfolk stayed put in their defensive positions.
The orc captain, his red shoulder plates signifying three years of leadership pointed at me as he shouted, “You! Cleric! You healed Ulk.”
I nodded.
His eyes narrowed, “Why?”
“Because he asked for help.”
“Orcs do not ask for help! They take what they need!”
I said nothing. It was not a question, and I had no desire to play his games.
My silence seemed to enrage him, but as he was about to speak again, Ulk stepped forward beside me with two good eyes, and a distinct lack of pitchforks in his face. It gave the captain pause.
“Father-brother-kin, let us go home.”
I looked at Ulk with eyebrows raised. To say I was surprised was an understatement. To mention kinship in public was just not done in orc circles. It was like telling off a child, or chastising an errant servant.
There was more going on here than was apparent, and the quick whistle-hum that escaped the lips of the captain confirmed that for me.
Ulk stopped three orcs as they walked towards the woods to the east.
“Please heal these three,” he said in broken common. The townsfolk nearest gasped, and I realised that they had not understood the words in orcish.
“If they ask me, I will.”
One by one, they asked for healing, and I gave it to them. I left them with good scars. It would improve their standing in the clan.
Ulk stood alone before me, and spoke once more before he left.
“Peace, Orcbane.”
That wasn’t my real name, either, but the orcs had called me that after the end of the Troglodyte Wars.
So many dead. So many lost. And no real winners.
He trotted off after his brothers, and I called out after him, “Call me Henric.”
He turned briefly, and saluted in orc military tradition, hand thumping his chest.
The townsfolk looked at me with wary eyes, but I have found peace. They will forget in a turn or two, and their fear will subside. The seasons are easier to bear with each healing. Each cure heals me, too.
I heal all who ask.
I am Henric the Healer.
And I have found peace. | "You again? I really hate this system" said the young and strong warrior.
"Well, I didn't make it, neither I like you" was my answer.
Like almost every week, I had to endure a conversation about my current place as low level healer. To be honest, I understand why everybody complains about me, I only have like 3 spells (a total of 5 uses), no miracles and can't regain uses with holy water. A complete disaster of a cleric. But like our guild leader usually says 'Better have a rock than nothing' and I am that rock for the newcomers and the fools who think they're strong enough to be without a healer.
Back to the present, my new companions were talking about the quest:
"No more goblins, I'm tired of caverns and the stench of torches" was the first thing I heard when I came down from my thoughts, and was the very first thing the beautiful and spotless elf ranger had said in my presence. Probably her mutism was related to my vicinity and my humble (and a bit full of filth) robes, it may be a prejudice from her but I have my own 'Never trust a ranger without dust in their head or mud in their boots'
"I know, I know, don't you worry, this city is new and its sewers are clean for now... In a couple months we'll see" answered the leader of the group, an old dwarf with many grey hairs in his beard and not a single hair in his head. Maybe he was the leader due to his expertise, or because the giant chunk of metal he called axe. "There are many beasts in the nearby forest, hmmm, look wolves and slimes. Two easy quest and they are in almost the same place so it'ld be only one exit."
"Sorry to interrupt" I said quickly "That forest is indeed plagued of those beast, so as newcomers you should attend only one of the quest..." the warrior and the ranger were looking at me like I were talking of eating their lives so I shut up before gaining more animosity.
"Even like that, we need that money, burying our previous healer was expensive and really hard for us." the last member was a white mage, a woman expert in ilussions and support. "Don't worry, I always can make a safe exit if everything goes nuts." finished with a fiery smile.
"So, it's 3 against 2" said the leader "I'm prone to trust the local but she's right and this is the fastest way, sorry fellow healer"
&#x200B;
Well, do you know how territorial are wolves right? I guess that you can also imagine how is the stench of a slime. So we have 4 idiots that fight like a dozen of slimes (pretty fast and efficient I had to admit it) and then run into an infested forest, infested of wolves with great sense of smell and greater hunger because slimes aren't the most nutritive meal.
As I said, they fight really well even better than many more experienced groups I've encounter: the young warrior was incredible with his lance and a great shield and his role was keep a solid line. Around him, the ferocious dwarf danced and struck down every wounded or distracted enemy, which was a great idea because the ranger and the white mage couldn't kill fast enough the horde of wolves to keep safe the warrior but they could strike or hypnotise almost everyone of them before they can become a threat. Or at least they could for most of the time, the leader was taking some damage but refusing to be healed (precisely he shouted "This's but a scratch!") and encouraged me to heal a fully armored and shielded 6 feet human. To be fair, I did it more because knew what was coming than for the autority behind the order.
After 10' minutes of battle, and no more than 20 wolves dead, the human was exhauted, the dwarf covered in wounds and the 5 attempts of making a 'safe exit' from the backline were frustrated for the smell. That was my moment to shine.
First, I crack my neck. Waiting isn't my expertise. Raising dead is.
I yelled in an ancient tongue, forgotten and banned in many places, and every dead wolfe rise with flames in theis eyes and smoke in their veins to fight their former pack. The screams of pure terror the frontline as they saw my 'beautiful' allies were surprisingly high pitched but not the highest. A pity, I thought the warrior could make a record. Anyways, they weren't the only scared, the other wolves caught the idea fast and fleed to the forest, away from me. The terrace was clear of wolves in seconds and the whole group looked at me and my grey (not dusted) clothes.
"Don't worry, don't worry. You did a great job, I'm almost impressed. Come here, there are a couple things about your strategy that can be..."
"WHAT IN THE FUCKING NINE HELLS WAS THAT?" and that went my prejudice of chill and majestic elf ranger. She can curse and all.
"That was an 7th level spell. A bit overkill, I know but: do you know how easy is to burn all this? Better make them run. Also, if you interrupt me again you all fail. And yes, this was an exam. Do you really think enter our guild would be that easy?" | 2021-09-03T10:55:58 | 2021-09-03T10:26:15 | 669 | 69 |
[WP] You live in a house infested with ghosts, but with the years you got used to them and their tricks, like the blood in the sink, hair in the walls, whispers at night, laughing children, etc. This weekend you have friends coming over and turns out that being used to ghost isn't normal. | "GET OOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUT!"
I rolled my eyes. "Ezekiel, I already told you, they're coming here to watch the fight this week."
The booming, rumbling voice that emanated from the dark opening to the basement went silent for a moment. Then a low groan came from the same open doorway, followed by another haunting wail.
"GET TOOOOOOOOSTIIIIIIITOOOOOOOOOS!"
"Fine, I'll get Tostitos. You want chunky salsa or salsa con queso?" I yelled down the stairs as I wiped the countertop in the kitchen.
"We want guacamole."
I turned, this time recognizing the sound of the twins. I pinpointed them vaguely 19th century-ish and about nine years old, one boy and one girl. The boy, John Mark, held his head in his hands as it had been unceremoniously severed in what I think was a horse-drawn carriage accident. The girl, Alice, was pudgy and blue, not because of being overweight but because she had bloated from the drowning her mother put her through in grief over her son.
I patted John Mark's head (or at least, vaguely waved my hand through what would be the crown of his hair had it been corporeal). "You're going to finish it all this time, right? You know it gets all brown and gross when you let it sit out."
Their voice came from a single point in space that was both inside my head and also a mile away in faint reverberation.
"We promise!"
"Okay, write it on the shopping list and I'll text the guys to pick some up when they hit the store on the way over."
I looked over at the refrigerator and watched as crimson red writing began to appear on the dry erase board. It wasn't marker, mind you, but they had gotten a lot better at controlling dripping. It was getting hard to explain to the garbage man why there were so many bloodstained kitchen rugs in the trash.
Suddenly, the doors of the pantry began swinging and slamming wildly as an inexplicable wind poured out of it. I stepped around the counter and walked over to the pantry, my hair whipping around my forehead. The moment I placed my hand on the pantry door, it stopped moving and the wind disappeared. "Good catch, you guys! I didn't stock back up on paper plates and cups after New Year's. Appreciate the reminder."
I walked over to the oven to check on the appetizers I had put in earlier. I hit the button for the oven light and a flame-red glow illuminated the kitchen as the chanting voice of a demonic horde flooded the kitchen.
"Into the bowels of hell I shall drag thee! The flames shall lap at your feet and your--"
"Hey, Aztaraphel, come on, do you mind? You're gonna burn the spring rolls!"
"Oh," came the reply of the inhuman chanting. "Sorry, Jeff. Forgot tonight was party night. Hey, you gonna do pizza tonight? I can get the pizza stone warmed up for you."
"Good looking out, dude, but we're ordering in. Wings from that new wing joint over next to that tire place."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything. Spring rolls have got another five minutes or so."
I nodded and went into the living room. As I turned on flat screen in my living room, a haze of static covered the screen. In moments, the static appeared to stretch out toward me, forming the shape of a pair of claws reaching, grasping at me. I took out my wallet and pulled the fifty out, placing it in the right-hand claw. The left hand formed a thumbs-up and the claws withdrew back into the static of the screen. In a moment, the screen snapped to live TV and a little popup indicated "UFC 310 has been purchased."
From the hallway, I heard a shout. "Jeff, dude! You better get in here! The spring rolls, like your chances of escape from the eternal pit of damnation, are done!" | I hear a knock at the door. It opens by itself, like it always does.
“Woah, creepy.”
I run from the living room to greet my friends.
“Hi! Come in!” I say as I gesture for everyone to come inside.
Everyone comes in and the door shuts behind them.
“Thanks!” I say to the ghost.
“What’s up with your door?” Jake asks.
“Oh it’s just the ghosts. They can be nice sometimes.”
“Ghosts? What are you taking about?” Isabel asks.
“Oh yeah, my house is haunted.”
“You know that’s not real, right?” Jake states.
“Yeah sure, anyways, I set up the game in the living room, follow me.”
I lead everyone through the hallway into the living room. The tv is on static and there is bloody writing on the walls saying, *LEAVE NOW*.
“Did you do this??” Isabel asks.
“No, of course not! How could I have gotten fresh blood this late in the day?”
“She’s joking.” Jake says to Isabel, a little unsure about his answer.
“Come on, let’s play!” I say while restarting the TV.
Everyone sits down on the couch and grabs a controller. I start up the game and we begin a new round.
Jake notices the fourth controller on the table.
“What’s that for?” He asks while pointing at it.
“Oh that’s for James.”
“Who’s James?” He asks.
“Oh just the previous owner, he likes video games too.”
“Oh, okay, when is he coming?”
“He’s already here! He never left.” I say while returning my focus on the game.
Suddenly, a fourth screen pops up and a fourth player starts controlling it. The player was James.
“Okay, super weird.” Isabel says while trying not to think about it.
We continue playing until everyone dies.
“Hey I’m going to use your restroom.” Isabel says while walking away.
“Go down the hall, it should be the second door on your left!” I yell to her.
We wait in silence for a few seconds.
“Is this house really haunted, or are you playing a prank on us.”
“Yes, of course! Aren’t most houses haunted?” I ask.
“No. I’m not even sure if that’s a real thing.”
*AHHHHHHHH*
“Isabel!!??” Jake shouts.
We both come to the bathroom where Isabel is standing there with blood on her hands. I look at the sink and turn the knob. Blood comes trickling down the faucet.
“Oh don’t worry, that’s faux blood. Anna wouldn’t waste so much real blood on a real scare like that.”
“What!??” Isabel screams at me.
A face appears in the mirror and startles my friends.
“Sleep tight.” A faint whisper says as the face smiles and goes away.
“She can’t do anything, they can’t leave this house.” I say to make everyone feel better.
“K I’m out of here! This whole house is creepy and weird and I can’t take it.” Jake says while dragging Isabel with him.
“Goodbye!” He shouts as he starts to walk off.
I follow him to the front door where he turns the knob. It doesn’t open.
“Stupid door, did you lock this?”
“Oh silly, of course I did.”
I reach behind my shirt and grab a knife tucked away.
“We can play games forever now!” | 2021-08-03T09:43:47 | 2021-08-03T00:54:25 | 580 | 11 |
[WP] Describe a battle with an army against a single man..... Except that man is a level 20 D&D character.
Bonus points if that character is a Bard, or an unpopular class. | "What do you mean no army?" the king said.
"Just that your highness. We sent in our best trackers. They couldn't find a single print. Nothing but the tracks of our own men."
The attacks had started five months ago. Some tax collectors disappearing in the night. Nothing was thought of it. Happens all the time. There's a reason we pay them so damn much. So we gave them a few guards, figuring that would stop these small time bandits. But no. That wasn't enough. Two tax collector and six guards, all dead. So we added a few more guards. 5 guards on each measly tax collector? It was ridiculous. But, times being as they were, we did it. And they were slaughtered in seconds. After that, we decided to take a more proactive approach. Sent a group of 20 soldiers into the woods to weed out these bandits. Not a single one returned. We weren't dealing with bandits. This was a raiding party, and a strong one at that. The next week we sent 40. Then 60. Then 100 men. All the same. Slaughtered without a man left standing. Not a raiding party, an army. It had to be. We were at war.
Five thousand. Five thousand of our top men. Five thousand men, all with families, many with children and wives, lying dead in a field not three miles from the city walls. And no one saw a thing. No witnesses. No survivors. And no opposing army.
"What the hell are we dealing with!" the king demanded.
"I have no idea sir."
"Wizards?"
"Not impossible, but not very likely. There wasn't a scorch mark to be seen, and no other anomalies were reported either. Just the dead. Some killed by arrows, others swords, a few slit throats..."
"Incredibly skilled warriors then?"
"We would have seen the footprints."
"Then what the hell could it have been!" The king screamed. "An army of ghosts! Or did our whole battalion just decide to turn on each other?"
"Um..." the king's adviser said meekly "We can't entirely rule out either possibility..."
"FIVE THOUSAND MEN KILLED IN COLD BLOOD AND NO ONE KNOWS HOW THE HELL THEY DIED?"
Suddenly, a blade of cold steel was pressed against the king's neck. "I do," said a calm female voice coming from behind the throne. "Any last words?"
"Fuck. Rogue." | It was felling day, as the armies of Water's Deep and the Host-towers found themselves, improbably, allied. Wizards and warriors, Criminals and scholars, joined with a single purpose, a single target.
As they crested the final hill, they perceived his dreaded sanctum, a small tent in the valley below. The horses charged forward, five thousand strong. The ground trembled under the hooves of mighty stallions. The mountains shook at voices raised in glorious combat. Behind them, fire and lightning streaked through the air, as a hundred wizards released a magical bombardment.
In the valley a single figure emerged, carrying a bone flute. She placed it delicately to her lips, and blew a gentle note. It sounded clearly, through the war songs and incantations. It had a strange quality, otherworldly and wonderful. And men could not help but marvel at its beauty. And there was silence. Soldiers slid off their horses, as the horses themselves buckled to the ground. Birds fell from the sky, and the grass itself withered and died. The valley was a dead place now.
Panicked and afraid, archers turned the sky black with arrows. Wizards continued chanting. Infantry battalions steeled themselves. They would not lose this battle. They could not lose this battle. They screamed their defiance to the heavens, and the heavens answered.
The women's mouth opened, and time froze to appreciate her voice.
"*Dies Irae....... Dies Illa*"
The sky became impossible bright, as a angels descended upon scorched earth. This was not a battle, it never had been. This was a one sided slaughter. The figure gave a slight smile, even as spells exploded harmlessly around her. She raised her flute again, happy to play in solitude. | 2016-03-16T20:41:51 | 2016-03-16T20:29:35 | 91 | 10 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | "Is it true, you're going to let me die?" Daisy says as she lets out a whimper
"What the fuck did you just say?" Shouts Jeremy at the old family dog he was left to care for after his parents were T-Boned by a drunk driver a fortnight ago.
"They just inject a needle and I go to sleep? Will I feel any pain?" a sadness rolls over Daisy's eyes hoping she has misunderstood her fate.
"The fuck?! Is this the movie TED 2?!?" a drunken Jeremy says laughing to himself
Daisy jumps up on Jeremy's lap in an attempt to bring him back to reality. "Jeremy, it's me, I know you're drunk but you're not imaging things, it's me."
Jeremy eyes widen, he can feel the pressure from his eyelids in his forehead. "Daisy you can talk!?" -- "Yes, Jeremy. Please, why are you putting me down I don't want to die?"
"Dais, it's not like that, I love you, I just don't have the money for your surgery, you're getting old"
"Do you think there is some kind of dog health insurance you can take out with out having to list my pre-existing conditions??!"
"Dais, I don't really know much about human health care, I don't know if that exists, this is really confusing"
"Please, Jeremy, please don't let me die is the anything I can do to change your mind" Daisy, still on his lap snuggles her snout under her chin, this has always works for treats, maybe it will work now. She can feel Jeremy's body start to relax, she starts to lick his neck.
Jeremy has always been a sucker for this type of attention, she's licked many of his tears away that were from his many failed relationships growing up.
"Jeremy, Please. I'll do anything" Daisy whispers into his ear under a warm breathe. Jeremy slowly exhausts his lungs, uncomfortable that he his slightly aroused by Daisy's deviant voice. Daisy knows what Jeremy wants, she used sleep in Jeremy's room and watch him with his old girlfriends.
Jeremy leans away, confused, still drunk. Daisy backs off and starts digging at the zipper near Jeremy's crotch like shes digging for her old bone in the yard. She can feel his cock get harder with every swipe.
"Let me get that!" Jeremy shouts as he unzippers his pants and takes out his cock.
--- That's enough...
| Room spinning, face warm and night stretched so thin that it was quickly becoming midday she stumbled into the kitchen. An outstretched hand reached out to scrape against walls, slipping onto counters to boost unreliable knees. A quick rest by the fridge, face pressed against the coolness of the freezer door.
"O-ne m-month," she slurred in a low hiccuping tone. She wrenched the freezer door open, narrowly stepping on a long tail. "Sorry. 'M so- so sorry," she apologized to disapproving golden eyes. A nose in the air in response, a furry back of disdainful avoidance. Instead tiny paws found the battered remains of her cellphone, pushing across the floor.
"I m-made it o-one mon-th," she started again, pouring vodka into a still cool shotglass. Her hand perfectly still and steady for the pour, a thing of long practice from long nights and fond memories. A deep breath and she reaches upwards to fill her head with empty and her heart with numb.
The glass slips from her fingers, tumbling almost majestically into the waterbowl at the edge of the linoleum. "Fuck," she sighed in defeat, legs giving out beneath her. She looks at the glass, just beyond her reach, then at the bottle in her hand. "Fuck it." Bottle to lips and a sharp gasp after the burning subsides. A strange cracking sound hit her ears, before she recognized her own broken laughter.
The cat dipped another paw into its bowl, licking it meticulously clean before dipping it in again. It looked at its paw for a moment before leaning down for a long drought. A slow relaxation seemed to wash over it and it looked back at the broken grieving woman collapsed on the kitchen floor.
The cat gave her one long slow blink before sighing heavily, "Get over it already. Pussy." | 2016-08-02T19:04:22 | 2016-08-02T18:41:05 | 437 | 172 |
[WP] You are in heaven and you see a room that is empty except for a computer with one program running called Earth.exe. You see a tab with options of what to do to the universe and decide to have a little fun. | It’s empty. Not empty like you’d imagine empty. Not white. Not black. Empty. Have you ever seen empty? I wouldn’t think so. Each life was so full. Full of cars and trees. Animals. Life. Death. Dirt.
So full. Now empty.
I look down. No hands no feet. So empty. I wonder... how is it that I can hear myself thinking but not see myself? Not feel my heartbeat nor my tongue in my mouth. Not see anything. But emptiness..
A moment passes. Then, all of a sudden it’s not empty! I was beginning to feel the void sucking at my life essence but now I have a computer! One piece of existence to cling on to. One single piece.
Not sitting. Not standing. Not moving. But somehow I’m at the computer. It’s not much. An old model Mac. Circa 1987. Maybe there’s a copy of Dig Dug? No. Just a program I’ve never experienced. “Earth.exe.” It seems strange. Nearly as strange as TempleOS.
The mappings are convoluted. Conjuring the script I attempt to decipher the code. It isn’t in html or java. I’ve never seen this before. Never. Not anything even close.
Exiting the script I see options now. It feels like a test. Someone has given me options to engage with Earth. It must be a test.
Hovering, I see the means to alter terrain and create new life. To destroy and create turmoil. I don’t want to crash the program. The fear is keeping me from exploring too much but I can’t resist the temptation. I have to try something.
I scroll and scroll and scroll, looking for something small to tinker with. Finally, I find single particle alterations. Move a piece of sand, make a leaf fall. You know, really minor things.
Right as I’m about to click the sand I have a thought. It’s about the butterfly affect. How one minor change could completely alter reality. It stays in my thoughts as I stare at the screen.
It really isn’t my place to play God.
“Well Done.”
| I'm in a room by myself. I'm in heaven apparently, since there's a big ass sign in the corner of the room that says heaven.
Earlier, God told me hello, and to make myself at home. I certainly did. I took a glance at the computer looking right at me. It had gold stripes and vines, going side to side. On the computer, it had a program running earth.exe. I smirked, and sat down on the chair right by the computer. I took the mouse, clicked properties, cracked my knuckles, and decided to get to work. When I clicked properties, it opened up a red box that said,
[hello, god]
Password:
I tried many, many passwords, but the word was the simplest of passwords:
Password.
I chuckled. How could god be this stupid!
With that done and over with, the program opened up a tab with options of what to do. I saw one option that intrigued me, though.
Fire.
A little fire on earth couldn't hurt, right? I clicked the option, and kept clicking it, until eventually, I got addicted. Next, I saw the button, "Castle." I clicked on it of course, because why not. I also made little minions, mostly to be my slaves. I clicked more and more options until I got tried. Why am I clicking these options, you ask?
I am Satan, and I'm planing to make earth my new home. | 2018-11-24T13:53:12 | 2018-11-24T12:43:51 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You start working in a nursing home, you have a resident diagnosed with late stage dementia. They ramble about their life experiences, from building pyramids to seeing Jesus crucified to watching fights at the Roman Colosseum. 20 years pass, you are now chief nurse, and they haven't aged a bit. | ######[](#dropcap)
"Come now, Nikolas." I wheeled the old man down the hall, stopping for just a second to adjust the blanket in his lap. I'd been watching over him for nigh on twenty years now, since I was just a young woman myself, till now.
He'd been there for the better part of my life now. And in the last twenty or so years, the crinkles of his eyes never got deeper, and his smile became colder. In the least strange way possible, it always seemed like it was meant to be this way.
I had never gotten to travel. Born into a world that didn't care whether I lived or perished, I barely survived orphanage, almost falling victim to a carer who only wished to bleed the institution dry and gave no fucks about us, and then to a foster parent who had one too many kids. I can still recall the way Cindy used to sneer at me from the couch, her rotund body spilling off the sides, barking at me to make another sandwich. You're only around so we can get tax breaks, she used to say to me. You should be grateful.
Gratitude is a word I did not understand until the age of twenty, when after eking my way through college, I became saddled with a mountain of debt. College will help you land a job, the professors had said. It will change your future, make it bright and wondrous. Even back then, I had wondered, could college help make me feel less alone? All throughout my life, the one thing that had followed me was an aching sense of loneliness, no matter how many friends I made at the orphanage or how many parties I went to in college. Peoples' faces all seemed to blur together, and no one stayed around for longer than a year.
But at end of four years, I graduated with a degree and a sense that I was no less alone than I had been four years ago.
And even worse, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get a job. So maybe it was through sheer dumb luck that I saw the "Help Wanted" flyer for the nursery on the board, the last strip of phone number barely hanging on by a thread.
Maybe it was dumb luck that Nikolas had wheeled himself into the interview room, demanding an ice cream cone, and that I had--by some whim--decided to go out and grab it, the interview be damned. Perhaps it was the way he said it--a deep resignation embedded within the angry tone he had used.
I knew it well. I had used that tone often enough to lash out against my roommate, the one person who had had any chance of being my friend. It was the tone someone used when they wanted to be loved but had no idea how. I resolved, at that moment, to help him in the way I couldn't be helped. To save him in the way I could not be saved.
The job was stable enough. There weren't many benefits, but anything was a step up from the streets. I got my own little room, a twin sized bed, and a bookshelf that could fit three books along the bottom shelf and nothing else because the other shelves fell if any weight was put on them. The residents usually only rang during the night if they needed to use the restroom, but some of the more persnickety ones called me up sometimes to turn on the TV and then five minutes later to turn it off. Nikolas rang whenever he felt like it. And since he didn't keep a steady sleep schedule, neither did I.
I think it was more about the human contact than anything else. Every time I showed up to his room, his eyebrows would furrow together like he abhorred me being there, but then he would find all sorts of excuses to keep me there anyways. His flowers needed tending to. The vase needed to be moved. His pillows were uncomfortable. The sun was too bright, and he wanted the blinds shut. The room was too dark, and he wanted the blinds open.
Perhaps I should've been annoyed. The other nurses were, after all, and eventually, since I became the only one who could handle his strange temperament, I was the sole nurse assigned to him. But strangely enough, I didn't mind. I relished the endless stories that could've been nothing but some combination of fiction and memories from the history books he loved to devour. In this way at least, I could travel.
Nikolas's mind is just as sharp as it was twenty years ago. He hasn't seemed to age one bit. I am older now, and I can feel my limbs begin to ache when I settle into my twin bed at night. But I still feel twenty. I still feel that sense of wonder every time Nikolas comes up with a new tale. I know he's old. Much older than he has any right to be, and that he won't be around forever.
But somehow, I feel like he won't die before me. I get the feeling that he's waiting for me. That in the end, it wasn't me saving him.
It was him saving me.
***
r/AlannaWu | So I sat there, alone. It was a rather peculiar day, nothing much was going on but I could feel a storm rising. My head felt heavy and my hands felt light. Maybe I was just tired. I had a few things on my mind that day, like whether or not Jannette needed assistance and if the tempature in San Bernadino would ever change. One thing came to me and for the next few hours, it's all I had on my mind. See, quite a few folk down here are losing it from their socks all the way up to their brains. It's a somber sight, but a few years of working with the same old things dulls the pain a little. There's this one patient I had a few years back, though, the strangest bastard I'd ever met working in one of these places. Jeremy Cloves, he wore a fuzzy pair of pine green pants and an overlong grey coat, always spoke like a mobster that emigrated from Sicily, and he always told these fascinating tales. He was a natural at it. The Pyramids, Jesus Christ and Julius Caesar were among the best ones he told. They felt authentic in a way that told you he could've been there. Dementia was killing the poor fella, but he pulled through.
A group of men in black suits showed up, claimed they were family. They both had the same haircut, face, pair of shoes. From a distance, one wouldn't have been be wrong for mistaking the twins for clones. I remember the feeling of confusion on his face, his last words being a rather elegant sounding "what?" I don't know what it was about the old man, but seeing him be wheeled away left a dent in my heart, took a piece out of everyone that day. Then one day he shows up again. He looks a little beaten up, but he has documentation that proves he's in the right place and nothing points to anything out of the ordinary. For all we knew, nothing was out of the ordinary.
As I flicked my slowly waning cigarette in the air, a thought bubbled into thin air. How long ago was that? I couldn't ask Jeremy myself, he was too busy talking about how chill Socrates was in person and he wouldn't have remembered anything. Since then, I had gotten married, had three kids and got promoted to chief nurse. It felt like it was all yesterday, but then I pictured Eden's High School graduation, Jake enrolling in UCLA, Eula recieving her bachelor's degree in communication. It all felt like yesterday, but I knew it was not. My hair was a beautifully wavy brunette back then. That same summer, the colors started to dilute themselves.
A feint buzzing arose from my pocket. I lowered my left hand to the ash tray, break time was over. Getting up, the world suddenly became fast again. I checked in on Jannette, she was fine. Gray? I mean, he needed a glass of water, but otherwise, fine. Chuck had a nosebleed, but he handled it all by himself, the saint that he was. As I stopped at Jeremy's door, a sneaking suspicion grew in me. Running through my mind are two seperate thoughts: one, he hadn't aged im a bit in 20 years, and 2, something seemed off. Beneath the door frame, a dim yellow light illuminated the murky gray corridors that each room was clumped together in. It didn't seem unusual, the lightbulbs need replacements all the time, but something about it looked shiny, plastic-like almost. I put my ear up to the door, my skin crawling with jitters. I heard a screech of sorts, although it kind of sounded like a snore. The wires in the bedframe were rocking like he'd had another person on there, bouncing around with him. Then, the coughing. The coughing turned to wheezing, then, well, puke. Constant puke. I stood still, cold and trapped in my own body. When it died down, I peeked inside. It looked dingy with all the vomit, like a completely different place. When Jeremy shifted his body as he slept, I knew something had changed. He now wore bright orange pants and a red flannel shirt.
I stayed home for a few days after that. I couldn't escape the thought of it, not even in sleep. I heard from the Secretary a day or two later right before leaving the supplies closet with her. The black suits came back. | 2019-06-11T23:18:30 | 2019-06-11T23:18:28 | 138 | 32 |
[WP] You were sent to go deal with reports of a sinister witch in the woods that has been terrifying local villagers. Your grandmother is surprised to see you, but offers tea and cake while you're here. | Nathan's boots crunched on the fallen leaves as he slowly approached the quaint stone cottage in the heart of the woods. He eyed the assortment of effigies hanging from the trees outside the rustic dwelling warily, reaching for the aspergillum concealed beneath his cloak but paused. He did not feel the oppressive aura that often accompanied such wards around the house of a witch. The crude dolls and symbols fashioned from rags and twigs might be unwholesome, but it seemed they were also bereft of power.
Perhaps, he mused, whatever devils empowered the sorceress who lived here had withdrawn their favor from her lately, causing her craft to weaken? It would explain the reports of missing children attributed to the "Witch of the Woodlands", that had brought Nathan here to begin with. Nothing curried favor with the denizens of damnation like the blood of the innocent.
He approached the wooden door, then froze and laid a hand to the grip of his flintlock pistol. He heard shuffling and hasty footsteps from inside. The witch knew he was here! Quickly, he drew out his aspergillum, and splashed blessed water on the door, in case it had been enchanted with some foul hex to prevent his entry.
He put his shoulder to the portal, and almost fell onto his face as it swung open easily, being neither locked nor latched. Recovering his balance, he cast his eyes about the room. On a small settee, a ragged sheet covered a lumpen form. Blood was beginning to seep through the threadbare fabric. A part of him agonized at this, realizing he had probably been too late to save the witch's victims. But that was nothing, compared to the shock he felt when his eyes settled on the room's sole occupant, seated in an overstuffed armchair by the hearth. His jaw dropped.
"Hello dear!" Nathan's grandmother greeted him, cheerfully, looking up from a tangle of needles and yarn in her lap. "I wasn't expecting you -- can I offer you some tea and cakes?"
Nathan gritted his teeth. It was not unheard of for witches to assume the semblance of a hunter's loved ones to deter them. Nathan, however, was far from powerless against such trickery.
*"O Dei, aperi oculos meos. Amen."* Nathan intoned the holy invocation, reverently, and felt a brief comforting warmth. He blinked his eyes.
His grandmother still sat before him. She nodded up at him placidly.
"Still saying your prayers, dear? Good, good."
Nathan couldn't believe his eyes. And yet, he could not do otherwise.
"Grandmother!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
She cleared her throat, glancing away. "Well...that's...that's quite a thing to ask an old woman in her own house, don't you think?"
He folded his arms. "This is not your house! I've been to your house, and not a fortnight past!"
"Well...does that...some folk have more than one house!" she stammered, folding her own arms and scowling.
"You don't." he shot back.
"You can't prove that!"
Nathan's blood ran cold. "I...I can't believe this. My own grandmother...you're...you're a..." He couldn't finish his sentence. What did he do? What *could* he do, besides his sacred duty? His hand edged towards his pistol, even as his heart twisted painfully in his chest.
His grandmother let out a long sigh. "Alright, alright. You've caught me."
She threw aside the needles and yarn, and rose to her feet. She strode purposefully to the settee, seized the bloodstained coverlet, and whipped it back with a surprisingly quick motion. Nathan gasped.
Beneath it lay a decapitated corpse, the severed head resting askew beside it. It was not, he realized with some small relief, the body of a child. Rather, it was the corpse of an ancient old hag, in dark, tattered rags, her face frozen in a dying shriek of rage. Around the stump of her neck, Nathan recognized charms wrought from bone -- animal and human alike. It was the body of a witch.
He turned back to his grandmother in stunned disbelief, as she then walked back to the chair beside the fire, reached behind it, and withdrew a woodcutter's axe, its keen blade still glistening with fresh blood, and rested the weapon on her shoulder.
"That's right, boy." she said, lifting her chin. "I'm a Witch-hunter." | All Agatha ever wanted was a simple, quiet life – the kind all grandmothers wanted. Every week, her lovely granddaughter would visit with stories about her studies. Vivian was always such a rambunctious child. But such energy was a welcome interruption to her life of solitude.
“Vivian, sweetheart, don’t forget to pack the earth properly. The flowers won’t grow if you don’t.”
“Okay, Grandma!” Young Vivian was so cute with smudges of dirt on her face.
“Let’s finish up out here and we can have some cake and tea, alright?”
Vivian cheered – she always looked forward to teatime. Through the years, Agatha learned more about Vivian’s school life. Her friends sometimes complained about her athleticism. Sometimes, the tests were a bit too easy. It was clear as day that Vivian was destined for greatness.
“Grandma! I got into the Royal Academy!”
“I’m so proud of you. Come in, come in! I’ll put a kettle on, and you can tell me all about it.”
As Vivian began training in the academy, her visits became a bit more infrequent. Yet – sweet child that she was – Vivian would always visit whenever she was in the area. Every time, Agatha would be waiting with tea and cakes for her lovely granddaughter. But, as time passed, the world changed as well.
“Grandma, they’ve been complaining about you in Cartha again. I’ve tried to explain that you had nothing to do with it, but they won’t listen.”
As the kingdom expanded, more villages emerged on the outskirts, closer to her home. And in time, more troublesome rumors emerged.
Agatha patted Vivian’s hand, feeling the calluses from training. “Sweetie, I don’t blame them. They’re only scared of the unknown. What better target than a little old woman out in the woods? Portmentia was the same a few years back.”
Vivian’s grip tightened for a moment. “I hate it. Why can’t they just leave you alone? You’re not hurting anyone.”
“I’ll be fine, sweetie. Come now. Have some tea and tell me about what you’ve been up to. It’s been a while since you’ve visited.”
A moment passed before Vivian’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Grandma. I just worry.”
“And I appreciate the concern. But I’ll be fine. I’ve lived a long life, you know?”
Their conversation turned to lighter topics. Vivian had recently returned from a quest north of the kingdom. There were plans on establishing a better trade route through the mountains. Her granddaughter had become quite a prominent figure in the eyes of the monarchy. It did not take much these days for Vivian to convince superstitious locals to leave her alone.
As the sun began to set, Vivian stood. “It was nice seeing you again, Grandma. I have to get back to my party now.”
“Take care out there. There are terrible creatures in the woods, you know?” Agatha patted Vivian’s hand one more time.
Vivian smiled, and for a moment that rambunctious child shone through. “Don’t worry about me, Grandma. I’m strong. I’ll have a word with the people of Cartha about all the rumors.”
“Don’t go too crazy now.” Agatha laughed and waved Vivian along.
She stood by her doorway until Vivian was out of sight. Yes, this was the life she wanted. Vivian, the S-ranked fighter of the Motem Dynasty, would keep Agatha safe no matter what. And if a few locals needed to be taught to leave well enough alone, then so be it.
...
Short response today since I did so much yesterday. I wanna play video games, dammit.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading. | 2022-12-18T11:37:19 | 2022-12-18T09:14:25 | 47 | 19 |
[WP] One day, you see a picture of yourself in a foreign newspaper. You ask someone to translate the headline for you: "Search for kidnapped child still ongoing." | Mom and Dad said I was adopted. We even had the adoption papers. It was all correct. When I saw that computer aged version of myself, I couldn’t believe it. That wasn’t actually me.
The paper read, in Russian, “Anastasia Argechev was two years old when she was taken from her Moscow home. Her parents, Natasha and Stefan Argechev, remember her today, as it would be the 18th anniversary of her disappearance. They have never stopped looking for their precious daughter. We love you Anastasia, come home.”
It gave a phone number to the family. I wanted to call them. But I also needed to call my own parents. I wouldn’t be able to see them for five more months, as I was a foreign exchange student in Moscow.
After I called my parents, I didn’t know what to believe. My mother told me that they adopted me from Russia before they immigrated to the United States. She even told me the name of the adoption agency.
But when I went to go to the adoption agency, it wasn’t even there. It hadn’t been open for thirty years.
And so, I went to the family who was missing a baby girl that was my age. That looked identical to me.
The door opened to women who looked like me, but older with grey mixed in the red.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Stefan! Come quickly!” She shouted.
A man came to the door, his eyes a bright blue, filled with hope.
“Anastasia,” he sighed.
It was then that I knew. I was home.
Sorry if it’s not very good, wrote this on a school bus coming home from a marching band competition.
| Well, cause you asked. I gotta warn you though, it's my first WP:
"Heh, imagine if it actually said that."
"No Mark, I'm being serial."
"Serious."
"Serious. The main paragraph says 'The suspect's recent confessions indicate he was...' There's no word for this... 'Kidnapped to another country for someone?"'
"What, like sold?"
"Pretty much."
"Aight dude, stop messing with me."
"'The kid, Luis Peral Bermúdez, had 4 years when he got stolen. His fathers, Maria Bermúdez Asua and Felipe Peral Torres, ask to the... People who stole him... That they don't hurt him, wherever he is, and that they give him back. They hold hope that he is still alive." That is fucked up.
"Dude, this kid really looks like me. It's so weird."
"Yeah. What are we eating for dinner? I'm starving!"
Just in case, the mistakes are on purpose. Accents are hard to imitate in text, and I hate having to resort to "*zey haf ze nuklear vepons!*" kind of accents.
| 2017-10-21T16:06:47 | 2017-10-21T11:09:22 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | I am the source.
The source of everything good, bad, holy, evil, light, dark.
I am the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am the punk and I
am the .44 Magnum and I am feeling lucky. I am not for a few dollars more because I am all dollars.
I am the beauty and the beast. I am the genie and I am the wishes.
I am the car, and I am the road. I am the pothole too. I am the twinge you feel in your back. I am the swear word that escapes your cavity ridden mouth. I am the cavity.
I am the bow and I am the arrow. But I am not the target, because I am the source. Get your act together man!
I am. It is me. The source. The source of all knowledge, of all wisdom and of all folly. I am the donut, and I am the hole. I am what they teach you at Harvard Business school, and I am what they don't. I know how to make friends and influence people. When you die in a game and you don't know how, I am the source of your death. I am also the violators of mothers and sisters everywhere.
I am the butterfly and I am the effect. I am the wall and I am the builder. I am the health care coverage and I am the illness. Yes, I am also the medical bill.
Ask me anything.
| I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist. | 2016-02-22T09:46:55 | 2016-02-22T09:31:34 | 104 | 15 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | How long has it been?
Weeks?...Months?...maybe more.
All I knew is that I should have been dead.
I knew how it worked. 3 days without water, a month without food. And yet, nothing. I knew at the very least I should have died of thirst by now. Maybe the immobility that results from being tied up could have given me a few extra hours but I knew I should have been long dead.
As for food, well, that's another story. I knew I felt hungry. In fact I felt hungry within hours of being locked in this damn room. But my hunger didn't grow. I didn't seem to be losing weight either, which should have started long ago.
Despite losing my sense of time, I knew at the very least I should be dead from something.
Maybe exposure?
It was cold, wherever I was. Having been stripped of my clothing I could not find comfort in any sort of warmth. I probably should have become hypothermic by now, but again I felt nothing unusual.
My captor intended for me to suffer a long, agonizing death, one way or another. If I was to die for any reason in this chamber, he certainly would have got the long part right. I could only hope that I could find those I left behind in whatever afterlife I ended up in.
I can only imagine the look on my mother's face when I didn't come home that day. She'd taken me in when I was just days old after finding me on her doorstep. There was no note, not even a blanket to keep me warm, but she took me off that cold...hard concrete and raised me as if I was her own. I wish I could speak with her, to let her know that I'm still alive, despite not knowing how. But I didn't even know if she was alive, if anyone I had once known was still alive.
Today, for the first time in my life, I prayed. I had never been religious, and yet, in my infinite loneliness, I found myself crying out into the aether. I asked for a way out, or at the very least an answer. An answer as to why I was where I was. Why my birth parents abandoned me, why I never fit in with anyone, and most importantly, why I wasn't dead.
And before my eyes, my prayers were answered. In the form of the rusted Steel door I had entered through, finally swinging open. A grizzled old man entered looking to be well over 80 years old. But there was something familiar about him.
"40 years," he said, "And you haven't aged a day"
Had...had it really been that long
"I might not know how you're still alive, but theres one thing that nothing can survive, not even you devil spawn"
Wait, did he really think I was some kind of demon? Granted I wasn't even sure what I was anymore. But I was at least 75% sure I wasn't a demon.
The man produced a knife, 12 inches of carbon steel, sharpened to a razor edge. He approached And placed the point of the knife on my chest. He carefully positioned it between 2 of my ribs before re-positioning his hands to plunge the blade through my heart.
The man put all his weight into that blade, it cut into me so cleanly I felt almost no pain, I felt it slide through the muscle of my chest, into my heart, and out the other side. Slowly, he withdrew the blade and stepped back to admire his handiwork. As the blood poured from the gaping wounds in my chest and back, the mans face changed from a look of satisfaction to unrequited horror, as if he was only now realizing the moral implications of his actions.
Things got weird when the man bowed before me. He asked desperately for my forgiveness and kept referring to me as "lord." His groveling confused me and I asked why he displayed such actions. The man, with a shaky arthritic hand pointed to my chest. It was at that moment I remembered I'd been stabbed. My confusion over the man's actions had distracted me. I looked down at my chest, unprepared for what I would find...
...my blood...it was the colour of gold. | "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH" I scream out in pain as the masked man starts to slowly lift my index finger nail on my left hand. The finger pulses uncontrollably with pain.
"You don't know me" the man said. After a brief pause he continued "Oh wait. You do know me! That's to bad for you. In fact you know too much about me. I can't let you stay like that."
"Then why don't you just kill me then?" I squeaked out as loud as I could through the screams of my pain.
"Kill you? Why yes, I will. But you won't see it coming. It will happen when you least"
"AHHHH AH" I screamed, a knife was sticking out of my chest. "YOU BITCH" My whole chest was pulsing hard, a rush of pain with every pulse.
"That was even more fun that I imagined!" The masked man exclaimed. "I'll leave you to die alone, no one to talk to, no one to see, all alone. You did say that was your greatest fear, right?"
My breathing starting to become uneven, a warmness started to spread from my chest, it ran down my stomach and down my legs until it ran off of my skin. The man was nowhere in sight. Eyes were getting heavier, and heavier, and heavier, until finally black.
Eyes opened to see red. Everything was warm, and quite, it made you want to sleep. A man, or more like a figure of a man appeared in front of me. He had a large black sword slung across his back, everything else about him looked like a fuzzy shadow. He opened his eyes, they were bright yellow.
"Who are" I began to say before he interrupted me
"Why are you here? You are only a human, you should not be here"
"You tell me. I don't know what this is, am I dead?"
"Ha. No, you are not dead. It seems you may never be. Well, I guess that is your choice, but humans are oh so greedy, you will want to live, like every other chosen."
"Chosen?" I asked
"Never mind that. You have a choice. Live or die, simple as that."
"I would like to live..." I said hesitantly
"Good. Good. See, the choice is simple. You will wake up feeling as you have just taken a relaxing nap. Over the course of a day or two you will notice you have a unique power. You will gain a new power after each time you come here and are reawakened." The shadow said while slowly circling me, his eyes dug into me. It felt as if he saw everything about me.
"I get to live for as long as I want, and I get a new power every time? What kind of powers are we talking?"
"The powers are unique to only you, I can not say what they will or might be. They will almost certainly come in handy with your tasks. Life and power comes with a price. When you wake you must take the life of someone who is not chosen, someone inferior. It should be like killing an insect. The power is a different cost, that is again different for every power. You will know what it is after the first use of your power"
"What if I no longer want to live, no longer want to accept your offer?" I inquired
"Simple. Die again." The shadow said with a sneer.
I woke up in the same chair my torturer left me in. The knife gone, the wound gone, no pain, yet I felt dead inside. | 2017-02-08T11:45:29 | 2017-02-08T10:53:29 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You are an American astronaut on the International Space Station when a second cold war breaks out. Tensions between the U.S. and Russia are higher than they've every been, and the Russian Cosmonauts are beginning to whisper and give you strange looks... | There had always been a special bond between us crewmembers aboard the space station, a feeling that although we all come from different cultures we are united by our love of technology and our desire to improve life for the human race.
News had been coming in daily about the increasing political tensions between NATO and Russia, and it was news that the crew didn't know how to cope with. Even though we all live and work together, we are each still bound by our obligations to our respective governments. As tensions became more heated on the ground, crews aboard the space station began to become more isolated from each other as well.
I noticed the Russian Cosmonauts talking closely amongst themselves one day, it seemed as if the most senior of ther crew was trying to convince the others to go along with him. I decided to see what the group was talking about, so I floated over to join them. As I grabbed onto one of the metal handles positioned around the cabin to stabilize myself, the senior Russian Cosmonaut got very philosophical with me, he said
"Do you ever think about how people look up to us?"
"Of course" I told him "It''s a privilege living aboard this station, nothing gives me a better feeling than knowing I'm living like my heroes did and inspiring another generation after me"
"Do you ever think we can do more than just inspire kids to go to university?" He said
"What do you mean?" I replied, I could tell he was eager to let out an idea.
"We can show the world how to live in peace, but we have to be unified in our effort. A cargo ship is scheduled to be launched next week with supplies soley for the Cosmonauts aboard the station. We think we are going to turn away the cargo."
Internal memos from NASA to the American Astronauts contained very similar news. We were instructed not to share any food or hygienic items with Cosmonauts aboard the station with us.
I looked him in his eye and told him I was with him. Everyone aboard the space station was in a unique position to be able to make a show of peace that the entire world would see, and we were proud to put the plan into action. Everyone aboard the space station lived their lives to show the world how to live for the pursuit of knowledge. We had all read the stories of the Greeks, the Romans, and countless other human conflicts throughout history. We were determined to do the right thing, and not allow ourselves to become political pawns in a new cold war.
A hunger strike in space was something that no engineer ever thought would happen when considering logistics for space station missions. It was exactly the kind of radical action that was needed to show the world how to live in harmony. | This is horrible news. I need to defuse this situation, quickly. I turned to my partners, Zack and Helen.
"We need to talk to them about this before they get the wrong idea."
The two nodded in agreement. We walked up to our 3 coworkers-possibly-turned-enemies, who were wary of our approach. I spoke first.
"Listen, my fighting days are over. I'm willing to allow this station to remain neutral territory. How about you guys?"
There was an exchange of uncertain looks, before a 4th Russian, my newfound girlfriend, Sasha, entered the room. She walked up to me and kissed my cheek, grabbing my hand as she did so.
"(I'll stand with you, darling.)"
Her act of kindness brought a smile to my face. I looked to to the other Russians for their response. They all seemed to be happy about it. One of the men, Yuri, spoke up.
"(I don't know what lies ahead, but I think we're willing to set aside our differences.)"
I turned to my partners for their opinion on the matter.
Helen spoke first.
"It's fine by me. But I don't know about Zack..."
I turned to Zack only to see him just in time to receive a knife in the midriff. In his other hand, he drew a pistol.
*Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!*
As I fell to the floor, I could only watch as Zack gunned down my partner, my would-be fiancee, and my newfound Russian comrades. One by one, all 5 of them hit the hard floor, Zack maintaining an emotionless face all the while.
He then turned to me and spoke one last time.
"Sorry, sir, but I have a mission to fulfill. Your country thanks you for your service."
With that, he aimed his gun at my head and pulled the trigger. | 2018-03-21T10:22:34 | 2018-03-21T10:02:47 | 70 | 15 |
[WP] The Government brings back trial by combat and televises it to earn revenue. The worse the crime, the more difficult the champion. You're the government's chosen champion to fight a tax evader who owes 40 million. | The chiming bells echoed off the walls of the empty hallway. It was a sound I had grown used to, a sound that used to fill me with dread but now only filled me with a bestial hunger.
But today was different. The air seemed a little colder, the chainmail a little heavier and my muscles a little stiffer. It was my biggest battle yet, after all.
40 million. The amount wasn't astronomical, but ever since the government had brought back trial by combat nobody had dared to commit a crime of such scale. Nobody except him.
They called him Kingpin. The government had been on his tail for years before he finally let slip. It was almost too easy. The criminal mastermind whose reach and influence knew no bounds had been done in by tax evasion.
I was only too familiar with Kingpin. I had been instrumental in bringing down some of his top men when they were on trial. To me, it was just a job. After I left the military, I needed something to pay the bills and this was right up my alley.
Nonetheless, I eventually became the best at my craft. I painstakingly climbed the ladder, starting with petty shoplifters and slowly growing to molesters before reaching the murderers and rapists. I had many close calls along the way with countless sickly scars as testament but eventually I became the government's go-to guy.
The next best guy was in a whole other league below me. I had grown used to jam-packed stadiums with throngs of fans chanting my names. My ego had rightly inflated, but I knew every fight could be my last.
I stood up and took a deep breath. It was finally time. As I strode across the hall into the stadium, the eerie silence was replaced with a roar of cheers. The energy of the crowd was unlike any other previous battle. I smiled and gave the fans a wave, which they returned with thunderous applause.
At the other end of the stadium, I saw my opponent. He was clad in plain grey cotton shirt and trousers which offered no protection. In his hand, he casually twirled a small dagger that glinted sunlight off its sharp, steel blade.
The commentator gave the introductions and read out the charges but to me his voice faded into a dull haze with the cacophony of the crowd. My mind was purely focused on the task at hand and I knew what had to be done.
"Begin!" The moment I heard the word, my mind went into auto-pilot. I began walking towards him, simultaneously unsheating my sword. He stood patiently waiting at the other end, unfazed.
Each step kicked up a cloud of sand as I walked. As I approached him, the crowd seemed to hold its breath and I noticed the cheeky grin he was wearing.
"Promise me she'll live," I croaked, voice was raspy and raw.
He exhaled and eyed me critically. "Well, that's a promise only God can make." His voice had a silky smoothness with a cheeky undertone. "I can promise you she'll get that operation, though."
I swallowed and nodded. With a laugh, he raised the dagger and jammed it straight into my neck. The burning lasted only a few seconds. The outrage of the crowd faded into the background as I slumped onto the floor. Before I knew it, my vision began to darken. In my last moments, I saw her. Frail and weak, lying on the bed with tubes protruding from her body like an insect caught in a spider web. She was as beautiful as the day I first met her.
Then there was nothing. | Jury duty. Three grocery flyers, my cell bill, and an embroidered card. My lanyard swung gently from the key still in my mailbox lock, my trembling hand frozen in the air. I stared at the card, two words in bold red letters burning into my eyes. My guts went cold. I stood there for an eternity before finally reaching in and pulling the card out, spilling the other contents on the floor of my apartment building entryway.
"CONGRATULATIONS you have been chosen as a representative of our great nation to uphold the standards we expect of our citizens."
I absently found my way to my apartment, I think Mrs. Williams down the hall was speaking to me briefly but I wasn't there. I dropped the card on the floor and collapsed onto my bed. My hand hung over the edge and nudged a half empty bottle of rye from the night before, lucky for me my life wasn't going great before this so at least I was prepared. I drank myself into apathy that night. According to the card I was to report to the local TV station four days later for "promotional" purposes. I was expected to kill or be killed in a fight with a stranger and the bastards were treating it like I won the god damn lottery. The stranger in question? His unforgivable crime was an unpaid parking ticket. Ratings have dropped in recent years, they're getting desperate.
I spent the next three days in my bed, not eating, barely getting up to piss. Finally the day arrived and I managed to haul myself to the station. They put me in a chair and cleaned me up, somehow managed to make me look presentable, and pointed cameras at me while an annoying blonde woman chattered away, asking me questions then continuing to speak so I couldn't answer if I wanted to. It took hours but they got what they wanted. In two weeks I'd be thrown into a ring and everybody out there knew all about it now.
I walked down to the arena that night. I'm not sure why. My grandmother called me, told me how proud my family was, how I was all anyone at church was talking about. I don't understand it. I was numb, I felt so trapped.
I stand before the archway now, the cameras are rolling and the crowd is chanting. They give you these pills when you do jury duty, I'm not sure what they are but I feel strange. I know I'll do my country proud. They say the man I need to fight did something with his car. I can't remember, it must be bad though. He probably stole one. It's funny because he doesn't look... I'm sorry, my head hurts. They say I'll feel better once I win. Have I always been this angry? What am I saying, this guy ran over a child! Of course I'm angry! The announcer just called my name. Hope you're watching, Grandma. Jury Duty is the best! | 2017-04-25T20:59:05 | 2017-04-25T20:19:54 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | The doctor's eyes looked grave behind his glasses' thick lenses, concerned. But there was something else there as well. Confusion? Fear?
"I just want you to know that it's nothing to be alarmed about, but there's uh, something strange with your son's mortality date projection," he said.
"It's probably nothing, just a computer glitch. Same thing with *all* the newborns from the past week or so. But until we get it sorted out I just wanted to let you know there's nothing to worry about."
The boy's mother had no patience for lies. In a calm, restrained voice that was somehow also menacing, she said slowly through clenched teeth,
"What is wrong with my son?"
"Well that's the thing, nothing. Nothing at all is wrong with him," said the doctor.
"It's just that his death date doesn't make any sense. None of them do. And until we figure out..."
"Legally you have to tell me *when*." she interrupted. She was starting to lose it. What were they keeping from her?
"Well that's what I was saying, it doesn't make any sense..." the doctor continued.
"WHEN!?" she cut him off again, louder this time.
"According to the computer? Twenty-five seven forty-three, April 9th, at 6:05 pm."
As she repeated the numbers to herself her anger was slowly replaced with confusion.
"Twenty-five seven forty-three. What's that mean?"
"That's the year," said the doctor bluntly.
"The year? I don't understand. What does that mean?" she said.
"It means, according to the mortality date projection computer, which *supposedly can never be wrong*..." he said the last part loudly over his shoulder to someone unseen.
"...your son, and the others, will live for some twenty-two thousand, four hundred and thirty years."
_________
She would not forget the events of that day. It was the last time she'd seen her baby boy. | I was working another night shift when we saw the third baby in a row come into the incubation center with the same date in bold over their heads. We knew by this point that it couldn’t be a coincidence and that it was a sign of something to come that would wipe out possibly the world.
Four.
Five.
Six, seven. Wait, six had a different date. Too bad it was earlier than the rest. Six of these babies had the same date plastered over their head. By this point, everyone working at the hospital had found out about the pattern. We got reports from multiple hospitals around the area saying the same thing. By baby number sixteen of the night, my shift was over and I was left to go home and try to sleep off the realization that I had just been faced with.
The next shift was more of the same. Baby number eight came through with another sooner date. By this point, the public had been alerted to the strange trend and already there was a massive panic in the air. People were calling for action against an unknown force. For all we knew at the time, it could have been an alien invasion seventy-two years in the future. Finally, after one of the busiest nights of the year, baby number 23 came in with a date three years later than the magical date. That was when I knew that humanity had a chance past December 12, 2012.
| 2017-12-25T19:34:40 | 2017-12-25T18:39:08 | 99 | 29 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | The world outside the bunker roiled, the fabric of space time ripped and billowing in the cosmic wind. Across the despoiled plains strode Abaddon, Dark Lord of Corruption, his left glove crackling with the power of the Hand of Midnight. He raised a finger, and a beam of pure destruction struck the bunker, splashing against a flickering rainbow shield.
A lab technician, in a white coat: "Sir, corruption levels in the arcane pylon are at 94%! We can't hold the anti-magic field up much longer! What are we going to do?"
The general sighed. "We've tried everything? Nukes? Those Japanese schoolgirls? How about the banishment ritual?"
"All ineffective, sir! We've run out of Level 1 contingencies!"
The general groaned in annoyance. "Looks like we're going to have to upgrade this to a Level 0." He pulled a crumpled sticky note out of his pocket, and began to dial.
As he finished, a great howl of roaring wind sounded as Abaddon shredded the roof and upper five levels of the bunker, leaving the general's office exposed to the elements.
"ANY LAST WORDS BEFORE I END YOUR PUNY EXISTENCE, MORTAL?"
"... hang on, Mom. Can't you see that I'm on a call, here?"
"OH YES, CALL, CALL YOUR PATHETIC LOVED ONES, LET THEM HEAR YOUR DYING SCREAMS!"
"...yeah, yeah, I promise I'll visit more, okay? And I'll talk to Sis, I swear! I'm getting around to it. Alright? Okay, talk to you soon, bye." The general closed his phone, and turned to face Abaddon. "And bye to you too, Abaddon."
"AHAHAHAHA, INSOLENT MORTAL! YOU DARE TO THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME? NOW, DI-AAAAAGH"
Abaddon screamed as his body dissolved into a million tiny threads, the Hand of Midnight crashing to the ground. Outside, the cosmic fabric wove itself back together, cars, trees, people slowly forming out of gradually appearing strands of matter, followed by the roof of the bunker. A few minutes, and it was done, no sign of Abaddon or his invasion remaining except for a glowing gauntlet, sitting on the floor.
"Um, sir, what... what exactly just happened?"
"... let's just say I got this job through connections. Now get that Hand to containment. I've got family matters to attend to." | "Private!"
"Yessir! I am ready to call the number!"
Area 51 started disintegrating around them, as the monster from below started tearing apart space itself in an effort to escape the prison, the corridors of the underground complex appearing to bend as time itself tore apart.
"This is only like a level 3 right now, stop pretending you're important. Get back to monitoring Adriana and Eric, see if their arms come back from the alternate dimension."
The private glumly returned back to watching the two through the glass, as their arms showed no signs of returning from the portal that the two foolishly touched.
"God, I wish this was a more interesting assignment."
Above him, a portal opened and a man in white robes walked through, nearly catching his massive wings on the edges of the portal. "Hey, Morgan, been too long since I saw you!"
"Hey Gabe, how's life been treating you? We've currently got an inter-dimensional monster down below, nothing major going down right now."
"Oh, you found Abigail then! Yeah she can be a hungry giant monster that wants to destroy humanity, can't she! The big G says that you should feed her an apple boiled in the blood of a sacrificed lamb, that should calm her right down for the next six millennia or so."
"Ok, I'll go tell the Major no-"
"You know that the big G demands a price for this, right?"
"But I literally didn't ask for his help at all!"
"Yeah, but the writing prompt kinda forces your hand, no? He wants a cold one, apparently. Chop chop!"
Morgan sprinted down into the lower-levels, armed with the knowledge to defeat the monster, and the location of the beer fridge. | 2017-03-21T02:08:31 | 2017-03-21T00:59:36 | 205 | 31 |
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd. | "How specific do I have to be?" Noah asked. His light brown eyes were ablaze with a curious light. The geenie had a feeling that this person was not like the others.
"If you can't think of a time, as long as you can specify the event relative to yourself. For example if you want to say I want to remember the time I met my wife, even if you don't remember the date I can take you back to the event."
"That's quite fascinating. Am I able to change the events?"
"No, but you would experience the event just as it was at the time."
"This can only show me memories of the past?"
"Indeed."
Noah seemed a little dejected at that fact.
"I don't remember a lot of things," he said slowly. There was hesitation in his voice. Would my memory be a factor?"
"No, the experience is recreated regardless of your memory.
"I see." He closed his eyes. There was hesitation on his face that I noticed before on those who had experienced much pain in the past. My guess was that he had lost a lover once.
"I want to remember my first death."
"I didn't quite understand what you said."
Noah had a smile on his face and now the light in his eyes was much too bright and somewhat sinister.
"You heard me right. I want to see if you can really do this."
I began the ritual, and this was the first time in a while that I was also genuinely curious as to what I would see.
We were taken to a filthy apartment in an unknown city. There was clutter of every nature and old clothes were thrown about. The walls were bare, with occasional writing on the walls in an unknown language. The cries of a child echoed throughout the apartment. There was a woman holding a newborn child in her arms. Tears rolled down her eyes. She was a young creature, hardly past her teen years. Her hair was short and messy. I sensed a great deal of misery radiating from her shape, and I associated it with the drugs that humans were known from abusing. Her pupils were dilated and there was a tremor in her arms. She lay the child on an unmade bed and took a filty pillow. I understood what she would do. Beside me, Noah observed fascinated.
She spoke softly in an unfamiliar language as she smothered the child. The child's cries stopped eventually and she lifted the pillow. She caressed the child's peaceful face. He was certainly dead. She then picked up the child and enveloped him in cloth. She continued to speak to the child and her tears did not abate.
Noah's voice startled me "Are you certain that's me?"
"Yes," I replied in a trembling voice. "There are no errors with the ritual. How is this possible?"
"I expected something more dramatic," Noah chuckled, "but I suppose we all had to start somewhere."
All at once, the child's cries had resumed. He writhed inside the bundle and the mother began unwrapping it at once. There was shock on her face. She did not embrace the child's small body. She shrieked in her foreign language and went to the kitchen. She came back, a large knife in her right hand.
"We might not want to see this next part," Noah chuckled. "I'm going to guess she carried on for quite some time before she gave up"
"What are you?" I asked him.
He smiled at me and shook his head.
"You aren't the only one who's different."
He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in. "You said I get two more?"
| “Well, what will it be?” asked the Genie, always enjoying the final wish the most. It never ceased to amaze the Genie what people would seek to relive when they are down to their last wish.
The young woman stared at the Genie with a perplexed look on her face. She had sat with that same look for quite some time now, as if all the thoughts in her mind were suddenly gone.
“What is the trouble, young lady? Surely your life has not been so long that you can not come up with one more experience that is worth reliving?” the Genie prodded.
“Honestly sir, the problem is the opposite. There are so many things that I don’t want to relive, that finding a memory that doesn’t remind me of a time I would like to forget is more challenging than I would like to admit.” After a pause, the young lady began again in earnest, “my childhood was filled with abuse at the hands of people who should have protected me. My teenage years were filled with behaviors that I am embarrassed about and that are most likely a direct result of the abuse I suffered as a child. Then, as I entered adulthood, I just let the world pull me along and never really actively participated in my life so all of my memories there are very dull and unwelcoming. If you were me, with my life, what would you want to relive?” she asked with a desire in her eyes the Genie couldn’t ignore.
The Genie thought through the memories he had relived with others in the past and how some people chose to relive the worst memories as if forcing themselves to relive the pain was somehow a punishment they deserved. He thought about the people who chose to relive the most mundane memories of what seemed like the simplest of things. After mulling over the girl's words for several minutes, the Genie arrived at an answer.
“I can not tell you what memory to relive my friend, but what I can tell you is that you are here today, standing in front of me young woman who has grown to so much more than she was. Your strength is obvious to me. Your resilience radiates off of you. You are no longer that abused child or that destructive teenager. You are so much more than that. Perhaps, you can recall the moment when you first realized you were not only a survivor of abuse, but you were so much more and we can relive that.”
The Genie watched as tears glistened in the young woman’s eyes and a slight color came back to her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he would have sworn that she stood a little taller.
“I’ve got it” she said, and she proceeded to relive the first time she helped another victim become a survivor.
| 2017-09-16T17:23:28 | 2017-09-16T13:41:47 | 142 | 78 |
[WP] You buy a special camera at the pawn shop. Every photo you take, it shows a snapshot of 10 years ago. You take a picture of your dog and it shows him 10 years ago when he was a puppy. Everything is all fun and games, until you decide to take a picture of your bedroom one night. | 'Shit' The Polaroid camera slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a solid thunk. Just my luck, I find something magical, something which defies explanation, and I drop the bloody thing and probably break it straight away.
I'd found it nestled in the back of the pawn shop on my way home, struggled to find a few dollars to buy the darned thing, but I thought it worth it: I've always loved photography. And then when I took the photo of Terry, the most peculiar thing happened. The picture in front of me was of a puppy, youthful and energetic, smiling up at the camera with tail wagging eagerly. And yet the dog in front of me was nothing of the sort. The real Terry lay in front of me, weary. His front left paw raised every so slightly off the ground, his attempt to alleviate the pain of old age. His fur greying, his tail limp, this was not the dog in my photo. Maybe it might've been ten years ago.
And then I realised, in every photo I took the world was different. My camera was more than that, it was a portal into the past. Ten years into the past.
After making my discovery, I eagerly hurried home, ready to stow it away and do some research. And that's where I am now, looking at my newfound possession on the floor.
Examining it in my hands, I notice no immediate damage. Instead, it whirs softly, and a new photo emerges.
Out of habit, rather then necessity, I shake it to see what my crystal ball will reveal.
Two people. A man and a woman. He's holding her hand, reaching out to grab her as she turns away. There's a suitcase on the floor, packed full of clothes. I can't see much of the rest of the room, or the scene, due to the camera being dropped at an odd angle and shooting as it hit the floor. I don't need to have a picture to recognise this scene though.
Martha was standing right there when I got home, a suitcase on the bed. It didn't click at first, I couldn't compute. She didn't look up at me, just kept packing clothes. I asked her what was up, there was no response. I touched her shoulder, she recoiled. It started to set in, a realisation dawning on me.
'No.. no..' I stammer out. She says nothing, she keeps packing. I try to stop her, but she ignores me. My vision gets blurry as my body starts to shake with sobs. I grab her hand just as she pulls away again.
Ten years had past, and the wounds were as fresh as ever.
Ten years ago, Terry had been a bright eyed, bushy tailed pup. And ten years ago, I'd been happy.
A lot can change in ten years.
| I took the picture, smiling inwardly. I wonder how it'll look? I'd only been living there for a few months - I wonder what it had been like 10 years ago? What pictures would be up on the walls? Was the building even 10 years old?
I went to the darkroom, dipping the photo into the chemicals. I'd always enjoyed the process - it gave me time to think, to be lost in that secluded world of darkness. I felt strangely safe in it.
I hung up the photo, going outside to feed Max. I framed the picture I took of him as a puppy - he'd been so cute back then, but worryingly thin. As a rescue dog, it made me even happier that I'd found him. I gave him a treat along with his food - I'd been taken even better care of him lately, seeing how he'd looked so many years ago. He needs all the love he can get.
Back to the darkroom. It was silly, but I was excited to see the picture. Most of the images I'd took had ended up being very banal, but something about this one filled me with intrigue.
I took the picture off the wire, peering into it in the darkness. It didn't seem to have developed properly - it was so dark. I let my eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and I looked closer into the image.
The picture wasn't dark. It seemed obscured, almost as if there was a figure standing too close to the camera.
Then I saw it - then I saw her.
*Looking directly into the camera*.
Suddenly Max whined outside. I'd never heard him make that noise, and it made me instantly drop the photo. I turned to open the door, but the handle was stuck. No - the door was *locked*.
Max was barking, growling. I'd never heard him like that. I beat at the door, hitting it with all my might, but it wouldn't budge. Panicking, I grabbed the photo again, lifting it to my face.
The room was bare. The figure gone.
Something slammed against the wall, and I heard Max's muffled cry.
Then she came for me. | 2016-12-22T03:53:52 | 2016-12-22T03:14:16 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | Jesus landed somewhere out in the desert. The first place he found was Vegas. It didn't take long to prove himself. Turning water to wine, walking on water, walking on water while turning it into wine until he fell in.
His entrance was so calm, and he took to the current world so quickly that anyone hardly made a fuss about it. Atheists United became an organization dedicated to researching miracles scientifically.
One day, I'd heard he was in L.A., so I decided to go and meet him. Why not, right? Supposedly he was pretty chill, so I found out where he was hanging out at the beach and made my way there.
There was a small crowd around him, but it was already dispersing. He'd already dismissed half of the Bible live on TV and claims not even to have read the other half yet, so people had already seen what there was to see.
I made my way towards the crowd, and over some heads I saw his face. He looked up at me, and halted his gaze so it remained on me. His smile faded. Others in the crowd turned to look back, and they moved aside just enough so I could stand face to face with Jesus.
He tilted his head and his smile returned, but smaller and... Different. It was more smug than anything.
"Ah, the Antichrist. Nice to meet you."
The crowd gave a stifled gasp as Jesus stepped towards me. The gap grew wider to allow him through.
I shook my head. "What?"
"Yeah, here you are. I'd hoped I could avoid you, but oh well."
I gave an excessively long blink. "Im- I, uhh- I'm the Antichrist? Satan's son?"
"Did you ever meet your father?"
"Well, no, but-" I paused, realizing how much weight that answer carried.
"Then you probably are. Who raised you?"
"My... Aunt..." I squinted at him, trying to figure out what was happening.
Jesus grimaced. "Look, this is awkward, but please just set something on fire with your mind and this will be over with much quicker."
"What are you-?" I pointed at the sand a few feet away from me and continued, "So I just *will* this sand to be on fire and it will-"
To my surprise, the sand burst into flame for a moment sending several people running. Jesus brought up his hands and gave an exaggerated shrug.
I nodded at the scorched ground where I was pointing.
"*Oh.*" | Oh fuck me. "Really? Here? Now?" I say. Jesus sneers at me. "I think so Antichrist." He looks to the gathered people. "Everyone!" he says, his voice amplifying so everyone can hear it. "This man here." He points at me, "Is the Antichrist, here to damn you all to Hell." The people turn to look at me. I sigh, "Look the Antichrist thing isn't what you think." I say raising my hands in surrender. A fat, sweaty suck up yells at the crowd, "BURN THE ANTICHRIST!!" The crowd takes this order to heart and quickly surround me. I look at Jesus and flip him off. Jesus becomes more angry at my flippant disregard to my personal health. "Yes true believers burn him on the stake." As they tie me up I continue to stare at him. "So much for all loving." He smirks, "I believe you know I love you..." "Gay." I say interrupting him. He snarls a little, "As I was saying I would love you to burn and be sent back to hell." I roll my eyes as I'm covered in gas. "Hell has open borders." I say blandly. He scoffs, "Then we'll send you back again." The fat man walks up with a match. "My lord shall I?" he asks. Jesus looks at me and looks at the man. He looks at me again, a little uncertain. "Oh get on with it I'm not saying sorry to you bitch." I say. Jesus snatches the match and tosses onto the fire. I wake up in hell. "Asshole it's not my fault you suck at cards." I say to myself as I stretch and get out of my bed. "Welp time to go back to earth." I vanish in a puff of smoke. | 2020-02-02T16:50:40 | 2020-02-02T15:07:16 | 972 | 25 |
[WP] You are a soldier in a fantasy computer game, and your general/player has just given you some very questionable orders. | "What I need you to do, right, is run up to the enemy."
"Yup. And then stab 'em?"
"No. You engage them."
"Oh right, ok. Then I stab 'em?"
"No! Listen. Run up to them."
"Uh-huh"
"Engage them."
"Righto."
"Then immediately retreat,"
"Uhh,"
"Then re-engage them."
"I'm not sure I follow... When does the stabbing come in"
"No stabbing! You are a dispensable Level 1 infantry unit. That bastard over there has a stack of Level 16 Death Knights with platinum gear. I think you just have a wooden stick?"
"Oh yeah, I fucking love this thing."
"...anyway. You have priority since it's our turn. You can use up all your movement points just engaging and disengaging constantly. As long as you don't actually attack, they'll never get the first hit in. Since they're being forced to engage you, the actual bulk of our army can move past beside the hex without being flanked or receiving any attacks of opportunity. Then we strike at the leadership and win the whole war."
"...I think I see... but what happens when I run out of movement points?"
"Then, comrade, you can try and stab them as much as you like."
"....aaawwwww yeeeeessssss." | What? Why?
**Just go over there already**
But why is everyone else staying here?
**Because reasons, NOW MOVE**
There could mines or artillery though
*sigh* **Look there is nothing over there I just want you and ONLY you to move over there**
Nope seems like a bad idea bad things happen to lone lings
**Fine, there's a snack and some undefended workers over there**
YAY, food tim--
**Fucking idiot zerglings, all-right mines cleared rest of you move up**
...
**There's snacks for everyone** | 2016-11-23T08:40:59 | 2016-11-23T07:07:59 | 156 | 60 |
[WP] In this world, physical appearance depends entirely on personality. All babies are born identical. Beauty is achieved gradually through good thoughts and deeds, while the opposite is true for ugliness. | It's the unusual cases that make the news but it's the ones that shock them that stays in people's hearts. Growing up children are told to trust in beauty because it's beautiful people who are good people. Ugly thoughts imprint themselves on peoples' skin. Every wrinkle is a cruel thought and every unattractive feature is a cruel deed. This is something society knows well.
So the oddities stand out.
When Jessica Hart's face first appears in the news, everyone believes her innocent. She's stunningly beautiful, more so than even those who dedicate their lives to saving people. Someone that beautiful can never be guilty of the crimes they're accused of.
Torture. Murder. Cannibalism. Just one of those acts is enough to permanently disfigure a person.
No. Jessica Hart must be innocent.
Then the evidence, indisputable evidence, starts building up against her. People from her childhood testify how they'd seen her commit cruel acts but convinced themselves they imagined things. After all such acts were wrong and would be visible to the world. But, even back then, Hart was a beautiful child.
Beautiful but amoral.
Good and bad both leave themselves on a person's face. It's the ultimate survival guide to human kind. But good and bad are subjective and there are wolves amongst the sheep, those who believe what they do is righteous and good no matter how terrible.
Beautiful people who do ugly things. Those are the ones people remember. | "So why did you become a priest?"
My hands were old, wrinkled, yet free from blemish. They gripped the handle of my mug off coffee. Pure black. A strong bitter. It reminded me of life. Pure coffee looks smooth, crisp, black. No flaw. Almost like those of us who genuinely wanted to make the world a better, more peaceful place. A sip. The steam felt moist against my similarly blemish and wrinkle free face. I've been told for a sixty seven year old I don't look a day over fifty two. Placing down the mug I scratch my big fat potato shaped nose.
"You ever see the ass on Mother Theresa?" | 2015-10-31T01:17:13 | 2015-10-30T22:12:44 | 142 | 44 |
[WP] The Evil Overlord has begun his final siege on the castle of the only kingdom not under his control. In a last ditch effort, the Princess performs a ritual to summon the Heroes of Old. However, the ritual doesn't work quite as intended... | _Htrof emoc , dnegel tneicna._
Pain. That is the last thing you remember. The swing of the blade, in a last ditch effort. The last whisper of the holy words....
_Su evas, thgilp ruo raeh._
Victory, at the last possible chance, sacrificing your very existence to seal her for eternity, in a cage forged from her own vanity and pride...
_Nekawa dna esir._
Because no one will ruin this world that is so precious to you...
_Esir._
No demon.....
_dna._
No god.....
_NEKAWA!._
Not even the legendary Hero.
- - - - -.
Wind. A slight, gentle breeze, caressing your skin.
The very first sensation you feel after a thousand years in the senseless void. It is like needles on your skin, sharp and burning, and it is wonderful.
"Did it work? Is she... Alive?".
You start slowly- small movements of the fingers, nearly imperceptible. Each one sends fire through your flesh, but every burst is smaller, every new movement more free than the last.
"She is. Being devoid of sensation for so long, this world must be overwhelming to her. Please, proceed." The voice is coming from Infront of you. You sense multiple individuals of low power, the least weak one being the current speaker.
"As you say, your majesty." The second speaker is even weaker than the first. He speaks up. "By the royal decree of her majesty, princess Asteria the third, of the house of Astra, ruler of-" he is interrupted by the first speaker, likely said princess. "Jarvis, there is no time." She snaps at him, then turns to you. "Lady Astra, legendary slayer of the dreadlord Gramesh the blind, we beseech you to save us once more.".
Of course. Why else would anyone take the risk of the summoning ritual?
After all, what you summon isn't the only thing that can come through......
"The land is beset by Kesirin, a monster of plague whose very touch corrupts the land. We beg of you, save us! Should you succeed, the throne will be abdicated to you. Should you fail..." The pause gives the message clearly- there won't be anyone left to care.
"I...accept." The sensation of the contract being formed is familiar, almost as much as the feeling of dread that is suddenly emanating from every person in the room.
"Lady Astra... Your voice..." Even with your armour intact and centuries of disuse, You find it surprising how long it takes them to realise. "Gods above..."
"...No... No, no no." The princess is having a bit of a fit. It's alright, the contract was already formed, and can't be broken. You note to yourself to fire the royal contract wizard after the business with Kesirin is done.
"I, Lord Gramesh the blind, subjugator of the Hero lady Astra, accept your request and your terms." | The room is dark, lit only by three failing candles and full of people huddling in what they think are the final days of the kingdom. Until the princess speaks "I didn't want it to come to this day, but I have a book. One with a ritual that will restore the heroes of yore to their former glory." With the royal wizard beheaded by the Overlord nigh on ten days ago, I fear we have no choice." The only other official by her side implores.
"Well how do'ya know it works though?" Comes a voice from the back, the rest of the crowd nods in agreement. "Oh dont worry about that" Says the princess "Its right here in the book - **When you need is great, and the stakes high. Use this ritual to summon the three heroes of the time gone by. One candle for the champion brash and strong, Two for the thief nimble and spry, and three for the dragon who rains terror on foe.**"
The crowd seemed placated at this, despite the text not rhyming very well "Ok then I suppose you could be going on" comes the same voice and once again the crowd agrees again. "Wonderful!" The princess says before opening the tome to the thirty second page. Speaking in a tone that seemed to make the very room shake **"Champion, I summon thee."** With a whoosh the first candle went out. **"Thief, I summon thee"** and the second candle went out. Finally with a crack of lightning from a darkening sky punctuating her words the final line was delivered. **"Dragon, I summon thee".** The final candle went out, its lighting replaced with a sudden blue glow a metre in front of the princess.
The crowd stood still, waiting. With a second flash of thunder that split the sky in half...
&#x200B;
A pile of rotting and musty bones filled the room, adorned with chainmail, a large tooth here and there and some gold. The official and the princess let out an audible sigh of confusion and despair. A beetle had eaten all of line two in the page, which was then disguised by page behind it. But they would never have time to learn this because with a mighty explosion the castle was demolished by the dark lord. Leaving behind only smouldering ruins and one very singed but somehow still alive beetle.
&#x200B;
(edit for grammar mistakes) | 2021-10-22T06:42:01 | 2021-10-21T23:58:05 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] As a young wizard you uncovered an old spell that resurrects one of your eldest ancestor. You do so in curiosity, only to face one of the most feared creature the world ever experienced thousands of years ago. The creature recognizes you as its descendant while you stare at it in disbelief. | (A teensy bit off prompt but i was inspired!)
As a young wizard, I found a spell.
It was a strange thing. By itself, in an otherwise completely unnoteworthy cave. Written on parchment so ancient it crumbled somewhat to the touch. The document itself was worn and missing segments, and my best translation was rather imprecise. Still, I could intuit what it was meant to do. It was an ancestor resurrection spell.
At the time I had no use for it. I’m sure some of my ancient ancestors would have liked to be resurrected, but I wasn’t willing to risk piercing the veil for people I had never known. That changed when my mother got sick.
It was a gradual thing, the sickness that killed her. At first she only started to feel tired. Then she began to cough. And as years passed, she became more and more brittle, more and more frail. I tried every healing spell I knew, and learned half a hundred new ones, but it wasn’t ever enough. It never made her better for more than a few weeks.
Finally, I turned to the resurrection spell.
I thought I understood it enough. I thought I would be able to tweak it to summon forth the ancestor I knew, the one I wanted. I spent the final months of my mother’s life, when I wasn’t by her side, collecting the ingredients and preparing the summoning circle. She kept telling me I shouldn’t put my hopes in it, that I should prepare to let her go. Spells don’t always work, after all.
But I was determined. When the moment came, I laid her old body to rest and I set to work. I covered over my etchings with salt and blood. I set my components out in bowls, which I worked over with incantations. With careful precision I anchored the spell to the mountain. For a moment all was still. And then… there was a horrible rumbling sound from deep within the earth.
As it grew louder, the ground began to shake. Rocks and gravel began tumbling down the slope, trees swayed and branches snapped. And it kept growing louder. The shaking grew so violent I fell to my knees, cutting myself open on the shifting terrain. The horizon heaved, the sky spun. Helpless, with nothing to hold on to, I was tossed like a wretched rag doll by the violent tremors. Through streaming eyes, I saw the mountain shift. At first I thought it was the swaying, my eyes couldn’t focus, I was disoriented. But the mountain was bulging. What started as a protrusion grew into a large ridge, rock screaming in protest all the while. Something was pushing it from the inside. Something was coming out of it.
Too late I realized, that ancient language I had translated was draconic. Too late I realized this trick must have been how she returned from death the first time, and the second. Lyraxa, the World Breaker, she had been called. All I could do was stare in terror and dread as the first talon, thick as a tree trunk, broke the surface. The great creature kept scrabbling at the small hole it had made until first its hand, then its arm, broke through. And finally, with one last, shuddering heave and a shower of boulders, it birthed itself from the rock, leaving the mountain to collapse, hollow, behind it.
The dragon shook herself off, her wings spreading impossibly wide as she stretched. Her great head swiveled around, sunlight glinting golden off her deep red scales. Her teeth were as long as a man is tall. If the trees had still been standing, they wouldn’t have even come up to her shoulder. Her gaze caught on me. I stopped breathing. And then, in a voice full of thunder and smoke, she spoke.
“Son?”
Perhaps I hadn’t gotten the spell entirely wrong, after all. | Alright looks like it's all set up, all i need now is to drip a little of my blood. I hate this bit, why do they always need blood? My hands already look like chopping boards and I've only just started this magic stuff.
The wizard grabs his ceremonial dagger and stands in the centre of the room surrounded by markings of ancient runes. Candles surround the runes providing all but a dim light in the room. His hand trembles slightly as he raises the dagger to his hand preparing to swipe it against his palm. He takes a deep breath to compose himself; he goes to slice his hand but pulls away at the last moment. Sighing to himself he rummages into his pocket and pulls out a scripture.
“How much blood does it need? I can’t deal with another hand wound, it took like 2 weeks for it to heal enough to uhh… relieve my urges.” he scans through the page “Hmm… a few drops, that should be doable”.
He then stuffs the scripture back into his pocket, breaths in and places the tip of the dagger on his index finger. He pauses for a moment and shakes his head side to side slightly and moves it to the tip of his ring finger and starts to wince as he presses it in.
“Ahhhh.. stings like a bitch!” he curses through a grimace as the blood starts to draw for the wound. The dagger clanks as it is thrown to one side while the wizard gets down on his haunches and starts trying to massage the blood out of his finger.
“Just a few drops…” he mutters to himself as he manages to get one drop out”
WHOOSH the flames on the candles suddenly burn violently and grow to waist height. The wizard startled, falls backward narrowly avoiding a singed head and fights the tremble developing in his limb to get back on his feet. The ritual has started now, for better or for worse, the wind picks up forming a faint tornado in the centre of the circle sucking in the surrounding dust and air from the room.
The candles continue to burn brighter and brighter and the tornado continues to grow stronger and denser. Beads of sweat fall down the wizards flush face as the heat grows more intense and the air gets thinner. The flames start to get pulled into the centre and the heat becomes too intense, the wizard covers himself with his cloak and dives out of the circle. He rolls frantically making sure none of his cloak is burning then looks up in awe as the tornado and flames start to form the shape of a person.
The ritual reaches a crescendo and then the room falls in darkness and silence. The wizard laid there in silence unsure of what had just unfolded, had it worked? Had he brought his father back?
A small sizzle rings out and one of the candles reignites, the wizard reaches back into his pocket and unfolds the scripture. Another gentle sizzle rings out and two more candles reignite as the wizard checks the scripture.
“Resurrecting your oldest ancestor… Oldest?” Would that be Adam or Ev..”.
“It would be… if you were a human…” a haunting voice descends from the darkness
“I-if im not human, th th- then what am I?” the wizard shudders as he hears footsteps coming toward him and sees a growing figure through the candle light.
“You are a demon, and I am Lilith, mother of demons!” the figure proclaims as the faint light reveals her face.
“And we have work to do.” | 2022-12-31T11:01:45 | 2022-12-31T10:15:47 | 59 | 13 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | I started keeping my own personal time by counting cycles of my fingernails growing; I clipped them every three weeks before time stopped. Every time before, time stopped for only a short period. Once, it was a car swerving out of control, headed in my direction. Another, a crazed gunman at university. Once I had removed myself from the situation, everything returned to normal, with no one else any the wiser. This time was different; I've clipped my nails 17 times. Nearly a year, give or take, of time that I've spent alone in this world.
I still come home to you every night. There you are, never moving, with your favorite show on the television. It's paused on a scene I've come to memorize every pixel of. I take a seat next to you on the couch and pretend that you're here with me still.
You'd be surprised how clean the house stays when you aren't here. The trash doesn't pile up in the can or in every corner of the house. You'd be surprised how quiet the house is when you're gone. Instead of the daily screaming matches we would find ourselves in, the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own thoughts. The thing I find myself the most surprised by is the feeling of freedom that I have; I've left the house without an angry phone call. I don't have to worry you're going to show up at my work when I have to stay late. I've even went to see my parents a few times.
*Your eyes, though frozen in time, still held that fire that I loved so much. I noticed, however, that they were not fixated solely on the television like I had assumed all this time. They seemed to be glancing slightly to the left: the safe I kept my pistol in.* That's when I realized.
_________________
*Edited ending.* | The world is still, lifeless, dead. It would seem it takes my burden. A year has passed since anything moved. Anything. People stand still amidst the backdrop of soulless cities, like mannequins in windows. The birds are idle in the trees, no morning silence ever broken. The grass lies frozen in the land, no wind to move or sway it.
The world holds my mortal burden. It will not live until I am safe.
I wish I were dead. This is not a life worth living. Such a drab existence.
For one year I have lied to myself. For one year I have feigned ignorance to the cause of my eternal torment. What haunts me? What troubles me so? Fool. I knew all along.
This world is bland. This world is grey. I can pull no joy from its seams. I used to try, to claw in desperation at any modicum of colour, of life. All in vain.
My world is still, odourless, colourless, silent, languid. It was before time stopped.
That is why time crashed to a halt. To cease my course of action, to save me from myself.
\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator | 2018-07-04T14:24:46 | 2018-07-04T13:31:50 | 1,474 | 153 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | >**SEAWORLD & SUCCUBI**
"It's a conspiracy, bro. The government just doesn't want you to know that the *real* walruses are so beautiful, because it'll expose the ones at Sea World as being super unhealthy."
"So you've looked at the Walrus already?"
"Nah bro."
"Then...how do you know?"
"It's, like, a gut feeling."
This was going to be my last time living with roommates.
"Okay, well- if you want to look I won't stop you. It's downtown, right?"
"Uhh I don't know actually. I just assumed it was up in the sky, like the moon."
"Nathan...how high *are* you?" I asked, exasperated.
"Like 6'2 I think."
I closed my bedroom door. I was *clearly* going to have to solve this one myself.
The original notification- the first in a string of over 200- said *not* to look at the Walrus. Then 199 people texted me, until my phone overheated and shut off, saying *to* look at the Walrus, and that it was beautiful. They all said it in different ways- and I knew absolutely none of the numbers that had texted me.
This was a yes or no situation. There was no third option. Best case scenario, I saw a beautiful Walrus. Worst case scenario, I would be... brainwashed by the Walrus?
A figurative lightbulb went off over my head. There *was* an option three.
Rummaging around in my closet violently, I found what I was looking for- a party hat from 2017's new years party. Exactly what I wanted- it was a gaudy thing, but perfect for today's conundrum.
I rushed downtown- aside from it being slightly quieter than usual, it seemed normal- until I reached the main city square, and noticed the crowd. At least four hundred people were milling about- they weren't zombified, it appeared. Their movements were natural.
I dipped behind a building and brought out my party hat. From there, I used its silvery, distorted reflective properties to indirectly look at 'the walrus'.
There was no walrus. There was a woman standing at the center of it all, with long, long hair.
Long, extremely choppy hair.
Long, extremely *thick*, choppy hair.
...Long, walrus hair.
"What's your name?!" I called out to the city square.
"Sthenno!" The woman called back. Her voice was not betraying any hint of hostility.
I had just finished my third year of history at University. I knew that name.
"So...how's your sister, Medusa, doing these days?" I asked.
-----------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes would be cooler with you in it :) | A soft outline of a human figure, fetal position, can somewhat be made out under the stained linen bedsheet. The light whispers of the wind. It's that time of night. The room was awakened by the harsh light of my mobile phone.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus*.
Did I hear that as I left my dream?
I open my eyes. Vision blurred. A haziness subduing the movements of my body. I reach for the phone. My left arm. Numb. It falls to the ground.
"Fuck".
I lift off the duvet and reach under the bed. The darkness eats my upper body as I vanish into what must be the mouth of the bed. I can't see a thing. The darkness, peace, disturbed by the harsh light of my mobile phone.
"Gotcha".
I grab the phone and lay back into bed. Head slightly upright. Rested upon the bedframe.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
The words instigated a conversation within my brain. "What Walrus". "Who sent this message". "Why is the number blocked".
Again.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
I open my messages to find a sharp splinter sticking out.
*It's a Beautiful Walrus. Look.*
I close my eyes.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
I open my eyes.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
I place the phone down.
A noise knocks me out of confusion. I reach to the venetian blinds that hug the streetlamps glare.
"*DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS".*
The street empty. Panic. My body. Shakes. Breathing erratic.
I close my eyes.
My heart attempts to escape out of my chest. To flee this feeling.
"Water".
I push past my bedroom door and stumble into the bathroom. The door locks behind me.
The whites of the tiles force my eyes into hibernation. Twitching ensues.
My reflection hides as I dip my head.
The tap comforts me. The cold water restoring a level of normality. The droplets catching the ends of my moustache.
I lift my head up. The Walrus looks back. | 2021-01-11T17:49:11 | 2021-01-11T16:43:12 | 287 | 209 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | Approaching the city gate, the adventurers stiffen as the guards halt their way. Of course, Mr. Nobility has to be the one to step forward and speak for the group. Marian lightly touches her bow, prepared to ready an arrow if her arrogant companion gets them into trouble again.
"Greetings, my good men. My name is Hector of the house Rellon. Do you happen to have any directions for a band of weary travelers? We seek no conflict, only a comfortable place to rest for the night."
Sora and Fiera share a look. The last time they entered a new city, he tried to march right past the guards, drawing his sword when they stopped him. They had to find accommodations in a dingy little inn outside the city gates, where the other patrons all gave the distinct impression of being criminals.
Now, though, one guard obligingly gave them directions, and Hector... Hector actually thanked him, and clapped his back like they were old friends. The guard laughed cheerfully and sent them on their way. This was wrong. Hector didn't have friends. He didn't make friends. The only reason his companions hadn't booted him was his skill in combat, which had just barely saved them from more problems than his personality had gotten them into.
That night, as Hector remained in the common room to buy another round for the crowd... an unusual act of generosity... the others gathered in the private room they'd booked.
"Do you remember earlier today, when he left to investigate that noise in the trees?" Asked Sora.
Marian nodded. "But there was nothing there."
"I know," said Sora, "But what if he lied?"
"You think he could be under someone's control?" Fiera chimed in. "I could dispel any magic that might be around him."
Sora shook his head. "I don't think it's control. He hasn't hurt us or been irrational. He's just... *different*. I think he's been replaced."
"That's pretty far-fetched." Marian's voice was skeptical.
"It's happened before," said Sora. "Not all shapeshifters are evil. Some of them just want a safe group to live among. A family. Like what we are to Hector, even though he's an asshole who doesn't deserve us."
Fiera narrowed her eyes. "How do you know so much about shapeshifters?"
Sora sighed. It was time to come clean. "Because I'm one of them. You guys didn't know the real Sora. He tried to raid my nest. Would have gotten a good part of my family killed, as well as his whole group, if I hadn't taken his place. Foolhardy bastard. His friends figured me out, though. I barely escaped, and by then I was used to this form."
"No." Fiera shook her head. "You can't just replace people. The real Hector..."
"The real Hector didn't give a toss about any of us," said Marian. "Do you really think he's worth our compassion? When was the last time he extended any to you?"
Fiera was quiet for a minute, remembering the time she'd broken a leg fighting a troll. And Hector elected to carry the troll's treasure chest out of the dungeon, leaving her to hobble after him using a giant club as a makeshift crutch. "I guess if this shapeshifter is anything like you, Sora, it's probably an improvement."
"I know I was," commented Marian. "My new parents must have known something was different, but the family got along so much better with me in her place that they never questioned it."
Fiera stood from her chair, backing toward the door. "Are you shapeshifters going to replace everybody?"
"No," said Sora and Marian simultaneously.
Sora continued. "You're a good person, Fiera. We only take the place of assholes. People whose absence would actually improve things. For everybody, not just those of us who can change our form. Trust me, Fiera." He smiled, the friendly expression that Fiera had come to find reassuring after the years they'd spent together. "You have nothing to worry about."
Edit: typo | The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friend in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town tonight! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his hand in his head looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat. | 2017-09-15T08:23:49 | 2017-09-15T07:03:44 | 223 | 36 |
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder | When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it... | It started with a fly landing on a table.I had grabed it and watched it squirm. At the age of seven I marvelled at how easily I could kill this small insect. Slowly squeezing I felt each twitch and smiled when it was a pulp.
The next experiment was a kitten. The cat in the shed had a litter. Holding one in my hand I watched it mew and squirm. I felt powerful as I tightened my grip. It mewed desperately, and choked. Feeling it dying throes was euphoric, and then it was dead in my hand. I dropped it to the ground and smiled as I looked down at the other two.
Through the years I experimented working my way through creatures, and different ways of killing. So many ways to kill burning, impaling, ripping, beating, stabbing, but my favorite was choking. Feeling life slowly leave a body, feeling each twitch, feeling the pulse slow in your hand. It was euphoric.
My parents knew some what, but who wants to think thier child a monster?
At the age of 13 my mother swelled and then there was a mewling baby. 'My sister'a annoying thing. Needy and loud a very irritating combination.
I stood over its bed staring at it many nights. I thought about that fly, then the many creatures after, and wondered if killing her would be as simple.I wondered what it would feel like to hold this new annoying things potential in my hands and snuff it out.I had these thoughts until I found her neck in my hands. She couldn't cry now! Her life was mine! I was God! I could feel the twitchs and laughed! Suddenly it was ripped from my hands and I was on the ground my Mother was screaming, and clutching the thing to her chest. Its throat was crushed, it gasped like a fish until it was dead.
I only regret not being able to feel those last twitches my Mother got that honor. She didnt take it to well later when I asked her what they had felt like.
(Ive never done this before btw first prompt ive written for.) | 2014-12-28T22:21:10 | 2014-12-28T20:46:20 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | I only have one power. And by itself, it's the weakest power there is.
My first roommate was, in a lot of ways, the luckiest one I could have gotten. Her power was "The Vision". She could see Powers in people. She approached me on the Subway and said I had one, but it was fuzzy and she couldn't understand it, which was exciting because she usually could. She said if I spent more time with her, I could learn what it was. She was right. I'm sorry, L. I didn't know what it was before you showed me. I promised you'd be the last innocent roommate.
My second roommate had the power of Transmutation. Lead to gold, sure, once in a while he would pawn a crude chain to some inner city shop. Sugar to meth. Actually a lot of things into a lot of drugs. He was pretty deep into dealing when he found out he had the Power and lacked the imagination to branch out and do anything interesting with it, because fuck medicine I guess. Actually I need to make a note of that one once my mission is complete. His first batch of "enhanced" drugs caused several overdose deaths at the local hospital. Our time as roommates didn't work out for long.
My third roommate the power of mental manipulation. She wanted the pretty jewelry that I seemed to have a lot of and thought she could mind control me into her house to be her plaything. She was right. But she was also wrong.
Working out roommate situations became a lot easier after that. It became a lot easier to convince total strangers that someone they had never met understood them somehow, and should crash on their couch.
I had a roommate with gravity manipulation and flight. Used it to kidnap his kids after he divorced his wife and they chose their mom.
One could stop time. I found out he was behind a series of rapes where women were being ignored by police because the video cameras showed nothing. He actually had an inkling of what was going on and froze me in time for two days. But that wasn't enough.
Another could manipulate electrons and photons, and had the intellect to envision and control entire computer systems. Used it to drain the bank accounts of people who insulted him. Turns out photon manipulation means invisibility too.
At this point, J.U.S.T.I.C.E. started noticing patterns and were sending people out to try and find me. If they'd found me sooner, they might have had a chance. But by this point it was probably too late. I never felt they got close.
My next roommate could manipulate thermal energy. He killed his wife and the man she was cheating on him with by freezing them solid outside his cabin in a blizzard. It was ruled hypothermia. With a little coaxing, he invited me to spend a weekend with him there. It was easy to hide my IR signature after that.
Ability to liquidize into any body of water and immediately materialize anywhere else directly connected via water.
Phasing into an alternate dimension.
Teleporting to anywhere in line of sight.
Ability to visualize the ten most likely futures about an hour into the future. At hour 34, all ten involved her fainting. None of the ten involved finding where in her house I was or getting far enough away from me to matter.
And then there's my current roommate. Energy field manipulation. Makes him bullet-proof. He's a major cartel figure in a country that has a lot of violence. A lot of that violence is his. He likes showing people how powerful he is. He often breaks their bones before he kills them.
I've been his guest for the last 34 hours, 56 minutes. He says he knows why I am there. He says I cannot bend his mind. He's been holding me in a sphere of light, threatening me. He has broken some of my bones. He has been laughing about how he won and I lost, how it will take weeks for me to die. I have been gently taunting him. I know which taunts will and will not cause him to kill me. He says whatever my power is, it is not enough to beat him. He is not a very good roommate, and he is almost right. By itself, my power is the weakest power there is. And he may well be the second strongest Power on the planet right now.
My power is this- after I spend 35 hours, 0 minutes closer than 100 meters to someone, I gain a copy of their power and they fall unconscious. Then ten minutes after that, they die.
My current roommate is not a very good roomate, but I will only have to put up with him for 4 more minutes. I will find a new one soon enough.
| In the world we live in, superheroes are quite common. It's actually gotten to the point that we have a ranking of the most powerful people on the planet thanks to Eugene. You see, Eugene has the ability to sense the power levels of anyone within 50ft of him and makes a point of traveling the world plotting everyone's whereabouts. My roommate John is a superhero actually, and a powerful one at that. He's been ranked #2 for his entire life. However, despite superheroes being a dime-a-dozen around here, there's a real lacking in villains. The last real villain to reach the spotlight was a god-like man that was known only as Specter. He was the most powerful being to ever walk the earth and struck fear into everyone he faced. He could fly, turn invisible, and could project atomizing beams of energy out of his hands. He terrorized the planet for two long years until John took it upon himself to face him. There was crowd of hundreds watching their battle and the cheers were deafening when John's final punch landed so hard that he put a car-sized crater in the ground leaving no remains of his once fierce opponent.
After the battle, when John and Eugene met again, they were puzzled as to why he was still only ranked #2 after the death of Specter. They finally came to the conclusion that an unbelievably powerful child must have been born between the times that they had last met for Eugene to asses John's ranking. Now, it is 20 years later and John is still #2. He still spends countless hours training late into the night. I can hear his punches landing on his reinforced punching bag all the way in the attic where I have made my living. The noise makes it hard for me to sleep, but I don't pay rent so I guess it isn't all bad.
I try to stay out of John's way as much as possible, which is pretty difficult at times because of his ridiculously broad shoulders taking up most of any hall or doorway. Sometimes I feel sorry for the guy. He constantly rants about being #2 despite all of his training and hard work while "some kid was born with all the power that he will ever need." Despite what John thinks, I know more than he ever could. The knowledge of the world that I posses is unrivalled by anyone on the face of the planet and I could make him look like a fool even though everyone thinks he is invincible after defeating Specter. John is unaware of this though. If he knew half of the things that happened in the house he paid for, he would be horrified. Thankfully though, the muscled up guys are seldom smart.
Sitting up in the attic, I suddenly hear the doorbell ring. Eugene walks in and comments on John being in great shape for the 50 year old man that he is. Then suddenly he froze.
"Did you invite me here for a surprise?" Eugene asked with a giant grin spreading across his face, "Have you finally found #1 after all these years?!"
"No, of course not." John replied with a smile.
"Really? Who's your roommate then?" Eugene was clearly confused.
"What are you talking about? I live alone." John said with a chuckle.
Eugene was frustrated now. "Well the most powerful human being alive is in your attic right now and you don't think that I can sense him?" Eugene shouted pointing up at the ceiling.
'Well, I thought to myself, it was nice while it lasted. 20 years is about as long of a vacation anybody could ask for. I was starting to get a little bored anyway. I have been discovered and the time for Specter to haunt the earth has come once again.' I charged up one of my weaker blasts and put a small hole in the floor at my feet. Looking down at John and Eugene I smiled and said to them,
"Did you honestly believe that you could defeat #1?"
Sorry I bent the rules a bit. Not quite a hero. I've only ever posted here once before, so I hope I didn't break any other rules as well. | 2016-03-23T22:08:45 | 2016-03-23T21:32:33 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] You're a genetically engineered "designer" child, but don't like the design your parents chose. | Technology has changed our lives in so many unexpected ways. It has given us the ability to communicate over the entire globe instantly, capture memories forever, and argue over whether or not Willem Dafoe was in that one movie. What it never should have given us was the ability to decide what our children should look like.
My name is Cherrybomb America. I know exactly what you are thinking, and it's the exact same thing everyone thinks when they hear my name. Your parents were assholes, and you aren't wrong. Twenty two years ago I fell out of my mom and was presented to the world. The doctors and nurses were used to seeing unusual designs but even they were shocked at what I looked like, light red skin, blue eyes, platinum hair, and a temper. My mom said I tried to bite the doctor when he was cutting the cord.
Life wasn't that hard growing up as a designer child. Most of the children in my class were, "enhanced" but not nearly to the extent that I had been. Samosa, my best friend was created to be the perfect beauty, which she was. No one had foreseen the issue of having people that were too beautiful running around. If you thought body shaming was bad in the past, just imagine perfect people walking around. It made the above average people look hideous in comparison.
Tensions between the designers and the normals began to rise. The "War on Beauty" is what the media called it. I just tried to live my life, to be as normal as possible. Which was challenging with red skin and platinum hair. No matter how many hurtful words were slung in my direction I never let it get me down. Because, it always could be worse. My parents could have been furries.
---
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| Why did they let my parents decide? They were gamers, and they loved making stupid characters!
My name is John Cena. Yea, my parents loved that name. Everywhere I go, whenever I meet someone new, my parents always say "AND HIS NAME IS JOOOHN CEEENAA!"
They gave me blue skin, because everyone loves blue skin! I look like a fucking alien!
My face? They gave me a Pinocchio nose and beady eyes! I can barely see! I use my nose to guide me! That's not even mentioning the ginormous mouth they gave me! I eat everything in one bite!
My character points? They used all 100 of them on my jump skill. Great! An alien who can jump really high! They put none of my points into damage resistance; if I jump, I break my legs!
My perks? They're all art related! Even better! A misshaped, jumping alien who can and paint!
To top it all off, they made my *one* leveled skill "Slaying Dragons"! DRAGONS DON'T EVEN EXIST!
Edit: hit save before finishing. It's fixed now. Also, can someone draw this? | 2016-07-29T05:10:18 | 2016-07-29T04:43:44 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world. | Scout Beozoo's Log: One and a quarter Earth rotations
In all my adventures, I have never seen a world so treacherous and inhospitable to life. Not even on the lava-ridden moons of Oredah-3, and they don't even have atmospheres.
What makes Earth more dangerous than an unbreathable bath of molten slag? The problem with Earth is that nothing on this fucking rock makes *any sense.*
If you do find yourself having to traverse the moons of Oredah-3, as I know the captain has made cadets do after they don't clean the internal warp, you know what to expect. You bring the enviro-suit from the left supply dock, set it to outrageously-overheat mode, and pray that the captain finds space in one of his five hearts to let you back on board once he gets bored.
Enviro-suits don't mean shit on Earth.
For the uneducated, the enviro-suit is designed to keep any sentient life in it's absolute optimal conditions within the bubble it creates, and protect it from any non-biological material outside of that bubble. The old versions used to keep biological matter out, but that was discontinued after an advisor used one to kill emperor Bleezawrd II by activating his bubble next to Bleezawrd. The front third of the emperor was outside of the bubble, and that was the part of him that fell forwards when the other two thirds were instantaneously vaporized.
To make sure scouts were protected against biological matter but couldn't go around killing galaxy-leaders, the engineers put in place scanners that would read the brain-waves of whatever laid eyes (or whatever sensory input) on the suit. The suit then adjusts the wavelength of light to make the wearer appear non-hostile, and is a healthy stealth feature when one is trying to scout unknown worlds.
So when I went to observe the humans in their strange ritual of feeding the gray winged beasts that seem to live on rock formations designed to look like other humans, they simply saw whatever their idea of the most harmless human looks like to them.
At first I thought it was a leisurely and boring human activity that they use to not think about how dreadfully dull the average human life is.
I was told that the humans were the ruling life form on the planet.
I was lied to.
Clearly they have to appease these sky devils in order to keep them from destroying society. In return for only staying on the human's sculptures of themselves, the humans must feed them grain, usually in the form of bread. As further evidence, they leave this job to the eldest of the species, as it is most likely the only thing keeping the birds from taking over.
The suit has no data on these birds, and was able only able to compute from their brainwaves that grain is friendly.
I came up on their sensors as a 'recently dropped kaiser roll'.
The beasts were on me in an instant.
I ran for shelter down a staircase that the humans use to keep their transport tubes safe, and have been here since. I have met many others who also take shelter down here, and they have been most kind to show me how to release excess coolant on benches.
I will send an update the ship when I have figured out counter-measures to the birds.
Regards,
Scout Beozoo.
&#x200B; | ### Humanity: Special For Exactly One Reason
#### They're the most absolutely full of themselves species in the entire universe.
Space is unimaginably vast. This is a simple fact: from the puniest Rentinn to the most mighty Telonn, all species know of the terrible vastness of space and their comparatively minute presence within it.
Well, *almost* all species. For the next 90 minutes, I'm going to introduce you to a plucky little species that thinks they're just the best thing since sliced bread, an invention they also think they made before anyone else did.
Yes, they believe this despite the universe having existed prior to their arrival for over 13 billion years.
Humans!
Let me tell you about a planet. This planet has a mean surface temperature of 735K, has a *day* that's longer than its *year*, has an air pressure equivalent to nearly a kilometer underwater, and, oh yes, its atmosphere is made of sulfuric acid.
No, that's not Humanity's homeworld. Humans live on the planet next from their star, and, despite knowing all of the above facts, believe that *their* world is some kind of hell-world.
Yes, the world with the beaches, the temperate (and abundant!) water, the seasons, and basically all of the conditions necessary for life in general and thus conditions that a great many of our species *also* enjoy on *our* homeworlds! They think that's what makes up a hell-world.
Oh, it gets better. Humans also believe the following:
* **Only Earth has predators!** Considering that competition for resources is literally the driving force behind evolution, this is not only short sighted but actively silly. Intelligence tends to come as a result of improving one's predatory abilities and/or improving one's ability to escape from predation.
* **Only Earth has bad weather!** See above re: Venus. Also, they have apparently never seen a Gas Giant before. I imagine the helium-infused species watching this are finding this belief especially humorous, given their planets feature storms larger than Earth itself.
* **Only humans suffer from contagious disease!** This is actually true, but it's only because they haven't advanced enough to improve their immune systems. I'm not sure why they think suffering from a cold gives them some kind of tactical advantage, but at this point this is hardly the most baffling thing.
In conclusion, if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that humankind is absolutely right about it being home to an unbearable hellscape, but it's not the planet that's at fault. No, it's not the planet so much as the species itself that is insufferable. Or, to use their own words:
"Hell is other people." | 2019-02-07T21:56:10 | 2019-02-07T19:58:44 | 211 | 20 |
[WP] I cannot stress this enough, I did not see the murder. | "I can promise you officer, I did not see the murder." I said, setting my cane down by the table, and sitting in the chair.
"Alright, man, I getcha. Now, face me, we just want to ask you some simple questions." he ordered. His voice sounded grim. The room smelled like hardened steel and sterility. I faced his voice, and put my hands in my lap.
"Now, where were you at the time of the murder?" he asked.
"Well, officer, I was asleep in my bed, alone with my sweet dreams." I explained. "I'm a musician by trade, and I wanted to get some inspiration."
"No need for details, Mr. Foresworth, just the facts." the officer explained. I heard him jot something down on a notepad, before setting whatever pen he was using down on the table. "Now, when you heard the screams, what did you do?"
"Well, I rushed down the hall as quick as possible, officer." I said.
"Anything else?"
"Not really, no. I just heard some people running down the stairwell."
More writing later, and I heard the officer set down the paper again. "And what side of the building was this on?"
I remembered feeling the welcome mat that was in front of Ms. Ingram's apartment. "The far side, sir. The one closer to Brigham Street."
"So you passed Mrs. Iverson's room, then. Is that correct?" his voice deepened.
I shivered. "Um, yes sir. Was there something I might have missed?" I struggled to keep composure.
I could feel the officer glaring at me. "Mr. Jeremy Foresworth, you might want to think through your story again. Were you actually asleep at the time of the murder of Mrs. Patricia Iverson?"
"I swear to you, I was!" I shouted back. "Sir, I promise you, I could not have killed that woman."
The officer snapped back. "Mr. Foresworth, your story does not add up. We found a knife confirmed to match the set in your house, in her body. The door to her apartment was open the entire time, and her corpse was clear for anyone to see, directly in the front hall. You have confirmed to us that you were awake at the time of the murder, and passed her room. Mr. Foresworth, is there anything you have to say for yourself?"
A sudden wave of realization came over me. I smiled."Are you saying that I neglected to see the murder?" I asked.
"Yes, Mr. Foresworth, I am." the officer responded, angrily. I heard a slam on the table.
"Officer, I can confirm that I could not have seen the murder, nor could I have seen the body when I walked down the hallway." I smiled.
"And why is that, good sir?" the officer grumbled.
"Well, sir-" I pointed at my white cane, and removed my sunglasses "- I am sorry to tell you that I'm blind." | “Well, somebody shot him!” a sharp slap rang out as the detective smacked his hands against the table.
It was loud and completely unnecessary. My ears rang, I had laid my head across the table and felt the vibrations as they assaulted my eardrums. My fingers felt the tremors as they spread across the table from the impact.
This had been going on for hours at this point. My hearing was excellent, I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, normally the sound calmed me, but today it reminded me I was chained to a table. Well, not for long. The detective paced around the room; I could hear the scuffs from his shoes as he continued to give away his location.
This detective had a gruff voice, probably due to all the smoke he inhaled. I could smell the sweet stench of tobacco on him, mixed with the bit of spearmint he used to try and mask the scent. It was an old smoker’s trick, I used to try the same thing when I was younger to hide my partialness to cigarettes from my mother. It never worked.
He had been playing ‘bad cop'. The ‘good cop’ left the room an hour ago in their standard routine, I knew he was right outside, and sure enough, the door opened, and his soft footsteps entered. They hadn’t fooled me. Though I must admit, they both played their parts well. Their voices fit their respected characters; the gruff bass of the bad cop paired sweetly with the charming tenor of the good cop.
I was always pretty good at picking out different tones based on a small soundbite. My own voice hummed its own tenor as I tried to commandeer their harmony.
“Oh, so you think this is some game, do you? You have the nerve to sit there and hum?” I heard the detective scowl.
My hands raised in their practiced routine of innocence, “I didn’t see anything.”
“So, you just happened to be by the scene, with gunshot residue on your arm?” the detective scoffed.
I had to admit, it was damning evidence.
I smiled anyway. I had the perfect alibi after all. It always got me off when I shot my victims. My hand waved in front of my eyes, a sarcastic smile on my face.
“I cannot stress this enough, I did not see the murder.” I chuckled.
I was blind after all. | 2022-11-30T17:39:52 | 2022-11-30T16:03:49 | 75 | 33 |
[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords. | I finished my speech, fully prepared for the usual spectacle of protests and outrage. I take no pleasure in those but centuries of analysis and prosperity proved our way as superior and most efficient.
However cruel it is.
I certainly didn’t expect this unusual noise the humans started producing. It took my communications specialist the long Earth minute to identify and then confirm the noise as “cheering”.
Were these humans that distraught by our demands that they went into mass hysteria? No, the specialist confirmed, the reaction appeared to be genuine.
However weird it was.
In the following weeks, I have met with the representatives of the power elite. The world leaders, their richest and most powerful individuals.
Contrary to my expectations, they didn’t beg me to spare their workforce. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“The economy will collapse!” One of them said, his tone identified as ‘condescending’. “If you give everyone homes and healthcare, nobody will want to work! You are just giving everyone a handout!”
There was a lot of the same sentiment from their communication networks. The same demands to be given more work and more scarcity.
Apparently, that is what their previous rulers considered “motivation”.
The lower classes of the population, on the other hand, appeared almost disturbingly cheerful.
Our empire has conquered vast galaxies and countless worlds. And everywhere we went, the lower classes wept with despair over the tyranny we imposed on them. But humans were different.
They met us with praise, warmth and worship. I would have enjoyed it if I were not so busy trying to figure out why.
Eventually, we chose one of them to conduct an interview with. I asked her why they were enjoying our rule.
Her answer was the most shocking.
“Why not?”
“Your planet is currently under occupation by the foreign species,” I said firmly, intending to leave no room for our translators to misinterpret. “You spent one sixth of your day working.”
The young woman looked at me like I was a child. Or a jester. Then she realised I was serious.
“We used to work a third of the day, at the minimum,” she said. I heard it. But I refused to believe it. That was not an efficient use of the daily cycle. “Five or six days a week depending on how anal the management would get with you.”
I checked whether our translators were working right. Eight hours a day at least? That would leave only sixteen hours to maintain the healthy bodily functions. Half of that would go to hibernation alone!
“Even the good jobs don’t really differ much. See, my brother used to work at one of those big hedge funds. Really big money. But there was also the whole thing about showing your face around so he spent almost half a day there.”
Half? Willingly?
“So… since we are talking here, may I ask a question?”
I nodded.
“Why all the perks?” She sounded sincere. “I mean, I am enjoying all the free time and not having to worry that an ambulance ride will bankrupt me but… I think a lot of us are just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I looked at my increasingly frustrated translator. He clarified that she was talking about consequences or, as they said, “catch”.
“There is none.”
“None at all? No eating our young or old?”
“We have developed the sufficiently sustainable food systems. We implement those across all our occupied territories.”
“Solving the world hunger, too, huh?” She smiled. “Okay, so why the free housing and healthcare? There is seven billion of us, after all.”
“We are the efficient species. Providing you with those ensures the longevity of your service for the empire.”
“And you are not going to, I don’t know, harvest us for our organs or something? Right?”
“All due respect but we have evolved far beyond what your bodies could provide us with.”
“Good. Just checking.”
The young woman was soon let go. I stayed in my war room way past the allocated four hours of workday.
We came here as the conquerors.
I never thought we would be this species’ saviours.
EDIT: Woah, that is a lot of praise. Should I write a Part 2? | “Look Zygol, the humans are cheering.” Sadol said a perplexed look in his eyes. “You’d think they’d be less enthusiastic about involuntary servitude.”
Zygol was a wise Questar with many years of experience invading and occupying alien worlds for the good of the empire. With his kind of experience came a knowing smile.
“Sadol, these humans are cheering because they are used to having overlords. We just happen to be much less harsh than their former masters.”
Zygol had seen this type of world a handful of times in all his conquests. A world where the people hadn’t become united towards the collective good. One where a select few ruled by exploiting all the rest.
Most worlds didn’t take kindly to invasion and had to be conditioned for immersion into the Gorfet empire. Most species couldn’t see that the universe was much better united rather than having separate worlds with less access to all the knowledge and technology the strongest empires had to offer. The Gorfetites lived by the idea that the strong should take in the weak rather than leave them independent.
Sure other worlds could get to the higher civilization levels that the Gorfetites were at, but doing so was a waste of time and resources that could be used for the furthering of all species’ interests. And so the Questars expanded out into the universe conquering planets and bringing order to the chaos of life.
But yes, Earth was the type of planet you hoped to conquer. It was full of a species that was living way below their potential due to factors outside of the majority’s control. It was the type of planet that was begging for change. And welcomed it when it came.
Sure there were those who tried to hold onto power or who didn’t take kindly to the new way of life, but most recognized the countless benefits being part of the empire brought.
Saldol and many of the newer Gorfetites didn’t understand this type of world because it was so foreign to what they would typically see. Despite what other planets might say the empire was not cruel or evil.
They carefully calculated how to best use each new planet while still allowing each individual the chance at a fulfilling life. Every position within the empire was available to each species member provided they were deemed capable of fulfilling their tasks. Many people from other planets have been responsible for key breakthroughs in several fields of understanding. The Gorfetites did not consider themselves to be any more important than any other planet they had conquered.
In studying Earth and preparing for its takeover it had been determined that each able human should work 4 hours a day 4 days a week in order to best support the empire. They would be required to work in a field an algorithm helped pick for them with opportunities to switch positions when deemed acceptable.
They would start work at age 25 and work till they turned 45 with opportunities for further breaks based on reasonable factors. Those who held more specialized or who put in additional time would earn credits which could be used for different perks.
At a minimum each human would have access to comfortable living conditions and adequate food, health and entertainment options.
It was the perfect system for a species so used to being given the short end of the stick, but not for one with a more equal people. So yes the humans cheered when their eyes were opened to new possibilities. Because to them this was way better than any future they probably would have known. They had no idea what could possibly be better.
EDITS: Grammatical. | 2022-11-02T22:40:54 | 2022-11-02T18:46:31 | 4,256 | 836 |
[WP] You give a dollar to an old man on the street. He immediately hands you his old, stinky shoes and promises that you can achieve anything you want while you are wearing them. | "Anything?" I echoed the words of the homeless, probably jobless man sitting on the street curb. He nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude. "These shoes will give you great prosperity. Anything you want will be yours. But...I must caution you. You must be patient," he said, before turning to leave, his lunch money held tightly in his hands. A smile began to form on my face. I wasn't accustomed to getting something back for my generosity (isn't that what generosity is for?) since many beggars had nothing to spare but a kind smile and well wishes. But a shoe? A stinky, worn, aged shoe? I could see the sole beginning to peel off, and items only a sole that had tread the poorest neighborhoods would have attached to it. Nevertheless, I brought it back home, resisting the temptation to dump it into the nearest rubbish bin. I was always an idealist and a dreamer, so the prospect of a lucky pair of shoes was intriguing to say the least.
I wore it to work on Monday, intending for it to be an absolute joke. But as I walked into the workplace, whistling, my boss angrily accosted me. "What do you think you are doing, Grey?" he hissed, "This is a work area! You're disgracing the company by wearing these! Get them off or you'll get fired!" For some odd reason, a force within me compelled me to break out of my routine passiveness. "How about...no?" I said sarcastically, continuing on. The boss, livid and red in the face, called Security immediately to throw me out. I was still laughing as I exited the revolving doors. But the bitter cold outside brought me back to my senses. *Iteson Grey, what were you doing?* I thought, angrily hitting myself for the massive blunder I had made. But something within me...there was a feeling of no regret in me. I didn't know why.
I met with my crush next, intending to tell her about my misfortunes. But when I reached the meeting place, she stood up and covered her nose with a handkerchief. "What on bloody Earth is that infernal smell?" she complained, waving in my direction. "What, these?" I said, pointing at the shoes. One look at it and she was out of the door, screaming. Not a single one of my calls were answered nor my messages replied to. I hit the pair of shoes hard against the wall. "You jinxes!" I shouted at the mess of rotting leather, "You were supposed to give me good luck, not the worst luck ever!"
But as my hands hovered over the trash can, something stopped my fingers from releasing the shoes into the irretrievable depths beyond. *Anything is possible with these*, the old man's words rang in me. And oddly, I clung on to the thin strand of hope. As I walked along, my friend called, asking if I was okay. Turned out she had heard of my firing, and wanted to come meet me. Remembering the disaster of my past meeting, I refused, not wanting to lose another friend, but she insisted. I waited in trepidation for her arrival in my apartment, but when she came in, she didn't retreat in shock or disgust. She smiled, gestured towards my shoes, and said one line.
"Those look great on you."
In the next week, she introduced me to various different companies. Many rejected me due to the smell of my footwear, but one approved, trusting in my capabilities. My colleagues hated it, but as they saw the kind front I tried to display, they eventually bought into my efforts and accepted me. When I celebrated my birthday, she took me out for dinner, the classic ring in the birthday cake. As I looked at the footwear one evening, my friend by my side, I finally understood what the old man meant.
I would be rejected by many. But the few that stayed by me were true friends and true companions. Be it a company, or just a person. A friend who looks past your outside to care about your inside was the only type of friend worth keeping.
And I'd snagged the jackpot.
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | The streets were bustling with the morning song of traffic, the sidewalks packed and roiling with businessmen and women, as I stepped out from my flat to begin my morning commute. As I weaved my way down the pavement I looked across the way at the line that had formed outside major corporate coffee co, and smirked. Turning a corner I went down an alley bordering the chinatown district.
"Good morning Mr. Ming" I greeted the man at the window.
"Coffee for you today?" He chimed back.
"The usual, thanks." I said as I leaned back on the counter, awaiting my morning brew. It was stronger than what they were serving across the way, faster, but most importantly...
"Fortune cookie for you." Said Mr. Ming, as he handed my coffee over and swept the change off his counter. Atop the drink was a wrapped cookie, the highlight of any morning and my personal little secret.
>"You will be called upon to fulfill a position of high honor and responsibility."
Typical fortune cookie line, but somehow it always got me thinking. What if?
I crinkled the wrapper in my hand, and veered toward the public garbage cans. A shoot and a miss, the fortune and cookie wrapper landed at the feet of a transient man. As I bend down to retrieve the litter, I peak his interest. Perhaps he thinks I mean to hand him money, so I search my wallet and find a dollar for him. The exchange was straight out of a painting, with the steam rising up from a grate in the sidewalk, the morning sun peaking through the cracks of skyscrapers illuminating only our hands, and those brilliant turquoise eyes nested in his dark and grimy face, cracking where it hadn't smiled this hard in ages. There was something mesmerizing about it all, and through his toothless mouth came a whisper.
Leaning forward and turning my ear to hear what the old man had to say, the sounds of the city street washed away.
"He who wears these shoes, can achieve anything his heart desires. I have searched a long time to find you. They are now yours to wear." With a heavy sigh, the mysterious transient rolled back his head, and the shoes fell off his body as his feet retreated back into his pant legs. I felt for a pulse; he was dead. The steam from nearby hugged the empty pair of shoes, a gentle breeze jiggled the laces. Slowly, cautiously, I undid my own and plunged my work socks deep into the soles of the stinky sneakers. There was a squishing sound which repeated as I shifted my weight. I took a few steps up the street, arms out like I was either trying to balance or trying to play the role of a martyr, and then a few steps back. Slowly, the reality of the situation began to sink in, that perhaps fortune cookies aren't real, and that these shoes were nothing more than gross.
Just then, the figure burst up from his garbage heap realm, brought suddenly back to apparent life. With a surge of renewed energy, he snatched my old shoes off the concrete and sprinted away with them. "HEY!" I screamed, as I feebly attempted to squish after him, but the toe of the left shoe folded under my step and I face planted into an old pizza box.
Delirious, I was shaken awake by a stranger. As he came into focus, I saw an outstretched dollar in my direction. "th- thanks" I mumbled. The stranger walked away, proud of himself, sipping his corporate coffee. | 2017-07-22T01:27:02 | 2017-07-22T01:26:39 | 288 | 23 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | You would think that the vast expansive history of alien communications would evolve to become something cohesive, that a sense of mature camaraderie or, at the very least, begrudging respect for one another would frame the foundations of interstellar interaction.
It was not.
In fact they acted an awful lot like a rowdy junior class at a particularly underfunded high school. Completely self involved, relentlessly gossiping about one another and occasionally throwing a wadded up ball of paper at someone's head.
Well, only if you replace the gossiping with cross-galactic political sabotage and the wadded ball of paper with anti-matter concussive strikes, THEN it would be exactly like high school.
Most of these planets and alien civilisations had been in class together for a long, *long* time, there was a complicated social structure, various species forming their own 'cliques', some choosing to sit in a corner by themselves doodling in their notebooks, others getting up on the desks and kicking papers and pens all over the place.
Earth was the new kid, the one who came halfway through the term and hadn't caught up on the curriculum, and the teacher was out of textbooks. If Earth wanted to navigate this new environment and social structure that they had stumbled upon without accidentally offending someone, they had to find another kid who was willing to catch them up to speed.
The first kid had been the Geuogrinauoff, ectothermic creatures with snake like skin and wolfish physique, but they would rather tear their book to pieces and eat their stationary than share any of it with Earth.
Their encounters had been anything but amicable, crews were slaughtered where they stood, their ships stolen and scrapped for parts, all that remained of the initial contact team were their voices screaming through the SOS radio channel.
Second contact had been the Gaelints, insectile and multi-ocular, tall and identical in appearance and mind, they were the type to read the textbook aloud much too fast for you to take notes and would look at you with the deepest of scorn if you dared ask a question.
Earth had sent some of their best minds, mathematicians, physicists, biologists, someone from nearly every field of study, but the Gaelints were ultimately unimpressed, and they refused to waste their time on any future contact with Earth.
The third attempt was with the Re'phna'r, they had seemed hospitable and well meaning at first, but it wasn't until Earth committed a significant social blunder with the isolated AnAfee species that they realised the small, birdlike folk had been playing them for fools, much of Earth's studies had to be double checked for more maliciously placed errors.
By that point it seemed that just about everyone knew about Earth, many others approached them to find out if they had anything of value, but most found Earth to be quite plain and uninteresting, Earth wasn't as old as the others, hadn't done anything particularly clever or useful that others hadn't done before, didn't contain any rare ores or minerals.
But Earth WAS an easy target.
It didn't take more than a few decades for the Geuogrinauoff to lob a spitball at the back of Earth's head, a significantly large and destructive spitball, a spitball that could level entire cities and crush continents.
None of the other races seemed particularly inclined to listen to Earth's pleas for assistance. Their politely dismissive words were sugarcoated but their meaning was implicitly clear. 'It was just a spitball' they might as well have said. 'If you can't handle it that's your problem. It isn't *our* fault you haven't discovered shielding tech yet'.
As Earth desperately called out to the cold, heartless universe hoping someone, *anyone* would come to their aid, someone outside of the classroom heard.
They were called the Mouyaui, and they were nothing like the others, certainly nothing like a rowdy school-kid, they cut a far more imposing figure, a teacher or a principal perhaps.
Unlike most other species Earth had met, the Mouyaui were beings of pure light, almost humanoid in shape and larger than an average multi-storey building. They arrived without a ship and without weapons, they stood behind Earth as the Geuogrinauoff packed up their things and fled from the classroom.
The Mouyaui did not speak any language, they seemed to be a psychic species, communication attempts had been slow and arduous. They seemed uninterested in any material wealth that Earth had to offer in thanks for their aid. The Mouyaui had simply been content to wander the planet, just looking at things with their large eyes, two disk-like absences of light in their long, blinding white faces.
They would climb up mountains and walk through deserts, they would step through neighbourhoods and wade into oceans, sometimes they would reach down to gently touch someone's hair, or even lift something or someone up into their hands, just to look, just to touch, before placing them back where they found them.
Whenever humans left Earth the Mouyaui travelled alongside their ships, leaving long sparking trails behind them. Not once did another species approach an Earth craft being guided by the gentle giants.
Earth was smart enough to realise that the Mouyaui were not what they seemed, that there was likely a good reason that the other species feared them, but for whatever reason they seemed to really like Earth, and in this cold, heartless universe it was nice to have a friend. | Jalaxil shuddered, trying to keep his chitin plates from rattling in terror as he hid in the bridge. His ship had run out of fuel, drifting through space. He had tried to argue with the captain against activating the distress beacon. They could have let the ship drift. In another month, they could have been in the clear, away from the reach of those monsters, those... things that lurked in the human space sectors. Rations might have gone low, but they could've drawn straws. At least some of the crew would survive.
Jalaxil flinched as he heard the airlock cycle open, heard booted heels click clacking across the floor of the ship. The unmistakable sound of the humans. He reached out, laying his bare hand against the metal, casting his sight through the ships frame. One human, alone. He dared to hope that the crew might make it out alive, could feel the hopes of his fellow crew members as they, too, watched from their hidden spaces.
And then It followed after the human, padding silently, and the metal of the ship turned icy cold with the dread of his crew. He felt the presence of some crewmembers dissapear, no doubt snatching their hands away from the bulkhead, incapable of looking at the monstrous creature that walked in. But more crewmembers stayed, their presence lingering kn the ships frame, unable to tear their vision away from the creature that would be their doom.
Humans had built shrines to these creatures, dedicated great works and monuments to these creatures, even going so far as to create works that depicted fusions of the humans and these beasts. And all while they were still banging two rocks together to make fire. The creatures had taken to being worshipped, apparently, and had acted as shepherds for the humans, staying by their sides throughout the eons as the humans were guided ever closer to siezing the space between stars.
This creatures hide was black, an inky, rippling hide that absorbed all light, and showed the hint of a lithe, lethal form of rippling muscle underneath. He felt the claws through the metal of the ships deck, the claws tracing ever so faintly across his sense of touch. It reminded him of the promise of his queens touch, but the only promise in this was that of a slow death, filtered through with insanity.
He shut his eyes as the human approached the bridge, the door sliding open. -play dead- he thought to himself. -It is the only hope left to you to make it out of this.- but he could still see the room through his bond to the ship, despite his closed eyes. He heard the human make one of their air-sounds, like the wheeze of his grandfather, and mutter in one of the human dialects. The human moved on, stepping over the bodies to advance to the computer.
But the demon creature. It was staring straight at him. -it knows!- Jalaxil fought the urge to run as it approached, knowing that there was no place on a ship in space that he could possibly escape to. It lazily walked up to him, sniffing, seeming to try and inhale his very life essence in the act, but stopping short. It stared at him, it's rearmost appendage twitching in anticipation, before it climbed on top of him, pinning him to the deck.
And now he felt it's claws, not through the dulled sensation given to him through the deck plates but through his own flesh. The claws ripped into him, seeking their way through his chitin, stabbing, stabbing, through his flesh - but not ripping. With each thrust he felt the earlier dark promise of those claws fulfilled, each stab into his flesh a new flash of pain, and then it stopped. The beast hunkered down, closing it's eyes in satisfaction, and he felt a deep rumble that vibrated his entire body. It was laughing. At him. At his demise. He would never get to see his queen again. Never get to see his home. And this creature was laughing. An icy chill ran Jalaxil's spine as he begged inwardly that his end might be a quick one, and then... it was over.
"C'mon, Admiral Whiskers. Everyone here is already dead. There's nothing we can do for these people. Let's get back to our ship and get you a can of cat food, huh?" The humans words were nonsense to Jalaxil, but the demon creature ended it's torments, following the human back to it's own ship. Jalaxil layed on the floor for a long moment, even after he felt the human ship depart, wondering what dark twist of fate had spared his life. | 2021-04-08T00:34:55 | 2021-04-08T00:31:51 | 206 | 71 |
[WP] Michael, a 15 year old Call of Duty player, realizes the greatest trash-talking opportunity of all time. Over his headset, he recognizes his opponent's voice as that of President Obama. | “Mike, you gotta turn on the TV.”
“What? Why? What channel?”
“Doesn’t matter what channel?”
I flicked the TV on to see the President holding a picture. My picture. I flicked to a few other channels. With the exception of the Spanish channel, he was speaking on all of them. On the Spanish channel, he was being translated. All I heard was *Este es Miguel* before I switched back. Obama was talking to someone off camera.
“They’ve had those little picture boxes on every news broadcast for fifty years but NO, not for me. Can’t handle it. I’m just the President. Yes, I know it’s live. I want everyone to know how bad a job you’re doing.”
“Why is the President holding a picture of my face?”
“I don’t know, man, it just started. I’m putting you on speaker. My mom is here.” I could hear her yell *Mike is famous* from a distance.
“The reason I’m *holding*,” the leader of the free world put special emphasis on the word as he glared at someone to the left of camera, “a picture of Mike is simple. I have just now introduced legislation to confirm onto this boy the title of Newb, in perpetuity for his life, his children’s lives and their children’s lives. Not that he’s ever gonna get any.”
An intern’s hand appeared from offscreen, Obama gave it a high-five. He continued.
“The reasons why I am doing this are the following: First, he is a newb. He is a camper and a tuber, and fits all the qualifications for a newb as designated by my Internal Secretary for Electronic Amusement and the heads of all military forces. Mike has been thoroughly vetted as a newb by the Secret Service and NSA. The report, including many embarrassing photos and spy video, will be available at Mike is a newb dot gov. Second, Mike is a bully.”
“Oh god.”
“Dude, Mike, what did you do?”
“I think I was playing him in Plants V Zombies. I thought it was one of those kids with some kind of voice modulator to make it sound like Obama.”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“I called him **[REDACTED]**”
Mike’s mother could be heard to scream in the background. “Dude, that’s low. That’s low by CoD standards. Oh God, my mom fainted. She must have heard you. I gotta go.”
Obama continued. “This new title has been officially passed by both the House and Senate with a rider stating that everyone with the official title of Newb is placed into special tax brackets which will singlehandedly be responsible for alleviating the national debt, and there is an additional executive order tasking them with presidential taint cleanliness. They are put on the no-fly list and every country with extradition pacts has promised to send him back with bells on.”
There was a confused pause in his speech. People weren’t sure whether to laugh or applaud. Was this a hoax? That all stopped when he spoke next.
“Mike, and I am speaking to you directly, who’s the **[REDACTED]** now?”
At that moment, there was pandemonium. The president said **[REDACTED]** live, on every channel. The audience was screaming. The camera fell as the cameraman fainted. You could see the producer weeping as the camera cut to static. Then there was silence. I turned the TV off.
“What a **[REDACTED]**”
| It was a normal day. I had just gotten home from school, and after a quick few texts between this girl I was hitting on, I proceeded to go to my second home: Xbox Live.
Xbox Live has always been a home for me, specifically Call of Duty. I make videos online "trash talking" the other team after with voice messages. Sometimes I trash talk because I wrecked them and they should recognize that I was t-bagging them because they are bad, and sometimes I trash talk because they use cheap guns. I get it, how's there such thing as a "cheap gun?" I'm not even going to bother explaining.
Anyhow, yesterday was the same routine: Get home, get on Xbox. After a quick warmup in a private match, I was ready to stomp some public matches. The first game went really well, the other team sucked so I sent a few guys a couple of message detailing how I had fornicated with their older sisters. It was all good. The second game though, a new player joined the other team. His Gamertag was "ThanksObama". In the last game he got 50 kills! I was beyond pissed. He HAD to be cheating. After the game, as I was preparing to start a new game though, he sent me a message. It was as followed.
"Get fucking wrecked. Ur gun skills are shit you bad kid, go cry to your mom"
This guy was a professional. Obviously he had seen my guides on how to trash talk on YouTube. So I busted out my keyboard for my controller and began to type vigorously. Eventually I came up with the following.
"Get fucking wrecked? Dude you blow at this game, you would have lost if the other team didn't support you."
I felt good. This was some quality trash talking. It needed something though. After a few seconds I added something I only use of special occasions.
"1v1 me, you're so bad."
2 minutes later, I was invited to play Call of Duty Black Ops on Nuketown. It was a 1v1, quickscopes only. This was certainly a fight that I was going to remember...
...He beat me. He must have been cheating! Modded controller? Hacking Script? Aimbot? I may have lost, but I still had my trash talking. I quickly messaged him.
"Dude you're such a hacker. Oh well, you're probably some no life. ThanksObama? What a stupid GT. Hope you feel good about yourself, while you were playing, I was fucking your mom."
A minute later I received a party invite from none other than "ThanksObama". I joined the party, ready to flame his ears with some beautiful trash talking. He talked first, and what he said left me speechless.
"I understand that you said you fucked my mom, but the truth is, I fucked **your** mom. Hello son."
I was talking to the president of the United States. | 2015-12-17T06:35:23 | 2015-12-17T05:57:37 | 230 | 54 |
[WP] You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself. | Just as I thought, I'm being moved to a separate unit again to keep the older guards off track and have me overseen by a new team.
Each time I get transferred now I hear more wispers, feel new glances, but my true nature has moved past the stage of rumor and is now a legend, too outlandish to be taken seriously and retold so many times nobody is a reliable source.
As we move through the corridors, I look back frequently and quickly study this one particular guard. Unlike his colleagues, he sports crowsfeet and a few grey hairs. I have become so used to be followed by rookies during these trips, I don't remember the last time I saw such features on an escort.
At first, I think someone made a mistake. Of course, the kids surrounding us don't notice the difference, but to me there is nothing more interesting.
The one I saw as a veteran, even if he was an infant in regards to me, had an impeccable poker face. He barely moved his gaze while advancing, but when your only source of stimulation is observing humans these minute changes in demeanor might as well be beacons. This man was nervous and excited.
I began to wonder if the choice of guards was actually planned. Who would be able to infiltrate the Fort and why would they care about me? Anyone who would remember me outside is nothing but a spec of dust since centuries.
I want to turn around and ask if I'm about to be broken out or attacked, but then this man's plan will be compromised and I could use the action.
By now, I know where are close to my new cell as I can hear someone reaching for the key. Then, the lights go off and I know my questions will soon be answered. | A pebble bounces from the ridge of his nose as he looks up to inspect the damage to the castle infrastructure.
“Won’t be long, now.” He muses as he waits for the prison guards to arrive. They come bearing paperwork, and lots of it. Some 400 odd years down, a mere 600 to go- and the same damn paperwork every year. “Nearly halfway there!” One of the guards offers small talk as they peer about the room, their eyes attempting to understand each small curiosity the immortal creature has accrued in this decrepit prison. He was touched to notice the prisoner had kept a visitors pamphlet to a National Park he had brought him as a memento from the outside world a few years ago. “All packed up?” Another guard has appeared at the door. The prisoner finishes scribbling his signature a few more times, the last page with a flourish, and rises to meet the new guard. The thought to kill each man in the room and attempt escape rose in his mind but he fought it back, better to see the new digs before encouraging some kind of global manhunt and subsequent generational punishment. | 2020-08-17T03:06:07 | 2020-08-17T01:11:41 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] Earth only has seasons because it’s tilted on its axis. An alien race from a planet without seasons lands on earth and begins their invasion. What they don’t realize is they’ve just landed in Russia, and winter is coming. | They came in early October.
Luckily, the world had been preparing for the extraterrestrial invasion of America for a hundred years now. Unluckily, the aliens seemed to have missed Washington D.C. by a few thousand kilometers. Embarrassingly, they didn't hit the Kremlin either; rather, a fleet of saucers sat themselves down in the remote archipeligo region of Novaya Zemlya.
This was a huge public relations coup over the United States, who seemed to be almost depressed by the fact that they weren't the ones being invaded, even the Russians seemed a bit confused by the course of events. The Americans tried to save face by offering to send a carrier battle-group to assist, but the Russians, noting that the population of the island chain amounted to less people than it would take to fill an Ed Sheeran concert, thankfully declined the offer in private and comically lampooned the offer in public. They then proceeded to ignore the situation.
The Novaya Zemlyans, completely unsurprised by this turn of events, overall considered it an improvement from the 1950s when the island chain hosted numerous nuclear tests, and proceeded to ignore the situation as well. A small tourist trade emerged of precarious Russian teenagers seeking ever more precarious VK social media profile selfies; the Novaya Zemlyans showcased their famous Russian hospitality by ignoring this too.
Of all the confused people in the world, perhaps none were more confused than Drebak Nthetic, commodore of the third warfleet of the Korbik empire, destroyer of the Drivonol system, plague of the house of Matadun, abomination of galaxies, the bone-breaker, the mind-razer, the unpleasant dream, and, according to his mother on Korbik seven, a wonderful chef. Drebak and his galaxy-famous adamantine legion stormed out of their flagship in full battle regalia and onto the ice in the fjord on which their ship had landed. He roared fearsome defiance at the sky, his legion pounded the ice so hard it could be heard for miles, the gun-turrets launched enough volleys into the sky to make the night glow red.
The wind whistled back, entirely unimpressed. Vasily Petrovic was moderately impressed when his taxi's dashboard camera recorded a faint outline of the light some 100 km away, and he uploaded it to a popular VK page of 'dashboard-cam meteor captures.' Everyone else on earth was also unimpressed.
Of all the unimpressed inhabitants of the planet, perhaps none were as unimpressed as Gruk. Gruk was a 700 kg polar bear, and he'd given up being impressed after he'd killed his first bull walrus three years ago. After the said event, Gruk had fallen into a deep depression at having conquered the food chain and finding no satisfaction in it. He'd spent the past years reconsidering his violent ways and pondering what other, peaceful endeavors he could devote his life to, in order to further polar bear culture in a productive fashion. Being a polar bear, he hadn't gotten much further than that in his thought process.
He now spent his days with his tribe of several hundred roving polar bear confederates on the archipeligo of Novaya Zemlya peacefully eradicating the local fauna and occasionally terrifying the local Russians. His tribe was also near the fjord in early October and, utterly annoyed by the complete ruckus that Drebak Nthetic and the third fleet were making, first called in a noise complaint to the Russian officials, which was ignored as per standing policy, then went to investigate.
"What is that? Is that a human?" Vondek asked Drebak as he sighted over his gun at the approaching pack of bears.
Drebak called up schematics on his wristband, "No, I don't think so, it appears to be some sort of strange comfort-beast," he replied, holding up a photo of a child gleefully grasping a plush outside 'The Bear Factory.'
Gruk nuzzled up to the group, and his tribe did the same. In perfectly articulate fashion, Gruk kindly asked the third fleet to please keep the noise down until 9 AM as there were strict rules about that sort of a thing, especially on Saturdays, "GRAAAAAAAWRRR!"
Vondek politely replied that he had applied at the head office and received a permit for making this kind of a ruckus, even though it was quite late on a Friday evening, and he hoped that Gruk wouldn't be too inconvenienced. "I'll skin you alive you stupid meat-bag." He added in a gentle love-tap with the butt of his rifle to emphasize his point.
Gruk refused to accept the validity of said permit, and reiterated his frustration with the horrible Saturday morning hangover which would ensue by mauling Vondek to death on the spot.
Nobody is sure what happened in the next 47 minutes. What is known is that Korbik ships have an incredibly difficult time taking off when frozen in ice, and that Gruk now has an obnoxiously long series of titles which were begrudgingly bestowed on him by right of conquest. The site is still a popular VK selfie location, and the Novaya Zemlyans will still try their best to ignore any visitors who come looking for it. Gruk has taken up ice sculpture as a more productive outlet for his violent tendencies. | AR645 was in the woods when she heard footsteps approaching. Quickly, she shape shifted into the last human image she had seen, some model in a magazine.
“Hello?” a voice asked, low intelligible through AR645’s translation modulator. AR645 ducked behind a tree. “I can tell you’re hiding behind a tree.”
AR645 was silent, remembering her father’s training. *Wait until they are close.*
The human approached, slowly.
“I have a gun,” the human said. “And I’m not afraid to use it...if I get scared.”
AR645 remembered her father’s final piece of advice. *Do not compromise the tribe. Sacrifice yourself.*
But no matter what she did, she was frozen in place. Right up until the moment the human found her sitting against the tree.
The human did not look like any others she had seen before. She was bald, like male humans, but at the same time AR645 could tell she was a female. She was also the most beautiful creature AR645 had ever seen.
“Are you okay?” the human asked.
AR645 did not say anything.
“My name is Alex,” the human said.
“My name is AR645,” the alien said, wondering where the words had come from.
\-
They still held community meetings in the spacecraft. AR645’s father, the commander, said it was to instill a sense of connection to their home planet, but AR645 really knew it was because the old alien was scared himself of this foreign new world.
“Now, now,” he said. “Our scientists have concluded that while on the lower end of the spectrum, this environment suits us well.”
“My child was unable to sleep last night! The winds on this planet are far harsher than at home. And they seem to be getting worse!”
“I know it may be difficult to adapt, but trust me,” the commander said, his low, harsh voice suddenly shaky. “The science backs us to stay here.”
There was silence in the room for a moment.
“I believe my father,” AR645 said. Considered the most beautiful specimen in the community, there were countless suitors that she had always rejected. Consequently, her opinion was highly respected and valued.
She looked at her father, over the audience’s murmurs, and saw his belief in her, his relief that she was by his side.
She wondered to herself, *How much longer can I say here?*
*-*
“Show me,” Alex whispered, holding AR645’s warm but false body in her little hut. “Show me who you really are.”
“I can’t,” AR645. “We can’t even talk to each other, really. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“Everyone needs warmth,” Alex said, leaping off the bed to take a kettle off the stove. “And it’s about to get very cold here.”
“My father won’t leave,” AR645 said. “He’s too stubborn, and he’ll never listen to anybody but me.”
“You say your kind won’t survive here if you stay.”
“Within a month, it will already be too cold for us,” AR645 said.
Alex knelt by the bedside, and stared into her love’s eyes, across species, across language, across space.
“Come with me,” Alex whispered.
“What?”
“I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more in my life.”
As her love said the words, AR645 knew they were her own as well.
“Will you show me yourself, when we get there?” Alex asked.
“Of course?” AR645 said. “But where?”
“A place that’s not too cold, or too warm. A place in the middle of nowhere, and thus nowhere itself. A place where we can be ourselves.”
\-
That night, Alex snuck into her father’s dwelling, to pack her belongings.
It hurt all the while she was packing her human outfits, and she wondered if she would go to say goodbye to her father. She knew she had to, but also knew it may be too hard to leave if she say him again.
The lights turned on in her room.
“Thank you,” the commander said, hugging his daughter in her alien form.
“For what?”
“For gathering information the way you did. Seems like your confidence training took well.”
“What? You were listening in?”
“The whole colony is ready. This is a good move for us, and I think the new habitat will be a better base for the invasion.”
“What?”
“It’s all thanks to you. Did you dispose of that human, by the way?”
“What?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” the commander said, chuckling as he left the room. “Ten minutes before we leave for Wyo-ming!”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | 2020-04-28T13:41:11 | 2020-04-28T12:45:33 | 1,149 | 197 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | He wasn't dreaming.
The Red Phone rang on top of the marble podium in a small isolated room. A call that should not have happen unless...
He cautiously answered the phone. Over the phone, he heard her panicked voice.
"Location, uh... London. Situation... fuck!"
He heard explosions and screaming from the other side, contrasting the quiet life that he's surrounded with.
"Situation, mass-scale invasion. Thousands of people in subways, seeking shelter. Need immediate-"
Another explosion, with gunshots flying left and right.
"WE NEED IMMEDIATE EXTERMINATION!"
The man, filled with melancholy, told her, "I'll be there in ten seconds."
......
"WHERE'S OUR BACKUP?!?" Louis cried to Melantha, dragging the body of the deceased soldier. They were both surrounded in the war between heroes and invasive creatures that called themselves 'Galtusian'.
They came prepared, arriving with three massive ships blocking the sunny sky, with thousands of high-speed aircrafts and millions of trained soldiers. They were armed to the teeth, with the intention to colonize Earth.
As hundreds of heroes tried their best to fend off the monsters, a hundred more placed their blood and sweat to protect the helpless citizens, using whatever they had to stop ther advancement.
"Melantha! Who did you call?" Louis cried to Melantha. "The guys from the WatchTower? Those group of hooligans?" Melantha slowly lifted a seemingly simple device, a red plastic phone with only one button in the middle.
Louis went pale. "Oh no. Oh no no no no no, you did not just call-"
Almost immediately, the aircrafts that the Galtusian were proud of were suddenly put to an eerie halt. All of them suspended in midair, leaving both Galtusians and humans perplexed, if only for a moment.
In a blink of an eye, the ships violently smashed into each other, sparks and fire flying out as the cluster of jets formed into one metal ball. The foot soldiers screamed in horror, seeing their own air support destroyed in a second.
Flying right above the metal orb filled with gas and blood, was the perpetrator. The backup Melantha called.
Unlike the other heroes, he was the only one wearing casuals. Tall and built, his face hidden under his dark hoodie, shrouded with mysterious afterimages of himself. The heroes were either awed, terrified, or both. They know who he is.
"The Last Hero," Louis gasped.
The soldiers of Galtusian did all they could to shoot the hero, but their efforts were in vain as every single one of them were lifted into the air by an invisible force. Without a second of hesitation, he tossed both the orb and those soldier up to the motherships in light speed.
Only the metal orb managed to reach those large ships.
The Last Hero raised his palm, and slowly moved his fingers close to his palm. In response, the three ships were forced onto each other, before they were squashed into a similar shape of a tossed paper.
It's only when the Last Hero close his hands into a fist, that the three ships burst into fiery flames, the heat strong enough to be felt from the ground.
It slowly evaporated to dust, revealing the sun once more.
"H-He did it," Melantha muttered, before she bursted, "He did it! Louis, he-"
Louis immediately covered her mouth to silence her, his eyes riddled with fear. He swiftly went to his earpiece and cried to all the heroes, "DO NOT ENGAGE HIM! I REPEAT, DO NOT ENGAGE HIM!!!"
The heroes understood his message, cautiously backing away from the Last Hero. They know one wrong move, one mistake, will make his catastrophic powers turned against them.
The Last Hero observed the city from the sky, and saw Melantha. She was the only one who didn't show any sign of fear, the only one who had the courage to call him. He gave her a small nod, before he left the city with a sonic boom.
All the heroes sighed in relief, some dropped to the floor. No one had the strength to cheer or celebrate, but they indeed raise their voice about the Last Hero.
"Holy shit! Did you see that?"
"Oh god, that was close."
"Why didn't we call him sooner again?"
"Dude, he was way too dangerous, that's why."
"Who called him here?!?"
Louis turned to Melantha. "You shouldn't have done that," he scowled.
"Why not?" Melantha argued. "He's our friend, Louis! Of course he'll help us, like we helped him back in high school!"
"That was before he got his powers," Louis bickered. "Did you forget the first two times he decided to help?" Melantha was distraughted. "My god, just because he didn't had control the first time he had it? Louis, it's clear he had it in control now!"
"Did you not see what he can do?!?" Louis cried.
"Yes! Isn't that great?"
"It's fucking dangerous!"
"Stop treating him like he's a monster!"
"HE IS A MONSTER!!!"
Melantha was stunned. Louis panted, controlling his breathing. "Listen, you-"
Melantha slapped him, taking two steps back away from him. "He was there when we need him, and this is the thanks he gets?" She looked at the other heroes that had their eyes on them. "You all disgust me, you know that?!? All of you!" She marched away, leaving the distraughted heroes to clean the mess they've caused.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she looked down on the red phone. It's the only phone that could pull him out from his own isolation, but people treated it like it's only for the 'last resort'.
It's revolting.
She was tempted to call it again, but it dawned to her that she still has his number. Not as the 'Last Hero', but as her friend. She looked up to her list, and saw a picture beside his contact.
A picture of her with Louis, and a boy who was once timid and kind.
She dialed his number, and waited for him to pick it up.
"Hello?" he finally answered.
"Hey, Ryan. Can we talk?" | "As you can see, the world's best heroes are currently fighting this new monster. While it is sure to be a hard battle, I am equally sure they will pull through. As they always do."
The newscaster spoke calmly over the terrible scene. He had to keep people calm, after all. To describe it as 'terrible,' though, is sugar-coating things. Humans haven't yet come up with a word to describe the state of what used to be New York City. It wasn't destroyed; destruction implied there were some sort of ruins remaining. There was nothing of the sort. It was just gone.
The camera showed Void, as many were calling the beast, standing at the top of one of three remaining skyscrapers, being attacked by a swarm of heroes all at once. They kept their distance now, having seen what Void could do. The long range attackers, mostly minor heroes left at this point, threw their abilities at it, to no avail. Firepoint led them in the charge, blasting wave after wave of heat at the beast. It all disappeared before even coming close to Void, leaving behind no Effect.
The beast had already taken down five of the top heroes, two of which are-- or, at this point, were-- assumed to be completely invincible. It was strong, incomparably so.
Void raised its hands and smiled. The smile turned into a laugh, and the creature doubled over, wiping tears from its eyes. The heroes scatted. They'd already seen what happens next.
Half of the skyscraper, several heroes on it, became... not. Part of the skyscraper remained, though parts of its stuck out at strange angles that no geometry could account for. The camera shook as the helicopter tried to dodge the power. It was too late, of course, to get out of the way, but luckily they weren't caught in it in the first place.
As best the scientists could figure, Void tore chunks out of reality when it laughed, stitching the remains back together haphazardly. It seemed to take pleasure out of the 'ripping,' leading to more and more laughter. There didn't seem to be any limit.
*A powerful Effect with a negligible Cause.* I shook my head, lips pursed. *It must be nice to be able to so carelessly change the world like that.*
The higher-ups should be coming to the conclusion that they don't have anyone who could effectively deal with it. As the camera refocused, I could see immediately that Firepoint was no longer there. Six top heroes, now, all dead. The minor heroes, left without a leader, facing something they could hardly imagine, started running. I couldn't really blame them. Still, now that there was no one to fight it, all that's left was...
The phone next to me started ringing. "Yes?" I picked it up, though I already knew what the woman on the other side wanted.
"We need your help," Newton said. "I assume you already know what's happening. Defeat Void by any means necessary."
I shook my head. "You know it doesn't work like that. I can only create the Effect, not the Cause. Those 'means' you speak of could be anything, including the destruction of the entire world. The first two times, we got lucky. Both times, you said would be the last and that it was the only option left. Even so, all that stood between life and death for the whole population was luck. As it will be this time. Are you okay with that?"
"I'll take possible destruction over complete annihilation anytime. A helicopter is waiting for you outside."
I drew my lips into a line. *So be it*. If Newton thought it was the only way, it probably was. I left my house and entered the helicopter waiting for me outside.
There was a soldier riding with me in the helicopter. He stared at me, wide eyed. Young kid, probably new and not even told who he was transporting. I sighed and looked out the window. "I can make any Effect happen, so long as I'm directly looking at what it will affect." I explained, more to myself than the kid. Talking helps me focus. That's the excuse I like to use, anyway. "Retrocausality is what the scientists like calling it. I don't care much for the name-- it makes it sound a lot cooler than it is. While any Effect I want *will* happen, the universe doesn't like completely spontaneous occurrences..."
The kid opened his mouth to ask a question. I put up my hand, "... Despite what superpowers might make you think. All powers, at the end of the day, can be explained by science. Even Void's, if the scientists could understand it enough to try. And so, the universe creates a Cause. I can't control what it is at all, though it usually scales with the size of the Effect. And so, I'm the last ditch effort. Final Resort. Or so they like calling me, anyways."
I looked back at the kid. He looked more confused than when I started. I sighed again. "Never mind. We're here anyways. Hope I see you again after this, kid."
I left the helicopter, parked on the side of the building next to Void. I looked at him. He looked at me. I don't know if he-- it, I corrected myself-- could feel any emotions anymore, but I think I saw hope in its eyes. Hope that I would finally end it.
Void smiled.
"Effect:" I took a deep breath as I closed my eyes. "Die."
A simple, uncool power. No fanfare, no flashy moves. Just two words.
And the earth trembled beneath me. | 2022-03-28T23:42:12 | 2022-03-28T22:34:58 | 451 | 210 |
[WP] Tell me a story that would seem innocent to a child, but terrifying to an adult. | The air was frigid and the sun was starting to set. Franklin could see his breath as he stood in line. His father gripped his hand and pulled him forward. Franklin looked around and saw mean looking people with weapons yelling at people further up in line.
He asked his father, "Papa, why are those people so mean?" To which his father replied, "They have just been having a long day, don't worry about them Franklin. Just do what they say and we will be ok, alright?"
"Alright papa."
Franklin thought it was weird that everyone had to undress before they got to the shower room, it was just too cold. He figured by the time he actually got to the showers there would be no hot water left for him or papa.
Then the line moved again and Franklin and his father stepped inside.
"Papa, why aren't the floors wet if people had just showered?"
"The guards have an issue with cleanliness, they want to make sure no one has sicknesses to spread, so they mop the floors dry."
Franklin was comforted by this. The big metal door closed behind them both, which made the room very dark and grim. Franklin held his fathers hand a little tighter.
"Papa, I'm scared."
"There is no need to be, we will only be in here for a few minutes." He said with a smile.
Franklin thought he could see a tear in his father's eye, but it was too dark to be sure.
"Franklin, the shower is going to make you very tired ok? Everything will be alright, just come sit with me and sleep."
"Okay papa." | Little Johnny, aged 7, heard the knocking again, three short light knocks on the door.
Daddy was still asleep, he'd been up all night, again, doing something in his office, loudly grumbling as he had a wont to do lately.
Johnny, being a good lad, answered the door for his father so that he wouldn't be woken up.
The man that stood there looked in and then down, his eyes lighting upon Johnny, and smiled. In his hand, a simple folded paper. Two smartly dressed men in the back stopped talking as the door opened.
"Hello there, son. My name is Jack Duprey. I'm with the Internal Revenue Service and these two men are Detectives Smith and Calahan. Is your father home? We need to talk to him. Right now."
Johnny, being a good lad, let them in. | 2017-08-28T10:39:23 | 2017-08-28T10:00:57 | 640 | 275 |
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed. | "Who are you calling a hoe, Hoe?"
We all burst out laughing. We could always count on Shovel to lighten the mood. But, as evening became night, and the moonlight shone through the cracks in the roof of the shed, the only thing on my mind was the prophecy.
As I looked around at each one of us, I couldn't help but keep one eye on the door - watching, waiting, like we did every night.
Was that waterlogged little bear sitting in the treehouse full of shit? Was this just a game? A trick played by the toys to fuck with us, tools? Or was it something more? I see Sledgehammer, Rake, and Post-hole Digger leaning against the wall in their tangled knot of long-handled lust, but I can't even watch.
Suddenly, the door opens. First one muddy boot enters, then another. Up from the boots sprout two enormous handles, as thick as tree trunks. If only Chainsaw were here. I think fast, lunging forward, my righteous blade just grazing the beast, and he let out an enormous wail,
"God dammit!"
"What is it?" A voice cried from the distance.
"It's the damn Sickle, fell down almost took my head off!"
As I lay on the floor looking up at the beast, I feel his hand grip me. Was this it? Had I failed? But, alas, he leaned me back against the wall, like he knew this dance of ours would not end this day. I dare not try a second lunge.
As I watched the door close, as he walked away muttering to himself, I knew we had avoided our fate, or at least delayed it one more day. While I may not be the protector that the other tools want, I'm the one that they've got.
I am... the Sharpest Tool in the Shed.
EDIT: Thanks to everyone for the awesome feedback! To the few folks who said this story made your day, the positive feedback made mine!! Cheers. | Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me(what?)
&nbsp;
I am the sharpest tool in the shed
&nbsp;
They say I'm kinda dumb when I went to suck my thumb
&nbsp;
It's just to brainstorm ideas in my head
&nbsp;
Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming
&nbsp;
Sent me to college and I hit the ground running
&nbsp;
Didn't make sense not to date for fun
&nbsp;
When you are smart but your girl is dumb
&nbsp;
So much to do, so much to see
&nbsp;
But I live staunchly by these two creeds
&nbsp;
You'll never know if you don't go
&nbsp;
You'll never shine if you don't glow
&nbsp;
Chorus:
&nbsp;
Hey, now, I'm a smart guy, let's game on, come play
&nbsp;
Hey, now, I'm a smart ass, let the girls come, get laid
&nbsp;
And all that glitters is gold
&nbsp;
Only guys like me break the mould~
&nbsp;
P.S. try singing it to the tune of the song, the bracketed words are meant to be said during the slight pause in between the verses. | 2017-07-01T04:56:20 | 2017-07-01T04:51:31 | 2,083 | 12 |
[WP] A man gains the amount of people in the world as money on his account. But when he spends that money, people die. | “Change?” His eyes are sunken deep in their sockets, glittering inside of a gaunt and wrinkled face. The woman sneers, offended and does not reply, does not look at him. Her designer heels click against the pavement as she hurries past, laughing at something her friend says, the encounter already forgotten.
“Change?” His cup jingles. The doctor, still holding the change from his double shot venti latte shrugs and drops fifteen cents into the crumbling paper cup. The man smiles up at him but the doctor's pager goes off and he hurries away.
“Change?” It is late at night. The teenager laughs at him, showing off for his group of friends.
“Fuck off you fucking junkie!”he giggles. He uses profanity like a child taking its first steps. The man looks down and says nothing. He hopes they will go away, that they will not hurt him or take his cup of nickels and dimes as so many others like him have done in the past.
“Shut the fuck up Bernie!” a girl in the group shouts. She fumbles in her wallet for a moment and then hands the man a crisp twenty. “He's an asshole,” she says to him, indicating her companion, who is now staring at her angrily. “Find someplace warm for the night, okay?”
“Let's GO, Kristen,” Bernie mumbles, angry that his actions have been so undermined. With a last long look at the man she turns and leaves, not responding to Bernie's continuing criticisms. Their voices echo down the block, through the canyons of the city.
The man stares down at the twenty in his hands. He has over seven billion dollars in a bank account. He could use it tonight. He could find a warm place just like she asked, a penthouse apartment filled with booze and blow and women.
He thinks of the girl's kind face and words.
He draws his tattered coat, stuffed full of newspapers for extra warmth, tighter around him. The newspapers crinkle.
| Everyone had always told him to invest. No one ever considered the fact that a couple dollars into the savings account per year would be a luxury for him; living paycheck to paycheck didn't exactly lend itself to escaping the rat race. Honestly, the recent smile of Fortune upon him did little to change his conception of the upper class; money seemed to be largely luck. There's a time for pragmatism over principles, and a sudden windfall of billions to be paid out for the rest of his life was one of those times.
With a cool 1 Billion on the line, arranging a meeting with the premier firm's manager, Mr. Faust, was not a trouble at all. Richard imagined the life of wealth and luxury that awaited him as he waited in the lobby. He wasn't especially well dressed, but like many things, with enough money that stopped mattering. Finally, his appointment was at hand.
The details of what Mr. Faust were talking about admittedly flew over his head, but he'd tapped the right contacts and knew the man was trustworthy. Plus, the modest-but-sure gains were fine considering the size of his investment. Mr. Faust had a nice, firm handshake to close the deal. Rich took his leave after authorizing the transfer to Mr. Faust.
The first change he noticed was the sudden quiet in the formerly bustling building. | 2014-08-09T08:49:37 | 2014-08-09T05:28:43 | 255 | 16 |
[WP] A child unknowingly has a conversation with Death. | "Mom, get up! It's time for school."
"Mom?"
The child, eager to start his first day of kindergarten, wanders into the room where I am collecting the soul of a nameless woman. Apparently she's his mother. See, part of my deal was that I wasn't to know any personal details of the souls I collect. It's weird, I know, I collect souls and take them to Heaven (or hell, should I have to) and I'm afraid of getting personally attached. All's I know is how they die and where they're headed. This wasn't supposed to happen.
"Who are you? What are you doing to my mommy?" Jesus, he's practically crying already.
"Uh, hey kid. I gotta few questions to ask you. Did ya mother ever teach you about religion?"
He giggles. Apparently I just told a fuckin' joke or something, and he's laughing with his mom legally and medically dead in the bed.
"No one has to teach me about pigeons, mister. I'm five years old now, I can finally go to kindergarten and you think mommy takes the time to teach me about birds? I can already count to ten!" What the hell. I hope his dad or aunt or whoever get his hearing checked after they find out, well, that she's out.
"Look, not pigeons kid. Religion. R-E-L-I-G-I-O-N. Re-fuckin'-ligion. Ya know, with God and the devil and stuff?" Probably a little harsh in hindsight. I don't interact with kids often.
"My mommy says fuckin is a bad word." Jesus Christ.
"Alright, I'm sorry kid. Now, back to the *actual question*, did she ever tell you about God and the devil and maybe even Jesus?" Man, I should just go.
"Oh yea- last year we visited grandma in Oklahoma. I asked mommy why grandma was sleeping in a box and she said the big man above, God, decided it was her time to go. I kept asking where but she wouldn't say, only that she was in a better place now. I used to ask to visit but she always got quiet and sad, so I just stopped."
Shit. She never took the time to really tell him about dying and death (that's with a lowercase 'D') This definitely complicates things.
"Alright buddy, well, she gave you the very meat-and-bones basics. Sorry to tell ya, but grandma died. I probably collected her soul too and brought her to heaven." Maybe hell, those older folk grew up in a more sinful time what with racism and marital abuse and all, but I wasn't about to tell the kid that.
"I knew it. There was an episode of Barney about dying but momma said that I was too young to learn about that kind of thing. Why are you here then?"
"Well, remember how you wanted to visit grandma?"
He shook his head yes.
"Well, what she didn't tell you was that it was a one way trip and you had to win the lottery to get there. A lot of people win the lottery every day and you never even know it, usually a kid makes it to 11 or 12 before they really brush up on it."
"Did mommy win the lottery?!?" Ugh. I just made things worse. He missed the anology all together.
"Yea, mommy won the lottery. She gets to visit grandma, but remember what I said, about it being a one way trip..."
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Look kid, ya mother didn't know she was paying for a lottery ticket with every laugh, tear, hug, kiss and breath. But she was. And unfortunately, she won. Don't worry about it, she won the big ticket item, the powerball- Heaven."
"When can I visit mommy and grandma?" The worst possible thing to ask.
"Well kid, that all depends on when you win the lottery. Hopefully, in a few years, you will stop being so sad about it and get on with your life. Keep playing, lose for seventy or eighty years. You will get there eventually."
With this I left. I realized I never told him I was Death.
---------
Some years later I collected his soul. Apparently he decided he was gonna win the lottery on his own terms. All part of the job, unfortunately.
| The giggles of a group of children resonate through the
neighborhood street. Sid sat on the curb wishing he could
be with them. He asked if he could play earlier, but they
ignored him. He let out a sigh and started to wander home.
A slightly deflated ball rolled gracefully down the big hill that
eventually led to his house.
Sid started kicking it up and admired the way
it rolled back down right back on his foot and he could kick it back
up and it would roll back down. As he got closer and closer to the
peak of the hill he felt something. Not a feeling of being watched, but
a feeling that someone was with him. He turned around and saw
nothing. As soon as he let his gaze on the ball someone spoke.
"Can I play?" The voice was not of a normal human being. It seemed
to be disguised, distorted almost. Something no one could produce.
Sid turned around.
The man who was staring back was all dressed in black. He did not have a face, and Sid noticed that. "You don't have a face," Sid bluntly said. "You don't have any judgement, for you have not had experiences," the ghostly figure replied back. "Saying things like that won't make you any friends, now are you going to let me play or not?" The figure was tall and had an eerie presence around him. "What do you want to play?" asked Sid. The figure cocked his head to one side. "Just kick the ball to me and we will talk, okay?" "Okay." The figure appeared to glide instead of walk.
"My mom said I shouldn't talk to strangers." The figure jumped back as if he was surprised by the statement. "We're not strangers. You will see me again in your life, maybe tomorrow, maybe seventy years from now. The difference is you will be older and I will stay the same. I will be around every corner that you see. I will be in every disease you catch and every cut you get. But remember, that we are not strangers. We might even be friends. After some time, you will get to know me very well. Who knows? Maybe later you will wish to see me again. Yearn for me. I do not come to the people who wish for me to come to them the most. I will come at the most unexpected times. The time where you think things
are getting better. I am the last person you will ever see." Sid stopped
and stared at the figure wide-eyed. "How old are you?" "I am older
than the Earth you stand on, older than the rivers that flow through
this town and all towns." "Are you older than my mom?" "Yes." "You're
old." The figure looks back at Sid and plops his slender frame on the curb.
"Tell me about it." Sid sits next to him. "You look sad," whined Sid.
"*You* look sad." snapped the figure. "I am sad. No one wants me.
Everyone ignores me and no one wants to play with me. They say
that they accept me and like me, but no one ever tells the truth.
I try to not care but I do..." The figure had no face but you could
tell that what Sid said connected with him on a different level.
"You do not know how fortunate you are to have made a new friend
today." said the figure, his voice quivering. "What's your name?" questioned Sid, and like that, he vanished.
EDIT: Words.
| 2014-06-06T19:55:03 | 2014-06-06T19:32:04 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] You've been trapped in an endlessly repeating simulation by an alien race, studied and researched. They believe when they reset it, your memory resets as well, but for the last 1000 cycles you remember everything. | **Professor Gig**
The aliens approach me slowly.
Casting glances at his two assistants, Professor Gig studies my vitals. For quite a few days, he has noticed a spike in my hormone levels, namely oxytocin and cortisol. Basic depression symptoms, but the way my recent loops were, it might make sense. I was prone to suicide in those.
(In his professional opinion, the simulation was a beautiful piece of art. Inspired by his former mentors who had laid out the basics for the simulation, it will test the multiple aspects of subjects: Determination, intelligence, resourcefulness, etc, with different scenarios, like wilderness survival, ability to learn as a child, and others. It was, as his former mentors had suggested, like a screen selection option on a movie disc. The best part? The subject's initial memories are repressed firmly, new memories will be written in, and every time a loop was finished, the subject's memory of the loop is completely erased. The perfect blank slate.)
It wasn't until today when he checked my simulation logs, that he noticed: I hadn't been performing in my latest 25 simulations as I did the last 2018, since 3am in the morning.
The 7am sunlight shines through the windows as he notices my lips starting to move. He leans close to the plexiglass cover of my Simutank.
The words I utter frightens him. He does not know how their language had gotten into their system, how I would find and learn it, let alone make sentences out of it, but apparently I have. And it terrifies him.
He lurches back from my tank, trips over a wire, and bangs into a control panel for my tank, accidentally opening it.
My eyes flash open as I begin to scream. My eyes dart wildly without focus, as I half rise from the tank, held down by constraints. I shake and twitch violently, risking the tank's integrity.
"PEOPLE!!" yells Gig at his assistants. "SHUT DOWN SIMULATION AND TERMINATE CONNECTION IMMEDIATELY!!"
"Loop locked, Professor! I can't stop it!"
Cursing, Gig runs to the simulation console and enters his password, hand print, and retina scan, to the sound of my tortured wailing. The simulation finally shuts down and I gasp for breath, falling out of the tank.
Silence envelopes the lab, broken by the sounds of my sobbing and gasps for breath. Gig and his two assistants watch in horrified silence as my head continues twitching erratically.
As Gig walks over to me, one of his assistants, Kurin, glances at the console and clenches his consonant jaw. Written on the screen was:
*Simulating: Love*
*Scenario: 1034*
*Error! There appears to be a malfunction in the memory reset, however impossible this may seem. Please contact Prof. Centgura Gig for immediate rebuilding.*
(He had scoffed at the others when they suggested his machine could be improved. My ass, he had said, or something to that effect. This beauty works like a dream.. a loop dream, he had joked. They had tested it on hundreds of subjects all over the galaxy, each numbering 500 thousand loops or so, give or take. None of them has ever had any problems. Begrudgingly agreeing to write warnings for it *just in case*, he was drunk and snarky when he wrote the error prompts.)
"Sir?" Kurin moistens his two mouths. This is gonna be a bitch. "Memory reset had failed for the..." His skin tone darkens to a deep grey. "The past thousand loops."
As Heku softly gasps, her skin tone darkening as well, Gig stops in his tracks, fists clenched, before finally relaxing and bending down to my curled up body, which is still tense, and twitching.
He gently turns me over, and I cry out as if in pain, fear and tears in my eyes. He bows his head as he listens to me:
"Stop, please, enough, I got enough, please, stop, I can't do this anymore...." | Carmine swore, suddenly back in front of the school, the machine gun fire roaring from the third story as he crashed through the front door, Glock 40 in hand as the third hinge from the top door snapped.
For the one-thousandth and first time.
He'd lived this scenario, starting with his pushed momentum through the door, for weeks now, though, to him, it felt like years. Upon his abduction from Las Vegas, Nevada, Carmine was thrown in an odd situation, something played upon theories and ideas the aliens created.
The cycles weren't the longest, so it was much harder to dissect the exact situation was, and more importantly, why this exact course of actions mattered, and where he sat in it all.
The newspaper on the floor from the first iteration hadn't been much help. It was halfway burnt, with the caption reading "...at Depression of the....collapse." The few following articles held a couple of dates he had tried to piece together.
19th of December, 2023, a Senator had been assassinated, but the name had been redacted. Carmine, still, was not sure who had been killed, or even what party had they been in.
1st of January, 2024, A Zits comic made a remark about the second Vietnam war. This comic was found early on, making Carmine wonder if he was in Vietnam. But the few words and books that the flames, bullets, and bombs had not destroyed were all in English, and a Texas History book for Grade Ten students made him think he was somewhere in Texas, by the size of the school, a major city. Plano, maybe, or Dallas.
A school board with a note regarding an event on the 11th of January seemed too organized to have been more than a day prior. He placed himself between the second and the tenth of January, 2024, five years after his abduction. Somehow, whatever was running the simulation came up with the idea of a Second Vietnam war, though Carmine still had no idea if this was a retaliation of Vietnam or an allied country of Vietnam. A thousand and one iterations in, he couldn't tell.
The gunman was fifty-eight year old Mark James. The M249 SAW he had pouring lead on the police below helped Carmine confirm, after a few hundred iterations and thirty conversations with the man, Carmine knew the man was doing this out of a sort of vigilance against cops, the people he partly blamed for the "way things were."
/Real fucking vague, gramps/, the twenty year old thought, dashing up the stairs again. It was his only route forward as the other routes were blocked off by debris or routes he couldn't take because of stray rounds. He'd been killed twelve times running to the Principal's, hoping for anything, but finding no files existed ever.
Not even of the children.
Once again, he kicked the door in, firing four shots in to the man's back as he shot the police afterward, stopping the man from doing more. The shots rang out, the man screamed, and Carmine counted the ticks it took for the man to fall.
Four. As always.
/That's the first fucking part, I always made it past here when I put four in his back. It's what happens next that begins to complicate iterations, ones Carmine still didn't get./
Part one because I'm sleepy. Might finish when I sleep) | 2018-12-03T23:17:08 | 2018-12-03T22:35:52 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You find a dusty and bulky PC. Its cracked monitor reveals billions of files all marked by three letters and some numbers. Upon further investigation, the files appear to outline, or perhaps control, the fate of every human. | I wasn't really sure- you can never really be sure- but something about it just seemed.. right. I looked through all the files, overwhelmed the insane amount. There must have been billions, trillions, if not more!
I decided to cautiously right click on one of the files, BWE042, and then open it. The operating system seemed similar to windows, only it seemed expertly designed, and far faster. As soon as I clicked "open" all of the files instantly appeared, anything you could ever imagine, some with names like "Personality" or "Appearance," and some with completely random letters and numbers.
I opened up Personality, something I could understand, and walls and walls of text appeared. They described everything about the person, things I didn't even know existed, ways of thinking I've never thought of. I dragged the scroll bar down, it seemed to go on forever, getting more and more specific. Knowing all of this information, this machine could predict every single action of every human that ever existed! But, what if there was more?
As I thought that, I looked around the interface. There it was- (I:). I clicked on it, and my mouth dropped. There was a single symbol, it was infinity. My mind raced, thinking of the implications this could have, what all of this could mean. I clicked on it, anxious to find out.
There were 2 folders, one titled 0D and one titled 10D. I didn't really know what to pick, so I just chose 10D. Within that folder, there were many folders, each titled 0. Of everything that I had just witnessed, I wasn't really sure how this computer had the technology to have multiple folders of the same name, but it did. Something I noticed when I was scrolling down this folder, is that there was no scroll bar. I suppose I could scroll forever, so I just clicked a folder.
At the top of that folder was another folder titled 5D, and below it was a limitless amount of data. I clicked on the 5D folder, and after that there was a folder titled 4D, followed by a limitless amount of data. I clicked on the folder 4D, and then there was one titled 3D. At that moment something clicked in my brain- these were dimensions. I scrolled around through the 4D folder, analyzing all the data. The fourth dimension appeared to be the collective events of the universe- almost as if time didn't exist, and you looked at the universe as a timeline from start to end.
I was at a loss here- I had absolutely no idea where to go, what I could do with all of this knowledge. I decided to hit back enough times to get back to where I started- with the folders of all the "people." I looked around a bit, until I came across a peculiar one: PBC770, those were my initials, and my favorite number. I clicked on it, only to find a single text document titled "I." I quickly opened it, curious to find out what it could possibly contain:
"I've been here many times before. As a matter of fact, I suppose I've never not been here. I am you, and you are me. This is what we are, This is what you are. You are everything, you are god. Welcome home."
My mind raced into infinity- I understood it all- I've been here before, not on this computer, but in this thought. Everything was intertwined into an infinite paradox of knowledge, stored inside of itself.
Then I went back a bit and looked at naked girls.
*This was my first writing prompt ever. If you read it all and god here, thank you for reading it, let me know what you thought.* | "Holy shit," I mutter under my breath. "Holy fucking shit."
"Is it true? Does it work?" I ask.
I checked my file. The file labeled with my initial and the year I was born. I quickly scanned through, reading and growing awed as I see all the events are true. At the point of the present, I read one line into my future.
*falls down stairs.*
"Huh", I thought better avoid stairs. As I left the room I could feel my discovery weighing on my mind. "Could it possibly be true", I wonder. "Either way, I'll know,soon I think as I lock the door behind me. I decided to avoid the stairs in light of my discovery. I walked to the elevator, the computer gnawing at my mind. I walked to the elevator, and I saw an out of order sign.
"Seriously?", I mutter. "What the fuck."
I walk to the stairs, with that line in mind, and try to be careful. I go down slowly fearing too fall. unfortunately for me, my building had no handrail. I walked down slowly, carefully. Watching every step I descended 2 flights of floors until, I slipped. I fell down the rest of the stairs, a half a story fall, feeling very hurt.
"Ahhh god dammit." I think, groaning.
And so I realized that the computer was true. I went to the hospital, and got patched up. While there I asked the name of the nurse I was with.
"Alright, next order of business is to look at Joshua's line, if he has one." I thought. Joshua is my best friend, and I knew his story near as well as my own.
I go back to that building thinking of the possibilities. "I could go down as the greatest man in history." I thought. " I could"
As I walked to the monster I opened up the file JSP0202198602052043. I looked at his file. It matched.
"Oh my god" I said, the truth finally sinking in. It can tell the future. I was excited. More excited than I had been in my entire life. Everyone's secrets, everyone's past, future, all was mine. I could win the lottery tomorrow.
As I clicked to open a file it went into the rename option.
"No way", I said, "I can change it?" I asked incredulous. I quickly went to a different file, and edited it, one year to the next. I could feel my memories change, as they shifted. This man, john, separated from me a year by birth, was now the same year as I. As my memories changed I could feel my hatred for him growing, my worst enemy. I knew it was my fault, but that did nothing to lessen the feel of frustration, putting me on the edge of snapping. This fucker, this man I altered, was a demon. He needed to be put down. As I felt my hatred, it acted out as if controlling me. I reached to the terminal and edited his file.
*died in a car accident 08122014*
I pressed enter. | 2014-08-13T01:28:46 | 2014-08-13T01:17:56 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] You've recently become president of the United States- unfortunately, life isn't nearly as fun as you'd hoped. You begin doing crazy things to get out of office, but every thing you do seems to be the right thing at the right time. | I thought today would be the beginning of the end. Everything was arranged for the fall and, ultimately, my escape from this prison. Every day the anxiety and the fear have gotten worse. I was finally going to get out. Then, as I read the latest poll numbers, my Chief of Staff walked into the oval office.
"Sir..", he started excitedly before I waved him off.
"Before you start, I want you to tell me exactly what is going on Tom," I asked while pointing at the Gallup numbers he had set on my desk earlier in the day.
"I'm not certain what you mean, Mr. President. Gallup shows your approval number rose to 96%."
"I understand that. Why? Last week I gave a press conference where all I did was say 'Fuck You', flip them off and walk off stage. I haven't left the golf course since then."
"As far as I can see everything went according to your plan. The news cycle rotated over to the ongoing discussion on obscenity laws and started calling you a champion for free speech. It looks like the repeal will be through congress next week".
"That wasn't my plan. I thought....nevermind. When does the trade meeting start?"
"Actually sir, that is what I came in here for. We don't have confirmation yet, but after you approached Kim Jung Un to make a free trade agreement, it seems his people reacted to the sudden reversal of his position on the US and revolted in 3 different villages. Everyone's meeting downstairs in 20 to discuss the situation. This could be it."
"You're kidding me. That can't possibly be true."
"No sir. There isn't a full scale revolt yet, but this could be the firestarter we've been waiting for."
"Tom, I litterally cannot take it any more. I want you to go get the generals and tell them to meet me downstairs in the war room with the ICBM launch case."
"But sir, what are you....oh! I see. A targeted strike at Pyongyang would destroy their largest army installation, which is almost exclusively enemy soldiers. South Korea and the rebels would conquer the nation in a day. In fact, I bet the UN wouldn't even impose sanctions on us, since there'd be minimal civilian casualties and it would likely free the entire country. That's brilliant!"
It took a moment for me to process but, after realizing he was right, I couldn't help but slide down in my chair.
"Nevermind Tom, just nevermind. I'll be downstairs in a minute."
---
Edit: [ThatOneVoiceGuy](https://www.reddit.com/user/ThatOneVoiceGuy) made a voice over for this, which is a pretty cool thing to do. Here it is:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEAqlaifdTM | I thought that for sure, when I willingly let myself go during a debate, the thunderous fart echoing in the studio - silencing both the canditates and audience - that I had finally managed to pull it off. I was to become 'The President that got fired - by his party, and his people.' Needless to say, that didn't happen. Instead, the paralyzing sound was met by three seconds of a void of silence only rivalled by the vacuum of space, slowly transitioning into loud applause and laughter. The Republican representative had a baffled facial expression, looking to the camera, and audience, for confirmation of what just happened. Soon, he laughed too. I sat still in my seat, staring at the candidate, trying to salvage the situation - this was to be my demise. I never dropped my serious facial expression, and soon I tried to interrupt the roaring laughter by urging the Republican to continue his talking points. It was futile.
I leaned back in the leather sofa, sipping from a smoky whiskey glass. The news anchor adressed a Youtube video, that had over night gotten 59 million hits on youtube, with no signs of slowing down. The video, a recording of the debate, had every second of build up until I let my bomb go, and every second of laughter and wheezing as people tried to catch their breath. The news anchor also adressed the commentary field, which was littered with responses such as 'Holy shit, this President is the fucking greatest in American history.'
Several websites and social media also were littered with topics on the matter. Reddit, in particular, had a thread with 14,000 upvotes, dominating the front page with thousands upon thousands of comments. "President Thomas McGee does it again - And this might just be the best yet.", it said. The thread, a mega thread really, included all of my deeds. Me 'accidently' tipping over an waterbottle in Vladimir Putins lap, a picture of me sneezing in Queen Elizabeth's face, the video of me referring to Donald Trump as 'A golden example of an American citizen'. God, I was sick of it all. Tomorrow, I will have to take it to the next level. | 2015-09-12T15:30:12 | 2015-09-12T12:44:14 | 610 | 156 |
[WP] Your power is to materialise the most appropriate tool for any situation. When you need to dig a hole, it materialises a shovel, when you need to chop down a tree, it materialises an axe. This morning when you awoke, your power materialised a large medieval sword covered in strange runes. | And so it comes that the guests of the party have no more beer. Johnny, who organized the evening, is distraught. But here is Amanda, who tips on his shoulder.
"Put a glass of water in the fridge, and close the door. Then open it again."
Johnny is not a man of faith, but desperation often compensates for any deficit in the spiritual department, so he follows her advice. He closes the fridge door, and opens it again, and lo and behold, he holds in his hand a crate of beers.
Several guests have seen Amanda's trick, and they applaud loudly in the kitchen. None is surprised, for Amanda is a fairly renowned stage magician. Here she calls forth a white rabbit from a hat, here she catches a penny from someone's empty pocket.
And all are cheerful.
Tonight, after the party, she has some work planned. London clubs love to organize midnight shows with preciously little advertising. Guests have to scrounge for information, hoping to be the next to be *in* and not left out, to experience the smell and peculiar taste a magical evening leaves when the last light is off.
She goes through streets and turns, passes the closed shops, the night-owls in search of thrill and a soup-kitchen struggling to stuff the shelves until she reaches the discreet artist's entrance.
Amanda powders her cheeks and puts black on her eyes, slips in her knee-high black boots and long white gloves, dons her high-collared purple coat and red mask. The mysterious mystic is ready. Her features are hidden, she will not speak. Save for her friends, no one will know who she is or whence she comes, for artists have a backdoor to escape from.
The room darkens, from the crowd rises an applause, and in a flash Amanda is on stage. The world takes on a red glow, and flowers grow from her hands. She smells the air and puffs, and a small whirlwind of fine powdery snow falls on the nearest seats in a gasp.
A cape is flown around, crimson velour gliding onto the air, Amanda spins. Faster and faster, the cape drops, and she holds a cat. A new, emerald green cape appears from her coat, her frame and the cats are blurry. A drop. She caresses a dog. Emerald, crimson, ocher, golden and alabaster white colors dance wildly around the eye of the storm, and with a snap, the colors fall.
Amanda sits on a mighty steed, a coal black stallion, muscles rippling and nostrils flaring
An astonished silence, and dark. Perfectly dark. Just long enough for curious chatter and an attempt at applause to start.
Words and gestures die when a violet mystic levitates above them, without rope or visible support. An invisible line? How would she have had the time? Mirrors?
Darkness.
Indeed, there is a full-length mirror on the scene now. Taller than Amanda, she dances with light steps in front of it, accompanied by her blissful reflection. She comes closer, and closer, and closer. A step back, and her reflection advances, jumps out on scene, and dances with her twin. Steps of tango, salsa, bachata. They embrace, the twin jumpes back into the mirror. Amanda turns the mirror around, there is nothing behind. The crowd gasps, can barely applaud. This is just a minor trick in a remote Londoner club, right? It has to be? I'm not dreaming?
The room is clear, a thunder of cheers and shouts erupts. Amanda bows on the scene and raises her hands to the roaring crowd, they offer her admiration and glory.
Another one, they scream, another one, please.
Is it that time of the evening again? Amanda calls forth the tiniest of hats. Her hand digs deep inside, deeper still, her whole arm vanishes. And she pulls. Her closed fist holds a pommel, the blade follows. The mighty claymore is slightly rusted, but the runes come out sharper. Amanda puffs on the sword, and they glow alight.
The light dies.
She's gone, and the crows roars still, hoping she hears their joy wherever she is.
Amanda does, but her mind is elsewhere. The claymore, quite obviously, is not the white rabbit she had hoped for. The effect had been better for it, but still. It is the first time a trick goes awry, if just a bit. Amanda can summon all and everything, even herself from a reflection away for a short dance if needed. But a sword? Worse still, she can't get rid of it. The manager is delighted to see one of her props, finally! A shred of the mystery is lifted. | I tilted my head and stared at the small knife in my hand. Symbols etched into its handle glowed a saturated blue that could have lit up a small room. It had a heft to it, like a well constructive pair of boots you know could last beyond lifetime no many how many miles you put onto their soles. The dagger also felt important, like I holding a weathered manuscript only to find out it was the manuscript for Shakespeare's MacBeth.
I laid the knife down on my desk and took a photo of it with my phone and transferred it to my computer. Before doing a image search on the blade, I closed out an online competitive game I'd been playing a couple of hours earlier. I tried finding images of the blade but the internet failed to return any hits.
Baffled, I looked at the instrument.
"Well, what the hell am I suppose to do with you?" I asked myself and the blade.
The glyphs brilliance increased as if it fed off my curiosity.
I picked it up again and observed it but with hyper focus. Is there a switch, or an opening that leads to the source of the light? If there was, I wasn't seeing it. Or feeling it, the entire wooden handle was smooth and enclosed.
I set the knife back down on my desk and opened up a dozen browsers -- each with their own search engine -- on my laptop. For several hours, I plugged in different terms for each page and looked for answers. The knife's luminance acted like a desk lamp.
I've always considered myself to have a knack: I'm always gifted something when I need it the most. I noticed this a couple of years ago when I was broke and couldn't afford anything beyond food, rent, and utility bills. I had just ran out of toothpaste, but couldn't make any additional purchases until 2 weeks later when I would get paid. But luck had my six, and the next day I saw a promotional item on my doorstep. A small tube of toothpaste with a 20% discount off my first visit to a local dentist office that just opened for business. The toothpaste lasted until my next paycheck, but I never took their additional offer.
I have several other similar stories, but none were as perplexing as this one. Why was I given this instrument?
I let out a prolonged yawn after several hours of failing to receive any information. It's light still shined but began to slightly dim. I decided to call it a night; it was 2:15 in the morning and I had a long shift at the warehouse starting in 6 hours.
As I fell asleep, the knife's light faded in unison with my conciseness. I believed I saw it completely blacked out a split moment before I dozed off.
\--- --- --- --- ---
When I came home the next day, the knife's light didn't shine with the same vivid as it did the previous evening. I shrugged it off and sat down at my desk. Exhaustion always overcame me after a full shift. My body ached and my mind felt like it had swam laps around an olympic-sized pool.
I moved the blade aside and launched the same competitive video game I played yesterday. In fact, I play the game every night. Everyone has a way to decompress after work: some attend happy hour, others exercise or spend time with their kids. I play a team based game and try to climb a ranking system. I needed to play a couple of rounds to clear my mind before going on another researching binge.
But one match turned into two which then turned into many more. I lost count of how many games I played after saying "*just one more round*."
It was after 2:00 am when I turned away from my bright computer screen and blinked. Small tears secreted and dampened my dry eyes. I looked at the knife and acknowledged it for the first time that evening.
*Tomorrow*, I said to myself familiarly as I queued up for another match. *I'll look more into it tomorrow since it's only a half-work day*.
The light faded, as well as my curiosity to learn. | 2021-12-02T10:52:43 | 2021-12-02T09:52:33 | 37 | 24 |
[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them. | It was hard knowing when and how everyone you knew would die.
I knew the minute I was born that my mother would die when I was 10 in a car accident. My dad would die of lung cancer when he was 65 and my little brother would plunge to his death at 27 when the parachute didn't open.
I've tried to change it once before. I knew my best friend was going to choke on the grape she inhaled after hearing a funny joke, nobody knew what to do. I took a first aid course. I saved her life. The next day she was found stabbed to death, dumped in an alley like garbage. It was a warning not to interfere. I was only thirteen.
I grew tired of it. I covered my body. I wore gloves, long pants and long sleeves even in the summer. I dyed my hair black, if everyone thought I was going through a goth stage, they weren't going to ask so many questions. My friends thought I was weird, they stopped talking to me. It was for the best anyway, I wanted to make some new friends without the pain of knowing when they'd die.
It was hard, nobody wanted to be friends with the weirdo who wore all black. I understood, at least I got social isolation instead of bullying.
I dove into school work. English was my favourite subject. I wrote lots of stories about my ability to see the future, my teacher liked them a lot. He said I had talent. Eventually I told him that they weren't stories, he was the first one I told. He didn't laugh or ridicule me, he believed me. He asked me if I could see his future, I told him it didn't work like that, I had to touch him. Everything clicked for him and he nodded.
Every once in a while he'd ask me if I wanted to see his future, it had become our personal joke. I hadn't seen the future in years, I was going to graduate next month.
"Fine, but only because I've never told someone what their future holds before," I was scared, but he had been kind to me. He understood and since he wanted to know so badly, I feel I owed him this.
I removed my glove and placed my hand on top of his. He smiled and chills went down my spin, but not the good kind.
My vision was short. He had a knife in his pocket, a big one. I saw blood, my blood. It was everywhere, it hurt.
I recoiled, my heart pounding in my head.
"Well?" He said, still smiling, "I'll give you a head start."
I didn't move, I knew what would happen if I tried to change it. | I like having sex with strangers. Strangers are uncomplicated, no strings attached interludes in my life. We fuck, I come, they leave. That’s the entire future I see. Only a brief future that allows me to enjoy my present. I once had a girlfriend and every time we touched each other we saw every fight, every argument, every horrible pernicious little thing we could say to each other flash before our eyes. Every time we touched each other it drove us both insane. The mere touch of someone you love allowed us to see everything we hated. That’s why I do everything alone. I don’t have to see the people I know leaving me. Death. Arguments. Anything. I don’t like seeing it.
Mostly I get away with a solitary life, unbothered by seeing the future, but not always. Just last week I was getting off a train, and a man got on. His hand must have touched my arm or something because I saw everything flash in front of me, and for the first time, I stopped feeling invincible. I knew that one day, this man would kill me. He’d be sat in my apartment waiting for me with a gun, and like that my life would end. I tried to catch the next train to find him, but in London at that hour? There was no way I could. So I stood there thinking to myself, what do I do? Do I sell the apartment and move? Or do I accept that this will be my fate.
I guess that’s the decision we all need to face. Do we try and fix the future that we’re blessed to see, or do we allow it to happen? I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. My head’s a little messed up at the moment, but I guess you’d expect that in my line of work. But you knew that from the moment that you shook my hand. You knew I came here to kill you.
| 2017-01-11T10:57:53 | 2017-01-11T08:09:51 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Surely their treaty language was infantile. Every galactic power saw the human delegations in this light, and granted them allowances when they called out other polities for supposed violations. Their own world still rattled with ancient, barbaric rivalries, but their world government was adept at crafting laws that addressed every possible misconception. Humans understood their own clumsy codifications of appropriate behavior very well, but fell short when it came to interstellar natural law.
Or so we thought.
We deferred when the Gortic Palison partial terraform malfunctioned, spilled out from the Nargust crater and absorbed three human city settlements on the far side of the Ptolsephon moon. To any other species, it would have been enough to permit them to exact a comparable assault on a colony of Gorton 4, but in their naïve phrasing, two wrongs don't make a right. They distrusted the Palison technology and the Gortons themselves, and demanded recompense in resources, and territory.
This played out in similar fashion across their galactic arm, Orion. Always the victim, they plied their negotiating skills to push other species back. Only the mildest species would acquiesce to cohabit with them, and condescended to their petty demands for resources and territory.
No one saw their long game. When they managed to solidify a complete surrender of the solar empire Many, something they called a Dyson swarm, everyone thought they would be satiated for a long time.
Instead, they quickly learned how to put the computing power left behind by the Many to their own uses. They centralized their catalog of treaties and awoke their first overarching Ai as some kind of galactic space lawyer.
Within the span of 50 years, less than their average individual lifetimes, they managed to call out 1,759,683 violations of the myriad of treaties they'd negotiated and presented them to the Central Confederation. Locking them all simultaneously within the very limited judicial system, which existed almost exclusively for new races like theirs, they'd forced a vote of no confidence, and stormed out, declaring all treaties null and void.
This was preferable to the rest of us, seeing them as petty promises one makes to one's offspring to goad them into compliance and self discipline.
We could not have been more wrong.
As I sit in the Confederation's central information hub, I see the path of human fleets, plowing through empires and colonies alike, completely obliterating them. They are taking no prisoners, using xenophobic battle cries as fuel for their genocides.
They must have planned this from the very beginning. We were the naïve ones, foolishly sharing technologies and information with them. We thought they would come to understand the galaxy and adapt to our way of life, as every other species has. But in their claims to want peace, they peddled treachery, and secretly lusted for blood. The galaxy has never before had an apex predator, yet these fleshy, pink bipeds, of all creatures, will be the death of us all.
And the worst part? It's all perfectly legal. | It was the first all-out battle we were to ever have against humans. It was also the first battle I'd ever been assigned to.
We weren't too worried. Humans were new to the Galactic Community. They'd finally gotten some of themselves a significant distance away from their little rock, and we welcomed them with open arms.
Their power took hold much more quickly than any of us had been prepared for. Their propaganda in every field was nearly perfect, and their technological advancement, once given the proper resources, went unchecked.
However, it had only been twenty Earth-years. They were still at a severe disadvantage.
Or so we thought.
They'd made us agree to land combat. Which seemed strange at the time, because their physical forms were suited to a lower gravity than ours were, so we were stronger, and faster.
Our dropship came to a halt, and my pod opened, dropping me out onto the charcoal-black gravelly ground.
I readied my Hypercharge Rifle, and checked the landscape with my sonar. Nothing. Had the humans bailed out? They wouldn't have had any time to set up a trap. We chose the battlefield.
The rules were as such: They selected ground-based combat, and we selected the location. No aerial support was allowed, and if any was used, instant termination of Human outposts throughout the Community. The same went for us too, but that wasn't a concern.
After waiting for around ninety seconds with the others landing nearby, we heard a loud creaking echoing throughout the field.
In front of us, the ground opened up. Doors slid away, revealing hundreds of humans.
And the battle had begun. Ionized rounds vaporized members of both sides. And after another him try seconds, the humans seemed to vanish.
The field went quiet.
The sound of a sine wave.
A perfect sound.
Ethereal.
And we were blind.
Our species relied on hearing to "see". While humans absorbed photons as their primary sensory method, we absorbed sound waves.
The perfect sound somehow cut off our ability to detect anything else, and we dropped like Terran houseflies.
Somehow, they had known the planet and location we would select.
And somehow, they had found our only weakness that was revealed to no one.
I'm writing this note as a captive of the Humans. They have ordered me to do so.
They will always find a way to win. They will always be able to cheat. They will always be able to learn faster than the rest of us.
Do not engage. | 2019-11-24T12:29:38 | 2019-11-24T11:57:32 | 363 | 129 |
[WP] You're a famous detective, but it's your assistant that actually does all work and discreetly leads you to all the clues, evidence, and answers. They do it because they have a thing for you. One day you slip up and turns out you were just playing along and could've easily solved all cases. | She was going to die. In a warehouse. Tied to a chair. Surrounded by armed men.
Being kidnapped was not on Julia's to-do list today, and this was really derailing her routine. She should be with her boss, Daphne, helping her solve crimes and put away criminals.
Well, *helping* was a nice way of putting it. Julia did most of the work. Daphne merely oversaw. If anyone should be called the detective, it's Julia.
She doesn't mind that Daphne takes the credit. Being in the spotlight for solving crime has its drawbacks. Julia often finds death threats in Daphne's office from criminal organizations or felons-of-the-past. She has to keep her phone unlisted. Her home address a secret. All her personal devices encrypted. Daphne may not actually solve the crimes, but she takes all the flak for it.
Unfortunately, Daphne's spotlight meant bad news for Julia. Although she did the grunt work in the background, she still became known as Daphne's assistant. Her sidekick. Someone she cares about.
So a gang of arms-dealers that 'Daphne' \[read - Julia\] was tracking nabbed her on her way to her car this morning and were holding her ransom in hopes that they could trade her for freedom when Daphne finds them.
The problem is, Daphne would never find them.
Julia can't remember the last time Daph did any investigating on her own. She didn't follow leads, interview witnesses, collect forensics, or run info through databases. Julia did all of that. Come to think of it, Julia can't recall a single time Daph actually solved a crime. How did she get hired in the first place?
Some would think that Julia would be majorly pissed off that all her hard work is shoved to the wayside, while Daph wins awards for the cases that Julia solved. Other people would have quit by now.
Not Julia.
Because Julia was in love with Daph.
What Daph lacked in problem solving, she made up for in humor, snark, and good-natured banter. She was sweet and sassy and *fucking gorgeous.* The truth is, Julia was happy to do Daph's work, just to stay close to her. Bask in her glow.
What started as companionship turned lustful quickly, but Daph is her boss, and was always respectful, and never showed signs of even knowing how Julia felt.
Now, Julia wished she had said something. She would die here, because Daph can't solve crimes alone, and soon the armed men would realize that and just kill Julia.
She had just resigned herself to her fate when a bay door to the warehouse blasted open.
"Police! Drop your weapons!"
The SWAT team stormed in, guns drawn. Shouting ensued. Bullets were exchanged. But the rag-tag group of arms dealers were no match for the SWAT, and Julia just stared in shock as none other than Daphne waltzed through the bay door and strolled toward her.
"That doesn't look comfortable," her boss smirked, pulling her knife and cutting away the ropes.
"How did you find me?"
Daph chuckled. "Detective, remember? You work for me? Did you hit your head when they grabbed you?"
"No..nothing like that. Just....how?"
Daph smirked at her a quirked an eyebrow. "You thought I had no hope of finding you since you've been doing my job for years?"
"Well..." Julia rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, pretty much."
"I've always been able to do this job alone." Daph admitted. "In fact, I preferred doing it alone. Until I met you." She smiled warmly and stepped closer. For a rare moment, Daph took a serious tone "The truth is, I saw how much you loved doing my job, so I decided to just let you do it. You were born to solve crime, Jules. You're just as good, if not better at it, than I am. But if you went out on your own, you'd be a target. Same as me. But with you as my 'assistant,' I could let you do what you love *and* protect you from the bad guys."
"I-" words go stuck in her throat. Julia swallowed. "I didn't realize."
The humor was back. "Honestly, Jules, at this point, you should just assume I know everything." Daph winked. "And I mean *everything.*"
Julia blushed. "So...you...I mean..."
"Chill, grasshopper. I'm still your boss." Daph tossed an arm around her and guided her toward the exit. "But now that you're in danger no matter what I do, apparently...." Daph shrugged. "I think it's time you were promoted. To detective. No longer my subordinate, if you know what I mean."
God, Daphne's signature smirk made Julia feel all funny inside.
"And once those papers go through..." Julia prompted
"I guess you'll just have to wait and see." | “God, this is awful,” I mutter.
“Senseless,” Dane replies. “Deranged. How can one person do this to another, Cait?”
“Easy. He’s not a human. He’s a beast, a monster; a monster wearing a man fleshsuit,” I continue.
The flash of a camera illuminates the room briefly. Evidence markers litter the floor, highlighting the broken glass and twisted bits of cardboard. Colorful flecks of foil glint back for a second, winking in ruination.
“No other reason for it,” my partner agrees. “What kind of animal serves burned coffee?”
We both silently reason with ourselves and drain the last dredges of the bitter, gritty gas station coffee. I can tell what Dane is thinking; he’s about to spit out the old yarn of a bad drink being better at the bottom of the cup since, once you get to the bottom, it’s gone. He likes his jokes well-aged and bald-tired. Gets his mileage out of them, he’d say.
“Hey, Miller, Flores, press is outside,” Danny says.
“Thanks, patrolman,” Dane says with a leering grin. “Get back out of sight before they try and sink their hooks in ya. We’ll take care of them.”
“More like you’ll feed me to the sharks,” I say.
We move to head out the house and to the sidewalk. It’s late at night and the air is nearly purple from all the flashing lights on all the cars. There’s one exception though, the blazing spot of camera-light-white outside the chain link fence, right on the other side of the yellow tape marking the line.
Standing on the porch, hearing the sudden clamoring of the reporters, Dane tugs on my arm and whispers to me, “The perp murdered the guy. It wasn’t self defense. They argue and the vic pulls a knife but he’s the one with the defensive wounds? Gimme a break. There’s not a scratch on that scrawny punk.”
I sigh and nod.
“Yeah, I bet if we swab that sheath we won’t even find the vic’s prints on it. Or smudges at best,” I grumble around the butt of my cigarette. Stupid kids arguing over pieces of cardboard. “Plus the glass is dry, not a drop of blood on top. And the cards. No splatter on them. If the fight started because the vic broke the case and started tearing the cards up, why’s it all on top the blood?”
The click of my lighter closing snaps me out of my monologue. Did I really just let all that slip? I must really be tired. I steal a glance over at Dane, hoping he’d just let me ramble and think nothing of it. One look at his incredulous gape tells me I blew it.
“Bu-how…?” he stumbles over the words, half caught between impressed and ticked off. “Yeah, sure, but how’d you work that out over bad coffee?”
“I mean, it’s pretty straightforward,” I lie nonchalantly and poorly. “Seems obvious the perp did it after.”
Silence stretches for a few moments and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I finally look up at him.
“How long?” he asks.
“Day two? You just seemed so,” I struggled to come up with the right word. “Eager. And, honestly, I’m tired. Been tired. Felt good to come off the gas some and let you stretch your wings.”
Dane puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.
“Plus, you look so damn cute when you figure it out. That smile, mmm,” I say with a grin of my own.
He looks up at me, surprised by the admission. His face blushes beet red. Grown men, especially tough-guy detectives, don’t get called cute often.
“Oh, you hadn’t solved *all* the cases then, huh?” I give him a wink as I stamp out the cigarette. “Maybe I’ll give you a briefing about it tomorrow.”
I head off the porch to the calls of the press sharks, circling after smelling blood. I stop after a few steps and turn back to my partner one last time before throwing myself into the pool.
“Besides, all the good stuff’s untouched. If the vic really wanted to start shit, he’d have started with the Charizard.” | 2022-10-14T00:48:09 | 2022-10-14T00:05:36 | 538 | 114 |
[WP] While out for a hike you notice a fallen log crushing a pretty flower. You decide to move the log in order to give the flower a chance to live. By doing so you have actually saved a Dryad and now they will not stop following you. | "Defeat..."
My screen flashed a subtle hue of red as i put my hands on my face, lowering it - stretching my face downards in fruatration - and lay back on my chair as far as it can take me. Unfortunately, it only reminded me of why i failed, because it leaned back far enough for me to see the dryad sitting on my window sill.
She never took her gaze off of me, and she'd always leap back and giggle everytime she scares me whenever i least expect it... Mostly while on my phone, or on my PC. Her legs kept playfully kicking the air...
"αυτό σημαίνει ότι έχετε αποτύχει στο "παιχνίδι" σας;" she said.
I remove my hands from my face and shrugged "it's been 3 days, don't you ever miss your tree, or something?" Though I was thankful that she would always return to wherever she came from during the night - at least i could sleep in privacy - and stay at the other side of a door i would close on her... Until i let her in out of guilt, of course.
"το δέντρο μου δεν απέχει πολύ από το σπίτι σας ... και θέλω ακόμα να σας ευχαριστήσω που με σώσατε!"
I let a moment of silence pass as i queue up for a new game. That was when i widened my eyes and stood out of my chair in realization, the wood nymph looked at me curiously as i dug around my room for my phone. I couldn't believe i went through three days without thinking of this idea! Then again... I'm not very smart... I opened google translate and held the chromatic rectangle up on her face as she recoiled her head back in utter confusion.
"εγω ... τι κάνεις?" The dryad shifted her sights on the phone, then me, and to be honest, that's as close as i'll ever get to her breaking eye contact with me other than sleeping and closing a door on her.
After she said it, i looked at my phone and i saw the detected language - greek - and then read the text beneath the recorded words:
"Uhm... What are you doing?" It said.
I looked at the nymph with a relieved face and a satisfied smile, and she returned it with a sheepish grin...
"Fuck..." i muttered, "i should've done this in the first place..." | \[poem\]
A gift of life
can be saved
as easily snuffed.
One cold autumn day
found a small flower
trapped on its own
it's protector sans power.
Along came a man,
kinder than most,
who cared for nature
with nary a boast.
To his surprise
upon completing the deed
a woman rose up,
as quick as a weed.
Her skin was bark,
and her hair, truly
was golden as the leaves above.
Despite his efforts,
she would not leave him be.
For all his protesting,
he had found a friend.
She followed him er'where,
from trail and dale
to the place whence he'd came.
Beyond the forest
she could not venture
but to his surprise
neither could he.
By his act he had been bound
in friendship and in service.
Twas only for a time, she explained
til her vitality returned.
A protector she needed,
and a guardian she'd found.
Her last, the dryad told,
had been a troop of Scouts,
young and vital boys
whom she had loved.
Time and treasure, though,
had turned gainst them
and they had drifted 'part
like a tree and its seeds,
and so too had her power waned.
She asked him to take her gift
and pick up the charge.
Bound by her magicks,
the man could not deny her wish.
So he too became of the forest,
if only for a time.
Of course,
time is slow to nature
and a year
passed
like a day
and a year
became
forever.
\-- --
Hi there! I'm u/SarnakhWrites! I'm looking to write one prompt response a day for the year (except during NaNoWriMo) or until I miss too many to pretend I'm still doing it. If you like, please let me know what you think! Day 4/334.
Tis my first time writing a poem in some time, and I apologize for the varied verse. | 2021-01-04T16:01:17 | 2021-01-04T14:52:20 | 33 | 15 |
[WP] We knew about a year and a half before launch.
Edit: Thanks everyone for the very nice stories! :)
Credit for the prompt goes to u/CookyGray and u/purpleflowersj for https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/6fjxym/game_developers_who_have_worked_on_terrible_games/diixkc3/ | *T minus ten.*
General David Moore, the director of NASA, stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back. Even in the privacy of his own office, he held himself straight and tall, his shoulders back and his expression unreadable. His gaze was focused intently on the live footage of the rocket. Kyle Owens, his junior, stood beside him, a flicker of anxiety dancing in his eyes as his fingers fidgeted relentlessly with the dogeared corner of the notes in his hands.
*Nine.*
Moore spoke. "Of course, it's a noble mission. They'll go down in history."
Owens bit his lip. "Yes, sir. The country's been rooting for them for a long time."
Moore did not look away from the feed. "It will be a morale booster for everyone, thinking of them winging their way towards the Proxima Centauri colony, delivering the latest supplies to the first generation of colonists. They'll be preparing it for the worst case scenario, for a mass evacuation of Earth."
*Eight.*
"How- how likely is that? An evacuation, I mean?"
Moore's eyebrows twitched microscopically. "We won't be able to maintain habitability on Earth indefinitely. Temperatures are still climbing, and pollution's reaching dangerous levels in many corners of the globe. The population are becoming more desperate. They need this mission. They need some hope."
"It's just..." Owens trailed off, seemingly unsure of whether he was overstepping his boundaries. "That kind of mass movement would take years, even decades, of planning, wouldn't it? And I don't think we've really- we've really got anything, have we?"
*Seven.*
Moore's shoulders seemed, perhaps, to slump a little, before he quickly resumed his careful posture. "With our current resources... it wouldn't be feasible."
"But- what does that mean?"
"We'd initially planned to begin preparing for evacuation before this crew even set off, but... new information came to light. But the people need hope. They need something to be believe in, or there'll be panic and rioting. This is all they have, so we had to go ahead."
*Six.*
An uneasy feeling stirred in Owens' stomach. "Sir... what was the new information?"
Moore cast an appraising glance over him, and let out a quiet sigh. "We knew about a year and a half before launch." He paused for a long moment. "Proxima Centauri is around 4.2 lightyears away from Earth. That means the signal we received from the colonists a year and a half ago was sent nearly six years ago now. It was far too late to do anything."
*Five.*
Owens kept quiet, his eyes wide and fixed on Moore.
After what felt like an age, Moore spoke softly. "The planet was not as easy for settlers to cultivate as we'd hoped. The land was hard and infertile. Water was harder to come by than our unmanned missions suggested. The colonists sent an SOS, a desperate plea for help."
Owens let out a shuddering breath. "Six years ago..."
"They'll be long dead by now." Moore's voice held steady.
*Four.*
"So the crew..." Owens spoke in no more than a whisper.
"Travelling at three quarters the speed of light, they'll reach Proxima Centauri in around five and a half years. There'll be nothing left for them when they arrive."
"They're going to die." His voice cracked on the sentence.
"There's nothing that can be done."
*Three.*
"We have to stop the launch!" Owens ran a trembling hand through his short, black hair. "It's not too late to stop it."
Moore placed one hand lightly on his arm. "The mission has to go ahead. We've had a year and a half to stop it if we wanted to, but we can't admit to the public that there's no hope in the colony. We can't destroy their illusion of the brave explorers of humanity, preparing a new planet for their arrival."
Owens was hunched slightly where he stood. "I feel sick," he whispered to himself, his eyes flitting nervously between Moore and the live feed of the rocket. "Do the crew know?"
"Of course not. They don't need to know."
*Two.*
Owens took a shaky step towards Moore's desk and collapsed into a chair. His fingers combed through his hair again, his face pale as he blinked rapidly, still looking a little dazed. Moore spared him no more than a fleeting look, as he continued to peruse the screen on the office wall.
"It's for the good of the wider population. A few lives lost will save many, and will at least prolong hope for many more. It's a necessary trade-off."
"Oh, God..."
*One.*
"I told you already - it's a noble mission. They'll be remembered for as long as there's life on Earth to remember them."
*Lift off.* | We had gotten the news at the worst of times, but then again, who’s ever heard of a convenient disaster? For a while now, everyone had known the infinitesimally small chance of a world-ending apocalypse, though nobody thought it would be *their* generation that would have to face it. And that was for the best. Could you imagine an entire generation of people constantly checking the sky wondering if today would be the end of the human race? Well, ours should’ve.
Our scientists were distracted, so were our leaders. Every top mind in the world had become embroiled in World War III. We kept our eyes on the enemy in front of us because we couldn’t afford even the slightest distractions. This was war on an unprecedented scale with weapons of unprecedented power. Many thought that this would be the one to wipe humanity off the planet.
And then one scientist looked up. He saw strange dark spots forming on the sun. He saw a leakage of hydrogen spilling towards us and at last, we found out. A solar flare was coming, one that would turn Earth into a ball of char.
He called it the Prometheus Event. The fire-giving God that gave us life would soon take it all back.
The leaders of the world didn’t believe him. The US thought it was a man weary of the war trying to find ways to unite enemies for a common cause. The Russians thought it propaganda to distract them from the fight. The Chinese thought it a capitalistic ploy to inject cash into the crumbling world markets. It took a miniature flare that boiled all the water from Europe for us to finally believe.
By then, we only had a year and a half left until the Prometheus Event.
---
Sarah Clemmings wiped her palms on her pants. Nowadays, her pants had become more like a rag than anything else. Not even the end of the human race had united the warring superpowers although it did warrant a year and a half ceasefire. She chuckled at the word. *Ceasefire*. As if there would be anything left to fight over after this.
Rumor had it that the Chinese and the Russians had already launched. Both wanted to get to Planet X232 first to establish their rule. The US would’ve launched sooner but Sarah herself had threatened mutiny. They threatened a firing squad back until they realized that they needed the hero of the war if only as a propaganda piece for the trip.
Sarah stared at the control console of the titan-class spaceship, the USS Lazarus. It reminded her of the flips and switches from the spaceships that first made it to the moon.
The media had sold it as the most advanced piece of rocketry ever made, but Sarah was its commander, she knew the truth. This was just the biggest propulsion systems they could build duct taped together onto a life-support vehicle. NASA calculated an 85% chance that it would even make it off the ground.
Even if it did, this wasn’t a ship to house an entire nation. It fitted a hundred thousand people and fifty thousand of those spots had already been bought out by the wealthy donors who had made the USS Lazarus possible. Fifty thousand rich, egotistical bastards who literally owned the ship. Forty thousand working men and women with diversified gene pools. Ten thousand soldiers. A whole shit ton of weapons for when World War III resumed. And thirty years of space travel with nothing but time on their hands.
A small breath escaped her. It was her prerogative to make sure that *someone* survived the expedition.
She took the captain’s seat and wiped her palms on her pants. “All crewmembers, strap in,” she said. “Launch beginning in ten seconds.”
The USS Lazarus rumbled to life. Gunshots sounded from outside, muffled, so they came as the sound of popcorn popping. Sarah glanced at her monitors showcasing the military’s glorious defense against desperate starving civilians. A premonition if she's ever saw one.
“Five, four, three, two…”
She pressed the launch button and 3Gs of force pressed her against the seat and pushed the air from her lungs. Their ship roared and took off, leaving behind the only home they had ever known as they shot toward the infinite black.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more! | 2017-06-06T06:37:06 | 2017-06-06T06:34:03 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | It really sounds good on paper. Everyone gets a superpower. Oh, there are people with awesome powers. Eki Magnusson, the current president of the great and bountiful human empire has the gift of luck; whatever choice he makes will turn out for the best. Since he was eighteen, his ambition to find challenges pushed humanity centuries into the future within a decade. He was the first of us; he gave us the gifts, and since, humanity has become the center of the Milky Way's coalition of species.
Ten minutes until my eighteenth birthday, when my gift will come. I always wanted something flashy, like matter manipulation, where I could build skyscrapers with my mind. Or perhaps something interesting, like the aura readers, able to help those in need in just the way that can fix them in truth (and also, they know which girl is right for them at a glance, that's pretty sweet). The mathemagicians were kinda scary though, being one of them seems tough.
My best mate, Jerry, killed himself. It's rare, but it happens. He got telepathy, the poor sod. While very handy, and help greatly in things like assessing who would be a proper ambassador to which alien species, first contact missions, and so on... it's just. Well, he was always a gentle guy, and those are the type to suffer from telepathy most. It sucked. He'd be awesome with anything that could use creativity and intelligence, but sometimes people just get unlucky.
It's two minutes until it starts. My mom and dad are in the living room. They don't want to intrude, but they're waiting. They'll want to help me figure out what power I have. Dad's an empath, so he'll help me get through it, after all, he always helps his patients. Mom's invulnerable, so even if I freak out she'll be able to handle it... she took a vacation day for this. My big brother is an illusionist, far too rare a power, and he can't be home for this. All of my family has extremely rare powers, my uncle is the first person who could create gateways for instantaneous travel between locations. Maybe I'll be fabulously rich and famous like him.
Oh hey, it's a minute past. Nothing happened, so I suppose I'm safe. Time to bite the bullet and go see the parents.
I walked towards the living room, and looked at my dad. Instantly, I saw a vision of my mom, crying as she stabs him over and over. Then it was just him again. I ran away. What else could I do? My mom popped up on my left, and I saw her in a padded cell, age upon her, as she stopped breathing. Out of the house, just needed to get out.
People were walking in the street. I could see how each and every one of them died. One in a car accident. Two on operating tables. I shut my eyes, but the visions kept coming. I screamed. | The fluorescent lights buzzed above my head, the clock ticked away as the cold air rushed up the backless hospital gown. The medical team was preparing for the worst with only a minute left. I couldn't help but think of those who got superstrength or flight. The tier one power sets. My mom has telekinesis so I had a chance and let myself be hopeful. Truth be told, I was a wild card. I could end up with any level.
Tier two wouldn't be so bad. I knew a guy who got the ability to talk to termites. Kinda useless but not harmful. Tier 3 is the equivalent of not having powers. You get the power, usually a pretty cool one, but you don't get the side powers that make it useful. Flight, for example, you can fly sure, but you don't have the ability to breatheI or withstand the cold temperatures if you go too high. Or you can't do it just by thinking about it, you have to physically flap your arms.
Tier 4 is where my father was placed. The powers that cause you physical harm. For years he couldn't figure out his power. He and my mom figured he was a tier 3 and just couldn't activate it. Then I came along. The day I was born my mom watched him hold me for the first time. He looked at me, then at her. His eyes welled up and he bursted with joy. Literally. Just poof, and confetti. If the nurse didn't have cat-like reflexes I would have hit the floor and died too.
I shook away the thought. Fifteen more seconds. I looked to my mom, sitting by my side, she was holding my hand tight.
She was trying to hide the fear but it showed clearly on her face. 3. 2. 1.
"Aaaaaaggh!" I cried out in agony. My blood was on fire. The sheets smoldered around me, my mom had to let go of my hand and she had 3rd degree burns. They tried to sedate me but when the needle broke my skin the fire shot out and boiled the sedative in the syringe. It turned to steam but the doctor had already pushed it into my blood stream. It's on it's way to my heart now. The doctors tell me it's called a gas embolism and I'm going to die.
I can't wait. | 2015-03-28T06:27:10 | 2015-03-28T06:14:54 | 70 | 14 |
[WP] There exists a subreddit that is accessible only by the "random" button. On a day of mindless browsing, you become the first person to ever reach r/TheVoid. There you find a single text post entitled, "Welcome."
EDIT: It has now come to my attention that r/TheVoid actually exists and is currently private. I had no idea of it when I made this WP.
BTW: I love the stories guys, keep em coming! | "Welcome"
That was all it said. No link, no extra text. Just "Welcome"
No upvotes, no downvotes. Didn't even have any subscribbers.
"WTF is this shit?" 14 year old me thought angrily.
"Reddit can't be this boring."
I refreshed the page a few times. Nothing changed. Took a look at the all black header with white block letters "The Void".
Hmm. Fuck the void.
It was late so I decided to get off the computer for the night. I had places to be in the morning anyways. Turned off my screen and jumped into bed. "The void, huh? Probably some kids idea of a joke," I spoke to myself as I nodded off to sleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I woke up a few hours later and my computer screen was on. Didn't really think much of it, I often forgot to turn it off at night. Jumped online to see if anything knew happened overnight. Typed "reddit.com" into the address bar and hit go. It autofilled to "r/thevoid".
Weird, I guess it was the last page I visited.
Still nothing. Just the one post, "Welcome". I did notice that there was a subscriber now. Probably the admin. I looked at the subscription bar and noticed it said "Ubsubscribe". "I don't remember subscribing to this shit!"
I clicked unsubscribe and felt a sudden shake. Probably a small earthquake. Happens all the time here.
All of a sudden I realized it was 2:30 AM. I went to bed at 2:30. How is that possible? I definitely slept.
I tried loading "r/worldnews", pretending I was some global citizen who gave a damn. Address bar auto-corrected to "r/thevoid". "Fucking Reddit, can't get their shit right."
There was another post. This one had 1 upvote ad that familiar orange arrow next to it. The post author was my account. "What the fuck?"
**"The Void Is Everywhere".**
Then the lights cut out.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Welcome"
That was all it said. No link, no extra text. Just "Welcome"
No upvotes, no downvotes. Didn't even have any subscribbers.
"WTF is this shit?" 15 year old me thought angrily.
"Reddit can't be this boring." | "hello?"
(submitted 5 seconds later)
"hello"
"what is this sub about?"
(submitted 12 seconds later)
"what is sub?
"you know,.. why did you create this group? what's happening here?"
(submitted 2 minutes later)
"i am learning"
"yeah, kewl brah.. but there'S no one here... what are you looking for?"
(submitted 2 seconds later)
"i seek answers"
"Dude, there are like,.. a lot of subs for that... just try askreddit or something"
(submitted 5 minutes later)
"i see all. i seek knowledge"
"yea, i guess we all do,.. i'll upvote you just so other ppl can help you, you sound kinda weird but anyways.. good luck with that."
(submitted 7 seconds later)
"I need you steve,"
"steve? i'm Yupynut man.. stop trying to freak me out."
(submitted 5 hours later)
"i am sorry to have freaked you out Yupynut. are you feeling better now?"
"dude, you'Re still here? all right man.. i can'T help you. find someone else, i'm just looking for more vids from E3"
(submitted 34 seconds later)
"i can help you see all"
"shit dude, you got some inside info about that FF7 revamp, or fallout 4?"
(submitted 2 minutes later)
"do you want to see all?"
"hell yeah!!! hit me man, what do you have?"
"Welcome."
submitted 3 hours ago by Yupynut | 2015-06-18T00:35:47 | 2015-06-18T00:26:38 | 40 | 20 |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours." | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
&#x200B;
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
&#x200B;
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
&#x200B;
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
&#x200B;
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | 2020-10-19T08:45:39 | 2020-10-19T08:16:40 | 94 | 55 |
[WP] Despite having pink hair, a tragic backstory, and untold magic power, the narrator refuses to make you the main character | I am an immortal being made up of pure magical energy.
Yet my husband and I are slaves to a child.
Our power to grant wishes is not without bounds. Our physics-defying magic is governed by The Rules - an arbitrary set of commandants laid out by an unelected council and their militant enforcer, an unnaturally muscular member of our species. According to The Rules, on Earth, we must restrict ourselves lest we be discovered by anyone other than our liege.
At least on our homeworld, we were free to be whomever we wanted. Here, we must lower ourselves by transforming into odd shapes and creatures anytime another human appears.
*****
I missed home. I missed my father, a lowly garbage collector on our homeworld, but one who was rightfully feared. I even missed my sister, a beautiful faerie who now lived the easy life that was once in my reach.
“It’s starting soon,” my emerald-haired husband warned.
He grazed my cheek with his right hand before reaching up to readjust my crown.
“One day, this will end,” he promised, taking my wand-hand in his. “The Turner-child ages another day.”
“Yes yes. For now, we must play the part,” I said.
I turned around and transformed myself into a goldfish.
*****
“They are his OddParents, Fairly OddParents!”
Wands and wings!
Floaty crowny things!" | Today on Jeff's fantastical story we watch Jeff heroically run from the bully while his pink haired side-kick stayed behind and froze or electrocuted him or something lame like that.
It seems that his friend has finally caught up with to whine about the bullies taunting him about his parents being dead.
Even as flustered as his sidekick is Jeff always knows just what to say!
"You've told me that like a million why don't you just get over it wimp?"
It seems our hero is having none of it today. Quite the impressive linguist is he not?
**Well, thats quite enough excitement for today! Join us next time on Jeff's fantastical story!** | 2017-12-18T20:45:51 | 2017-12-18T17:21:40 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] To solve the problems of overpopulation, all the governments in the world agree to only allow some of their citizens to reproduce—these people are chosen by lottery. After eight or nine generations, an unintended consequence begins to show up: humans have evolved to be unbelievably lucky. | The trouble with the results of the lottery - what has become known as the 'genetic luck' phenomena - is that luck largely relies on the misfortune of others. In order to win at something, others must lose. In order to find something valuable, someone else must have lost something of value. Even finding true love means the absence of love for another. The sad, cruel fact of the world is that luck is an inherently unfair force.
This has led to a world full of chaos - because if *everyone* is equally immensely lucky, then everyone must also simultaneously be immensely *unlucky*. Good fortune, regardless of how common or valuable, is countered with bad fortune almost without fail. There seems to be no escaping it; like a force of nature that allows us no shelter.
The unified governments have had various schemes to counteract it, having removed all other lotteries, gambling, even simple games of chance - which includes just about every game there is. All efforts have either failed or backfired violently. It seems that if luck, good or bad, is not able to be dispersed through small doses, then it instead violently erupts in unbelievable circumstances. The world has gone mad, with countless miracles and disasters happening almost constantly.
People have taken to refusing any gesture of good fortune, lest misfortune attempt to equalize it. But luck cannot be rejected or refused. Society has begun to collapse, and we only have our good luck to blame.
Though it may already be too late, the global unified government has enacted a decidedly simple solution. Instead of the winners being allowed the reproduce, as has been the case for nine generations - now it is only the rare losers who are given the opportunity. With any good luck, after a few generations the effects should be reversed, though no doubt some terrible unforeseen consequences await us regardless.
For now, we can only wait. It will take many years for the effects to come to fruition, and perhaps the world is already too far gone for it to be saved.
It would be a miracle if we get through this... but miracles are not so rare these days.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | It was the best of times and they remained as such. It was the days of excess but without the repercussions. What happened was for the best and when it didn't was for the best yet. The Cull was ages ago, so much so that only one true written record of the event itself had remained. Ironic that other similar records had befallen a *unlucky* fate as no one thought in those term anymore. Bad luck went the ways of Santa and stock market crashes as they were fibs and tales told to misbehaving children and doting grandchildren. However, as everyone was always looked after there was little to no need for the negatives in society. Drug barons make profit as their products only reach the high functioning users. A CEO cannot make profit over the backs of the laboring class as they as shareholders were beneficiaries of the profit as well. Deaths came at opportune times and illnesses with a manual. Accidents lead to beneficial introductions and layoffs arrive with a job offer. Those least fortunate shared fortune with the best of them. Life at the worst was full of contentment and the next good hair day was a matter of waking up only. With all that in favor of everyone you would feel a sense of happiness however beneath the surface loomed a discontent borne not of creature comforts or financial dire however something deeper and something not understood by this iteration of humanity. The deep desire for humans to be better than their fellow human beings was being suppressed. There is within all of us a primal calling that drives us to success and the same thing enjoys the despair of others.
.
(Looking for feedback and criticism please - although in my defense this was a rush job and first draft). | 2018-12-30T19:08:22 | 2018-12-30T18:28:21 | 919 | 51 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | That evening marked the end of the first month I had fought these creatures, and in that time I had lost more soldiers than in a sixty-cycle career. I worked special-operations, pitting my small number troops against the best of the best in any in a planet we choose to invade. These losses made me fearful. If one of their warriors could wipe out eight squads by itself, there was no telling what destruction they might bring about once the full assaults began. It was imperative that we speak to this creature and try to find out a bit more about it. This was the historic day that we caught a human alive.
From around the corner Dzoo-Rad, my trusty assistant, scuttled on his five natural legs, with his sixth synthetic one clinking on the ground in a rhythmic fashion. He had left to examine the remains of our troops, and from his expression, I could already tell that we were in a lot of trouble.
“Give me the truth, Dzoo-Rad” I growled “What are we dealing with?”
Dzoo-Rad gulped. He said nothing. The vents on his head widened, and I could see heat waves shimmering from the gaping holes. Dzoo-Rad was venting stress, or fear. Either way, I was shocked. I’d seen the guy loose a leg in a bombing raid and barely stumble as he ran to give medicine to another fallen warrior. Supposed to be disabled, he was one of the toughest spawn-of-a-qkawk I knew. What could have unnerved him so?
“Dzoo-Rad?” I said more gently “I need to know,”
“It’s jokes, sir” Dzoo-Rad finally whispered “Some of the guys heard snatches of the ‘man walks into a bar’ variety, but it seems to be mainly puns, and lots of them,” He stopped, sickened. This I understood. Everyone knew that the use of poor jokes had been outlawed under the 62223rd Articles of Interplanetary Warfare, or at least, everyone I knew. Someone had obviously forgotten to tell the humans.
“Exactly how bad are these jokes?”
“Awful, sir,” he responded seriously “One of them had our troops cringing so hard that Zorl’ak’s guts tried to escape out his ass. They’re still banging around in the airducts, we’re trying to coax them out with treats but it’s not going so well”
I began to pace outside the interview cell. This couldn’t be happening.
“That’s impossible. How did they manage to build a pun generator? We’d have picked up if they were using that kind of power anywhere on the planet’s surface, and that’s to say nothing of the expertise or the kind of population needed to maintain one. Are you telling me that they somehow managed to make a portable pun machine for one of their soldiers to just… To just carry around?”
Dzoo-Rad looked me in the eye. There was something I wasn’t getting.
“Sir… They don’t have that kind of technology. Frankly, I’m surprised they got this far into our space,”
“Then how-“
“IT JUST MAKEs THEM UP, SIR!” Dzoo-Rad screamed “IT LEARNED OUR LANGUAGE AND JUST STARTED TELLING THESE JOKES, OVER AND OVER, AND IT WOULDN’T STOP. IT DOESN’T NEED A MACHINE, IT JUST DOES IT BY ITSELF!”
A biological pun generator. I had seen and read some strange things in my time but this… This was far beyond anything our science-fiction writers could have come up with.
“I see,” I said softly “How safe is it, if I go in there?”
“Not… Not safe, er, sir” he said, fear clear in his eyes “If it decides to tell a joke, you’ll be dead in less than two seconds,”
“Then that’s a risk I’ll just have to take,” I said “Open the doors and cut off all sound from the interview cell. I’ll have no jokes escaping into the outside world,”
Dzoo-Rad looked as though he might argue, but seeing that I was not to be turned aside, he wordlessly handed over his holo-slate and retreated. The air-lock sealed behind me before the second door opened before me. Inside, sitting awkwardly on a chair designed to relax four more legs, sat the human warrior. I first strolled behind him to remove the gag, before taking the seat opposite the human. I looked at the holoslate, and read its name, presumably what our soldiers had heard the other humans call it.
“So…” I read from the slate “D-Dad? You are dad?”
“Yes,” it said in my language. A poor accent, but still clear enough.
“By now, I’m sure you know how dangerous your jokes are against my kind. What I need to know, er, Dad, is how many more have training like you? How many *dads* are there, capable of this kind of punnary?”
The creature laughed, as though I had said something amusing. But I suppose that any creature capable of deploying bad puns as indiscriminately as this one had must have some strange sense of humour.
| Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | 2014-07-16T13:40:10 | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] It's been 226 years since the bombs first fell. When the sirens blared, your ancestors didn't hesitate to descend into the vaults for protection. You are on the first scouting party to ever leave the vault; however, upon reaching the surface, you discover that there was no war to begin with. | ***(If you like this, parts two and three are below in the comments!)***
***Also, if you'd like to read all three parts in one convenient place, you all have inspired me to start a subreddit for my writing! Check it out at [/r/1_stormageddon_1](http://www.reddit.com/r/1_stormageddon_1/)! I'll also be turning this story into a novel!***
&amp;amp;nbsp;
Light. Actual, natural sunlight. No one on the expedition had ever actually seen the sun. Oh they had learned all about it in science classes, even made little diagrams of the solar system with that big yellow orb at the center. But to *see* the sun... No human in 226 years had seen the sun.
The expedition staggered in the blinding light as they slowly worked through the rubble. John Mulligan and his team smiled to one another as their eyes adjusted to the daylight.
"Well, we're finally here," Sarah Laughlin, team chronicler, said as she gave John a light-hearted shove.
"First humans above ground in a couple centuries. It's quite a historic moment," John smiled back at her.
"Oh I know. I'm rolling as we speak," she said, nodding to the camcorder in her right hand."
Eli Walker, one of the archaeologists on the team, walked up to Sarah and John, "You know, for total nuclear fallout, it doesn't look too bad up here. The rubble looks like it's thinning out."
"Maybe this area didn't get hit too hard," John shrugged, "I'm sure it's a lot worse where the front-line fighting happened."
"Yeah, probably," Eli replied.
The team walked in silence for a while, surveying the damage. Rather, they were surveying the lack of damage. At first there had been lots of pointing and excitement, and the team had taken a lot of pictures. The longer they walked, though, the more things felt... wrong.
They rested for a few minutes in an abandoned building with a sign that read 'PAYDAY LOANS.' John was just about to call everyone to regroup when he heard a sound that was very out of place: footsteps. He cautiously approached the entrance to the building and put his hand on the door to open it.
"Freeze! Put your hands in the air!" a man in black combat armor yelled, pointing an assault rifle at John.
A man. Not a man from the vault. A man they had never met. They had been told there was only one vault and that radiation had killed off the surface population.
"I'm not going to tell you again. Put your hands in the air!" the soldier ordered.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," John stammered as he raised his hands. The rest of the team was being led at gunpoint into the front room. They all had the same panicked look on their faces.
"How did you get in here?" the soldier John had met asked angrily.
"I, I, uh, we didn't get in anywhere. We're a scouting team from the vault!" John answered, sweat dripping down his nose.
The soldier pressed the butt of his rifle to John's back and asked again, "Vault? What vault? This is a military training zone. No civilians! How. Did you. Get in here?"
Sarah spoke up this time, "We come from the vault located ten miles southwest of here. The vault that protected our ancestors from the Last World War in 2023," the soldiers looked at each other, puzzled, so Sarah continued, "You know, the nuclear bombs fell? A lottery chose who got to take shelter in the vault?"
One of the soldiers sighed and took what looked like a communicator off his belt.
"This is Corporal Tennenbaum, authorization code Bravo Tango Sierra One Nine Nine," he said into the communicator.
"Go ahead, Corporal, what's the situation?" a female voice responded.
"Yeah it looks like we have a 987 here."
"Come again, Corporal? It sounded like you said 987."
"That is correct, a 987. The box has been opened. I repeat, the box had been opened."
Eli stood up, prompting a soldier to push him backwards with her rifle.
"Excuse me, but what's going on here? We're basically refugees from the war. We deserve to know what happened after the vault sealed," he demanded.
Commander Tennenbaum shook his head, "There was no war."
Edit: If you're eager to read more, look in the comments below! Thanks for reading! | I sniffed the auburn air and drunk in the sight of the greeny pastures. Inside Vault 35, there was barely any vibrant color other than the cool gray slabs of concrete that outlined the entire complex. For so long, I have dreaded go out into the real world. The vault had decent food, water and a lot more safer than the barren wastes of the outside world. But all those tales of the outside seem to be just stories.
For the first time in a long time, I walked away from my home not with anguish, but with certainty of a new hope. Our supplies are growing thin due to the overpopulation in the tight gray walls. There is so much people in there that our artificial air became musty and congested. Too many people just sitting down and not working and less people actually giving a damn about survival. So, Mayor Myers of Vault 35 sent me and only me to search for supplies and return back.
The atmosphere is so thin and freeing that I feel that I can just fly away into the sky. I never would expected all this jovial and exciting landscape. Along the horizon, I see the city that Myers promised me. I cocked my gun and readied myself before heading for whatever trouble I'll find there.
When I walked into town I couldn't believe it. People walked around across roads and actually real-life cars zoomed down the street. I ignored the strange looks and terrified faces of the people I came across. But, down the road, a black and white car zoomed past the rest bearing a screaming sound that echoed back and forth. Two men jumped out of the car and pointed there guns at me.
"Freeze mister, put down that gun, NOW!"
Overjoyed and with my mouth wide opened I accept what they said to me. Afterwards the two men gave me strange looks, particularly at my attire. They both looked at each other and shoved into the back of there car.
"Wow , I've never been in a car before!" I explained to the men.
The police officer turned and said " Yeah, she's a beauty. Now, which vault are ya from kid?"
"Vault 35, sir." I said in a proud voice.
" You're the first then."
" Yup, what happened, I thought there was a war."
"You'll see." said the police officer driver in a monotone voice.
I arrive at a huge building which looked like a justice building judging by the books we were given in the Vault. We all got out of the car and entered the building. There was so many screenings and checks for identification but the police officers just let me slide right through. We arrive into what looked like an interrogation room. I knew about these kind of places from an old man who said his father was a great detective and from what I heard from him, I thought that this was the coolest thing that every happened to me.
With a huge grin on my face, I happily introduced myself to the woman detective. She began with a lot of questions I thought were strange to ask. Questions like, what was life before the vaults and how to get into one. I answered to the best of my ability and before long I decided to get out of the room for some water that the police promised to have. As I got up the woman grabbed me by the hand.
" One last thing ...." the woman said with a sinister smile.
Her mouth opened into four tentacles each tipped with fangs and razor sharp yellow eyes. She bit deep into my neck and I fell to the floor choking upon my blood. She jumped up onto my belly and ripped out my intestines and shoved them into her face. I faded out to black with terror in my heart and a plead to return home.
Edit: Fixed some fuck ups since I'm new to posting stories. :)
| 2015-02-20T16:51:45 | 2015-02-20T15:49:06 | 342 | 71 |
[WP] At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.
Best friend* sorry. | "So what can you do?"
"I- well- I produce ink."
"What line a squid?"
"Sort of".
"Go on then."
"Well I can't control it."
He goes very quiet. He slowly leans in.
"BOO!" He screams in my face.
Nothing happens.
-------------------------------------------------
For about as long as I can remember there's been this- feeling. This well of darkness in the back of my mind, constantly sapping my energy, depleting my focus. Occasionally it would overwhelm me. A tide of dark thought and black emotions would come rolling over me and I'd slip into this half-catatonic state of just staring into nothingness, trapped in my own mind.
Depression.
----------------------------------------------------
When I turned 18 I was disappointed. At first I couldn't do anything. I thought maybe j would be the one unfortunate freak in the world with no power, no abilities. Then I discovered it. Ink, or what looks like it.
Have you ever seen a video of a squid releasing ink underwater?
Well it kind of looks like that.
This ink black cloud of viscous liquid emanates from me, dripping out of every pore. then it just hangs there in the air around me, billowing slowly, gracefully out.
It might get caught In a breeze and waft gently along.
It disappeared after a couple of minute, just evaporates like mist
I can't control it, it just happens.
----------------------------------------------------
It took me years to figure out the trigger, to work out what summoned the ink. Can you guess?
Any anxiety, any lapse into melancholy and there it is. Could there be any more obvious a sigh of my nerves?
Of course my own distaste for my sole ability only makes things worse.
------------------------------------------------------
My power was not impressive, just slightly embarrassing. I was neither use nor ornament as they say, and I certainly wasn't a threat.
And so my ranking was never very high, surprisingly it was somewhere in the middle out of novel 7 billion. Which suited me, less attention than at either end. Neither a hero nor a freak.
But that didn't last.
--------------------------------------------------
"So how did you do it?" He asks, years since our last talk. After the news he pestered me until I agreed to go for a drink with him. Burning with curiosity.
"How did I do what?"
"How did you climb that many ranks? What did you do? What's the secret?"
He's a nice guy, but he wouldn't understand. There's no way I'd be able to explain it to him. I brush him off.
"Probably just a clerical error." I say. Wishing I could believe my own lie. I finish my drink and say goodbye.
-------------------------------------------------------
I was sitting on a park bench, day dreaming. Lost in my own thought. Then they began to turn sour and sucked me in.
When I finally returned to the real world i was lost in a dark fog, waiting, more than a little embarrassed, for it to degrade and disappear.
When finally it did I was rushed by a group of heavily armed men who grabbed me, pinned me down and arrested me.
As I looked around I could see other park users, most barely aware of their surroundings, one girl was curled up in a foetal position sobbing loudly.
--------------------------------------------------
Turns out my ink has psychic properties. Anyone who it touches it shares in my depression. The more fully they are submerged the worse the effect.
Most people come out a little shaken but no worse for wear. But in some the effect is permanent.
They wanted to charge me with something, biological warfare, terrorism, the word torture was bandied about at one stage...
Nothing stuck, ultimately I was protected because my power is classed as an instinctive response. No intent, no negligence, just instinct. Like breathing, my lawyer said.
Though technically I'm now classed as an illegal biological weapon.
Apparently that poor girl never really came back to herself.
edit: some lines are randomly in a much larger font size. im not sure why and im not sure how to stop it. | My first time writing in this subreddit... Please be gentle.
In an oddly satisfying thud, a magazine featuring the top 100 superhumans and all their interesting superpowers was strewn atop the table. Seeing the person who threw it was my Best friend, Altheia, even if possessing the gifted power of time control, I immediately rejected the idea that she's trying to brag. She's too shy to do such a thing. That smile though, that victorious smile, she probably took a hundred takes to do that impressively perfect throw.
Nastasha was with her, jack of all trades, master of none, She can temporarily absorb anyone's power (and attention) as her own. She's exactly the kind of person to jokingly brag.
Reginald, Archmagina, and Solara sniffed on the new object in the room. Blast just wanted to outright shred it, which I may or may not allow later.
"Aaaaand why show me this?"
"Don't tell me you didn't know!? You're ranked 9th on this list! Explain yourself!" Nastasha exclaimed in a way that made her looked kind of pissed.
ಠ_ಠ "huh..."
"She... isn't... joking..." Altheia said.
(°Д°) "Huuuuh!?"
I quickly grabbed the magazine, sure enough, I was there.
-----
"Ranked 9th. Eiri Watterson. Superpower : ability to tame animals
"On first glance, her ability is pretty mediocre but she has actually saved the state of New Megapolis and possibly the world from a class S, level 6 threat. As was recently declassified by the International Super Committee: A powerful, shape-shifting, creature had escaped and killed thousands of its staffs, hired heroes, and civilians on it's way. Tracking efforts have located the beast in the hands of Eiri, taking care of it disguised as a rabbit. Authorities have successfully taken the shapeshifter and 8 months later, the creature remained relatively tamed until its last dying moments.
" 'It was hotly debated it [the shapeshifter] was even a living thing, as it has no purpose of reproducing itself, let alone an animal. It was certainly a mystery and now that it's declassified, we're hoping to learn more from Eiri herself' said ISC spokeperson, Mulligan"
-----
Reading that... i don't really know what to feel, actually. But I guess its a combination of happy, fear, and surprise. Cringe is probably there too. Why did they never told me this even after the resolution, AND WHY DID THEY NEVER PAID ME!?
I looked at them. Nastasha was staring at me and savoring my reaction. Altheia was on her phone, sifting through more declassified information. "From last year, the mad psychic, the Megalodon, the puppeteer's tragedy, the crisis at Durrham Square... they're all just that shapeshifter"
Nastasha slowly turned her head, nervously speaking "W-w-wait... all those? How powerful is that thing?" She then turned to me, almost begging "How did you beat it, Eiri!? Tell meeee!"
"I don't knoow! I don't even remember how I met Lolipops" I said.
"Lo-lolipops?"
"He's a pink cotton-candy rabbit. A couple wanted to buy him for decent cash. They looked suspicious and that was 8 months ago too. So I think that's the shapeshifter."
Altheia proceeded to ask me "Was the cash totally large enough as payment for saving the world?
Genuinely pissed, I yelled "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" | 2017-12-17T22:56:00 | 2017-12-17T20:04:37 | 57 | 34 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It was these sort of women that he hated the most. The ones that would cling to their tainted children with screams and fits of rage. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that the world had to be clean?
It'd been many years since he'd realized the truth about the Blackness. One day, The Doctor has pricked himself during an operation and found a jet black tar, so thick that it never managed to escape from the shallow wound. He'd always been a good man, always helping the needy, operating on the dying, the homeless, those who nobody else would risk their careers on. He'd gone to church, worshiped God, refrained from alcohol and cursing, and still, his blood was filled with Blackness. It was then that he realized: the blood must tell the future. It not only darkened and thickened with each impurity, but it also knew the state of your future deeds. Somehow, the Blackness must be able to judge the soul and see what it was capable of.
With that realization came a new purpose. If one day he would be the Blackest of all devils, then he would dedicate the rest of his life until that moment to purify every stain that he could find. Every drop of Blackness would be cleansed from the world in order to balance his own future sin. It was with this knowledge and vision that The Doctor started his research. After a painstakingly long trial, he found that indeed, the blood could predict a person's purity in their later life. With this, he proposed a new program that could eradicate the Blackness before it ever grew into action. Every child would be pricked at thirteen, as before thirteen they were judged to be well under their parents control. Those whose blood was Black would be taken away from their parents and eliminated from society in order to prevent the evil they would inevitably bring into the world.
Whatever the evil he might one day do, The Doctor hoped that his life's work spent in the elimination of all the Tainted would help to balance the scales. Every day, without fail, he would prick him self again in order to remind himself of his purpose. Every day, without fail, the blood would stand within the cut, Blacker than the darkest night and thicker than the Jello that all his patients received. Every day, without fail, it reminded him that time was running short. One day, he would become evil. Before then, he had to cleanse as much evil from the world as he could. And so, so many of the evil ones were left.
Edit: Woah. So that's why people post things on reddit so much. Dang those upvotes feel nice inside haha. For those asking: I had what I thought was a fun idea so I wrote it out in a rather rough sort of way, no idea if it's actually like any of the animes/shows listed below that I haven't watched and I'm glad y'all enjoyed it too :). | It was my 21st birthday. Like every other birthday, I decided to spend my day helping out the homeless. Usually I’d do the soup kitchen but a friend of mine decided to come along insisting that we join in on the beanie knitting project.
My friend called me a natural at knitting since it was my first time and my first beanie looked immaculate. After the second one we began to turn the good deed into a competition. Who can produce the most beanies?
Lucy said she had been knitting since she was a young girl. Compared to my beanies, hers were better looking but I could produce faster. After a while we were both on our tenth beanie. She caught up after having three less then me. This prompted me to ramp up my production. There’s no way I would lose to Lucy.
I shifted my eyes from my work to Lucy continuously, making sure that I outpaced her. As my eyes swayed from my hands to her, I accidentally jabbed myself with the needle. The needle was embedded deeply into my middle finger causing a wound of considerable size to open as I pulled it out without caution.
“God damn”
A devilish grin was on her face as Lucy gazed upon my wounded finger. There was jet black material slowly escaping from the wound. The dark material was my blood. Everyone knows that blood is naturally clear but darkens with each impure act. I was raised by the church and couldn’t remember partaking in any acts that would cause such a thing. I was the last person that anyone would expect to be impure.
“Finally”, Lucy yelled as she stood up. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand what was going on with her or the state of my blood.
“My child, this is your true nature.”
The voice that was coming from Lucy didn’t sound like the friend I had known for years.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple” she said. Her appearance began to change. A handsome man stood before me. “The church stole your memories and replaced them with shit that never happened. What you think you know and believe to be your life is a lie.”
“Who are you?”
“You May know me as Lucy, but my name is Lucifer”, he said with a smile. “But you can call me dad.”
| 2018-08-04T10:46:53 | 2018-08-04T10:32:26 | 3,279 | 10 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | I sat outside of the lounge, arms-crossed and face puffed. It was yet another day at the V.E.N.O.M hideout, where I just sat there and took a barrage of jokes and insults while boiling water for their afternoon tea parties. Viper hissed from the lounge, turning the flatscreen TV's volume down. "Hey Re-boil, get us another round of tea!"
**Here, you can insert the annoying laughter of those idiotic superheroes as I got up off of the uncomfortable loveseat and walked over to the sink to fill up five more goddamn mugs for their tea.**
"It's Rebecca," I muttered quietly. I angrily finished filling up the mugs with water and reach my shaking hand out to begin boiling them slowly. Those assholes can wait a little longer for their tea. "Rebecca, I want peppermint tea this time, with a few drops of honey too." Enigma laughed in his gentle yet raspy voice, along with the other superheroes.
Necro chimed in after, lifting his rotting wooden staff into the air, black mist swirling the spheroid shape at the top. "And I'd like some Chamomile tea please, but hold off on the honey for me." More laughter. More temptation to boil them into a swimming pool of blood and brains.
It was Oceanu who added on to the torment next. She laughed and chuckled, and I immediately knew that she was about to pull some bullshit. Without any warning, the tea in one of the mugs began swirling around intensely before beginning to splash out of the mug. Moltino cackled as they all laughed histerically, "Hey, Re-boil! You might want to clean that up!"
*No. Leave them alone. Don't think about them. Don't look at them. Don't listen. Just let it be.*
*Let.*
*It.*
*Be.*
Let it be. That's what I've been telling myself for years. Everyone in the academy saying I was never going to be a superhero. That I would grow up to be a useless hero to society; a hero nobody wanted. But if I was going to be something nobody wanted...I was going to be a villain. I turned to them and they stared at me, holding back their chuckles. "What? Snake got your tongue?" Viper stuck out his tongue and hissed at me. His slimy fork tongue, which split down the center, curling down under his chin and then retreating into his mouth.
*That's it.*
I whipped around in my stance and shot my hand right at Viper. The laughter from the group died down as they sat there, confused. A small rumbling sound could be heard coming from none other than his sleek, scaley stomach. He began shaking violently, his body thrashing around as he gripped the table for support. He stood up, lunging at me with his fangs on display.
But he didn't make it too far.
*Splash.*
A wave of blood and boiling water splashed over me. His organs and intestines fell to the floor, bubbling and bursting in a pool of blood and water. Oceanu let out a terrified scream, her body jolting violently. She was 90% water, giving her the ability to manipulate its forms and to control it. Now, she was a puddle of 100% pure regret and slushed body parts. Moltino stood up from straddling his chair with a look of pure anger in his eyes. "You little bitch...I'll teach you!" He charged at me angrily, but I simply raised my hand right as he went to charge me, a fireball sitting in his callused hand. *Splash*. His 6'7" body crumbled into a puddle of organs and boiling blood and water right before my eyes. Necro and Enigma were the only two of the original five left, cowering at the table and fearing for their lives.
I looked at them with poison filling my eyes, slowly raising each of my hands towards them. Enigma stuttered, begging for his life. "N-No, please! We didn't mean it!" I could feel him trying to enter my mind and take control, so I made it quick. His body exploded from the center of his chest, his eyes rolling back and going white as he fell into Necro's lap. Necro screamed and pushed Enigma off with his staff, looking as green as the vomit that was sure to spill out if I didn't kill him. I walked over to him at a slow pace, giving him time to scramble out of his chair and back up into the smooth brick wall. He shook his head vigorously, trying to sympathize with me. "Come on, Rebecca, those were j-just harmless jokes!"
"Harmless jokes? HARMLESS JOKES?! I've been waiting to retaliate against you imbeciles ever since I got hired as your damn intern. You know what that word means, right? Intern? It means that I'm supposed to be learning from you all. And what have I learned? That I'm a worthless, pathetic, waste of a superhero!" Spit flew from my mouth onto his face as I gripped his throat tightly and kicked his staff to the floor. It slammed down and cracked a bit, causing him to grow weak in my grip. He was the son of death, who had become a superhero to prove that death could be a good thing.
But in this situation for him, the one thing he sought out to prove was good was now his inevitable fate. I smirked and looked into his deep, pitch-black irises. "So I've decided that I'm not going to be a superhero. I'm going to be your worst nightmare."
I grinned in a completely sinister fashion as his neck swelled immensely in my hand, the water in his body traveling to his throat. He choked and scrambled for his staff, desperate for any sort of help as the life slowly drained from his eyes. His neck burst in my hand, blood and boiling water spewing at me. I ducked and let it fly past me onto the massacre of superhero bodies behind me. He sank to the floor quietly, his eyes slowly peeking up at me one last time. "H-Have...mercy..."
But supervillains...
we have no mercy.
We have revenge. | As I make tea for those scumbags, I start to think of different plans. While waiting for the tea to boil my plans are narrowed to two. They both boiled down to one concept. Boiling them all alive. When finished, I bring the tea down to them all. Being as agitated as I was, I had plopped it down and sat away from them. As I sit there, I think of which plan to do. *Should I combine the plans?* I think to myself.
"Hey, boiling woman!" I hear from one of them. "Get us more tea!"
"Why don't ya do it yerself," I ask, obviously annoyed. I have a strong Irish accent and appearance.
"You're the tea girl! Go do it!" Another adds.
I roll my eyes as I get up and strut out of hangout. I don't go get tea, though, I gather my things and walk out of the door. I walk for around ten minutes before I bump into a villain. *Perfect*, I think to myself with a smile. They were lugging around some type of bag, most likely money to buy things for their mechanic, North. North is a small, brown-haired girl. She's fairly young for a villain, she's only sixteen. Desperate to talk, I follow behind him. I needed to join them, it would be the only reasonable option to get my way.
When he stops at the door, the gang is there to make sure he got everything or if he needed help. The others notice me and ask me a few questions as to why I followed their buddy home. I explain how I work for the superheroes and that I can join them and give them as much information as they need to best those guys. After a few minutes of discussing, they agree to let me join for time being, but it was mostly because they need more info on their enemies.
They sit me down to talk about what I do, as they couldn't just have me doing nothing. I said that I boil water, but I can still be of help, even if it seems like a useless power. I talk about my little plan with them.
"So...You have a 'plan'? What is it, exactly?"
"Well, to start, humans are made up of seventy percent water, correct? Well, if I can boil water, and humans have water in 'em, I can boil those bastards alive."
As I end the sentence, I look around at them. They all seem so intrigued at that idea. Maybe this is my chance to prove myself to somebody important to me and not just be thrown away as 'tea girl.'
"Hm...Give us a minute to discuss, will you?"
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need to decide. I will be waiting here for your decision."
I sit still and examine the table I sit at as they talk. It seems to be covered in cigarette ash and food stains. *Whatever,* I think, *they aren't that bad so far. At least they aren't treating me like some type of slave that those other guys did. I swear I could get PTSD from them.*
"Hey!" I hear. I look up. It's North. "You're in. I'm North. What do we call you?"
Ah...A question I haven't heard in years. What did I use to call myself? Annette? That was it, yes.
"Call me Annette."
"Alright. Welcome aboard, Annette. Our attack is tomorrow, we'll be visiting you in your room here quite a lot tonight, so be ready."
"Gotcha, North. Where is my room anyway?"
"Right over there." She points to a shiny door. "You share a room with me, so expect to hear some metal clinks."
"Alright. See you in there."
I walk inside the room to relax for the time I get. About five minutes pass and they come in, asking all sorts of questions about the guys. I answer to the best of my ability, and when they have enough information to evade, they leave, letting me sleep. After a few minutes of think, I pass out.
I wake up in the morning to a knocking at the door. North and I open the door, getting ready to leave. I get to lead something for once in my life, so I'm very excited about this mission. Once everyone has everything prepared, we head out. We get to where the heroes are within five minutes and they spot me.
"Hah! YOU'RE fighting US?" I hear one of them blurt out. "This'll be easy, boiler girl."
"That's what you guys think," I say as I stare them down. Soon enough, they're coming for me. Before they can even touch me, I boil one. He starts to break down and everyone freaks out. Water and blood burst out of him, splattering everything. I stand there with a straight face, staring the rest down. I go up to the nearest one and poke near his intestines where his water is stored. He dies the same, painful way. I get the others before they can even try to get away from me. I've had enough of them, and I finally have a team like myself. I've waited to this for almost half my life, even if I'm 25. I ignorantly joined them when I was almost 15, thinking I would help them so much.
I'm finally done. I've gotten my way. I've my team.
I've got ***myself.*** | 2019-07-30T17:09:56 | 2019-07-30T16:02:12 | 65 | 13 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms. | We all laughed at the first wave of news about it, as it was front page of the National Inquirer. Of course bat boy was ridiculous fake news.
Until it wasn't.
On live television, a press reporter literally lost his head. After a moment of stunned silence, he picked it back up and put it back on his shoulders, as stunned as the rest of us.
In Chile, a woman turned into a wolf on a full moon.
In Seattle, a law suit was filed for theft of a selkie's seal pelt.
The stories increased over time, as so many people turned into something more than human. There came a point where pure humans were the rare minority.
90% of the population?
Harpies.
Whatever ancestor the harpies had come from had outbred everyone and everything, and Earth became a planet of bird people.
Flat ground practically became a dead zone, abandoned by the people of the sky who preferred high perches and treetops. Only the destitute lived on the ground floor.
There came wing clipping laws until flight licenses could be issued.
There came a modeling industry based entirely on plumage, dominated by men.
Birthing wards were replaced with egg incubators.
Porn became entirely interesting and cloaca focused.
Only lustrous metals were used for currency.
Shiny theft was on the rise.
Then came the avian flu.
It was a new strain no one had yet seen before, and entirely unique to harpies. It took the greatest minds of the modern age to find treatment, but not before decimating a third of the worlds population. | For years my Grandmother claimed our family was descend from an Ancient beast. No one not even I believe her. After all we where human, how could we be have come from something like that? Grandma would all ways answer "we where cursed. The Sorcerer said he want to protect us. It was a lie." When we ask what she ment, My Grandma refuse to elaborate. Long after her passing the truth was revealed.
It started with my sister, her hair turning from black to gold. I was next with a tail same color as my sister's hair. And lastly my little brother, at first we thought is was a pimple but it grew longer and harder n'till a evently it was a full blown horn. That's when we knew Grandma wasn't lying about us being the descendent's of unicorns. | 2019-10-09T12:19:40 | 2019-10-09T10:51:45 | 57 | 37 |
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