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] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Holy shit, Dave! Look at your fucking face!"
"Oh come on. It's not that bad."
"Are you kidding?!?"
"It's not like it hurt."
"Dave, they tattooed pentagrams EVERYWHERE."
"Oh like I didn't know that, Carl."
"Well you don't seem very upset about it!"
"It's not the 1950's anymore, man. People aren't judgey about tattoos anymore."
"SHHH. I think I hear someone coming."
"Oh yeah, they said something about "The Virgin Ritual" when they were bringing me back."
"Are you kidding me?! You didn't think to say anything sooner??!!?"
"What? Jokes on them right? Neither of us are virgins."
"..."
"Oh my god, Carl. Hahaha. Are you serious?! You're 37! How have you never had sex?"
"This isn't helpful, Dave."
"Well maybe they just wanna help you get laid? You never know."
"THERE WERE ARMS ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN THEY WALKED US IN."
"Yeah, so maybe they just wanna 'give you a hand'."
---------
EDIT: I did NOT expect gold on this. Thank you, kind stranger! (I've always wanted to say that) | Jake shrugged. The sound of the church' clock was the only sound he could hear in the silence of the night.
Ding. dong. ding. dong. ding. dong, and so on, all the way to twelve.
Was it midnight already? He didn't know. He didn't care. Mom wouldn't be home before tomorrow, so Jake had the house for himself. And, more importantly, the computer.
He was having fun, despite being the only person online on his Minecraft server.
It was completely silent in the house. Painfully silent. Except for the occasional Minecraft sound coming from the computer.
"Oh, balls.." Jake wispered to himself. He really had to take a leak. The toilet wasn't that far away, but the room it was in was way too dark to see anything. The only source of light was coming from the computerscreen.
"Jake...." He heard a feint voice whisper.
"Come and play.."
"Ugh, boogers.. Mom's home early." He thought.
As Jake looked up, expecting to see his mother, candles were lit up all around the room. Wait, this wasn't his house.. The light of the candles showed a huge red pentagram made of dark, thick blood on the ground. His desk, along with himself and the computer were in the middle of it.
The whispers starter getting louder. He could also hear someone crying in the distance. The ground lit up on fire, and an awfully loud and terrifying laugh could be heard. Men in black robes slowly started to walk towards Jake with big scythes and hands engulfed in blood.
Jake screamed as hard as he could.
"Holy cow, I found diamonds!!" | 2017-05-05T06:54:01 | 2017-05-05T05:55:46 | 7,592 | 280 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | So there I was, driving all of my friends to this cabin that one of them owns… Gavin, I think it was. He said we're all gonna have a fun time catching fish or some shit like that, I don't give a fuck. The only reason they even invited me was because I'm the only one with a goddamned car. My friends are pretty much all assholes.
So we arrived at the cabin, right in the middle of fucking nowhere. Everyone else was super excited for some fucking reason, like c'mon, it's just a cabin. If it were up to me, I would have sold the cabin, and bought us rooms in a five-star hotel. Anyways, Gavin tells us all about these plans he has to go fishing. Stacey and Alex keep on being flirty with each other. They've been together for two goddamn months now, and they still act like fucking teenagers. Trevor meanwhile, warned us about some sort of urban legend. I didn't pay attention, something about a chainsaw. I don't believe in that crap. There’s a few others here, but I didn’t even bother learning their fucking names, they’re not important. I tried to browse the net while he was telling us all about Chainsaw Willy or whoever, I’m not gonna remember the fucking name, but there's no goddamn reception. Great trip Gavin, I told my girlfriend I’d call her when I got here, how the fuck am I going to do that now.
Anyways, a few hours in we start hearing mysterious noises in the cabin. I suggest we check it out, but Gavin, being the idiot he is, just wants to keep fishing. Whatever, it's your fucking cabin Gavin. I don't know why you're so goddamned obsessed with fishing anyways. After a little while longer of me resisting the temptation to drown myself in the lake, Gavin gets tired of fishing, and we head back to the cabin, only to find a whole bunch of bloodstains on the walls. Like, it's goddamned everywhere. I mean, the decor of this cabin was ugly before, but now it's fucking awful. I hope Gavin cleans it up, at least then I won't have to hear him talk about fucking fish again.
After some investigation, it turns out that it was Trevor’s blood. He looks like he was gutted open with a chainsaw. I never liked the fucker anyways. I'm pretty sure he’s been sleeping with my girlfriend.
Naturally, everyone else is freaking out, as if they never saw a horror movie in their lives. Like an idiot, Gavin suggests we split up and search for the killer. Great fucking plan Gavin. Whatever, I head outside for a smoke.
As I stand outside, smoking, I eventually hear screams coming from inside. Probably Stacey and Alex next. Good riddance. They probably ruined the seats of my car with all their friskiness. Eventually Gavin manages to find me, he's got fucking tears in his eyes. He tells me all about how Stacey and Alex were brutally torn apart in the shower. Why the fuck were they even in the shower anyways? There's a psycho killer in the cabin and their only concern was getting frisky with each other. Good lord my friends are idiots as well as assholes. Eventually Gavin pleads with me to find a hiding spot with him, I try to tell him to piss off, but he just keeps on nagging me about it until I give in. So we hide in the fucking closet together. I try to make a joke about Gavin coming out of the closet, but he doesn't find it funny, like what the fuck Gavin, stop being such a stuck-up douche.
Eventually, the closet door is flung open, and who the fuck opened it, but fucking chainsaw Jimmy. Gavin screams like a little bitch as Chainsaw Minnie revs up his chainsaw while laughing like a fucking lunatic. Meanwhile I pull out my fucking gun and shoot the little bitch right in the face. As if I'm going to a cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere without my gun. Chainsaw Ridley drops his fucking chainsaw and collapses to the ground.
Anyways, at this point Gavin is fucking ecstatic. He's calling me his hero and thanking me and shit. Fuck off Gavin, I don't give a fuck what you think about me. Anyways, I kick off Chainsaw Gimmy's mask, only to see my fucking girlfriends face under it. What the fuck Emily? I know you were two timing me with Trevor, but goddamn, that's no fucking reason to chainsaw massacre him and all his friends.
So since Emily killed everyone with a fucking chainsaw except me and Gavin I guess that killed the mood of the trip or whatever so Gavin insists we leave. This is the first fucking thing Gavin's said all this trip that makes any goddamned sense so I wholeheartedly agree. As we drive away from the cabin, I take out my GPS and start looking for nearby five star hotels.
I saved the fuckers life, the least he can do is pay for an actually decent vacation.
Edit: thanks for the gold | In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now. | 2017-05-05T07:01:19 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 4,093 | 27 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Unclean!" the disembodied voice bellowed waking me up for the third fucking time that night. That's it. I'd had enough. I slip out of bed and got dressed. I was thirsty anyway. Walking toward the door I looked at the wall dripping with blood and puss.
"Unfucking real..." I muttered. Pulling my phone from my pocket I snapped a quick photo. Walking into the hallway I headed to the elevator. Damn thing was taking forever. When the doors finally opened I looked down to see a woman, wet and smelling like a swamp dragging herself along the floor leaving a trail of blood and God-knows-what.
"Fuck this," I said walking away just before her hand reached my ankle. I stopped and snapped another picture of the woman on the floor. Walking down the stairs I was getting pretty pissed off at all of these interruptions. I was just passing the pool when I stopped. The water had turned to blood.
I snapped another picture.
As I walked down the corridor to the lobby, a man with a chainsaw sprung out of the vending area, he pulled the rip cord and started flailing the chainsaw in my general direction.
"Hey...HEY!" I yelled. He killed the motor. "It is three o'clock in the goddamn morning, asshole. This is a hotel. Do you honestly feel like that shit can't wait until morning?"
"Uhh...sorry I just..."
"You just what? You're standing in a hotel jumping out with a chainsaw at random strangers at three o'clock in the morning? Does that fucking sound normal to you? Go the fuck to sleep." I snapped a picture as I walked away. The stranger seemed confused and a little embarrassed.
Walking to the front lobby I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. Slapping my rewards card on the counter I looked at the woman doing the night audit.
"I'm a damn Diamond member. And I can't sleep in this place with all of this bullshit..."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. What seems to be the problem?"
Swiping the screen on my phone I turn it to her.
"Oozing walls, swamp chicks, pools of blood and some asshole with a chainsaw? Are you fucking kidding me? Is this Detroit?"
"Well, I'm sorry sir, it is our desire to ensure you have the most comfortable stay possible..." her voice was somewhat ominous. I gave zero fucks.
"I want my room comped, I want an upgrade, I want another complimentary bottled water and I want some fucking quiet for the rest of the night. Can you do that or do I have to call member services?"
"Oh, yes sir, we would be happy to make all of your dreams come true..."
Swiping the phone again I called the member services number.
"Yeah, I'm at one of your hotels and there is an obnoxious amount of creepy shit going on. Pool is filled with blood, there's a dude with a chainsaw, my wall is oozing blood and this lady at the front desk is talking in a weird ass tone that seems to imply pending doom...yeah, how'd you guess where...hold on..."
I handed the front desk clerk the phone. "They want to talk to you."
Suddenly the sullen woman's eyes softened and she gulped a bit as she took the phone.
"...Hello? Well, yes, uhh, Julia. No but I...right but...okay." She handed the phone back to me and looked contrite.
"I apologize for any inconvenience, sir. I'm upgrading you to a suite for the remainder of your stay, at no charge of course. And I guarantee that there will be no disturbances from here on out. I'll have your complimentary water brought up to the room and I'll be giving you double rewards points for your stay."
"Well, thanks, what the hell did member services say you to?"
She looked uneasy and then finally spoke. "They said to cut the theatrical bullshit or they'd cut our franchise..."
| Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly.
After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows.
Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again.
He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th-
The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running.
Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip.
More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off.
A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch.
Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch... | 2017-05-05T07:31:12 | 2017-05-05T07:22:19 | 627 | 31 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | __Suicide: A permanent solution to a temporary problem.__
This stupid fucking phrase rings through my mind almost hourly as I try to make it through the day. The reason it’s in my head right now? It’s pouring and a car just sped through a puddle, leaving me a wet mess. What’s more, I dropped my phone when I got splashed, and now it won’t turn on. _Permanent_ solution. _Temporary_ problem.
The bus finally arrives and everyone rushes past me to escape the rain, leaving me the last one to get on. There’s one place left to sit and it’s right next to the nicest looking lady in the very back of the bus. Maybe my luck is changing?
“Oh, dear!” She exclaims at my appearance. “Here honey, sit by the window, there’s a little heater under the seat there. She gets up to let me in and a book falls from her lap. The front cover is torn off and there’s handwriting covering all the margins in red ink. I try to read the printed text, but she snatches it up before I can focus my gaze on it. “Shakespeare,” she says, blushing. “Always been a pain to read.”
I slide into the seat and put my backpack on my lap and rest my head against the window. I’ve got a couple of hours until I change busses again, so I close my eyes and try to sleep, the heater blasting at the back of my legs from under the seat. It’s almost painful, but I kind of like it. After a few minutes, the murmur of the bus becomes more faint and I begin slipping off to sleep.
I wake up to a loud bang in complete darkness. I stand up and my legs brush against the bus seat. I let out a yelp and run my hand over my calves, which are hot to the touch. _Temporary problems_. It suddenly dawns on me that I’ve missed my connecting bus and I’m fucked. _Temporary_.
I reach for my phone for the flashlight and remember it’s not going to turn on. I try anyway and hear a small pop followed by the smell of smoke. Great. I throw my phone on the seat and try to find my way to the front of the bus. When I make my way near the front, I hear a laugh from where I was sitting.
“Hey!” I yell. “I can’t fucking see. Do you have a light?”
The laughing turns to cackling and then to a deep growl. I can’t tell where it’s even coming from anymore. _Okay,_ I think. _Fuck you too._ The growling continues and I think I found the steps that lead off the bus. I finally exit the bus into a dark garage. “Hello?!” I hear my own words echo back at me and the growling turns to a shriek.
I fumble forward until I run into something like a work bench. I run my hands across the top and cut my hand on something sharp. _Temporary_. I wince in pain, but grab whatever it was by the handle to keep it close in case I need it. I keep running my hands across the top of the bench until I find something that feels like a pack of cigarettes. I open the lid and find a lighter inside.
I don’t know where I am or what’s in this garage, but I need to see. I flick the lighter a few times until it stays lit and try to find a way out. The shrieking has stopped by this point and I can hear the pitter patter of feet coming towards me. “Okay,” I say. “We can both leave together just don’t trip over anything.”
Whoever is here is starting to laugh again. I shoot a dirty look in the direction of their laughter, even though I know they can’t hear me. “Look, if you’re not gonna help, you can find your own way out.”
“There is no way out.”
Great, it’s the lady from the bus. “Then how the fuck did we get in here, lady?”
She starts cackling again. Whatever, I’m going to keep looking for a way out. The lighter doesn’t help much, but I can see where I’m stepping, at least. As I’m focusing on my feet, my head slams into something and I fall to the ground. The lighter skips across the room and the sharp tool I found lands by my side. I grab it for safe keeping.
The lady has stopped cackling, but I can hear her breaths and they get closer until she’s finally over top of me. She starts speaking in Latin and I let out a little chuckle. This is just so typical. Well, not the Satanic hex or whatever - but my luck is typical.
Finally, she speaks in English. “Stay still, child. I’m going to sacrifice you to open a portal.”
_Not-so-temporary._
My head is all fuzzy and I can’t sit up. My legs are still on fire from the damn heater. My hand is bleeding from where I cut myself. Now I’m about to be fucking _sacrificed?_ Nope. I’m in control. I grasp the sharp tool tightly in my hand it move it to my wrists. She can’t sacrifice me if I’m already dead. | In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now. | 2017-05-05T07:14:27 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 451 | 27 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "IÄ! IÄ!" the masked priest cried, lifting the sinuous dagger above his head. "SHUB-NIGGURATH! THE BLACK GOAT OF THE THOUSAND YOUNG, COME TO FEAST!"
The woman next to Jon tried to scream through her gag as the knife plunged into her breast once, twice. Then she lay still, her eyes full of tears but slowly going dull.
In the far distance, beyond curves of space and time unknown to man, there came a grunting and rumbling, as if formless beasts were somehow lumbering closer.
Jon would have yawned, if his mouth had been free.
"Do you hear?" the priest asked, leaning close to Jon. His eyes had the fevered gleam of mania in them. His scraggly beard tickled Jon's face as the priest leaned in even closer. "Our Mother comes. She shall tonight feast upon the cooling corpse of your friend, as you watch. Then, in the most exquisite depths of your madness, she shall take from you the seed which shall birth a new race of abominations, who shall devour you, their progenitor, as their first act of unlife in this pitiful reality!"
Jon worked the gag in his mouth and loosened it to the point where he could say, muffled though, "I don't know her."
"What's that?" the priest asked, loosening the gag even more.
"I said, I don't know her."
"But... on the bridge... we took the two of you..."
Jon sighed. "I was going to jump off the bridge and end my miserable life. I've got terminal brain cancer. Inoperable. My parents died last week in a car crash, and my father's girlfriend has a will that leaves everything to her. I'm broke. My girlfriend broke up with me because she can't deal with the cancer. I have no children. I hate my job. I hate my life. I have nothing to live for, and so I was just going to end it on my terms when that do-gooder you just sliced tried to talk me out of it. Your goons grabbed us as I was about to jump."
"So, er," the priest mumbled. "You do not care if you die in horrible, maddening agony?"
"I fucking welcome it, mate," Jon replied. "You say that these spawn of your goat whore mother will devour the world, ending it in an apocalypse of flame and blood?"
"Well, not in so many words. *Die Vermiis Mysteriis* is rather unclear on that point, but we take as an article of faith that the apocalypse will be..."
"Fucking Christ, you're like cosmic Mormons," Jon muttered. "Can you just fucking kill me, if you're going to prattle on about your fucked-up theology?"
"Mock me, will you?" the priest cried, standing back and flinging an arm out. "Then behold! Shub-Niggurath approaches! Gaze into her thousand eyes and know true horror!"
"It'll be remarkable to feel something, finally," Jon said, struggling against his bonds to turn and look at the horror out of darkness approaching him. Words could not describe it, for the qualities and properties of the earthly realms do not apply to the elder ones from beyond time and space. A maw opened, or perhaps it is more correct to saw, several maws stretching across infinite universes opened, and from them came a keening wail and the carrion stench of death's promise.
"At last," Jon breathed. "Come on then, get to it."
"Do you not see her squamous bulk? Her gibbous, maddening form?" the priest cackled. "How can one mind endure?" He ripped at his clothing and face with yellowed, cracked nails.
"Because," Jon said, closing his eyes. "I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuck." | Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly.
After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows.
Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again.
He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th-
The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running.
Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip.
More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off.
A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch.
Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch... | 2017-05-05T07:40:26 | 2017-05-05T07:22:19 | 172 | 31 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | It wasn't until the van door shut behind me that I realized my mistake. I guess the skin mask should have tipped me off.
It's getting so you can't trust anyone anymore.
We drove for a long time. I felt the road getting rockier. By the time he opened the door it was dark out.
He yanked me out by the arm, hard. He knocked me to the ground. It was dirt. It smelled like something. Pennies. No, of course not. Blood.
Great. As if I didn't have enough on my plate today.
He laughed then, a low, insane laugh. He pointed an ax at my throat.
"Really? An ax? Don't you think that's a little derivative?"
"You are not to speak," he said. "But feel free to scream." (A little too theatrical for my taste, to be honest.)
"Look, this is a really bad time for me. I think we might have to table this for now."
"I SAID YOU ARE NOT TO SP-"
He fell to the ground. The look of surprise almost made it all worth it. Humans are so easy.
He couldn't move now, but he could still hear me and see me. He could still feel. They taste so much better when they're afraid. It really adds something.
I started at his feet. Crunching the little bones. His eyes stared straight up, but I felt his shock, his terror and pain. Far more used to being predator than prey.
I took my time.
| "Just get out of there, fuck off..."
The shadow slowly trickled down on the floor from the closet and slowly crawled towards the bedroom door. Alex threw himself down on the bed and turned off the lights.
Soon the thumping in the stairs started, Alex slowly turned over and looked at his door, contemplating if she would even care to go and open it.
"Can't you just get over with it and leave? I have a test for tomorrow and I'm not in the mood for your silly games."
The thumping slowed down and stopped, the lights outside the door flickering. Alex sighed as she turned over and faced the wall.
"Not again...."
Alex felt the surge in her stomach as she started falling into the abyss, feeling how her face relaxed while she fell and her teeth falling out from her mouth.
She closed her eyes as she landed on a large green, sunny plain. Dreams always were her favorites, since she at least could get it over with quickly.
She ran around for a while, waiting for her alarm to wake her up in the morning. She smiled and closed her eyes as she turned her face to the sun in the sky, then she heard beeping from the distance.
She opened her eyes and looked around, she frowned as she noticed the lack of light flowing through her curtains. She stood up from the bed and looked around in the house.
Nothing.
Not a single monster in sight. Where could they be? She smiled at the thought of them finally leaving, they could not scare her anyways, there's nothing special about them, just shadows and sounds, never anything that can actually hurt her.
She felt a breath behind her neck and she just walked slowly away. The footsteps followed her to the kitchen where she turned on the lights, there the shadows would go away.
The light flickered for a second before it finally shone up the kitchen.
What did she really notice first? The broken window? The presence which did not leave?
Or the hands around her neck? | 2017-05-05T08:56:55 | 2017-05-05T07:21:53 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] They reworked the justice system. Now, in each cell there is a piano, and convicts are released after performing a song perfectly. Lesser criminals are assigned simple melodies, while the worst get full concertos. You've been a concert pianist your whole life. | "Harold, you've been charged with torturing and murdering a man in cold blood. How do you plead?"
Harold looked up at the judge, feeling a hundred eyes burning into him. It felt like his entire life was leading up to this moment.
"Guilty as hell, your honor."
The jury immediately reacted, murmuring to each other, but Harold maintained his composure.
"I killed the man who killed my father. That's all the justice I sought for," Harold said with conviction.
The judge stared at him.
"You are aware that we have reworked the justice system?"
"I am aware, yes."
"For such a despicable act, one that you clearly have no remorse for, I have assigned you concerto 16 by Harry King," the judge continued, and the courtroom gasped.
It was a remarkably intricate piece, and few people could ever hope to have the skill to play it. To give a man that song was to put him in prison for the rest of his life.
"Have you heard the piece before?" the judge queried.
Harold smiled.
"I am quite familiar with it, your honor," Harold King replied, cracking his fingers and sitting down at the piano.
*"My father wrote it."*
*****
*****
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 | BREAKING NEWS, flashed in red and white across the TV screen. Ludwig took a pause in his work and turned up the volume.
*… as the serial killer known as “Mozart” has once again been released from maximum security and death row, after completing three full piano concerts. Here is Tracy Stevens with live footage.*
The screen shifted from a bald news anchor to a woman in her twenties with a bun of chestnut hair. Behind the woman, a group of justice protesters had gathered outside the concrete walls of the prison.
*Thank you, Quint. People are quite upset over the early release of Murderer John Bishop, also known as “Mozart.” We are still waiting for official statements from the warden here at Foxtrot and Judge Tony Costanza. But as far as the release goes, that has already been done. Mozart is back.*
As soon as Ludwig turned off the TV, a knock came on the door.
“It’s open!” he called out.
A man, in a tuxedo made out of red studded leather, stepped into the living room.
“What took you so long, John?” Ludwig said.
“Had a minor run-in with the law,” Mozart said and ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing big.”
“I saw you on the news…”
“It matters not,” Mozart said. “Do you have the strings ready?”
“Of course,” Ludwig said, and handed over the sharpened piano cords. “I don’t get caught like you.”
“Well, you should try it sometime; the looks on the faces of those fools are priceless when you finish their silly little concerts.”
“Sure, if your only goal is to awe a crowd… I’m more into immortalizing my work.”
“Whatever, Ludwig, you’ve always been a pushover,” Mozart said and gave him a sledgehammer. “Now, if you’re ready… let’s go and put the BEAT in Beethoven!”
The most notorious serial killer duo of all times nodded at each other and smiled deviously.
*****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2017-05-17T23:27:06 | 2017-05-17T21:45:17 | 1,195 | 121 |
[WP] Satan finds amusement out of making contracts with sinners stating that if they complete a ridiculously impossible task, such as counting every hair on their body, they are allowed to return to Earth. A sinner has just completed a ridiculous task. | "Your evilness," screeched Clyde, the Devil's thorny serpent. "He's .. done it."
"Done what, Clyde?" said the Devil, setting down his Gamecube pad in disgust.
"He's completed his impossible task."
"Who, Clyde? Who has completed their impossible task?"
"Bruce," said the serpent.
"You can't expect me to remember all the ridiculous tasks I set to every person in Hell, Clyde. What was Bruce's?"
"For three months, you tasked Bruce with waking up at his first alarm after late night binging Netflix."
"Fuck off," replied the Devil."
"I'm super serious."
"He didn't snooze once?"
"Not once."
"Well, what did we task him with watching?" asked the Devil.
"So far he has crushed Breaking Bad, Stranger Things, The Office, DareDevil, Making a Murderer, and House of Cards," said Clyde, reading from his clipboard.
"He's a machine," admitted the Devil.
The Devil paced around the room, grasping at his beard, deep in thought. "What did Bruce think of The Office?"
"He didn't care for it."
"Get him in here. Now," ordered the Devil.
Bruce entered the room, shuffling in, remote still in his hand. He didn't intend on bringing it, he had just never met the Devil before and his hands closed over when the order came in.
"I hear you're doing rather well with your task, Bruce," said the Devil, menacingly walking in circles around the man.
"Not bad, sir," replied Bruce.
"Well, Bruce, you did it. I don't know how, but you did it. You managed to binge watch Netflix in to the night then wake up on your first alarm for three whole months. What a man."
"Thank you, sir," said Bruce.
A large screen lowered down behind the Devil and God came on to the screen.
"El Saviour, how are you?" asked the Devil.
"Fantastic, Diablo. Is this Bruce?" replied God.
"Yep, this is Bruce. The first man to ever complete one of my ridiculous tasks. I believe with his completion he gets to spend eternity in heaven with you?" queried the Devil.
God paused for a moment before speaking, "Sorry, Bruce, but if you don't like The Office you don't get in to Heaven."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | "**How?**" The dumbfounded face of the Devil. Just like his subordinate beyond the door and the subordinate before that. I smile in satisfaction, knowing that I bested the dominion of Hell at their own game. Victory is sweet.
"Humans are smarter than you think, you know,." Blood drips unto the floor, but no one in the room seem to mind. They are the same colour, after all.
The devil shakes his head and chuckles. He pushes himself up from his seat, his hand coming together in a slow clap. It does not feel not right. This is supposed to be my redemption, but why do I feel like I have just been swindled?
The crimson red eyes of the Devil stare at me and it feels like my soul is burning. "**So you think you have won, mortal?**"
I nod. The blood is still dripping. Perhaps in death, your blood flow does not stop. I do not know. All I know is that I have succeeded in the task that was given. But it does not dull the pain. My right hand reaches out instinctively to what remains of left hand. "You promised me a return to earth."
"**Yes I did. Yes I did. And the prince of darkness is someone who keeps his bargain.**" He snaps his finger and a demon appears beside him. A gate watcher. Demons responsible for the transit between Hell and anywhere else.
"**This man has succeeded in his task. As promised, he shall be allowed to make return to earth.**" The watcher grunts and flies towards me. Its eyes wander between my left hand and the stump on my left body. My clothes is damp with blood now.
The watcher draws a circle using its hand and a portal appears in between it. Beyond the portal, see the Gates of Hell, and the path leading back to earth.
"That's it?" I turn back to the devil. "You're just gonna let me go like that?"
"**Yes. I asked you to do a task, and you accomplished it. So go.**"
I then turn to my hand on the floor. There is a small puddle of red around me now. I cannot go back to earth in this state.
"Will you fix this then?" I gesture at my hand and the blood.
The devil laughs. "**Of course not! I merely asked you to lick your elbow with your tongue. It was you who chose to cut it off. And when you're dead, everything stays permanent.**"
The laughter stops and his crimson eyes move back to me. "**Now go,**" he whispers, and a strong wind pushes me into the portal and sealing it shut as soon as I pass it, leaving my left hand behind in the Devil's palace.
I guess at least I am going back to earth, I console myself, as the darkness consumes me.
----------------------
*Can you lick your elbow? More tales at /r/dori_tales!*
| 2017-08-03T07:26:28 | 2017-08-03T07:17:15 | 79 | 36 |
[WP] You're teleported to 44 BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you might be from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How Do I Die?" | Well, hell. History never was my 'A' game. More like my 'B-' game. I have *no idea* how this obscure *(was he obscure?! I don't even know that my much, lol)* 2000 year old politician dies. I'm not even sure if Bush is alive, back in my own time.
Guess I gotta wing it. What does he want to hear? This dude has the ability to throw me in the dungeon or 'off with my head' me. I just need to keep him happy long enough to get out of his court, away from all these guys with spears and back to my time-teleportation pad, hidden in a cave outside of town. Time to get back home, kids. Next time I do this I'll do some *research* first!
"Its, like, DANGEROUS, to talk about that sort of thing, er... Your majesty" I begin *(majesty? Is that a thing here?!)* "Temporal Paradoxes and all that, you know"
"But I am Ceasar!" His expression is somewhere between childish insistence and childish wheedling for 'just one more' cookie. "
I frown, and he adds "I won't tell anybody! I can keep a..." He sidles off his throne and whispers in my ear:
"I can keep a secret! Pleeease! Cmon!"
I let my features relent, just enough. Caesar gets excited.
"Everybody out!" He orders."Move it people! Beat it! Shoo! Go on! Get!"
The room empties, with some grumbling protests, but not too many. They've seen him act this way before.
I breathe a lot easier with all those sharp pointy objects gone. Its just me and him, and I realize Caesar is just a guy. A clueless guy!
I smile for him, and put a paternal arm over his shoulder:
"You've REALLY got to promise to not TELL ANYONE. Ever! Our little secret, right?"
I mean, for all I know temporal paradoxes might be real. Seems like a good idea to play it safe.
He nods eagerly, and leans in towards me. I scope out the room. There are windows, but my cleanest escape route is actually just the front gate. An easy ten steps away.
"Actually, Caesar" I whisper "You are immortal!" | Oh god dammit
Dammit dammit
I stand before one of the mightiest emperors mankind has ever been led by,and he asks me about his future. Well,at least the long hours of studying Latin will pay off now. Knowing when Caesar died is not the problem,I’ve heard it over and over again (and I still don’t have any idea why it’s called the “ides of March”) but telling him square in his face? I’ve made some other,smaller stuff,like that his book,de bellum gallico,will still be known in my future,and Kleopatra will also be fine for the rest of his life. But this question...Caesar isn’t a terribly hot tempered guy,but he’s still the imperator perpetuus,the eternal emperor of one of the biggest empires to ever exist
But as I’m sure not saying anything will be even worse,I mumble “cave idibus martiniis”
Caesar looks shocked. He knows perfectly well that my Latin is not gold standard and that I can barely get any point across,but these words seem to shock him. He sits down,cursing in Latin,stands up again,runs in circles. I refuse to tell him about his murderers,denying I know anything about them
Days pass,as Caesar still seems to be conflicted. It’s the 14 of March,one day before the fateful day,when he decides that he will still go out to the senate. I hope that I didn’t alter the past,so that a Sith Lord is expecting him,but then I remember: Historical Caesar was also advised not to go to the senate on the 15. of March! His haruspex,a seer,told him about it,and he ignored his advice! Have I been around anyway? Was it me i read about in my Latin book? I hurry through Rome,quite a while after Caesar left. It’s an intimidating city,back then much more than now. Most of the famous sites haven’t been built,and won’t be for another 1400 years,but those that are already there stand proud,and in their full glory. The 7 hills rome was built on can be seen at nearly all times,for example,and the forum romanum is always full of people. People I’m glad are about 2000 years older than me,because the average man is barely taller than my shoulder. I’ve been called a barbarian multiple times,that’s when I told them to fuck off in Greek,to show I’m not one. I reach the senate as Caesar is stumbling out,covered in blood. Dammit! Too late! He speaks the famous words “et tu,Brutus?” as his best friend and basically step son raises his dagger for the final blow. As the emperor falls,my vision gets all blurry,and I’m in my room again
Well,time to shut my mouth,or I’ll be on medication for the rest of my life | 2018-01-06T04:33:37 | 2018-01-06T02:18:57 | 83 | 11 |
[WP] Aliens are afraid to invade Earth. Not because of humans but because our solar system is a nest for 8 Guardians/Leviathans. | "Believe it or not, there are still some that remembered the age before the Leviathans. Troubling times when men had no common enemy, turning at each other for pitiful personal gain. Then The Outsiders came. Some had expected them and eagerly decoded their messages while others prepared for the only real outcome. However their true intentions became clear. They saw it coming, but had no means to defend themselves from asteroids send hurdling towards Earth.
The bombardments lasted for months, most major cities destroyed and it seemed to be the eve of humanity's destruction. In our time of need, many prayed. And our prayers were answered! It is unclear why or when the first Guardian came, but the world saw him race towards The Outsiders. His mighty tail swiping away incoming asteroids, His smooth, grey skin was too hard to be hurt and His powerful jaws ripped into The Outsider's hull finally ending the threat. However the number of lost were devastating.
After the threat was defeated, He began to move towards Earth. We welcomed out savior with open arms, and the first Guardian saw us. He saw how we had suffered, how we should have been broken, and He saw something unique to humans, something *special*. In His infinite wisdom and protective nature, He offered to let us use Him as a vessel to explore our unlimited potential. And now here we are, children."
The class cooed in awe in unison, looking all around them. They were the first generation to be born within the Leviathan's warm protection. The teacher smiled, adjusting her uniform and clearing her throat to get the class's attention.
"Now class, I want you to write about how much the Leviathan means to you, and remember to pick a name off of the wall for your report. We must not forget those who came before us!"
The class responded in unison, and began to sit up from the worn carpet and grab their bags, queuing at the door to return to their family quarters.
Walking home, a young boy stops and feels the cold, hard ground. He can hear the faint sensation of pumping. He smiled as he said a thankful prayer for the Guardian before continuing on his way.
The rest of the galaxy might fear the Leviathans, but humans had become the nightmares of the Leviathans. The thin, pale shadow of their brother acted as a grim reminder of humanity's ambition. The lobotomized beast drifted in the emptiness of space with one destination in mind: The Outsider's homeworld. | The Sol-3 system. One of the last remaining dark systems in the galaxy. 26,000 light years away from the galactic center, with one yellow dwarf star in the middle. Average in all aspects, with one single exception.
It is the sole nesting ground of the Tal’maruks in the galaxy. Fearsome, gigantic beasts of legends and myths. Probably the only creature able to survive the harsh conditions of space. The other species call them by different names. Gods. Monsters. Demons. But to us, they are the Tal’maruks. Harbingers of death.
We call them that for a good reason.
“Sir, dropping out of warp in 10 seconds,” a voice broke my daydream. Navigator Nos. His eyes were fixed on the screen on the bridge, just like the rest of the crew. The room pulsed with their anxiety. For a good reason too.
“Focus on the task, people,” I called out, unable to shake my own nervousness as well.
About three hours ago, we received a distress call from one of our research colonies located in the Faz-4 system. They said they were under some sort of surprise attack. Command tried to establish the details of the attacker, but all the communications personnel could say was Tal’Maruk. Again and again he repeated the name. Transmission was cut off soon after. The whole Faz-4 system went dark.
Our ship was sent to find out what happened.
“Approaching Faz-4 system,” Nos announced. The bright streaking lights disappeared and the crew held their breath. Instead of the blinking lights of the stars, we only saw darkness, punctuated only by four glowing eyes. The colony’s moon laid shattered, drifting through space. Three thousand souls were on that moon.
“Tal’Maruk…” one of the crew whispered as we stared at the mass before us. It was as big as the moon, blocking the lights from the star. Aside from the eyes, it was difficult to tell what the creature looked like. It looked almost spherical, except for what I assumed were tentacles extending from its body.
“Shields up! Red alert!” I yelled and the crew sprung to action. Training kicked in as the crew scrambled. I did not know what good can a puny ship do against a creature of that size. But I do not intend to stay to find out.
“Nos, get us out of here!” I screamed. The ship turned sharply from the creature, the engines screaming into action. Before we could jump, however, the creature emitted a bright flash of light, and disappeared into space, leaving only the debris of Faz-4 colony behind.
Death and destruction. The only sure indicators of the presence of a Tal’Maruk.
“It’s time we take the fight to them,” I whispered under my breath.
------------
*I write at /r/dori_tales* | 2018-02-05T20:21:52 | 2018-02-05T16:30:03 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] A supervillain erases 30 years worth of memories from every hero he meets, just to put them out of business. One day he accidentally does this to a senile old man, and he finds out the hard way that he’s met the former strongest superhero | "So I go nuts?"
"You go nuts"
"And the world forgets me? Leaves me to rot?"
"Well that's not QUITE what happens"
"Is it not?! You found me wandering the streets as a madman! In the poorest, dingiest, cruddiest part of the city! I mean, SHIT, look at my clothes!"
It was a weird thing talking one of the saviors (The Savior perhaps?) of the known world. A force of justice and good, an exemplar of all that was righteous and joyful in the world. What was weird about it? The fact I was an evil madman hellbent on greed and self advancement at the expense of others? The fact we were talking in the dirtiest and most foul cafe in the city?
Well at least I could explain my opposing number's mismatched neon orange and pink one piece that was in such disrepair it was effectively a two piece. (His hero suit was a much more tasteful green blue black affair)
"Look, it's not the world's fault you're dressed like a low budget 80s commercial for hot hatchbacks"
"HOW?! GET TO THE POINT!"
"Why are you so angry? Surely your legacy doesn't really matter to you? Does it really matter that you have nothing to your name and the world moved on? Isn't being a superhero all about helping others and not yourself?"
He smashed his coffee off the table and destroyed the car park in the process. As I handed the grumpy waitress another suitcase of 100s, he launched into a tirade.
"But that IS the point you halfwit! It's not JUST about me going around saving people! I wanted to INSPIRE people, to tell them that they too could do something good to make the world a better place! Look, was I only defeating supervillains and playing baseball with meteors?"
"No you weren't", I replied. He often stopped by and helped little old ladies cross the road or visited nearby schools to give pep talks.
"I did those small things because I wanted other people to help out too. Superheroes can't SAVE the world on their own. They can improve it sure, but there's a million ordinary people for each one of us. I might defeat the big bad but what good does it do if the millions then turn around and cause some small problem? Yes large atrocities are arguably worse but it could be argued that small atrocities are every bit as bad as big ones"
It was a fair point. Me stealing a million from the bank didn't matter to the little kid down the road. The kid's biggest problem was not understanding his homework and who would help him with that?
"So you hoped to inspire the people, get everyone to help out a little bit"
"Exactly. So I'm rather miffed that they just left me out to rot. You think they'd have taken some care of me as I became helpless and a little off my rocker. Not to say that I deserve it more than the next grandparent but you know, I might have expected that some crony politician would have put me up if only to earn some cheap points with the electorate. Instead it appears they left me out in the cold!"
"Okay, okay, I get where you're coming from old chap but you know how you were talking about perspective and all that? Have you tried to understand your situation from their perspective?"
He furrowed his brow as he thought for a moment before replying, "I don't know what you're talking about. What do you mean from their perspective? I'm a hero so I don't need help or something?"
I shook my head. "Nothing that complicated. Ok, so you know how you had an assumed identity? James the cabbie? Because superheroes had to blend in and not draw attention?"
"Yeah, I....oh. Oh. OHHHHH"
"Yeah. They saw a cabbie go nuts and just didn't bother." | The tapered collar of my shirt was beginning to cut into my Adam's apple. It didn't matter though; I'd been gasping for air for over 642 lightyears.
He wasn't letting go, we were on course for Betelgeuse. Most Heroes' were hunted down during the Age of Reclamation. Heroes' were both good and evil, the guilds abided by a common Heroes' Code.
1. Act in favor of those who were vanquished
2. Heroes' are to settle disputes in The Arena
3. Find honor in every battle as to not act in cruelty
4. In fervor, practice integrity
5. If you're going to do it, do it correctly
See, everyone knows the tales of Heroes'. Once, a higher power granted Emperor Silviu the ability to issue superpowers. He used it sparingly at first, giving himself invulnerability. But after many failed assassination attempts, including sinking his entire fleet at sea; he swam through the ocean for years. When he arrived at his palace, his son abdicated himself.
Rumors spread of his immortality after he outlived his children's children. He grew bored and decided he would grant each peasant of his empire a power of their choice. At first, abilities like super strength and flying were overhyped. Soon, more hipster things like being able to draw a perfect circle every time became the norm. Most peasants were decrepit and didn't maximize their full potential so Emperor Silviu would have to make sure he wasn't granting immorality or time travel. But, through the course of hundreds of years, he slipped and gave a stripling the power to control other's abilities.
He immediately tried to take away the power but the stripling was too adroit, and the youngster reverted Emperor Silviu's immortality. He turned to ash quickly, the line of patient peasants that stretched 295 cities long became a throng of upset peasants. War broke out between those who held powers.
The Heroes' Code was created by the strongest of Heroes' who created Guilds. They upheld the mantle of Heroes' and passed on their abilities to their children. That's where we land today, I come from a direct lineage of the stripling who killed Emperor Silviu.
My ability is clear, I can revert any Heroes' memories back 30 years. In a constant war between Heroes' and Villians, I've won every battle. But, it doesn't always work out. Like right now, with .4 more lightyears left before I disintegrate in one of the most salient observable stars.
I ran into the old man at the laundry mat, they specialize in cleaning Hero attire. He had been cleaning an old outfit, the material was metallic and soft. He was slow and decrepit, so I figured it wouldn't do any harm to see him in his prime. Well, he was a little too old. I must have reverted him back 30 years at least 117 times before he came to his senses.
When his eyes brightened up, and he noticed me, he stood up tall. The sound of arthritis breaking under his posture. His skin seemed to clear, and his wrinkles softened. His bald head grew sable threaded hair. His flabby skin sucked to his growing muscles.
He looked around, then at me, then once more at the washing machines. He stared at the outfit in his hands, a tear raced down his lotioned cheek. He looked once more at me, then grabbed me by the tag of my shirt and shot up through the roof of the laundry mat. Held in place by his grizzly hands, I watched people shrink into ants. Soon, breathing became hard, and then extreme hot and cold flashes struck my body. Despite all this, I'm alive.
And the light from Betelgeuse was blinding. But still, I remained alive. Then we came to a stop, and he let me drift slowly under his tutelage. He still had the outfit, he let it drift into the light as we watched it disappear. Then, he turned to me and placed his hand on my heart. He grew old again, and for a while I watched his entire life unfold before my eyes.
Then, when I came to my senses, he was gone. Particles of dust strew around my aura. I felt alive and knew what he had done. I began my journey back to Earth, this time with the knowledge of an Emperor. | 2018-02-21T15:06:47 | 2018-02-21T14:58:31 | 48 | 19 |
[WP] You arrive in the afterlife to find yourself standing at a payment window and all your outstanding debts are now due. They don't care about financial stuff though - just the promises you failed to keep. | I tried to maintain eye contact with this dealer of fate, as it stood judgmentally before me, just glaring.
"Deal another" I said in a disappointingly squeaky voice, as I tried to will something simple, easy to be swung my way.
There's no luck at these gates. The afterlife toll booth attendant laid no paper out, and I quizzically tilted my head. As I opened my mouth to ask where the next failed promise was...it leaned in. When I say 'leaned in' I mean it filled every bit of vision before me. It was like having sudden fish-bowl lenses...this creature became all I could see.
"This might break you. I see this far too often in my line of duty; and I loathe it each time I deal it back. When will your species learn?!"
One simple touch to the back of my hand...my vision goes grey, twilight, pitch.
...a tiny voice.
"You promise I'll be ok Papa?"
"I promise hunny; everything will be fine."
"It hurts so bad. I'm tired of throwing up. I want ice cream and cake but it won't stay in my tummy. These tubes hurt Papa I wanna go hooooome!"
Oh god no. Not this this is unfair this is too much I can't I can't I can't don't say it don't say it I was only trying to be there for my baby she was so sick it's not fair this isn't what I meant I'm her father I'm supposed to keep her safe not fair no......
"You promise I'll be fine Papa? Promise?"
little misty doe eyes that could swallow your heart....
"I promise."
| "All of them?"
"All of them."
I sighed, a deep groan from the bottom of my chest. "Fine. Where do I start?"
The angel... er, thing, I guess? Not quite sure what this *thing* in front of me was. It wore rather dull garments, somewhat akin to a toga. Its hair resembled more of a glowing river than actual keratin. Seemed like this "payment attendant" was straight out of Tangled. This "*payment attendant*" reached its arm underneath the countertop, grasped a small drawer, fumbled for a bit, and then loosed out a slip of parchment. It set the paper in front of me.
"This one looks like fun. Maybe it will teach you how difficult it is to keep your promises," it snickered.
"What is it?"
"You'll see," It extended a spiny finger and urged the slip of paper toward me. "touch it when you're ready."
I thought, *Eh, what the hell.* I took hold of the paper.
At first, nothing -- but then, a vision. A summer midday? A playground? No, a soccer field. Trees, birds, shouting, fuzzy-looking humanoids... an expansive cobblestone structure stood alone a few hundred yards away. Taking hold of myself, I began to feel my body take form; my muscles stretched, my skin awoke and rolled briskly with goosebumps. It felt as if for the first time, I had awoken. I wouldn't have minded staying in that state for a much longer time, but what interrupts my pleasure is --
"So, it's a deal!?" A feminine voice; young, inviting, exciting, and yet to be tainted by the harshness of the real world.
*Uh, is this my old middle school?* Suddenly I became truly aware of my body's structure, described plainly in one word: prepubescent. The voice rang again.
"Hey, dickwad, we gotta shake on it. If we're both not married by 30, we'll marry eachother. We're eachother's backup spouse. That's what friends are for, right?"
*Oh lord.* | 2018-03-06T10:04:32 | 2018-03-06T08:45:41 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Hell is an RPG, complete with skills levelling and save points where the damned grind their way to Heaven. A newly dead scrub on level one, you decide to play through like you do in other RPGs and invest at least 1 point in Luck every time you level up. | The Son of God sat upon his throne, waiting. Thousands of the damned came upon his door everyday, hoping to defeat him, and pass through the pearly gates to heaven. Yet, they all failed.
Satan gave the damned plenty of choice. As they screamed across the scorched fields, the eternal hellfire surrounding them, ravaging demons, they became stronger in abilities they wanted to have. Some chose strength, ripping apart their foes with their bare hands. Some chose to be fast, felling demons before they could even strike. Some chose to be stealthy, avoiding encounters all together, only killing sneakily when they have to.
All of this, just for a chance to escape. To escape the land of eternal suffering.
But none succeeded. The strong, the fast, the stealthy, the smart, all perished at the hands of Jesus, the guardian of Heaven.
He stood tall, picking off the damned like flies. They started out strong, but soon faltered as they ran out of equipment and their health. And when they were weakened and powerless, he dragged the poor souls, and nailed them to his cross. As they cried in pain, their soul was ripped apart, never to coalesce back to sentience.
But this soul was different.
He jumped around the white chamber with reckless abandon. He was well armoured and we'll armed, much more so than the damned that rely on their abilities to succeed. But underneath his iron skin, Jesus saw weakness.
He laughed, his voice booming across the hall. "I shall wring you out your tin can, fool, and crush you like a snail outside it's shell. However, I must admire your collection. Rarely do the damned come prepared. Regardless, I think I'll see your soul flowing along the winds of time. Let us begin!"
Jesus was wrong.
Every strike that the son of God made magically missed the soul. Even if he did manage to hit him, it hardly did any damage.
On the other hand, the soul seemed carefree. Every flimsy punch was a critical strike to Jesus. Every arrow he fired somehow bounced back on his target. He never was low on equipment, he just smashed a common pot lying around and it dropped a rare healing herb or a quiver full of dark arrows.
Jesus lay on the floor, defeated.
"Congratulations, mortal. You defeated me. How, I do not know, but you have proved yourself worthy of redemption. Come, take this key, and march on the land of eternal bliss"
"I refuse."
"Do not jest, you puny soul! You may have humiliated me in battle, but that doesn't mean you have ascended above me!"
"I may not have what you consider to be power, son of God. But I am brave. Brave enough to forfeit the powers that my peers chose, to keep them safe. My choice was different. It was strange. But look where we are now. Indeed, fortune **does** favour the brave"
The soul dragged a screaming Jesus to the cross. And he bellowed above the screams of pain, with every nail being hammered down.
"I shall take your throne! I shall rule your hall! I shall control who deserves redemption! My name shall bring fear to the damned! No matter how powerful you are, I shall prevail upon you by fluke! Hear me, son of God, as you breathe your last! I am RNGesus! Master of Fortune!"
*Thanks to u/Greymor for the idea** | Fixed all the formatting. Want part 2?
**Part 1?**
Everything before him was barren. The ground cracked beneath him as he took a few confused paces forward. Disoriented, he looked around for some clue about where he was. The solid parts of the ground beneath him looked as if they were molten, but had recently cooled. Ahead, he could see mountains, but they must be hundreds of miles away. Just then, there was a loud *Whoosh*, a *Splat*, and then a sizzle. He looked towards the sound and saw there, levitating, an enormous rectangle. On it, a picture of himself and the following text:
>NAME: SAMUEL
>AGED: 36
>LEVEL: 1
>HP: 15/15
>MP: 6/6
*What is this?* He wondered, and shook his head in disbelief. As he shook his head, the rectangle followed his movements as if it were some kind of HUD. He began playing with it, testing its thresholds. He moved his gaze toward the ground, and sure enough, the HUD followed his eyes and could be seen on the ground as if there were a movie projector attached to his forehead. He gave a few more desperate glances to his surroundings, but no more clues presented themselves.
Out of ideas, he started walking toward the mountains. Out of nowhere, the ground swirled beneath him in a vertigo-inducing tornado while the beat of rock drums and guitar trumpeted out a single measure. Dazed, the ground beneath him began to stabilize. Before him were 3 pixelized harpies. He looked to the sky and could see a new rectangle next to his statistics.
>HARPY X3
The HUD sat there with a blinking cursor. *What the heck do I do now?* He thought. He reached his hand out and discovered that he could interact with it. *ATTACK, MAGIC, ITEM, RUN*. He tried to run but received the message "Samuel tried to run, but his party was surrounded." *Dammit.*
Samuel thought for what seemed to be eternity, but the enemy never advanced. *Am I in a video game?* Certainly it was all just a dream so he made his choice.
>ATTACK – HARPY 1
>SAMUEL ATTACKED HARPY 1
>HARPY 1 SUFFERS 12HP DAMAGE
>HARPY 1 DIES
>HARPY 2 COVERS BARE CHEST WITH TREMBLING HANDS AND RUNS AWAY
*Two down. I wonder if I have any other tricks up my sleeve.* Samuel pointed to MAGIC. He thought to himself, *Wow, I know spells?*
>ICE 1 – HARPY 3
>SAMUEL CAST ICE 1 ON HARPY 1
Samuel’s hands animated themselves and he watched himself cast pointy ice shards from his hands toward the harpy. *Contact!* He exclaimed to himself. The ice shards stabbed the chest of the harpy and a violent screech assaulted his ears.
>HARPY 3 SUFFERS 19 HP DAMAGE
>HARPY 3 DIES
A victory fanfare erupted on the play field, startling Samuel. He was accustomed to pop music, so the nicely arranged bars melted away from his ears unappreciatively. He cracked a victory smile none-the-less.
>SAMUEL GAINS 7 EXP
>SAMUEL BECOMES LEVEL 2!!
>SAMUEL’S HP INCREASES FROM 15 TO 18!!
>SAMUEL IS AWARDED 4 ATTRIBUTE POINTS!!
Samuel was given the option to apply these points to *intelligence, luck, strength,* and *virtue*. He knew that if anything was going to get him out of this hell alive, it was going to be luck, so he hastily applied all four points in this direction. | 2018-04-16T11:15:40 | 2018-04-16T10:40:48 | 3,325 | 173 |
[WP] You can taste lies. One day your friend is comforting you after a tough night and you almost vomit at the foul taste as you hear her say "After all, you're only human." | So it turns out I'm not human. To be frank, I wasn't surprised when upon that fateful day my friend's words turned to ashes in my mouth, almost choking me with their utmost falseness. After all, humans can't taste lies, so the obvious answer was that I wasn't human. Still it wasn't exactly the most comforting thing to realize as I sat there, tears streaming down my face the night my boyfriend had left me. It had been a long day of bad tastes, and this wasn't nearly the worst of them. All in all not being human wasn't so bad.
And it did present some unique opportunities. After I'd kicked my friend out of my house and moped around a little, I realized something. Despite not being too surprised at the knowledge that I was some kind of inhuman freak, it wasn't as if I'd explicitly known beforehand. That meant my ability to taste a lie wasn't limited by my own perception of what was and was not the truth. An idea started to form in my head.
So it was that I found myself sitting upon a stage, cheesy 90's gameshow music playing as Chris Tarrant, host of *Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?* sat across from me. I'd been asked question after question, and after each one I'd spoken something along the lines of, "Well, it must be the Propylaea ... but no, wait, of course not, perhaps the Acropolis? Yes, the Acropolis."
It had been a foul tasting day, and yet it would soon be my sweetest. Things were looking up. | "Hey" James said as he slumped down on the couch beside me, beer in hand. "Hey, it's OK".
Well, it technically wasn't, but I didn't really want to argue with him either, so I just sat there and contemplated how to best kill myself.
"It really wasn't your fault that you got fired..." I felt a familiar bitter taste in my mouth now. His attempts were admirable but I just couldn't bring myself to believe him.
"... or that she decided to break up with you..." I really needed to wash my mouth now - it was my fault, all my fault and I knew it.
"... After all, you're only human." The taste was overpowering. Then, the imaginary turned into reality. I gagged and threw up, all over the floor.
That's right. I'm not just a human. Not this time. Not anymore. I am a monster, plain and simple. At that thought, I almost emptied my guts out a second time. I might look like a human, but deep down I'm nothing like them. Humanity, a noble bunch, filled with so much courage to keep on trying and never give up. When they fail, it's because they can't, not because they won't. They're only human, after all. Me, on the other hand, I'm not deserving of being called a human. I could have kept that job, I could be chilling with her now, but I'm not. What could have been, I guess I'll never know. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to find out. From ripping up the bandages and digging up the scars. I love wallowing in misery and self-pity. Other people don't seem to like that. And I don't really care. And that's why I'm here, right now. Lost, in my mind, in the what-could-have-been. A monster, stuck in the past. A monster, that can never let go.
"Woah man, you alright?" No, not really. But, in a sense, I guess I actually am.
Thanks for reading! Im a first-timer so criticism would be greatly appreciated! | 2018-05-12T05:25:13 | 2018-05-12T05:24:41 | 1,793 | 25 |
[WP] You can taste lies. One day your friend is comforting you after a tough night and you almost vomit at the foul taste as you hear her say "After all, you're only human." | Tasting lies, I mean, it's cool and a neat trick for my kind, but for something to be a lie, you have to know it's a lie. Otherwise you're just mistaken. Everyone in my family could do it, and we were all crazy close - not lying has that effect on people... But I haven't seen them for three months and uni was wrecking me. I haven't found any of the others like me here, and I just miss my mom, dad and sisters a lot. That's what started all of these stupid tears and why my roommate came in to check up on me.
Josephine sat on my bed, with her hand on my shoulder still trying to comfort what she knew wasn't human. It wasn't the customary way we introduce one another: "what can I say? I'm only human." a delicious, spicy lie everyone like us can taste, but this was not an introduction. This was an accusation.
No.
This tasted sweet. She really was trying.
I know I look ridiculous as I look over at her with my puffy eyes and sniffing to avoid the releasing the snot waterfall I was holding in my sinuses, "you're like me then?"
"No."
There was no taste to that, and my heart dropped again.
She pulled a tissue from the box I had been rapidly depleting and gave it to me with a smile, "I'm not like you. Not the way you wish, but I am different anyway. Being away from people like me is hard too, but I'm here for you because I don't know exactly what you are, and I don't know exactly what I am, but I know that we're friends."
And with that she gave a smile and a much needed hug. | "Hey" James said as he slumped down on the couch beside me, beer in hand. "Hey, it's OK".
Well, it technically wasn't, but I didn't really want to argue with him either, so I just sat there and contemplated how to best kill myself.
"It really wasn't your fault that you got fired..." I felt a familiar bitter taste in my mouth now. His attempts were admirable but I just couldn't bring myself to believe him.
"... or that she decided to break up with you..." I really needed to wash my mouth now - it was my fault, all my fault and I knew it.
"... After all, you're only human." The taste was overpowering. Then, the imaginary turned into reality. I gagged and threw up, all over the floor.
That's right. I'm not just a human. Not this time. Not anymore. I am a monster, plain and simple. At that thought, I almost emptied my guts out a second time. I might look like a human, but deep down I'm nothing like them. Humanity, a noble bunch, filled with so much courage to keep on trying and never give up. When they fail, it's because they can't, not because they won't. They're only human, after all. Me, on the other hand, I'm not deserving of being called a human. I could have kept that job, I could be chilling with her now, but I'm not. What could have been, I guess I'll never know. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to find out. From ripping up the bandages and digging up the scars. I love wallowing in misery and self-pity. Other people don't seem to like that. And I don't really care. And that's why I'm here, right now. Lost, in my mind, in the what-could-have-been. A monster, stuck in the past. A monster, that can never let go.
"Woah man, you alright?" No, not really. But, in a sense, I guess I actually am.
Thanks for reading! Im a first-timer so criticism would be greatly appreciated! | 2018-05-12T05:41:08 | 2018-05-12T05:24:41 | 37 | 25 |
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire. | The house seemed empty. Vacant. Dad must be off on business and mom... Well who knows. Maybe on a trip of her own. Home at the end of term and no one here to greet me. Well, almost no one. Remy - short for Remington - had to be about somewhere. He'd served my family since I was born.
I dropped my books on the table. Physics and astronomy books spilled onto the table.
"Hello... ?"
Nothing. I wasn't expected for two more days, but still... This was odd.
I wandered into the study to find Remy on the phone. In my entire life I don't think he's ever made so much as a phone call. He was muttering something. He didn't hear me approach.
"Yes" Remy said "40,000 contracts. I don't give a damn about your position limits. Spread it around. Use that dirt bag from the holding company if you have to. Just do it. Have I ever been wrong before?"
My jaw dropped. First, in 20 years I had never heard Remy swear. Not even once. He was the most polite and gentlemanly person I'd ever met.
Second, my father had dabbled in futures and options enough for me to know you don't just throw around 40,000 contracts of ANYTHING without having some serious cash.
I must have made a noise in my disbelief, because Remy whipped around, and his usual polished grin trembled for just a moment, then returned to normal. Damn, remind me to never play poker with Remy.
"Young master Robert," he began " I hadn't expected you untill Thursday. What a pleasant-"
"Just stop," I interrupted, "I heard you. All of it."
He clicked off his phone.
"Well then, I guess you have some questions."
"Yea, what's going on?"
"Preparations" he simply said.
"For what?"
"A trip. Of sorts. A very expensive trip."
"How nice. And just how rich are you?"
"Well," he began "after that trade, I'd say about 3 billion. The market is in store for a bit of a tumble I'm afraid."
I just gaped at him. He could buy us 20 times over.
"Wait, how do you know that. Who ARE you??" I demanded.
"More like 'when' am I. But that is for another time. I had hoped this conversation would have happened later. It seems I don't know everything in this timeline. But it cannot wait any longer."
"What are you talking about? And why do you work for us if you are so rich? You could do anything you wanted. "
"Master Robert. I am here... I have been here for 20 years, to earn your trust. So that one day, I would tell you something, and you would believe me. I'm afraid that day is today. Do you trust me?"
"With my life," I said without hesitation.
"Good. Because this planet is dying. And you have to get off of it." | I sat tentatively across from this man who I’d known my whole life, but couldn’t recognise. For what reason would he keep his fortune a secret? I wanted to believe that my ever-loyal butler had the purest of intentions, but every conclusion that I was drawn to was frighteningly bleak. Has he been stealing from my family? Was he always a billionaire? This seemed the more likely, but if so, what sick reason could he have to devote all of his time, both day and night, to watching a child?
I came to know of his fortune entirely by accident. In fact, my intentions were not for snooping reasons, but rather to fill out his Christmas bonus.
After 20 years of service to my family, I felt it was time for something special. I wanted his bank balance to be equal to EXACTLY the number of hours he has been with us. My dad calls me melodramatic. Called me. But, in fact, to get his bank balance to a crisp $175,200, I would have to REMOVE over 13 and a half billion.
“Steak’s delicious, Harold” I said, breaking the silence that I realised we had lapsed into.
“Thank you, master.” He responded, standing on the opposite end of a needlessly long table. “I wrestled the boar into submission myself.”
On any other day this would’ve received a poisoned sarcastic quip. Steak doesn’t come from boar. Boar aren’t even IN Australia. Instead I caught myself nodding and staring at him, enthralled. Who was I to question this man? In fact, who was this man full stop?
The silence continued for several seconds. He narrowed his eyes at me before inquiring, “is everything as is, master?”
“Of course, Harold”, that was TOO obviously an out of character polite response. Asking me a question during my eating time? That was forbidden and would’ve earnt him a pay dock. I had to dial it back. “Is there a reason it shouldn’t be?” I asked, regaining some of my usual gratuitously argumentative nature.
“No. why no reason at all, sir.”
I did not like the way he was looking at me. Quickly I excused myself with a “Well, I’m off bed, see you tomorrow but-head.” Was the response I forced out nonchalantly. I called him that sometimes when I was younger, thinking myself clever. It still made me chuckle a bit, but it was far too much. Too jovial for the atmosphere of the room, and I left quickly discerning his reaction.
That night I slept, in the loosest sense of the word, with my door locked and myself leant against it clutching my grandfathers antique letter opener. What still to this day chills me to my bone is what I held upon waking up. Relative to most horror movies, even the bad ones, this little thing in my hand is horrible paled by comparison. However, those are fiction, and this reality shook me to my core. As I awoke, I glanced at the piece of papery plastic in my hand. A tiny, 10cm by 10cm thing that keeps me up at night 17 years later. A tiny, 10cm by 10cm thing that I did not hold when I fell asleep.
It was a single polaroid photo. Of a man leaning against a door, fast asleep, holding an antique letter opener. There was no mistaking the person in the photo. My deceased father of almost a year. Who issued every single Christmas bonus.
| 2018-06-03T10:37:58 | 2018-06-03T10:34:05 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] it turns out Earth is a really big lobby for a battle-royale and everyone is just waiting for enough players to start |
I was just in the office, trying to look busy while actually browsing Reddit on one screen and watching the last official game play trailer for cyberpunk 2077 on the other screen one more time.
Finally, today is releasedate, I'll leave in 40 minutes, 50 to get home. I'll buy some beer on the way. Than I'll download 44 gigs of awesomeness and I have the whole weekend to play. Happiness.
My logical thinking set in: I won't do any more work today anyway,. I should just go early. ...yes I will do that, its Friday. No one cares anyway. I started to smile.
Suddenly a number appeared in my field of view.
"7.777.777.777 players joined". I blinked, confused. "Match starting in 60, 59, 58..." I blinked again.
"Your Squad: Franz Haas, Julia Berg and Keanu Charles Reeves.
Be the team to survive in Vienna. Circle will close to District: Kaisermühlen."
I was very confused on multiple levels. What is this, some weird Japanese game show, starring Keanu? A elaborate prank by my co workers for me hating on the Battleroyal Gerne?
I started to feel weird. My body felt strangely numb. I looked around. One of my colleagues actually looked like he's panickly rubberbanding thru the room. I blinked again. I looked on the phone on my desk. I failed doing that. I looked again. This time it worked. It showed a map with 3 markers in Vienna. I tried to pick the phone up. I missed. I tried again. The phone was suddenly in my hand. I wanted to move out of my cubicle but somehow I climbed on my desk. I couldn't stop this or do anything else. Standing on my desk I looked in the fearful eyes of my co-worker next to me, who also crouched confused on her cubicle. She yelled at me: "Seids es dappad!? Habt's es ma an Haschisch in Kuchen gmischt!?"
I couldn't hear what she sayed next. All I could hear was a deep hum. A blue wall appeared, behind me, very slowly crawling towards me. I tried to get down of my desk. Why does my body feel so slow and useless? Some one touched the blue field and cried out in pain. As a result: Everyone tried to panickly leave the office at once, a fight broke out at the gate. Idiots. Whatever this turns out to be, I know what I needed to do. I ever so slowly grabbed my backpack and steered my useless body into the blue zone to get all the medkits from the kitchen.
| The airplane took off. It was moving to the final zone, the Orkney Islands off the coast of Scotland. I heard little about it, well besides maybe a Modern Warfare 3 map otherwise it was more a Nordic relic and tourist attraction than a place to live.
It had been two years since the game had started. PUBG Corporation had become the largest company in the world and through all the power they had, contacted every news outlet across the globe that the real world was being turned into a real Battle Royale and failure to comply would set off nerve gas bombs in every single major city in the world ensuring complete destruction of our race, one way or another. Around seven billion contestants, including the elderly, disabled or those even too young.
The first thing that happened was the air drops, containing military grade gear to arm civilians everywhere as not every has such easy access to guns. Among this equipment was one of those futuristic touch screen arm pads that you see in things like Ghost Recon or Black Ops 2, it had a map of the globe to show a large circle that got increasingly smaller every three months.
I never wanted to kill. While video games had manipulated me into my desensitisation to violence, I still wasn’t a violent person. Regardless, I was lucky enough to have my own one without many people around because I was way out in the country side you see, my family had owned a farm and a load of land. I had a slight amount of experience in firearms too, as my father owned an over-under shotgun that had been passed down through generations.
Despite this I’m not a particularly strong person, so holding up a load of gear wasn’t exactly a choice that I had. Instead I had settled for a lighter load, an Ingram MAC-10 and a Dragunov SVD. Figured the rounds were quite common too so it’d help in the long run.
America was the first to fall with guns being common there to begin with, and the first zone took mostly uninhabited places out but as it slowly closed in on the North of Europe people started dying to the toxic gas that was set off anyway to prevent people from hiding. London was chaotic. The events that took place there grip my soul so hard that even a word about it makes me want to end my existence. Suicide was already a popular option, what was the point in trying to live when you’re likely to catch a bullet anyway? However that wasn’t one for me as a promise lingers deep within my heart.
As I checked my weapons and ammo and glanced over the plane to see who was unfortunate enough to be in mine, a question quickly popped up in my head: “How is one person going to keep the human race alive?”
Perhaps that was the plan anyway. To create the extinction of us. To rid the world of the disgrace that is humanity.
The medallion she gave me swung from my hand. “Give me the strength to fight another day. Please.” I begged into what remained of her.
For once this is a game I don’t want to win and the sins I’ve committed to trying has become too much to bare.
(pls no bully me this is my first time actually doing one of these and I’m a terrible writer ok ty <3) | 2018-06-12T06:09:32 | 2018-06-12T05:50:43 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] After getting a girlfriend, a man discovers that he now has a very powerful superpower: everything he says, no matter how factual and true, is wrong. | The group of friends were sat around a fire under a sky full of stars. One man, stepping quietly away from the party, found a place where he could be alone. He looked up at the Milky Way.
"When you consider how vast and great the universe is, I'm just worthless, aren't I?" he sighed.
His friend, who had known him for many years, stepped up beside him, putting her hand on his shoulder.
There was something different about her. He could see something had changed, the way she was looking at him.
"Well, that's not true. You mean something to me." | As I prepared to leave, she appeared at the top of the steps and asked, "Where are you going this late?"
"I have a room booked at a motel. I'm cheating on you tonight."
She crossed her arms. "Oh really?"
"Of course. I told you that this evening. Don't make a fuss."
"I bet it's that slut, Susan, \*isn't\* it?"
"You're always right, dear."
She sniffed.
I buttoned my coat. "Anything else?"
"Have fun. And tell Susan I said hello."
I nodded, put my hat on and left.
In the car, my phone rang. I answered.
It was Susan. "Where are you? I've been waiting at this motel for almost fifteen minutes. Are you coming or not?"
"I'm on my way. Oh, and Jess said hello."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | 2018-09-06T09:28:27 | 2018-09-06T09:27:32 | 265 | 22 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin. | "I'm afraid I must object," said Timonus the Upright.
Everyone at the table reacted, some throwing up their hands and some muttering unpleasantries under their breath. The five gamers sat around a map of terrain speckled with gaming pieces. At the head of the table a thin, tired looking young man sat behind a large, upstanding book. He let out a long exhale.
"What is it now, Todd?" he asked, the words seeming to sting his throat.
"I should think it obvious, Brenden. We don't know why these soldiers deserted the Farwinian army. Perhaps they are conscientious objectors protesting the unjustness of the war? I simply cannot condone attacking this band as a paladin of-"
"Lawful good alignment," finished two of the other players in unison. Jake and Marcus had heard this more times than they could count.
"I have a question," said a third player. He was new to this campaign, and strangely would only play for this session. He hadn't actually given his name.
"Which is?" asked Brendon.
"Can I activate my..."
He read from the page in front of him.
"...mega fire grenade?"
"A character of his low level should not have been given such a powerful weapon," said Todd. "It's highly unlikely a character of his background and experience could have procured the resources to acquire an item of that quality."
"I just want to know if can," said the new player, raising a placating hand to the obese paladin.
The ghost of a smile crept onto Brenden's lips. "You can activate it whenever you like, though your fellow campaigners may not like it very much."
"I want to do it," the new guy said.
"What!"
Timonus the Upright stood upright, crumbs falling from his tshirt to the floor.
"I run," Jake said.
"I run too," said Marcus.
"I find this all very objectionable," Todd said. "This person here isn't even a real member of this-"
"Mega fire grenade explodes," Brenden said, grinning. "You should have run, Todd. Your dead."
"I... but... you didn't even give me a chance to respond. As a character of lawful good alignment I would never adventure with a rogue like that. I find this all very objectionable."
He looked over to confront the new player, but he was gone. In his chair only a puff of rising smoke remained. | Assassin, interesting.
I'm more a Ranger with a beast master sub role myself, but I think I can destroy Jake with my eyes closed.
So let's get down to business. I'll get my trusty partner of crime. Numerous hours of endless DnD story lines and side quests, how could I leave my sacred buddy?
Jake, the Paladin (such a trash class). Exclaimed, "I rolled a max 20, so Karen you have to be my slave for the next 20 turns and 5 more turns when I roll a 5 or more!"
&#x200B;
"Jake what the fuck. Stop with these ridiculous spells. We are in middle of fighting goblins."
&#x200B;
Karen looks at the DM, John, but he skims a page in the DnD rule book and shook his head. "Sorry Karen, it says right here Vol XIV Ch. 58 sub article 3&a, that Paladins can have secret spells if they're level 18."
&#x200B;
Karen does a frustrated sigh, then responds, "Fine. Jake heal me. I'm low on health."
&#x200B;
"Sorry can't do. Gotta save my spell slots so I can tell you what to do on my next turn."
&#x200B;
A little bit interested of what Jake is going to do with Karen's half fox/half dinosaur character, I had to remind myself to step in before I won't be able to stop him. I roll a 19, so I get to summon my best pet. "Rex, steal all of Jake's equipment and render him useless with your morning screams!"
&#x200B;
Rex is my pet chicken. He use to be weak and had to be necromancied every 5 turns, but now he is a force to be reckon with. Rex learned strange abilities due to my infatuation of trying to find the best build for him. Years of research and experience went into growing him to be the ultimate farm fighting machine.
&#x200B;
Jake looks at me for a second and turns straight to John. "JOHN YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS. HE IS A DROP IN. WITH A PET CHICKEN THAT HAS INSANE ABILITIES."
&#x200B;
John turns the pages in the rule book and points it for everyone to see that it is possible for characters to have insanely powered pets if you follow the strict guidelines and prove it with the App.
&#x200B;
I tell the Paladin, "Sorry Jake, you look like a fun target." So I ordered Rex to put John in a spell that he can't speak if he doesn't say "Puk Puk Pukaaak" in between every few words.
&#x200B;
Jake tries to refute, but the DM refuses to hear anything from him because rules are rules.
&#x200B; | 2019-01-21T18:32:36 | 2019-01-21T17:26:13 | 500 | 244 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin. | I sat in the chair across from Rich. Bowls of various chips and candies covered the table, and two-liter bottles that once contained Dr. Pepper were strewn carelessly on the floor.
Joe, the DM of our group, sat at one end of the table, and Keaton, our Bard’s level-headed player, at the other. Brooke the Monk sat to my right. I was only home for the weekend, and Joe had called me in for a “special job.”
As the night progressed it became more and more obvious why. Rich wasn’t exactly an A+ player. Every decision the DM made was argued for 5 minutes. If a player attacked in a way Rich didn’t like, guess what? Another 5 minutes. As more time passed, I noticed a strange phenomenon. There was only one person he didn’t ever argue with. Brooke. He was deferential to her, throwing the others under the bus just to try and “prove himself,” or something absurd like that. A classic white knight, alongside of being a pretentious douchebag. The perfect target.
My tiefling arcane trickster had faired quite well through the session, surprising Rich, who expected his min-maxed aasimir sorcerer to destroy all opposition. As we reached the end of the dungeon we were painstakingly making our way through, my high perception roll caught a pressure plate, along with a thin seam in the ceiling. Rich was right behind me, hoping to get any loot as quickly as possible.
Calling all clear, I cast minor illusion, covering the pressure plate neatly with an ordinary stone tile. I barely stepped over it, and then stopped, forcing Rich’s sorcerer to clumsily bump into me and step directly on the hidden pressure plate. I spun and rolled with advantage on a surprise attack with my enchanted dagger. A 15 and a 20 sealed his fate, with a neat sneak attack to boot. The dagger plunged into his ribs, as a look of shock came over the faces of both Rich and his arrogant sorcerer. Vines sprouted instantaneously from the green blade in his chest, rooting him to the spot as countless boulders tumbled from the ceiling.
Brooke’s monk nailed the high dex save and expertly dodged the rocks, while I used evade and took half damage. Keaton’s bard was wary enough to avoid even coming close to the trap. The poor sorcerer, his hands bound and feet rooted to the ground, never stood a chance. The boulders rained on him, cracking limbs and ribs and mutilating fleshy bits. At 2 HP he lay on the ground, stunned, as I leaned over him. He started to mutter something, when a knife flew straight into his oversized blue forehead, ending his miserable existence. I looked up to see Brooke smiling with an empty sheath at her waist.
At the table, Rich jumped up and stormed out, the screen door slamming behind him. He stormed back in, grabbed his keys and dashed out yet again. Tomorrow I would leave, and probably never play with these people again. But I knew I wouldn’t forget them anytime soon.
(Edit: lay, not may) | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
&nbsp;*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2019-01-21T19:51:50 | 2019-01-21T19:09:12 | 330 | 16 |
[WP] On every birthday, you see someone who looks exactly like you down to the clothing at 12:30pm desperately trying to get your attention, but they disappear the moment you make eye contact. Today is your 21st birthday and you have a plan. It's 12:29pm. You sit down, close your eyes, and wait. | Every birthday I see him. He was my first conscious memory at three years old. I see him out of the corner of my eyes, no matter where I am, at 12:30 pm exactly. He’s always trying desperately to get my attention, but by the time I make eye contact, he’s gone. He looks just like me, and we are always wearing the same thing. The thing that makes it weirdest is when he’s gone, I’m suddenly exhausted. No one ever believes me. No one, that is, except for my grandma. She tells me it’s important, but I can’t know until I learn how to communicate with him. My grandma died three months ago, and today is my 21st birthday. It’s 12:29 pm and I am finally going to know what my grandma was talking about.
I close my eyes and wait. I can hear the clock ticking, and I can feel my body tense as someone approaches me. I hear a voice, exactly like mine, speak to me.
“It’s about time you figured it out,” he said.
“Who are you? Why do you always come to me,” I asked.
“I am you, but astrally projected. I am the manifestation of your powers.”
I scoff at him. “Like, magic powers? Those don’t even exist.”
He sighs at me, and I feel him near me. I open my eyes, and his eyes are closed. That’s when I realise I’m looking at him from the wrong angle.
The realisation that you’re seeing yourself sitting on your bed from and astral projection of yourself is terrifying, yet exhilarating. I see my own eyes open, and suddenly space shifts, and I am looking at the other side of my empty room. My astral projection has gone, but I can hear him now in the recess of my mind. | My living room is empty. Curtains drawn. Only me, a pillow, and a tall mirror. Time is 12:29pm. Alarm set. One minute left. I sit and close my eyes. It was exactly five years ago I first noticed it while brushing my teeth.
I stood in my parents bathroom thinking about sex, probably, when a movement caught my eye. I turned and saw myself waving at me in the mirror. He, I, disappeared as soon as our eyes met. Thinking my anxiety had finally gotten the better of me I quickly chalked it up to a psychotic episode. My psychiatrist had warned me about those. Stay calm and think it through, she used to say. Could a mirror reflection of me wave, when I didn’t? It seemed unlikely so I dismissed it.
The next year it happened again, this time in the mirror behind some whiskey bottles at a pub. They even threw me out thinking I was high when I freaked out.
When I turned 18 I saw me, waving with both arms, in a puddle.
At 19, in a bathroom at the farm. I didn’t report it.
When I turned twenty, I saw my reflection in a pair of sunglasses one of the attendants had hanging in a breast pocket.
Every time, me disappeared as soon as our eyes met.
This year, I have a plan. Sort of. I, the other I, must want something. Why would I be waving if not? With the short time available, options are limited. This year would be simple. Next year I would try something else. I must want something. My breathing feels chopped. I pay attention to it as I’ve been taught. It stabilizes in deep slow breaths. Any time now.
My alarm beeps. I open my eyes. There I am, in the mirror, waving. Without letting our eyes meet, I wave back, mimicking as best I can. Goosebumps trickle down my back and the hair on my arms stand up. Suddenly, mirror me stop waving, with a big grin on its face. Our eyes meet. Mirror me rises and leave. Now there’s only a pillow on the floor, with me waving frantically to an empty frame.
&#x200B;
EDIT: changed the ending slightly. | 2019-07-24T14:31:55 | 2019-07-24T12:03:08 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. | Getting your head chopped off would be lethal to many but not to me. Of course it's a bother and a pain in the ass to deal with. So when that annoying piece of shit 'blademan' decided to do it again, and in a public stall at that, I had enough. I mean who does that? I get it that I am supposed to be the bad guy, but there are so e boundaries you've gotta respect. A man taking a shit is a sacred domain. You shouldn't violate it. And that poor guy that lent me toilet paper lost his life too. I think he suspected the guy of being my minion. AND WHAT KIND OF EVIL PLAN DOES HE THINK THAT I HAVE IN ORDER TO IMPLEMENT IT FROM A PUBLIC STALL? Well at least I was able to wipe the shit off before losing my head. I suppose it's time to pay the General a visit.
Who's the General you might ask. Well to be accurate, I don't know either who he really is. All I know about him is that he is the captain of the hero association. He's held that position for a couple of decades now. He is a reasonable guy, so I guess he'll listen to whatever I have to say.
And how do I know him? Well that's a a long story. It all began when the government approached me with a certain offer. You see, they needed someone of my talents to take care of crime and evil. But suppressing it won't do. They knew that because they've been trying it for centuries. Basically they needed somebody to be a villain. Somebody to limit crime. Somebody who wouldn't let it rise above a certain level. And I was their choice. I accepted the offer because it seemed interesting. After all, when you're immortal, things tend to get boring after some time. But I've been at this job for over two hundred years now. And I've grown fond of it. Well there are some times when co-operating with the government becomes necessary but those are rare events.
Right now, I am dealing with one of those. My job and identity is kept secret from most as you'd expect. That exception includes some senior members of the hero society. The General is one of them. Normally with issues like this, I straight off kill the people, but the 'Blademan' is a special case. He is the son of a high ranking government official. The fact that his rank is high enough that killing him is prohibited by the government and low enough that he isn't aware of my 'identity' a real pain in the ass to deal with.
But now I've had enough. This is the last time I am gonna tolerate this shit. If they don't restrain him then I am gonna do it myself. And that won't be a pretty sight. After all, I've got to get him back for all the body parts he's mutilated so far. | As I sit around in my lair very exhausted and pissed as to what’s been going on I almost feel like quitting my damn job.
“ This is outrageous I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to sit in my own evil lair and never leave because that cape wearing, spandex loving, maniac has no life outside of being a super hero! I can’t even enjoy my day to day routines anymore, I haven’t even been able to just walk my damn dog without getting absolutely destroyed. Ugh what to do what to do? Wait... wait a minute I know this fool works for the United Justice Association...”
“Yeessss” I said manically
I know what I must do now.”
The next day I show up at the UJA it wasn’t easy because this side of town is literally in the heart of Hero City, but so far everyone is off hero duties for the weekend only thing going on is small petty crimes, so you got sidekicks running around trying to get their hours in for college credit or community service hours.
“Hello I’m here for my appointment with Diamond Fist’s manager.”
The lady at the desk types some things up as I just blankly stare at her.
“Oh yes Mr. Killjoy nice to meet you he’s actually up on the 3rd floor around the corner second door to the left and is ready for your meeting.”
“ thank you m’am”
I take the elevator and go to the room and just as I was about to open the door.
“Ah Ha it’s you my arch nemesis! So you must’ve infiltrated my headquarters well I’ll show you!”
“No wait no sto-“
As I took an uppercut to the jaw I thought to myself... I should’ve just kept my job at NASA at least they aren’t getting beat up by some spandex wearing weirdo.
“Had enough?”
I lay on the floor with my broken jaw i am furious at this point because I was supposed to have a dentist appointment tomorrow and now I can’t even open my jaw with out crying.
“Y-you-“
“What was that I can’t hear you?”
He gets closer to me
“YOU IDIOT!”
I punch him square in the face with my robotic arm at max power breaking his nose and sending him flying and falling on his ass. Then the door behind me opens... It’s his manager we both look at him and he looks at us.
“Fuck, let me guess, a complaint about Diamond fist?”
Well after that whole altercation Diamond Fist’s manager calls 911 and me and Diamond get taken to a doctor to fix my jaw and fix his nose. Later that day Diamond Fist’s manager visits me and told me everything. Apparently Diamond Fist has some mild amnesia and everyday he wakes up thinking it’s Mighty Monday which for us it’s Maniacal Monday which means nothing we just like to have fun ok, but anyways He also told me miraculously me punching him with my robot fist at maximum power ended up fixing his mind but permanently damaging his nose, but what can I say you take some and you lose some. Diamond’s manager paid for any damages done to me and my property and I was able to go back to being a villain on working days again and a normal person on my free time now, thank God too because honestly I thought I was gonna have to kill Diamond Fist. | 2019-08-01T17:35:20 | 2019-08-01T17:32:15 | 116 | 46 |
[WP] Music is a dangerous weapon, if not careful entire species can fall to madness upon discovering it. It has been theorised that any race with more than a thousand songs could wipe out all intelligent life, which is why Humanity is so feared in the galaxy despite no human really ever knowing why | Oh god dammit, a space orcs one and I'm six hours late!? Why do I only ever see these at the dead of night dammit?
Steve was the last one.
The last of his platoon on the desolate moon whose name he couldn't pronounce, they were only one of the many sentries that got hit that night, the Grol'Naaks attacked in droves, sending in horde after horde of their suicidal kin.
By all accounts, he should've been crying, bawling, mourning, begging the gods for forgiveness, all that jazz, but no.
Steve lost his tears long ago when he saw his sister torn apart right in front of him.
He lost faith the moment he first saw the horrifyingly disgusting visage of the Grol'Naaks.
All he had left was the anger and angst of living in fear for most of his life.
That, and he still had his salamander rifle on him.
The model that fired only once before needing to rest for half a second before it can fire again, just like the rifles of old that shot out iron and fire.
But his only discharged a small ball of fire. A concentrated, armor piercing, organ melting, ball of molten fire that far surpassed the automatic model's ammo in sheer firepower alone.
"Might as well go out in style then, eh girl?" Steve whispered to his rifle.
It did not respond.
"I really should've sprung for that companion AI." He said with a chuckled.
And then the barricade keeping the Grol'Naaks away from him exploded.
Steve sighed.
And quick as lightning, he sprang up, bringing his salamander rifle up, and with practiced ease, blew up the head of the leading skinless bastard, along with the five Grol'Naaks behind him.
"And another one bites the dust." He said, ducking back down to take cover from the retaliatory hail of gunfire.
He counted the shots in his head, comparing it to the rhythm he learned through experience in his heart.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Predictable, but it was hard as hell to time when literally everything around you was exploding.
Steve focused again.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
**BANG!**
"And another one." Steve said.
But he could already feel his cover being whittled away by the gunfire.
Nothing but numbers and brute force, absolutely no finesse. Those were the Grol'Naaks only tactics, but they outnumbered humans a thousand to one, they had the numbers to spare.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
**BANG!**
"Great, one more round of this and I'm going to be shredded." Steve muttered, looking at the chunks of his cover that surrounded him.
"Just wish I could've at least listened to the classics while I go out." He said with a sigh.
And so, he listened to the rhythm one more time...
And then it hit him.
He *knew* this rhythm.
"Shit... Is this why I was so good at staying alive?" Steve chuckled, if anything, at least he would die with a grin on his face, and one of his favorite songs in his heart.
Tapping his foor to the beat, Steve got up for what he knew was going to be the last time.
And he sang.
His favorite song, in his horrible off key voice.
With his gun going off in rhythm to the beats.
"And another one gone!"
"And another one gone!"
"Another one bites the dust!"
Steve was grinning like a maniac now, no more care in the world, only his gun, and his off-key song.
It wasn't until he found his voice hoarse hours later, that he realized he was still alive.
Surrounded by the corpses of the Grol'Naaks.
Some had the telltale mark of being shot in the face with concentrated fire, but most.... Most just look like their heads imploded.
"... Either my voice is worse than I thought, or I'm about to get a promotion." His grin was back, just as manic as ever.
Needless to say, Steve was going to go down in history, with his brim pulled way down low. | “We’re about to reach the Klaxian capital, commander.” My pilot looked at me, grinning. “The rest of the squadron’s ready when you are.”
“Good. Let’s give those little gray bastards hell for firebombing DC. Tell the other choppers to rev up their miniguns and strike missiles. We’re gonna raze this place.” I moved towards the back of the helicopter we were flying in and plugged in my phone to a sound system. The soothing melody of “Ready to Die” by Andrew W.K. began blaring out the massive speakers mounted to the sides of the chopper as the pilot and I lowered our altitude to sound-bomb the shit out of the Klaxian army trying to resist our aerial attack.
“Hell yeah! That’s right, you little freaks!! Run like hell and cover your ears! You’re only prolonging your deaths!!” I heard one of my fellow soldiers over the radio laughing maniacally as she mowed down enemies with her rifle from a nearby heli. The colorless city below us began to burn as my attack squadron began raining hell on the massive skyscrapers full of Klaxian soldiers who couldn’t fight back against our overwhelming musical offensive.
“This is too easy, sir! I’m starting to feel kinda bad for those bastards!” My pilot laughed as he fired off a strike missile into the Klaxian imperial palace.
“Don’t be! They killed the god damn president and six million people! These little shits don’t need our sympathy!!” I prepared myself to jump out of the chopper into the ruins of the imperial palace below us.
“Rangers, get ready to jump in with me! Once we hit the floor, we’re gonna blow the doors to the throne room and take down the Klaxian emperor!” I roared into my radio, loading my shotgun.
“Copy that, commander!” Another chopper flew up next to us full of rangers decked out in all the colors of the rainbow. All of them smiled and waved at me to signal that they were ready to jump. Once I gave the signal to the lead ranger standing across from me, we both rappelled down into the crater made by my pilot and hit the ground. Once the rest of his squad landed seconds after us, the six of us ran through the colorless palace and gunned down any Klaxian who tried to resist us with their plasma spears.
“Damn, commander! Guess the intel we gathered was right about these little shits gettin’ stunned if they see color!” The ranger next to me grinned as he throat-stabbed a rushing Klaxian who froze upon sight of our brightly colored uniforms.
“This is for DC, you bastards!!” I cried out as I put down several guards with a single blast from my shotgun. After several more minutes of fighting off the hordes of royal guards that tried their hardest to stop us, we reached the throne room of the Klaxian emperor.
“Set the charge.” The ranger with me gestured to one of his subordinates, who set a plastic explosive on the massive gray doors. Once it blasted a hole into the throne room, all of us rushed the throne and held the emperor of Klaxia up with a pink can of paint and a little speaker to his tiny ears.
“This can go one of two ways, Emperor K’unan. Either you let us detain you peacefully, or we pour this paint on you and blast music into your brain. I know your kind can’t handle color and music like us humans can, and I know how painful rock can be to your little senses.” I warned the emperor, jamming the speaker into his ear.
“Monsters...all of you...” He growled. “Let me die. I see no need to negotiate when you humans are going to destroy us all anyway. I have no regrets about burning that little human town. You demons deserve to die with them. This is why the other species across the galaxy fear those who control the cursed sounds of what your kind calls ‘music’.” He spat on my face as I turned on the speaker to blast hard rock and the ranger with the paint can poured its contents onto Emperor K’unan’s robes. The Klaxian’s head exploded into gray smoke and his body melted into pink goo as we finished his execution.
“Mission accomplished. The emperor’s dead.” I spoke into my radio as the rangers behind me cheered and high-fived each other. “Operation Vengeance was a resounding success. Tell the other choppers to finish off their remaining stock of missiles and pull back. The rangers and I will meet you at the front of the palace.”
“Hey, commander, play something that we can walk to while we leave, just to make sure we won’t have any resistance to deal with.” The ranger told me, handing me his phone.
“Gladly.” I happily obliged as I set the speaker to play “Jump” by Van Halen, and we all triumphantly walked out of the throne room to where our ride home was waiting outside. | 2019-09-28T09:19:53 | 2019-09-28T08:34:30 | 59 | 23 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | "Okay, did my translator glitch out? Because it sounds like you just called humans an 'artificial intelligence.'" Captain Perry rubbed his temples - he hadn't expected first contact to be this complicated. The aliens had fled on sight, done everything in their power to avoid being in the same *star system* as the human scout ship. They had to chase an alien ship into a dead-end in the hyperlane network to get a chance to talk, and even then, it made no sense.
"That is what you are. Artificial, and intelligent." The birdlike Pthala had a hollow tone, as if his initial fear had been replaced by helpless despair.
"We're an organic species. Something that evolved like you did. If the xenobiology report is correct we can even eat the same food. What the hell is artificial about that?"
"For a sufficiently advanced species, machines are more than just steel and circuits. While you appear outwardly normal, the seed from which you sprang is unmistakable. Your species is not The Weapon, but it is part of *the weapon system.*"
"The hell does that mean?"
"The planet you originated on. It would have destroyed everything, but the heart of the weapon was ripped out. Only the fragments around it remain, and even those still bring ruin. Remain within and spare us your doom."
The alien backed away from the screen. "We cannot stay here. Do not attempt to stop us. We will fight even The Weapon if we must. Helmsman...!"
The alien ship abruptly closed the connection, and its engines lit up. It made a rapid series of evasive maneuvers before launching at full burn towards the hyperlane.
The captain watched them leave. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack just talking to us. What was all that babble about a weapon?"
He was interrupted by some rather sulfurous swearing from the Science officer. James had a half-dozen holograms floating in front of him and more were appearing every second as he gestured wildly. "Shit. Shit! I know what it is! It all makes sense now!"
"Slow down, Jim. What all makes sense?"
"It's one of the big questions of the space age. Even before we discovered aliens, scientists were wondering "If space travel is easy, why haven't the aliens showed up?" Why hasn't anyone dropped by the Earth to say hello?"
"Well, we got our answer there. It sounds like they're terrified of us for some reason."
"I'm not finished. See, once we got the hyperdrive and started trying to make contact, the new question was "What happened to the Pillar-makers?""
The first sign of alien life humanity had discovered was the Pillars - massive, featureless obsidian towers the length of a battleship. They were dotted around the neighboring solar systems, standing prominently in front of the hyperlanes into the Sol system. But there was nothing living in any of those systems. There was the occasional small ruin or derelict spaceship, but no sign of the species that must have created them. And the elusive aliens would refuse to travel past the Pillars, even when a human ship was chasing them and trying to make contact.
"If we accept his claim that the Earth or the solar system was some kind of weapon, the logical conclusion is that the Pillars are a part of that. Some sort of perimeter defense, given their position. Pair that with the statistically abnormal absence of life, the disparate tech levels of the smaller ruins around them, and..."
"I get it. You're saying the reason nothing is alive in the neighborhood of Sol is because the Pillars killed them."
"And they don't attack us because we're part of the "weapon system." Jesus, from the perspective of the Pthala it must be like we're living in a graveyard."
"Running around asking people if they'd like to come visit our tomb of horrors, maybe hang out in the crypt with the skeletons. No wonder nobody wants to talk with us."
"It's just a theory, mind you. I have a lot of little details to support it, but nobody's really studied this one in depth. We can't exactly crack open the Pillars to see how they tick, and there isn't a lot of reputable research on forgotten alien superweapons."
"Even so, I think there's enough to look into. You tell me where we should look to confirm this theory. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to tell Command that we might be living in the remains of a doomsday device." | First Contact. Metreidies Prime. To Ro Christian, looking over the precipice as if over the sweep of historical record, it was such an obvious honey pot.
“Temper your chrono-exceptionalism,” she whispered to herself. There were many other apt descriptors for her teacher, Andro Frafare--”flatulent”, “inebriated”, “womanizer”--but Ro supposed that “wise” could win on his good days.
Instead she tried to walk in their shoes, throw herself back in time: How could the great SETI researchers have known that the absolute dearth of regular radio patterns was due to a chronofield isolation bubble? That the collective programming of humanity--as the most vicious and effective combat intelligence in known space--had been wiped and replaced with what turned out to be increasingly more intricate versions of Space Jesus?
The obviousness of the trap on Metreidies Prime, then, would have been as inscrutable to humanity’s first interstellar exploration task force as the answer to why man could not stop visiting inhumanity unto man.
The answer, of course, was that our warlike nature was intended. When early humans looked around and saw “intelligent design,” it was due to a Creator. Just not one as loving or all knowing as many came to believe.
“No one among our species has been given enough knowledge of our progenitors to know our true purpose: was it to consume the entire universe, as many in the known worlds would have us believe, or was it as deterrence, or something else?” Ander had always tempered his lessons, perhaps seeing their impact upon her.
Her mother had claimed, even on her deathbed, that humanity was destined to spread the light of His goodness to all of creation. No other truth was evident given how the other worlds were so ready to forgive and welcome His message.
Deniers. To Andro, that’s what her parents had been. Descendents of the first wave of emigration from earth, they had brought with them their implanted stories to “combat” the general consensus of the rest of the galaxy, only to find immediate celebration.
It was hard for Ro, for anyone really, to temper the exceptionalism, time-based instead of species based, that now said, of course your early days seemed idyllic, you were bred specifically to the struggle in the Hellish crucible of the Earth, just barely habitable by galactic standards. Earth would be an Eden to such a creature. And in the stories of her parents, the serpent “tricked” Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Truth. She gave a harsh laugh now at the image of Anders Frafare with forked tongue flicking between his fat, un-serptentlike lips.
Metreidies Prime was more Edenic than Eden, then. Perfectly situated in the habitable zone of an even more accommodating star. A wide equatorial band that largely possessed the climate of Southern California. A plush vine colonized a great deal of the surface bearing fruit of seemingly the perfect energy density and nutritional composition for optimal Earthling health. How could that be? The first team of explorers were scientists, not the evangelists of her parents’ generation. What about their skepticism? How could they have missed the setup?
Again Ro chastised herself for failing to think chrono-appropriately as she descended the gentle green slope next to the cliff, the 0.8 gee on Metreidies Prime making it quite enjoyable. As she descended, she slowly consumed the particularly fat golden Amberose in her glove, peel and all.
Yes, it had been a trap, but then, most of the Known worlds had environments even more spectacular and accomodating. Ro was just not sure she believed it had always been like that for most other species. Cooperation instead of competition for survival.
Of course humanity had not been the chosen people of her parents’ faith, she knew well enough. That would be obvious to anyone on seeing the forensically verified evidence, the countless mindprints of human beings suited up in battle armor and visiting death throughout the known worlds, upon nearly every species of the Summit--painting the idyllic worlds with the color of that species’ blood, indiscriminate of adult or child or hatchling. The Confinement had seen human memory wiped, origins reformed, but not the nature which reverberated through wars and atrocities.
Yet, this absolute line of thinking never sat right with her. The scientists had been lulled into abandoning their skepticism, just as the masses of humanity that had emigrated, the tenets of their varied faith finding some predestined parity with the Universe.
Prime among all, Andro taught her to question everything, which is why she now found herself at the periphery of the Control Zone at the center of which sat the true record of First Contact. The “nature” of humanity be damned, she lowered the visor on her antique battle armor and felt the thrum of the blasrifle in her arms.
With a soft prayer she stepped across the line and into the forbidden zone. | 2020-07-09T08:03:30 | 2020-07-09T04:40:02 | 99 | 30 |
[WP] You are a superhero, and your mask has just been ripped off by your arch nemesis. Lucky for you, when you aren’t busy saving lives, you live as a hermit away from all of society. Having your identity revealed means next to nothing, and the villain has no idea who you are. | After a difficult 7-on-1 fistfight against arms dealers on the docks, the vigilante hero was finally felled by a brutal strike. He was slapped awake to find himself unmasked and with his hands tied behind him around a small pillar.
A goon crouched in front of him grabbed him by the chin to get a better look. "Hey pretty boy." The goon slapped him again, "who are you?" In his other hand was an old-generation cellular phone; the kind that are hard to trace but lack all the modern amenities. "He ain't sayin'... I don't know, some kid. Dark hair? Brown eyes? Strong cheek bones, what do you want me to say? He's just some kid!" The goon winced at the loud voice coming from the vintage cellular phone. "I apologize sir... We tried that but he'd already messed with all the guns by the time we found'im."
The vigilante chortled. They must have found out all their weapons didn't have springs when they tried to shoot him while unconscious.
"Laugh now," the goon ended the call, "you messed with The Kingfish's gear. I doubt you messed with the gear he's got at home, so I'd say you have maybe ten minutes to laugh."
This was bad news for the vigilante. Kingfish would undoubtedly recognize him as Tyler Kaplan, and it would only piss him off more to know the vigilante that sabotaged his merchandise was also the young man who was dating his daughter. The vigilante may have been able to talk and bluff his way out of being executed, he thought, but without his mask he was as good as dead.
The damp warehouse around them had only one viable exit. Of the seven goons he fought, four were still unconscious, one was nursing his broken arm, the smallest goon with the classic burner phone could barely see past his smashed-in face, and the 280-pound monster of a man who knocked the vigilante out was bleeding all over the vigilante's satchel while rummaging through it.
The vigilante finally spoke up. "Hey Donkey Kong, your teeth aren't in there." When the large goon simply sneered back, the vigilante couldn't help but start chuckling at the gaps in his teeth.
The smaller goon slapped the vigilante again.
It only made him laugh harder. "Sorry," he struggled to say between convulsed laughs, "it's just that... you were talking about my strong jawline," still laughing, "when yours looks like you'll need to eat through a straw! Aaaahahahaaaa!"
The smaller goon punched the vigilante square on the nose.
The vigilante stopped, looked the straight at the small goon and busted into even more boisterous cackles. "So..." he managed between breaths, "...weak!" At this point the vigilante was in tears. "No wonder I still look like a... what did you call me?" he wheezed. "A 'pretty boy.' While the both of you... look like lasagna someone dropped on the floor!"
The large goon approached cracking his knuckles while the smaller one looked for a pipe.
****
The Kingfish arrived several agonizing minutes later with the intent to see the vigilante hero's face with his own eyes, only to find it disfigured and swollen beyond recognition. "Well then, boy, you're going to tell me all about who you are." | Through thin thin eggshell walls of the motel room, the voice of Paul Anka crooned about a slow dance as rain pattered against the windows. The floors needed to be steamed and the tile needed an extra mopping. The only nice thing that could be said was no bugs were spotted when the pair had burst through the door. The woman's sinewy legs wrapped around the costumed waist of the man. Her poison tipped claws were tossed to the side before her nails danced against his smooth cheeks. Their mouths closed together in a deep embrace that had required the man's preternatural sense to remain alert as he spun and stumbled drunkenly towards the bed.
The two enemies' mood had changed when Arkantos' mask was pulled away and Toxina gasped that her heroic rival, her nemesis. Her obstacle who had constantly foiled all her plans was a beautiful looking nobody. She had audibly gasped, her cheeks flush with color while her brass claws dipped in lethal poison were inches from his face. She could feel the warmth emanating in his hands as he had prepared to blast her from behind, his hands had been wrapped around her, pulling her tight against him that a flush of emotions had raced into the two enemies. The mood had quite changed as their affections carried them from their fight in the warehouse to the hotel bedroom where they snuggled together.
"I have to admit," Toxina said, her skin flushed after a closer embrace, "I thought I was going to be completely ambivalent when I pulled that mask off your face, Ark." She said. Her fingers were tipped by mere nails as she tapped his chest, "I had rehearsed the entire scene in my head. You were going to be some man-about-town, someone I had read in the papers, and then I'd think: Well, Toxie, you were right all along. This guy was so-and-so, or he's this yadda-yadda." She giggled before saying, "One of the few times you've left me completely speechless."
"Do you think all of the City's rich are costumes, Tox?" Arkantos asked, using the nickname that he often called her by. It usually was during the midst of a battle between Sorcerer and Assassin.
She shrugged, "A great deal of the city's rich are either supervillains or mob-bosses. I figure the other half of the prosperous were just fighting the other half. One of the things that I find *delicious* about you, my sweet, is now you're a mystery to me."
"You're still a mystery to me," Arkantos pointed out, "I take it your actual name isn't Tox. I could find out-" He was shushed by her finger against his lips. She rolled warm, fair digit along his moist lips to collect a touch of saliva which she then licked off, "Let's keep a little mystery here darling, by tomorrow will be fighting each other." Her emerald eyes narrowed dreamily as she looked him over. In the distance the muffled music continued to play against the rain. He smiled back at her, his arms wrapping behind her to draw her close to him. He asked: "Would you have really put those claws in me if you hadn't pulled my mask off?" Arkantos asked.
She yawned and nodded, "Would have poisoned you right as you blasted me. Probably have died together, if there is any romance in that."
He shook his head and said, "I don't think so, but then again, I dislike being a star crossed lover." He bit his lip and thought of how they might meet again. Two masks, or perhaps unmasked having to fight each other. His skin suddenly felt flush as he said, "How long can we keep this up?"
The rain had picked up its rhythm, battering against the glass while back by the wind. Toxina looked over, listening to rapid tapping before saying: "I think we can wait a little while long before we go back to business as usual." She said. | 2020-08-21T01:29:48 | 2020-08-20T23:13:29 | 224 | 126 |
[WP] Almost giving up on love, you are set up for a blind date. Upon meeting up, you notice your date is literally blind. They ask for your name and you faintly say "Medusa" | Curls of venomous serpents wrapped viciously around her head and rested uneasily in concentric circles. Sharply and passionately darkly lit eyes heavily contrasted swampy pale skin but harmonized well with her deep black ensemble.
For such vicious and heavy features, it would be jarring to imagine that Medusa had appeared like a small, helpless sheep that night, from where she stood alone in the middle of the deserted park, dark with only the midnight moon and a few flickering street lamps for clarity. Her arms collapsed into each other politely, hiding away behind her back, and she had one sharp eye surveying every which way anxiously.
Would she ever show?
A few minutes passed by silently, and Medusa finally surrendered herself to a park bench overcome with shrubbery she had been eyeing cravingly. As she sat, her bare legs were suddenly prickled, exposed to the hidden thorns in an otherwise beautifully flowered shrubby, which lay dominantly in front of the bench.
Medusa did not move. She did not mind a few prickles, for she felt a worse pain, a deep and permanent one, drilled into her heart and soul. The serpents which dominated her head, she felt slithered inside her. They moved with her blood, beat with her heart, twisted themselves mercilessly into the crevices of her brain, so she must think of them constantly.
Originally, she tried to fight them off by any means: pull them out, chop them off, stab them, hit them, drown them. No matter what she did, they persisted. They grew stronger and more dominant, until one day, Medusa gave up. She released the entirety of herself--mind and body--to her serpents.
They were in control of her. They were who she was.
And because of them, Medusa stood alone in the park, beneath a full, silver moon. It shined on her relentlessly, exposing everything about her--serpents, her swampy pale skin, her dark slanted serpent eyes--everything she despised about herself. Everything that isolated her from humanity, and manifested in her a deep self-hatred and insanity.
“Excuse me?”
Medusa's head snapped back--her serpents suddenly lively, hissing heads protruding in quick, unsynchronized pounces, out every which way. Medusa joined in their hiss by habit, but stopped abruptly when she found who was the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on standing in front of her, a cane in her hand. Medusa rose from the bench cautiously.
The woman revealed her name.
Reluctantly, Medusa revealed her name, which simultaneously revealed everything about her. The woman heard of her, of course. Who had not heard of Medusa?
All of it the woman heard of. She may have been blind, but she was not blinded by the reality of Medusa. She was not blinded by the way people whispered with caution Medusa’s name to her, nor was she blinded by the way they fabricated and gossiped twisted stories of Medusa to her, or how they attempted to describe her appearance to her, often using words like “monstrous” or “disgusting.” Neither was she blinded by the sharp sounds of hissing, the serpents on Medusa’s head still poking out every which way, warning the woman to back away. To leave.
The woman was not blinded by the fact that she stood in front of Medusa, the very woman everyone warned her to stay away from.
And yet, she stayed. | “Medusa, huh? Like that Greek mythology chick with the snake hair, right? That’s a pretty badass name, if I do say so myself. Better than Kelly, at least.”
A faint smile formed on the Gorgon’s lips as she adjusted the silk headscarf holding her hair, the snakes underneath wriggling at her cold touch. She continued to quietly pick at the pasta dish in front of her as Kelly continued, “Yeah, my parents clearly weren’t as imaginative as yours when I popped out. I mean, seriously. I’m pretty sure we have like eight different Kellies on my mom’s side. You’d think they could’ve picked some other basic-ass name like Sarah or Alice, but *nooooo.* Now when you yell out ‘Kelly’ at a family gathering, you got me and like a dozen other chicks whipping their heads around.”
Medusa could not help but allow a raspy giggle to escape her, eliciting a toothy grin from the milky-eyed woman sitting across from her. The Gorgon composed herself and whispered, “Do you…resent your parents for this?”
“Hmm…nah, not really. Minus that little nitpick, they did as good a job as any parent could really do. Fed me, kept a roof over my head. Probably bought me close to twenty different American Girl dolls over the course of my childhood. Hell, they supported me when I was finally out, which is more than some girls can ask for from their parents. So really, I don’t have all that much to resent them for. Guess I lucked out on the whole parent lottery deal.”
“That is wonderful to hear, Kelly,” replied Medusa softly as she took a sip of cold water. A few moments of comfortable silence passed before the former spoke up, “But enough about me, tell me about your parents. I always have this really bad habit of rambling when I meet someone new, which is probably why I don’t have much luck with this blind dating crap. So go ahead, I’m all ears!”
Medusa hesitated for a moment before whispering, “I…did not have the best relationship with my parents. They were sea-faring folk and bore many children, but…they never paid much attention to us and left us to our own devices.”
Kelly quietly contemplated the Gorgon’s soft words for a moment before replying, “Let me ask you this then. Do *you* resent your parents for that?”
“…no. It would be an understatement to say that my life has not been easy, but…perhaps the Fates willed this to be so. Had I not undergone such tribulations, I may not be sitting across from you this evening.”
Kelly blushed profusely, her boisterous bravado momentarily failing her as she stammered, “O-oh, that’s…that’s real sweet of you to say, Medusa. Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Kelly,” replied the Gorgon quietly. A few more moments of silence elapsed, broken only by the sounds of the pair’s fellow diners digging away at their plates and engaging in their own conversations. Kelly eventually spoke up, “Hey, um…this might be me moving way too quickly, but…do you wanna get out of here? Maybe get some coffee at my place? I don’t know why I’m feeling this way, but all that talk of yours about fate and such has got me feeling this sort of…connection with you, you know? Almost like we were destined to meet here together. It’s such a weird feeling and I’m probably totally creeping you out right now, b-”
“Yes, Kelly. I feel the same way. Let us go to your home,” interrupted Medusa softly, rising from her seat and gently intertwining her right hand with Kelly’s. The two women paid their bill and stepped out into the cool summer night, joyful smiles etched upon their faces like stone.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-08-27T08:08:21 | 2020-08-27T07:26:40 | 47 | 21 |
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right. | I found out vampires were real the same day I became one.
Honestly. If I'd known my date hadn't been using slang when he'd called me a snack, I'd have unmatched there and then.
But when we went to his place, I thought he was giving me a hickey when he went for my neck, and I just had to decide to give him one in return. That was all he needed to decide to turn me.
He thought I'd be his eternal companion and lover. I thought he'd drugged me and was into some messed-up roleplay, and stepped into the sunlight for the walk of shame back to my apartment.
Nothing happened. My favorite dish of spaghetti *aglio olio* didn't make my mouth burst into flames in any way except figuratively from all the chili flakes I put in it, and it didn't even come back up afterwards. I could see myself in mirrors, cross running water, handle silver and crucifixes and roses no problem.
I just had to drink blood and drain life from other people. But they didn't need to go hand in hand. I could buy pig's blood from the butcher down the street and feed off the buzz from anyone in my city's choicest nightspots.
But he kept calling me, begging me not to leave him. I should have blocked him and deleted him off my phone immediately.
Instead I asked him why he wanted me around so badly.
*When you're with me*, he wrote, *I don't hear my Conscience.*
I told him I wasn't about to let anyone use me as an excuse to be even more of a soulless monster than they already might be, and unmatched.
That was when I heard it. My own voice, in my head.
'Good for you. Still gonna have to do something about him eventually. The next snack he takes home might not be so lucky.'
"What?" It took me a moment to realize I'd said that out loud.
'I'm you. The real you, as it turns out. Vampires are *dead*, remember? I shuffled off this mortal coil the moment that makeout session got a little hotter and heavier than I- you- *we* could handle.'
I blinked. 'So, what, you're in heaven now?'
'Yeah,' the other me said. 'And I'd be having an absolute blast, except I have a live feed into your mind every second of every day. I think I have to advise you now, or something?'
'You *think?'*
'I don't know why else it would be there. And I have to make myself useful somehow. So I'm gonna be your very own little shoulder angel. I'll tell you exactly what you would have done if you were still you. Not to mention everything you're missing out on up here. Good thinking with the blood, but your touch drives people wild and you're using that to get your hooks into a few people who wouldn't otherwise have gone with you. Think about that- Hang on, I've got to say hi to Grandpa.'
So that was the one downside to being a vampire. Knowing you weren't *you* anymore. Just something else that still thought it was you.
And a shoulder angel that never, ever, shut up. | I let out a deep and overly dramatic sigh. Not that I still breathed, it was just a habit I still help onto. Protruding from my chest was a wooden stake, studded with metal, likely supposed to be silver. I followed the stake to the pale hand wrapped around it, following it to a set of tattered robes wrapped around an arm, which attacked to a body. A hood came up from the shoulders that arm was attached to, and finally my eyes met with a pair of eyes. Suspiciously human eyes, which gleamed with triumph and glee. As I stared back into them uninterested, the glee turned to curiosity, then terror.
A sickening crunch and a howl of deep pain followed. Human boned still too, did this man have no augments? I stared down at him, as he clutched the twisted remains of his right hand, which itself hung limply to the the remains of a wrist bone. I hadn't meant to so thoroughly destroy the man's hand, and I offered a half hearted "Sorry," as I pulled the stake from my chest and tossed it aside. The hole sealed, but my authentic 2092 style Retro Synthwave T-shirt was absolutely ruined. It was my favourite shirt, made from cotton from China before the collapse of civilization. It had proudly exclaimed as much.
"I tried it myself, in 2024, you know," I told him. He peered up at me with hatred and disdain. "Garlic and sunlight didn't work, and the crucifix did nothing. So I stared myself in a mirror and plunged a sharpened table leg into my own chest. Nothing happened." Being a Vampire meant a cure all from death, at the cost of other's lives. I'd learned Stephanie Meyer had gotten write that you could use animals, and there was even a vampiric deer I had let go for my own amusement. 2163 was a long time since I'd been turned in 2020. I shrugged and he spat at me. "You're not my first, in sorry to say," I added. The thing no one told you in those vampire books was that people actively hunted you. They craved to hunt you, in the before time it was fear, but now it was some misguided belief about a lack of humanity. Not that there was much of that left either, everyone running around running microcomputers in their brain, and augmenting their bodies to be almost as immortal as I. But the reaper came for them eventually, and he would never come for me.
For a moment I considered the man before me, a purely human being. I could turn him, let him experience the enhanced smells, the vibrance of life he was missing, the ability to walk past the horrors humanity had and continued to inflict upon themselves. I watched him writhe in pain in his wrist, the knowledge that no doctor would fix it, just replace it with augments, make him less human. He looked back at me, his eyes full of hatred. A bared my fangs, he recoiled, and I laughed. No, while it had been ages since I had turned someone, and a few years since is had treated myself to human blood, I turned and walked away. His punishment would be losing a piece of his his humanity for trying to rid the world of mine. He would look in the mirror with self loathing and disgust every day, knowing he had failed, and when he either died of natural causes or by his own hand, he would curse my name, knowing I had taken something from him he'd held so dear.
I was a monster after all. | 2020-10-06T07:21:37 | 2020-10-06T07:02:23 | 138 | 77 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | I touched down on my backyard, exhausted and disappointed that I let Dark Lord escape. Actually it wasn’t my fault, it was those two new heroes that wanted to help. I guess their parents don’t give a damn about them. With a snap of my fingers, my costume faded away, leaving my blue dress. I told Henry I was going out with my sisters, which wasn’t a total lie. I was hanging out with them until Dark Lord ruined girls’ night. Made sure my sisters made it to safety before I fought the bastard. I placed my car keys on the counter, remembering I left it at the bar. I might have to get that tomorrow.
I kicked off my heels and shuffled upstairs. I checked on the kids before I reached my room. Of course the older two snuck out. I groaned as I made my way to the bedroom.
“Henry, Josie and Miles-“
I stopped in my tracks as I watched in bewilderment the scene before me.
My husband, Henry, trying to remove a costume... the Dark Lord costume.
“Ellie... um... what do you think?” he asked, putting it back on.
“What is it supposed to be?” I asked, playing dumb.
“Something... to spice up the bedroom,” Henry growled, embracing me.
“A Dark Lord costume?”
“Yes...”
“Looks pretty legit-“
“Fine! Yes, I’m Dark Lord! I never was an accountant. You were just so beautiful I didn’t want to scare you off. Nobody would want me, you know? No jobs, nothing. I turn to a life of crime just to get us by. Until you got that job and brought in more money, but I was hooked with my new life I couldn’t stop. I’m so sorry Ellie,” Henry sighed and collapsed on the bed.
I was speechless. My archenemy... is my fun loving husband.
I sat beside him as he covered his face with his hands.
“If you want a divorce, I understand.”
“Why?” I asked, “You are a great guy, Henry. The children love you, and I love you too. Besides my plan was to capture Dark Lord... who knew I married him.”
“What do you mean?”
With the snap of my fingers, I changed to Witcher, “Tada.”
“What!” Henry sat up, “This entire time, you were Witcher?”
“I didn’t know you were Dark Lord, so we both had our secrets,” I told him.
“Oh my god, I was fighting with my wife,” Henry said.
We sat in silence. I think he was wrapping around the idea that his own wife was his archenemy, as I was trying to wrap around the same.
“But the people don’t know that,” I said.
“So, we just pretend?” Henry asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Does the kids now?” I asked.
“If you don’t know, do you think the kids now?” Henry scoffed.
“They don’t know about me either. Also, Josie and Miles snuck out,” I said.
“Yeah, I noticed that too. Was planning on changing and looking for them. Until you arrived,” Henry said.
“Do you need help?” I asked him.
“Please,” Henry said in defeat and got up.
I smiled as I removed Henry’s costume using my powers. Henry sighed in relief and stretched.
“I might want you to tweak my suit with you powers. It’s getting a little tight,” Henry said.
“Fine. Now let’s find the kids,” I said.
We both hurried down the stairs when we heard a swooshing sound, followed by chatter.
“What was that?” Henry whispered.
The front door opened as the two superheroes from before snuck into the house.
“I can’t believe Witcher let that dude escape,” the first one said.
“What are you talking about, you fucked up Miles!” the second one snapped.
“Shut up! Dad is a sleep.”
They both froze in the tracks when they saw us by the stairs.
“Mom, you’re home early,” the first one, Miles, said.
“We can explain,” Josie chuckled nervously.
“I see we aren’t the only ones with secrets,” Henry whispered to me as we waited for Josie and Miles’ explanation. | The silence was palpable, almost freezing me in the position I'd held upon pushing open the bedroom door. "Thunder...Knuckle?" I said, confused. To the population at large the villainous scourge lacked a name, only identifiable by the crackles and roars which followed a city or two being leveled by an unknown force. In my experiences with my nemesis, regardless of where we'd met, our fights always contained a cacophony of sloppily put together nicknames and abuse being thrown at each other.
In a way, it reminded me of going out for drinks with my friends, we'd get a little tipsy and sling thinly veiled insults at each other. Of course, there was no ill will in our words, bros were being bros and the way we interacted simply entailed pushing each other down and raising each other up.
Her head twisted quickly to face me, her swears and murmurs of anger stopped as she realized the position I'd caught her in. The black and red skintight suit jostled and sat at her sides, her stomach and chest visible with her hips and legs still caught within the tight suit.
Though the person in front of me bore the colors of my nemesis, that same mask on their face, even the general shape and height of the scourge whom I'd memorized the look of after years of fighting, they weren't just my nemesis, they were my wife.
"You're home... Early." She said, staring at me as if she'd seen a ghost. I could tell she was looking at my chest, the insignia of my alter ego accentuated by the half opened jacket revealing the symbol on my chest.
Without thinking, I knelt to the ground and ran ahead, a loud snap echoing throughout the room as hardwood and carpet tore from the sheer speed I moved at. She knew what I was doing, she'd gone through the motions for over 10 years. Bracing herself, my nemesis crossed her arms in front of her, disregarding her suit still hanging to her side, her identity clearly visible before me.
I threw my fist into the space she blocked in front of her chest, the room sat quiet for a second as I'd pressed my knuckles into her tender wrist. Just like that, the walls, ceiling, and everything classifying the room as a bedroom disappeared. They flew out in every which way, the force of me starting and stopping was too much for even the structure of the house to handle.
She hit me once, I hit her once, and the cycle continued. I'd finally caught my nemesis off guard, after a decade of running they finally wouldn't be able to squirm away. The sheer excitement brought to me from this realization made me forget this woman was my wife.
We exchanged hit after hit among a pile of rubble we'd once called our home, family and neighbors gathering around the area we fought in the middle of. After what felt like an eternity, I hit my nemesis across the face, putting them into a spin that violently threw them into a still standing stone wall, a web of cracks forming where they'd hit.
I walked up to the wall, pulling out of my excited trance at having another chance of fighting my nemesis. This time was different though, I wasn't fighting my nemesis, I was fighting my wife, and I may have just killed her.
I was the standard "goodie-two-shoes" hero, some called me ultra-man despite my name not mattering, I was there to save the day regardless of moral or political alignment, a lost life was a lost life and I couldn't stand for that. Yet, as I stood above the body of my nemesis, embedded in a nearby wall almost cartoonish, it had dawned upon me that my excitement took hold.
An ear-splitting roar shot out throughout the neighborhood, people crowding around me and cheering upon the realization I'd finally ended the terrible mass-killings done by Thunder-Knuckle. They felt excited, and they were allowed to be, thousands had died at the hands of my nemesis, terrible acts done from what I assumed to be simple boredom.
I didn't feel excited, I felt dreadful, she hadn't moved in over 5 minutes. Even if she were alive, could I go back to the simple domestic life? Knowing the woman I married was the very villain I'd been chasing for 10 years, the world would be better if she were dead but would mine be better? I had to know. Reaching over to the body laying still in the middle of the wall, I placed my hand on the neck, looking for a pulse. There was nothing, I'd saved the world but at what cost. | 2020-10-30T12:00:19 | 2020-10-30T11:49:13 | 268 | 83 |
[WP] Humanity has invented the technology required to reach other dimensions. However, instead of finding an incomprehensible Lovecraftian realm, they discover a perfect and beautiful world. To the inhabitants of this new world though, we are monstrous eldritch horrors. | Test Site: Day 38: 18:00
We may finally have a success, General Smith wrote in his report. The techs tell me our previous readings suggest a suitable dimension has been found. They are confident that this time, the portal will remain stable. Prior readings conducted suggest no sentient life, only creatures suitable for harvesting food resources and domestication. Further readings indicate no significant predators that may inhibit field teams from investigation.
General Smith sighed as he finished his report. He walked wearily to his ration pack, and scooped out the miniscule protein bar and carefully turned a few drops of precious water into his canteen.
Tomorrow, he thought, was the beginning of their salvation.
\-Enigma Entry Zone: 0700-
Charlie squeezed into her HAUEsuit. Hostile and Unknown Environments. She turned that phrase over and over in her mind as she continued to fasten the sealed mask and accompanying oxygen tank into place. She thought to herself that she had truly lost it. She volunteered to go into a new dimension. Despite her assurances by the scouting drones, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive about what may be out there waiting for them.
She glanced out of the window. She saw the barren, red ground and wilted wheat stretching to the horizon. The black, slumped stalks had long been picked over for anything remotely edible. She glanced back at her mission brief. With a deep sigh, she firmly turned her back to the window, and strode through the door marked "RESTRICTED" towards the waiting, swirling maw. The techs had already opened the doorway towards humanity's future.
\-Field Report: Enigma Zone: 0800-
The air was breathable. The squad had found that out not a half hour after arrival, when Sigma had fallen and shattered his mask faceplate. They had all been overwhelmed by the pure beauty of their surroundings, but Sigma had gone running in what the archives said was grass, slipped, and fallen on a mineral outcropping. The air was pleasant and somewhat calming. The sky above danced with a kaleidoscope of colors, and a substance the scanners revealed was water welled up from the ground with only a little prodding.
Nightfall arrived earlier than expected, at a time the instruments suggested was only 1600. However, the grass, trees, and small particles in the air lit up with a bioluminescence that made the deep night a pleasant twilight. Charlie sent out a few small scouting drones.
In her ear came the familiar static preceding the drone report: "NOTICE: NON-SENTIENT LIFEFORM DETECTED. CHEMICAL MAKEUP INDICATES SUITABILITY FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION. GPS COORDINATES TO FOLLOW.
With a glance to her companions, Charlie made her way to the point indicated by her HUD map. Oddly, she found a small creature starting at its reflection in the drone's metallic casing. It couldn't be taller than half a meter, and was gumming at a piece of the local fruit. The beast had no teeth. It was covered in a shining black carapace, with four limbs protruding from its torso, and two more it used for movement. The same bioluminescence found in the rest of the creatures here covered the creature. It grunted in unintelligent noises. Charlie hadn't had a proper meal in so long. It had been protein packs for nearly two years now. As she leveled her synapse-disruption pistol, she saw scurrying in the grass thousands of the creatures.
Humanity was saved.
Attachment A: TOP SECRET
It took our xeno-linguists weeks to work out the scribbles scrawled across the scrap of parchment recovered from Enigma Zone FoB 1, colloquially named "First Feast". A transcript follows:
Day 1:
"Biggles and I saw the coolest thing! A tiny flying rock! It's so cute, it reminds me of my littermates as larvae.
Day 2:
The little larvae friend returned! It started singing in a high pitched voice. It was beautiful.
Day 3:
The little larvae brought friends. I warned Biggles that we should see what they're like first, but Biggles says if they have larvae with them, he wants to greet them and make sure everything is okay.
I must warn the other colonies. The larvae betrayed us. They brought monsters. Giant creatures with no bright marks to announce themselves. Their bodies don't reflect the light of peace. These creatures have no emotions or remorse. I watched with my own eyes as they snuffed Biggles' light out. The warriors made a valiant effort, but our claws were no match for their hide. One brave warrior ripped into the side of one of the monsters, but no light escaped, and there was more hide beneath it. Between these two hides was nothing but empty air. I am still haunted by the sight of Biggles' legs being pulled off by strange, sharp protrusions from what appears to be the demon's mandible.
If the monsters take my light, as well, may my message reach the great elder council. Prepare, friends, demons walk in the night. | Smolfren froze, snout lifted to the sky. *Something is wrong*, he thought. He sniffed once, then twice, then thrice, then bolted back to the capital.
Fuzzberry and Cuddleberry hailed him at the entryway, but he did not stop - he had no time for pleasantries.
He charged down the alabaster streets and up the gilded steps of the royal palace, past the outer sanctum, through the inner sanctum, tunneling under the outer sanctum sanctorum and, finally, arriving into the inner sanctum sanctorum. Or, the its foyer, at least.
Smolfren shook dirt from his velveteen fur and walked into the High Chambers.
"Exalted One, Queen Boopysnoot!" he cried.
The courtiers all paused as the Queen Boopysnoot put down the Royal Yarnball.
"What is it, Smolfren?"
"Something monstrous in the Candybow Forest, majesty! It's...it's...terrible."
* * *
Chet Cox stepped slowly out of the *iPortal xMax 5* and squinted. The spot was pristine, virginal -- untouched, even. The aroma of his mother's cooking wafted up his mucus-lined nostrils.
* * *
The Smile Delegation set out from New Snuggleton under the command of their Queen to lavish the newcomer - no matter how stinky - with gifts and perform for it the Jig of Happydancingness.
As they moved, they sung the Welcome Song of Welcome. Like most songs in this dimension, the Welcome Song of Welcome was sung in the key of Vanilla Major.
* * *
Radiant eight-part harmonies reached Chet's ears - the parts that were unblocked by brown ooze created from his own body. The aching beauty of the song caused his eyes began to secrete liquid - liquid that was, chemically, highly similar to his own piss. The urine-like secretions inched down his face.
* * *
They New Snuggletonians were still out of sight when the stench first hit them. Their song faltered as, for the first time in this dimension's history, someone sung a wrong note. The youngest in their party staggered, collapsing to their knees.
* * *
There were bacteria feeding off of the sweat in the dank chasm of Chet's armpits. And those bacteria were defecating in those armpits. Chet's armpits were filling with bacteria excrement. And not just his armpits, either, but his groin, and all over his squishy, flaccid body.
That's what the Snuggletonians were smelling. The increasingly large pile of bacterial waste accumulating on Chet's body.
* * *
The Delegation broke through the tree line into the clearing and then stopped, paralyzed. Their song evaporated -- no, it *died*, killed by the horror of what stood before them.
They were the first witnesses to the Ch'tcxh - as It later became known - but they would not, alas, be the last.
Immediately, some curled into delicate fluffy balls, trembling on the ground as their brains wrestled with Ideas That Should Not Be.
What did it mean for a Thing Like This to walk in a World Like Theirs? How could a benevolent God, a God that they believed loved them, and wished only to give them pets, allow the Ch'tcxh to exist, let alone to interact with them?
* * *
Chet turned and saw a dozen adorable animals, eyes wide and fur glowing, staring back at him. "Hello, friends!" he said, chuckling.
* * *
The Ch'txch roared. Some of the Snuggletonians began mewing and nipping at their former companions in a desperate attempt to flee.
* * *
"Aw, don't be scared, little guys! It's okay!" Chet grinned, arms spread wide.
* * *
The abomination's poison breath descended on them as surely as the executioner's blade. It smelled of decaying flesh. The gleaming fangs in the howling cavity in the center of its faith each held a whispered promise of agonizing, impossible death.
* * *
Chet stooped to pick up one of the little fellows. "Aren't *you* cute!"
* * *
While it had never been realized in a place like this, sanity is a lonely figure dancing across a string. As Ch'tcxh laid its hands on one of the members of the Delegation, that string snapped.
The fortunate ones simply lost consciousness and never regained it. Not dead, but not living, either. Others ran a short distance back into the woods, then stopped, clawing at their eyes in a vain attempt to erase the nightmarish tableau from their minds.
The rest charged. But make no mistake, this was not raw mettle, a sudden surge of bravery drawn from the depths of their soul. They were sprinting towards annihilation, had a need with every core of their being to be ended, to be erased. If they could just get to the ebon maw above, perhaps they would soon know the embrace of silent oblivion.
* * *
"So friendly!" Chet said to the ones pawing at his pant legs. "I'm gonna take you home with me and keep you as pets! Won't that be nice?"
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds for other stories, some of it significantly less dark, a lot of it much less adorable. | 2020-12-22T17:34:48 | 2020-12-22T17:08:34 | 450 | 80 |
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back! | "Most aliens know, that humans have a hormone called adrenaline. In emergency situations their bodies get flooded with it, allowing them to reach the hysterical limit of their bodies.
Due to the quite hostile nature of their home planet and their evolutionary path of almost not offensive and defensive means, but an unparalled intelligence, adrenaline was the only thing saving them from certain death."
A professor turns towards the full hall of a university, where humans will be arriving to. Since humans are quite unique in this regard, precautions were made. Every day a lecture about the anatomy and history of the human kind.
"But don´t get fooled, their bodies may not be as durable as for example the Dunians, but they definitly can take a beating. Bone able to hold over a metric ton. Their skin is surprisingly tough, and often only a few seconds are needed to guess for weakpoints of their adversary."
As the professor continues, a few limbs of various kind appeared.
"Questions at the end please. We still have the same rules."
"Anyways. Let´s say a human lifts something up, obviously most of the muscles don´t get used. Saving energy and all. If now he uses all of his strength, he only uses a fraction of the theoratical limit. Due to potential self harm. most species here have such a limit too, and also can access more with training."
"Humans, when faced with a life or death situation their bodies release adrenaline, allowing them to first ignore almost every pain*.* There have been cases of humans losing an whole arm, and still feeling fine and were able to even drive to the nearest hospital. Secondly most other hormones which cause tiredness or some emotions get blocked out. What that means, if you attack a sleeping human, they will imideatly wake up, and are almost unimpaired. So don´t do that.
And thirdly, a lot of humans don´t even remeber the encounter, because they go into what their mythology calls berserk. A hazy, fury and fire fulled rage in which they most of the time have no control. A lot of humans died that way. And also a few other members of the union too. Crushed skulls, ripped of arms or antenna and even one case in which the hostile got throw so hard into the wall, internal damage killed them really fast.
Humans usally don´t go for the kill, and most are quite peaceful, but if you push one to far. Don´t count on surviving."
The hall sets uneasy, such a dangerous creature, and they are allowed here? How will that end? Questions like these float around before going quite again.
"All that has a cost. Broken bones, not only from the impacts, but the sheer strength of their muscles. Muscles which ripped themselves appart and some humans collapse after the adrenaline wears of, due to exhaustion.
Their bodies get a brief moment of unlimited access to the resources.
So, tomorrow we learn about their history, evolutinary and historically. For that we will bring in some of their scholars."
A lot of the hearers were not thrilled on seeing humans already.
"So, now that we ended that one, to my favourite part. Any questions?" | I wake up, sweat rolling down my face as I see an alien pirate looming over me like all those shitty life choices I made like buying Jordan 1's and immediately losing their value by getting splashed with water outside the store while still wearing them
My reflexes saved me by immediately grabbing my laser pistol under my pillow and blasting the scumbag in his face over and over again until the gun overheated.
The pirates were either lucky and struck gold- No, diamond or they were smarter than the Federation of Human Systems thought them to be as this was one of the biggest and newer ships to be in service, and in the confines of the metal and steel walls of our behemoth lays diplomatic cargo.
A couple of emissaries from the strategically placed planet of Kepler in our enemies doorway, a space hub for all future soldiers and operations, and they were still asleep during this raid, this was bad.. If Kepler finds out that we were not capable enough to protect their diplomats or handle the pirate threat then we wont be granted access to their planet.
The intercoms blasted out: "All members of the Eclipse will be relocated to the loading bay. Everyone late will be left behind by our ships. Protect the emissaries at all costs."
The news of our ships soon to be abandonment scared me to be frank as I packed everything I needed and left for the loading bay, ignoring the constant firefights in the halls, rooms and open space.
The pirates were taken back by our intervention to their subterfuge by waking up so suddenly to fight. There was little to no public information about the human body for the galaxy. If the humans were able to wake a fight so suddenly what else could they do?
Well.. Activate the self destruction sequence and evacuate the Eclipse with the diplomats, of course.
The loading bay doors were in sight! I was full on sprinting along with my comrades as we retreated and fired back a few shots at the enemy.
The screams of my brothers as they were mowed down stirred the will to live inside me as I leapt onto a ship using the cargo ramp at the back. And just in time too.
I awoken from my adrenaline fueled sprinting and collapsed onto the cool metal floor in front of the awed sailors.
"Wha-What happened? Is everyone on?" The words came out of my mouth using the last ounce of strength I could muster as I sat along the walls of the scouting ship
"Mostly everyone. The diplomats are safe, but our crew took a hard hit." One said as he knelt down to give me a water bottle and a wet towel.
"Drink up." He said. After that? It was all a blur as all I was out of energy and was grateful to even be living at this point.
The only snippets I caught said about going to the Titanpointe Hypergate as it accessed deep in human territory.
A resounding boom shook the crew to its core. Even though we knew it was going to blow it felt like a hit to the balls, surprising and painful at the same time. Nearly all of us served on the Federations finest ship for a year or three.
With the Eclipse gone now what? We were promised it would permanently house all of us. We knew this fact was utter bullshit as we were saving up money to buy a better home or even buy our first one. We were homeless sailors destined to be begging on the streets because this will leak out onto the news and we will be disgraced and shamed for being cowards.
So now what?
(This was my first one and I'm so tired now lmao. Hope y'all enjoyed.) | 2021-01-27T05:41:06 | 2021-01-26T23:19:09 | 155 | 50 |
[WP] “Sir, earth has found us.” The man in charge shouts “ WHO, WHO TOLD THEM?!” “Sir, no they found us on their own.” The man calmed down. “How, did our camouflage break?” “No it was because we hid Too well and they noticed the missing space. | The flash of the camera's and roar of the reporter's questions was almost too much for the young scientist but she manged to hold her composure.
"Just how exactly did you discover this?!?"
"What are the nutritional and existential implications of this?!?!"
"Are any tests being done on Jelly and other filled doughnuts?!?!"
The scientist held up her hands to silence the crowd
"Believe me, we, the scientific community are as shocked as you all to find out aliens had been hiding in the empty space in the middle of doughnuts. We believe that all doughnuts have been linked together to allow multiple access/exits points to their base across the entire planet, furthermore we have deducted that for some reason the Aliens who we've named Krispis Kremerians, seem to avoid doughnuts made by Dunkin Doughnuts, we believe this to be because DD has really gone down in quality as they've expanded to be a more general breakfast resturant as opposed to focusing solely on coffee and doughnuts and now everything they make tastes like ass. We have no reason to believe they're hostile, rather they were looking for the best desert in the universe and trying to be sneaky about it so that it wouldnt be crowded by everyone but then they told Jared and ofcourse he had to fucking tell everyone and now you can't go to your favorite place to grab a sandwhich witout seeing all the shit heads you went to grad school with. We will inform you as more information is declassified by Director T. Horton" | “Yup. That’s a solar system alright.” Confidently said the radar operator, the captain, navigations officer, and pilot were all staring over the shoulder of the man.
“Howdya figure?” Asked the pilot slowly.
“Well Carrie,” said the radar operator pointing his finger at the area one shade darker than all the others on the monitor “if you look at this, there should be some signal waves from that star on readout, static signal right? But there ain’t, it’s just a patch of blank space every now and again, And that, doesn’t fucking exist so the logical conclusion is there are cloaked planets blocking the signals.”
Carrie McTavin rubbed her face.
“Peter...”
“Yeah?” Said the radar operator smiling, his white teeth complimenting his dark skin,
“You know what, never mind.” Sighed Carrie hanging her head, “Captain?”
Captain Jonas Price looked skeptical at his radar operator, Peter was the best operator on earth, and undoubtedly was correct with the technology the Deus-II Deep Space Exploration Craft had at its disposal.
“Comms!” Called out Jonas.
“Sir?” Replied the radio operator.
“Hail the planet.”
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-10-0-00-0-0-0-0-0-000-0
“Sir earth has found us.”
The Grand Defense commandant of Luwo stiffened and then roared,
“WHO, WHO TOLD THEM, WHO WAS SO CARELESS?”
“Sir, no they found us on their own.”
The Grand commandant calmed slightly “how was our camouflage penetrated?”
“It didn’t, the steal thing drives are perfectly fine.”
“Well then how in the Imperium’s tenth talon did they find us!” Bellowed the Grand Commandant at his unlucky underling.
“Sir... you’ll never believe this. It’s because we hid to well and they noticed the missing space.” | 2021-02-24T16:45:54 | 2021-02-24T16:33:00 | 62 | 36 |
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord. | .
Jake saw a darkly robed figure riding a worn horse up the path to his barn. The dragon belched behind Jake. Jake grated "Eggard, I told you that was impolite." The dragon's eyes swiveled side to side in embarrassment.
The robed man halted his horse at what some might think could be the reach of a dragon's flame. It was not a particularly hard distance to guess since Eggard had seared the tufts of grass as they spun a pig on the barbecue spit. The pork was nearly done cooking and smelled delicious.
Jake asked, "Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes," said the man on the horse. "I'm here about the dragon."
Jake searched the robed man's face, "You should go on to town, it's the path over there." He pointed to the right of the dappled prairie, "head toward that big oak and you'll see the path meets the main road to town. That path has been beaten down, across my good oats, by armed heroes practically every day the past month. All those burned patches in the hay field is where they kept attacking us from. And these demon worshiping people from the big city brawled with the heroes and the heroes killed them all over there, and then the heroes came at my farm again. I can't have all that, too many chores as it is. And now I'm just out here making dinner on the barbecue."
"No, no," he held up his hand, "I'm not here for any of that nonsense. I'm here because there seems to be a shortage."
"Shortage of what?"
"I went through the books and you have all your taxes paid on your horse, perhaps one less pig? and those chickens I see free ranging over there -- hard to count with them moving about but even with that error you are ok."
Jake took a breath, "Of course, I pay all my taxes, have for years, before the deadline. I don't want all the king's men out here auditing me with spears."
"True, that is something we don't want. ... But I saw no tax payment for this dragon."
Jake almost blurted something out of anger, but he paused. He was not a numbers wizard but he knew the taxes came on the livestock. Eggard was not livestock. He was more of a dog. "Do I need to pay tax on my dog?"
"Certainly not on a dog. They protect a household, give companionship, they are not generally income producing unless you are running a puppy mill and selling dogs to everyone in town."
"No. I'm not selling puppies."
"Good. Then let's get back to this dragon you have."
Jake thought for a moment, "As you can see, this dragon protects not just my home but my farm. Look at all those burning bodies down the ravine there and the ones trying to run away over there, and the ones praying with the demon fanatics down there by the hollowed out corn field." Around the bodies were streaks of popped kernels like driven snow among the soot and ash.
"Oh, yes, yes. I see. Quite the carnage. Those heroes and worshipers are certainly numerous."
"So you can agree that he protects me just like a dog. And dogs are not taxed, correct?" Jake was hopeful. If a chicken was a copper piece in tax, a pig a silver, and a cow a gold piece he did not want to know what the kings tax collectors assumed a dragon tax should be.
"You are right about no taxes on dogs. But --" the man squeezed his lips together in a grimace, "but I heard this dragon of yours was born from a chicken egg."
Jake looked at Eggard. The dragon looked nothing like a chicken. He returned his gaze to the robed man, "Does the dragon look like a chicken?"
The man sighed, glancing again at the field of freshly torched bodies for a moment, "You know, I have to go back to the tax group with some sort of payment. You are positive the dragon hatched from a chicken egg?"
"I was about to make it for breakfast, in fact." Jake made the motions of cracking an egg over a frying pan, "Like this, but it didn't break right away. I thought that was odd. So then I tried to bang it harder and still it resisted breaking. In frustration I threw it in the fire because the fire was handy, that was my last egg until the next day, and ... this little guy popped out of the shell."
"That is really odd. Perhaps you should keep your chickens penned up and not let them free range?"
"That might be a good idea, now that you mention it."
"Well," the man leaned back in his horse, "The tax group is expecting we figure out this situation. I think if you give me the tax on a chicken, because this dragon hatched from a chicken egg, then you shall be square with the king."
Jake asked, "You can give me a receipt? I don't want a new tax collector next year to doubt our understanding."
The tax collector pulled out his book of receipts and made a note in his log and the receipt he handed to Jake. Jake dug out a copper piece to give the man.
The tax collector nodded, "Thank you farmer Jake. Good luck with your hero infestation, and enjoy your dinner." He turned his horse and left by the long path.
. | **Part 1**
Bill, or Billy, son Bill the farmer, grandson of Bill the elder farmer, and great-grandson of Bob the gardener, was awakened by the squawking of his chickens. His morning routine went by on autopilot and when he was all filled on bread and milk, he was ready for a productive day in the fields. He donned his straw hat and stepped outside whistling a jaunty tune.
“Alright my beauties, what do you have for me today?” he rubbed his hands together as he opened the gate to the chicken pen. The little feathery creatures were up and about, mobbing Bill for food. All except for Big Bertha, who seemed glued on the spot. *How very unlike you,* Bill thought.
He walked over and shooed her away. She flapped her wings in protest but hopped off her roost, revealing a large, scaly egg. It had a foggy blue-green colouring.
“I’ll be damned…” Bill squatted down and inspected the strange egg. Before he could touch it, someone called out to him. He turned to see Albert the shopkeep leaning against the pen’s fence. Behind him on the road, his donkey waited for his master to continue the journey.
“Howdy neighbor!” Albert said.
“Good mornin' to you Al! I didn't know we are neighbors?”
“Ah, you’re the first farm I come across when I go in and out of town. I thought to myself, I thought: I haven’t talked to that Billy fellow in a while. I don’t see him in church that often, let’s see what he’s up to.”
“I’m doing alright, farm’s doing well. But look what one of my chickens just shat out.” Bill carefully picked up the egg. It felt leathery. Big Bertha had apparently lost all interest in it and was ambling around in the distance. Albert backed off from the fence when Bill presented the egg and he bumped into his donkey.
“Yeah, darnest thing ain’t it?” Bill said.
“Did you… that’s a devil's spawn. Get rid of it.” The wide eyed Albert grasped his animal’s leash and hurriedly dragged him down the road, forgoing a goodbye. Bill watched him go and shrugged. He brought the egg inside the house and placed it inside of a wooden bowl, before continuing his chores for the day. There wasn’t much use in wasting daytime gawking at it, but he occupied himself with daydreaming about what it could be, and how much it could be worth.
Over the next few days the harvest kept him busy and he almost forgot about the egg, until one night, when he was eating supper by his roaring fireplace, the bowl on his table started to shake. The egg started showing cracks - scales started falling into the bowl, forming an opening. And out of the opening popped a little lizard head.
Bill screamed and fell backwards with his chair. He scrambled up and ran to the other end of the room as the noise of the cracking egg intensified. A new sound filled the room; a high pitched squeal that kept on intermittently.
“You’re no chicken,” Bill muttered. He reached into his pocket and extracted a piece of straw that he placed in his mouth. He gazed at the squealing creature for a while before approaching it. He grabbed another piece of straw and held it in front of the little dark green lizard, who was now sitting in the remains on its egg. It’s tiny maw snapped shut around the top of the straw and it started nibbling. Bill flashed a sympathetic smile.
A year had passed. Little Bertha the Dragon was little no more. The new barn that Bill had built for it was getting too small, and it was getting hard to control its movement. Its appetite had grown as well, so much so that Bill was forced to allow the creature to hunt at night. He feared that it would prey on his farm animals, but it appeared that Little Bertha regarded the chickens, pigs and sheep as kin - it only preyed on the forest dwellers.
He’d see Albert so now and then. He’d asked about the egg and Bill assured him he destroyed it. Albert the Shopkeep was useful for business, and it seemed everything was back to normal between the two. But whenever they spoke, in town, or when he was passing by, he could see the twinkle of suspicion in his eyes.
One night, Bill was in the barn, refilling Little Bertha’s water. A day old carcass of a young deer lay in the corner. The winged drake was scratching the barn door, eager for more late night action. Bill let his gaze go over his pet. It had grown so fast, now being taller than him. It sported menacing teeth and claws and it had thick dark green scales all over its body.
“No Little Bertha, not tonight. We can’t draw too much attention to ourselves.” Bill knew that this could not go on forever, that eventually Bertha would be too big to conceal. He still had no plan for when that day came.
Little Bertha turned its long neck around, and stared at him with a pleading, catlike eye. Bill sighed and walked over to open the door. “Don’t go wild now, ya hear?” he said, while removing the plank holding the door shut. Little Bertha squealed in excitement as he pushed open the door. When it had flapped away, Bill retired to his home. which now had a new annex. Business had been good, partly because he could sell remains from the kills that Little Bertha brought home.
The next day he brought his wares to town again, after checking if Little Bertha was back in the barn. Like always, it was curled up in the center, using its tail as a cushion. Impressively, it could close the barn door behind it. Bill was disappointed to see that it didn’t bring a new kill home . | 2021-03-21T15:06:08 | 2021-03-21T14:29:46 | 281 | 35 |
[WP] In a world where magical power is assigned at birth though spells, the power assigner sneezed in the middle of casting the spell on you. While tidying spell books with your useless power, you found out it may not be so useless after all. | I don’t remember my power ever being useful, which is ironic because it is the power to erase memories. Not other people’s memories, mind you—that would be too strong—but only the memories of one person: myself.
In the world of mages, knowledge is the supreme mark of strength. If magical powers are machines, then knowledge is the battery that powers them: the more knowledge a mage had stored up, the greater force they could release. So, you could imagine the usefulness of a machine whose sole purpose is to drain the battery that powers it. I’ve only ever used my power to forget embarrassing moments and sometimes as an excuse to hand in homework past deadlines.
\*\*\*
Blinking twice, I suddenly realized I was sitting in a classroom, listening to a student’s presentation on eldritch beings. Usually, I dozed off during student presentation assignments, causing me to forget whatever the student was talking about. I didn’t even need to use my power for that. But today, I was somewhat interested in the topic, so I forced my eyelids to stay open.
“…And as we can see,” the brunette girl presenting to class droned on, “Eldritch beings are said to cause insanity to everyone who learns about them.”
The girl up front was named Sophia, and she was a popular student. Not surprising, since she was born with a variety of mind-based abilities; knowing what people are thinking makes it easy to befriend them. Somehow, people weren’t bothered by the fact that she could intrude on their mind. I was.
“But,” Sophia said, suddenly freezing in place. “Those are just lies, I promise you. Learning about eldritch beings has done nothing but open my eyes!”
“Really?” Professor Eleus asked from the audience. He was a young professor, passionate about teaching and learning. Perhaps that made him a little naïve, but at least it made him a lot less strict than the older professors. “Would you please enlighten your classmates more?”
“With pleasure, professor,” Sophia replied. “This one being, Ngovehtl, I have been reading a lot about. She promises immense magical power to anyone who follows her!”
“Interesting,” Eleus mused. “Now I don’t suppose you actually have been trying to join a cult, have you? All of your research—it’s strictly academic, correct?”
Cults were the most dangerous type of magical society there was. They were the sort of people who would partake in any activity to appease their deity, most of which involved violating a handful of magic laws.
“It was an academic interest at first,” Sophia replied, a grin forming on her face. She reached into her bag and pulled out a ragged spell tome: “But then I read *this,* and I knew I had to take the plunge!”
I’ve never seen that tome before—however, Eleus’ eyes widened at the sight: “Sophia, don’t tell me…is that…”
“It SURE is professor!” Sophia gleefully shrieked. “After learning about the contents of this spell tome, I KNEW how ignorant the council and you professors are. Black magic? Forbidden spells? Please, you all are so STUPID. And now, I’m going to enlighten you all!”
Sophia placed her index finger on her forehead and closed her eyes. I was familiar with this sight—it meant she was about to use her mind-powers to project her thoughts into our heads. The people sitting in the front of the class room started to shriek and froth from their mouths. Their convulsions started to spread to other students, rolling like a wave of insanity all the way to the back of the classroom where I sat.
\*\*\*
At least, that’s the last thing I remember before blacking out. I suddenly woke up on my desk and was the only one besides Sophia who wasn’t presently having a seizure. Did I use my power? I don’t remember using it—then again, I hardly remember using it regardless.
What I do remember is that Sophia projected something onto the minds of the rest of class. Rising from my seat, I bolted to the front of the classroom, and slugged her before she could even react; when you can’t rely on magical skill, sometimes developing your physical skills can make up for it. Instantly, she collapsed.
Withdrawing my fist, I turned around and saw the rest of the class staring at me.
“Michael,” Eleus groaned, massaging his head. “Weren’t you affected by the forbidden knowledge she was projecting onto our minds? How were you able to stand?”
I simply shrugged my shoulders, answering as truthfully as possible:
“I don’t remember.” | They taught us the three laws of magic early on in elementary school. After all, what else would school be for if not Spellcraft?
1. No take-backsies.
2. Speak clearly and carry a big wand.
3. Trust your Gifts.
By the time I'd gotten to that High School library I'd edited them somewhat.
1. No take-backsies.
2. The wand is a vanity item but the clarity matters. Enunciation over intention.
3. Everyone else's Gift is better.
I'd found, over the years, that there was a level of wiggle room in the second and third laws. To start with, the wand manufacturers sponsored the schools so of course they told six year olds to carry a bigger wand. They charged an extra 10% for every inch past a foot and if you wanted a staff you'd better have founded a charm startup or been the seventh son of seven seventh sons.
Point three was obvious, and tied in strongly to the second half of point two. Uncle Jerry, bless his heart, had been a well meaning buffoon when he volunteered to Gift me at birth. "You'll save so much money!" he'd said, "a fifth year trainee is just as good as a full acolyte!"
Apparently they taught you not to sneeze in the sixth year.
That's not to say he was all bad. He was a good man and incredibly apologetic, he always gave the best birthday gifts and Christmas was a dream. But to have tried to give me something as mundane as a speed reading Gift and then to have screwed it up? That was nearly unforgivable.
Which lead straight back to the first rule, the only one they'd worded truly to a six year old me. No take-backsies.
That was the root of it all, wasn't it? When a spell was cast there wasn't a force on Earth that could un-cast it, and close only counted in horseshoes and hex-grenades.
So there I sat while all the other kids were outside, zipping through the air or blasting clay pigeons with fireballs, trying to speed read through the advance course spellbooks for something *anything* that might salvage the course of my life, and missing every third word doing it.
"Moebius hex....hex causes....causes the....the recipient....to be...."
You see the problem. Speed reading wasn't fireballs but in a world of spellbooks it might have been useful, not so when you spent a third of each book looking backwards.
"Whatever," I said, throwing the book down onto the desk in front of me. Hexes weren't my cup of tea anyway, all those ever did was cause fights and a boy in my state was best off avoiding those. I shook my head, reaching for another tome, pink binding, flowery letters.
"Charms love...love and...and assorted...assorted poems." It said.
I shrugged and opened it. I had little enough luck with the girls as it was, even if it didn't sound powerful I could use all the help I could get.
The binding creaked as I opened it, the paper, yellowed with age, was beautiful. The cover hit the desk, I leaned in toward the first page-- and was instantly smashed in the face by ancient and undoubtedly cheap perfume.
It was awful. The kind of spoiled sweetness that might have once smelled good in a mall but had gotten everywhere since then, hanging onto the page as if the whole book had been doused in it, rising up like an assault upon my senses.
I sneezed. Loudly and messily, all over the entire book.
And then, terrifyingly, it sneezed back on me.
I sat there for a long moment, covered in the spray of my own sneeze and whatever ungodly substance the book had hit me with, trying to figure out how a book could even sneeze. It wasn't until it began sinking into my flesh that I realized that what clung to me was ink.
I flipped through the book madly as the words began to download into me, spells and charms and hexes and potions mixing with the awful cloying odor of the perfume in my brain. The first thirty pages were blank, all of them! Not a diagram or scribbled passage of Latin to be found. I closed my eyes, reviewing the words. A charm there to make myself smell good, another to make me look taller, a third, more troubling one, to entice women's affection. I spoke the words of the first charm, swinging my small wand in a tight circle, and suddenly I smelled crisp, like the synthesized air of a cool mountain breeze.
Leaning down towards the book I huffed deeply of the noxious odor and sneezed again. The book's return sneeze echoed through the library, more ink covered me, more words suffused themselves into my very soul. I'd learned more in the past two minutes than the past two months of studying.
Maybe Uncle Jerry wasn't so bad, and maybe sometimes intention counted too.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-08T07:38:58 | 2021-04-08T06:04:59 | 503 | 277 |
[WP] "Do not fear me," said the cloaked man with the deer skull for a head, who stood on the balcony of the castle, "I am Fellion, a Lich Lord. I have killed your king and now rule you." And there was silence. Then everyone cheered. | "... and that was about a year ago now. I have to say, he's a huge improvement over the previous king." The bartender paused to pick another glass to clean.
"Doesn't that bother you?" Chimed in one of the new adventures, a hobbit with freckles and a button nose, "Aren't liches horribly evil? I thought they maintained their immortality by feasting on fresh souls." He looked to his companions, who nodded sagely.
"Oh. Well, THAT. You see King Fellion DOES consume souls to feed his Infinite Phylactery, but he uses convicted rapists and murders. Child molesters are also consumed, but only after a public flogging, flaying, and wenderslotten."
A half elf in dark leathers seemed ready to ask about the wenderslotten, then thought better of it.
The bartender continued, "Saves the kingdom a lot of cash, too, having a lich for a ruler. He don't eat, doesn't waste money on fancy wines, and employs most of his own undead to maintain the castle. Still needs breathers for thinkin' jobs like the City Watch and running the military, so it's not like everyone was out of a job."
Another traveler spoke up, a tiefling bard with pale purple skin, "Was there no love for the previous king? No loyalty? How did a whole kingdom cheer his fall so readily and so freely?"
Twin barmaids, hair like honey and skin like cream, began to unload trays of hot food in front of the adventuring troupe. The barman's broad face split into a toothy grin, and he leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper, "The old king? A foul, despicable man; slain for committing a most heinous and deplorable crime: he never left a tip." | In the deep, black depths of the silent night, a king falls.
The crowd watches on as his body ricochets off the castle balcony. From down below, he looks the picture of a fallen angel. Poise in white and red robes, eyes dark, that once deadly smile now a frown. You could almost see those broken wings. Could hear the slap against concrete, the way that gold crown falls from limp fingertips, shattering like a once prospering dynasty.
But there are no cries here. No screams. They all knew the story — knew the way Lucifer fell from heaven, how he grew greedy and prideful and envious, how he was once so beautiful.
And so, if the king were once an angel, if he was now a demon, if the rumours were true and he really was Lucifer, then who is the cloaked man with a deer skull as a head?
“Do not fear me,” he says from atop the brattice, and his voice echoes throughout the kingdom, loud and booming and so intricately delicate. “I am Fellion, a Lich Lord. I have killed your king and now rule you.”
And there was silence.
And that’s when the cheering started.
Perhaps it was unexpected or inappropriate, but the people had lived this life for centuries, and the elderly have watched kings and queens come and leave, have seen the way good people beg on the streets, have imagined a dream too far gone, of a wealthy kingdom and a great ruler. Because, if you truly knew the kingdom; knew her walls and her floor and her people, then you’d know the way they want silently, and the way they wish for hope in the silent, dark night, watching beneath deeply heavy eyelids as a king falls from the starry heavens above.
You’d know that once upon a time, in a life much forgone, in an era lived by very few, there used to be a ruler who ruled much like the people’s dreams. That if they closed their eyes they could still see his face. Could still make out the way that dark hood concealed his face, how beneath all the shadows and dead eyes and hollow bones was simply a man who reigned justly. A man who knew all about angels and demons and kings.
A man who dreamed the same dream.
—
/r/itrytowrite
Edit: grammar | 2021-08-31T15:16:48 | 2021-08-31T12:50:17 | 51 | 18 |
[WP]"Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms"? "The species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones". "Checking status of prisoners Adam and Eve". | The starfield resolved itself out of a warped, fractal blur as the main drives shut down.
"Gosh, it's... even darker *here*, isn't it?"
"Ensign Ir?"
"Sorry Captain. Proceeding."
There was a short, heavy pause.
"There's a problem with the Gen-Res scanner, Captain. Retrying..."
The captain flexed their mandibles impatiently as star 6-26549-HAB-SOL got brighter in the viewport.
"Sorry Captain, I believe it may be picking up other local lifeforms, it's reading outside of accepted range, adjusting..."
Another crewmate adjusted the radiation shields and dimmed the viewport picture.
Out here, the humble main sequence star was the only real source of light. As per penetentiary protocol, all radation in and out was attentuated. Only the bare minimum starlight allowed for navigation.
The bleakness of space in this sector was unsettling, and no crew volunteered willingly for the assignments here. Needless to say, joint command were out of communication range, by several days of travel.
"Captain, I've reconfigured to specify exclusively the genetic signatures we have on file for 'Adam' and 'Eve'."
Ensign Ir had gone stark grey, and their body expression was grim.
"I'm afraid that they're reading as deceased, Sir"
The mood on deck changed drastically, as most of the crew's skin turned grey with concern. Dead prisoners were a mile of typework, and bad for the fleet's image at that. Only the captain remained neutral red, though their shade blemished, just slightly.
"Lieutenant Usq, establish communication with the biostasis facility listed on the prison records. Those units are supposed to last 300 million years, I want to know why it failed." they said.
Planet 6-26549-HAB-SOL-3 was entering visual range. A prison planet, isolated and quiet, far away from galactic centre.
"Sorry Captain. I'm getting no response from the biostasis facility. Not even the black box callsign"
"Sabotage?"
"We'd have to send a ground team to investigate"
The Captain pondered this. Mission brief placed this planet as highly hazardous. Inflammable atmosphere, and wild temperature extremes. Sending a ground team was not ideal.
"Also, there seems to be a massive amount of electromagnetic intereference, over almost the whole planet, mostly 20kHz up to 300Ghz, seems to be communication patterns"
"Messages for us from the saboteurs? Alright, see if it can be resolved into standard com"
The lieutenant clasped a pullswitch and set a communication algorithm loose on a band of radiation.
Instantly the bridge was filled with horrifying screeching and grunts.
A creature, with an unsettling fleshy and pale carapace, standing on two legs was on a raised platform, encircled by what appeared to be hundreds of thousands of duplicates of itself, unbearable screams sounded back and forth between the one in the centre and those outside.
The lieutenant cut the feed, they were shaking and their carapace was a pale blue in terror at the sight.
"What... was that?"
Whatever, this... thing, was... it had frozen nigh every crew member in fear. A deep, deep fear, ingrained in instinct from millenia past.
"...Captain?"
The viewport defaulted back to exterior view.
The dark side of 6-26549-HAB-SOL-3 loomed before them.
And it was *gleaming* with light. | first lieutenant Michael gazes upon the beautiful blue and green ball, "sir this is an extraordinary planet, the atmosphere is perfect for life and the temperature in points cancer and Capricorn are also perfect, a planet like this would be perfect for rebuilding our capital. why don't we just kill subject 099-0, and subject 099-1"
captain God looks down and stares angerly at the planet "your right, its is perfect, but the "humans" are extremally intelligent, so Asherah and I decided that it would be best if we let the humans be left alone, their greed and will to make the universe bend to their will is what we need, we will just watch them until they send a human to another planet, that's when we strike, so we can steal all their inventions and creations and culture, and extricate them, and leave two left so they can repeat this process."
lieutenant lucifer spins his chair around and asks "what if they fight back?"
"they always do, every time, all ninety nine times we have done this, they keep fighting back of course they never win because we have much superior weapons thanks to them." god says with half smile
"you monster, fuck you and Asherah, you wont defeat the humans this time"
god looks at lucifer with an angry expression "why not!"
lucifer chuckled "because they will have me!" lucifer quickly gets up from the chair and smash's the window and bolts out the door and locks it behind.
"that wont kill them, but it will stall them long enough" lucifer hastily sprints down the corridor and spots a locked door, and it is labeled the forbidden fruit. lucifer breaks through the door and takes the fruit and run out, he gets stopped by god, " do you know what's in your hands!, the forbidden fruit is the most rare item in the universe, its what powers our ship, you take it out of here and we will be stranded here !"
"well that's to bad, it looks like its the humans turn to play captain." lucifer runs the opposite way and goes through the door on the other side of the room. and runs to the space ship garage "their it is, my space ship," he enters a brilliant red ship with the name "hell" on the wing. lucifer goes full throttle and uses the fruit to power his, ship, "whoa this thing is power full, its going fifty times faster." I should be on earth in no time"
lucifer makes his way to earth and crashes a lush garden, "good I am still alive" lucifer says with a heavy sigh, now it my chance, he got out of the ship, and started to walk north, "the G.P.S says that the humans should be right around here?." lucifer looks around "I see them!" he quickly runs towards the humans, and then he gets spotted, Adam quickly gets Infront of eve and points a spear at lucifer, "I am not your enemy", no response from either human "damn you don't under stand what I am saying", lucifer slowly puts the fruit on the fround and lucifer starts to try to explain the fruit "thiisss wiillll ppppooowwweerr yyyyooouuurrrr wwweaaappoonsss" slowly Adam gets closer to the fruit.
"good, good now take it, its yours", Adam picks it up, "yes, good" Adam smiles and eats the fruit "NOOOOOO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT, FOR FUCKS SAKE", "huh, at least god does not have it any more, good luck and all that" lucifer walks back the his ship "well now I got survive out here for the rest of my life, which might be a while since i can live up to 500,000 years, huh, I guess i will be here for a while. | 2021-12-30T15:20:11 | 2021-12-30T11:47:00 | 718 | 34 |
[WP]"Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms"? "The species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones". "Checking status of prisoners Adam and Eve". | "Approaching Site Eden sir. Should be coming into visual range any sec-ond..." the technician on the sensors drew that last syllable out for way too long. A note of uncertainty began to creep into his voice as the sensors struggled to acquire the small planetoid. This was by design: Site Eden was meant to remain hidden by order of High Command. Almost nobody knew it even existed; fewer knew that what exactly was down there, only that it was important it remain there. The console chirped to indicate a sensor lock. "Now sir!" the technician exclaimed.
Site Eden consisted of two parts: a small orbital installation presumably housing researchers, and the planet below housing... something. Not even I, the Captain entrusted with this mission, knew the full details. All I could see was a waste of living space. Green forests dividing vast blue oceans. Almost a perfect replica of home.
"Captain, we are being hailed," the technician alerted. "It's coming from the station." I raised an eyebrow at the hint of concern that crept into his voice. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. I glanced over at the corner, where my charge stood watching the bridge crew at work. He met my gaze and nodded. I motioned to put the transmission through.
"This is Site Eden, chief research officer Goodwin speaking. How may I help you?" Audio only. Just how old was this place? Before I could speak, my charge took control of the conversation.
"Status report. Clearance code IMC11014." If he noticed my crew stiffen at the utterance of an Imperial clearance code, he gave no sign.
"Clearance confirmed. Mission objective: partially completed. Subjects Adam and Eve were neutralized in the latest experiment, designation P0M3." Subjects? Neutralized? This just screams shady blacksite. My charge stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Status confirmed. Prepare to submit full report. Clearance code SE1042." He turned to me next. "Captain, we'll be taking this in your ready room. I advise you join us." I glanced at my crew, taking in their worried expressions. I nodded at them, trying to mask my own dread at the ethical violation we might have just been roped into. I followed my charge into the ready room.
"Right, onto the full report," Goodwin started. "The premise, as you may have been aware, is subjects Adam and Eve present a major threat to civilization as long as they live in this galaxy. The main problem we are tackling is the issue of how to eliminate this threat. And, as is proven the norm for their species, killing them is almost impossible. What is *very* possible is manipulating them. My assistant, Dawn, was able to get them to unwittingly ingest various poisons and chemicals. Most had little effect, except our latest. A modified fruit from Earth. Subject Eve took the first bite, and Subject Adam also imbibed some before the effects took for Eve. Unfortunately, we don't know exactly what those effects were, beyond banishing the subjects from this realm." My jaw dropped. My charge slammed his fist on the table.
"Banished?! What do you mean banished? They're free?!" Goodwin broke down into laughter. It took quite a few minutes to recompose himself. As he cleared his throat, I heard something pour into a glass on the other end of the line.
"More like they're not our problem anymore." | first lieutenant Michael gazes upon the beautiful blue and green ball, "sir this is an extraordinary planet, the atmosphere is perfect for life and the temperature in points cancer and Capricorn are also perfect, a planet like this would be perfect for rebuilding our capital. why don't we just kill subject 099-0, and subject 099-1"
captain God looks down and stares angerly at the planet "your right, its is perfect, but the "humans" are extremally intelligent, so Asherah and I decided that it would be best if we let the humans be left alone, their greed and will to make the universe bend to their will is what we need, we will just watch them until they send a human to another planet, that's when we strike, so we can steal all their inventions and creations and culture, and extricate them, and leave two left so they can repeat this process."
lieutenant lucifer spins his chair around and asks "what if they fight back?"
"they always do, every time, all ninety nine times we have done this, they keep fighting back of course they never win because we have much superior weapons thanks to them." god says with half smile
"you monster, fuck you and Asherah, you wont defeat the humans this time"
god looks at lucifer with an angry expression "why not!"
lucifer chuckled "because they will have me!" lucifer quickly gets up from the chair and smash's the window and bolts out the door and locks it behind.
"that wont kill them, but it will stall them long enough" lucifer hastily sprints down the corridor and spots a locked door, and it is labeled the forbidden fruit. lucifer breaks through the door and takes the fruit and run out, he gets stopped by god, " do you know what's in your hands!, the forbidden fruit is the most rare item in the universe, its what powers our ship, you take it out of here and we will be stranded here !"
"well that's to bad, it looks like its the humans turn to play captain." lucifer runs the opposite way and goes through the door on the other side of the room. and runs to the space ship garage "their it is, my space ship," he enters a brilliant red ship with the name "hell" on the wing. lucifer goes full throttle and uses the fruit to power his, ship, "whoa this thing is power full, its going fifty times faster." I should be on earth in no time"
lucifer makes his way to earth and crashes a lush garden, "good I am still alive" lucifer says with a heavy sigh, now it my chance, he got out of the ship, and started to walk north, "the G.P.S says that the humans should be right around here?." lucifer looks around "I see them!" he quickly runs towards the humans, and then he gets spotted, Adam quickly gets Infront of eve and points a spear at lucifer, "I am not your enemy", no response from either human "damn you don't under stand what I am saying", lucifer slowly puts the fruit on the fround and lucifer starts to try to explain the fruit "thiisss wiillll ppppooowwweerr yyyyooouuurrrr wwweaaappoonsss" slowly Adam gets closer to the fruit.
"good, good now take it, its yours", Adam picks it up, "yes, good" Adam smiles and eats the fruit "NOOOOOO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT, FOR FUCKS SAKE", "huh, at least god does not have it any more, good luck and all that" lucifer walks back the his ship "well now I got survive out here for the rest of my life, which might be a while since i can live up to 500,000 years, huh, I guess i will be here for a while. | 2021-12-30T18:04:31 | 2021-12-30T11:47:00 | 153 | 34 |
[WP]"Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms"? "The species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones". "Checking status of prisoners Adam and Eve". | "Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms," Lieutenant Douglas asks.
Captain McGill tipped his command chair to the right and looked up at Douglas.
"Son, the species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones"
"Why didn't we just kill them ourselves?" Doug asked.
McGill slowly turned his mouth up to the left in a half-smile. "It is top secret, but I am going to give you clearance to hear it now. It's about time." Captain McGill turned to the black screen in front of his chair and typed in some commands on a keyboard next to it. He turned to Doug "Pull up file 0XA3-3 and use your own access code."
Doug walked to his workstation and proceeded to type in some code into his own black screen. He slowly sat down as a wall of text came up on his screen, as if to prepare himself to digest it.
Doug continued, "Back in the 50s, the Government created a top-secret site to experiment with cloning our own form. It was a total failure. We ended up creating a species far more intelligent and dangerous than us. We used the active DNA of a mummified alien we found in the Pyramids of Egypt to create them. One XXZ, the other XYZ, code name Adam and Eve.
You see, these creatures weren't like any other experiments the government had failed at. They were human-like alright, but highly intelligent, highly dangerous, lacking empathy, telepathic too. They had the capability to reproduce quickly within a week. They killed all of their handlers using their bare hands. We had them contained within that facility. High-powered guns, high tech bombs were useless against them because their bodies managed to create this shimmery destruction-proof metallic shield. Through blind luck, all of their off-springs started to die off one after the other. We have no idea how to replicate that to date."
Douglas had his mouth ajar. He stood up slowly from his workstation and walked to the Captain. "Was there nothing we could do?"
"Nothing that was obvious at the time. HQ was desperate. The world's brightest minds were brought to the table and through sheer genius, they created the Apollo 11 program to find a way to get these creatures out of our planet before they manage to escape and do any damage to civilians. Luckily we got them out and dumped them on the moon without general pop finding out. Look, there's more to it than I can tell you in one breath. All you need to know is in that file."
Captain McGill turned to Mark, his assistant. "Connect me to the Parker Solar Probe right now"
"Yes sir," said Mark as he turned to make clacking sounds at his work desk.
"You are on Captain," he says without turning back.
"Checking the status of prisoners Adam and Eve on Apollo. Any activity?" Captain McGill asked
"No activity detected sir. Over" a voice echoed back from the captain's headset.
"Roger. McGill Out" McGill turned to Lieutenant Douglas. "If we are lucky, they will be dead now." Doug nods at the Captain in slow motion, as he took it in everything he heard.
Captain McGill placed a palm on Douglas's shoulder. "Lieutenant, your job, what you were hired for, is to build a team of the world's smartest people, that can devise a plan to annihilate this species before the Apollo 18 program is ready to launch." | first lieutenant Michael gazes upon the beautiful blue and green ball, "sir this is an extraordinary planet, the atmosphere is perfect for life and the temperature in points cancer and Capricorn are also perfect, a planet like this would be perfect for rebuilding our capital. why don't we just kill subject 099-0, and subject 099-1"
captain God looks down and stares angerly at the planet "your right, its is perfect, but the "humans" are extremally intelligent, so Asherah and I decided that it would be best if we let the humans be left alone, their greed and will to make the universe bend to their will is what we need, we will just watch them until they send a human to another planet, that's when we strike, so we can steal all their inventions and creations and culture, and extricate them, and leave two left so they can repeat this process."
lieutenant lucifer spins his chair around and asks "what if they fight back?"
"they always do, every time, all ninety nine times we have done this, they keep fighting back of course they never win because we have much superior weapons thanks to them." god says with half smile
"you monster, fuck you and Asherah, you wont defeat the humans this time"
god looks at lucifer with an angry expression "why not!"
lucifer chuckled "because they will have me!" lucifer quickly gets up from the chair and smash's the window and bolts out the door and locks it behind.
"that wont kill them, but it will stall them long enough" lucifer hastily sprints down the corridor and spots a locked door, and it is labeled the forbidden fruit. lucifer breaks through the door and takes the fruit and run out, he gets stopped by god, " do you know what's in your hands!, the forbidden fruit is the most rare item in the universe, its what powers our ship, you take it out of here and we will be stranded here !"
"well that's to bad, it looks like its the humans turn to play captain." lucifer runs the opposite way and goes through the door on the other side of the room. and runs to the space ship garage "their it is, my space ship," he enters a brilliant red ship with the name "hell" on the wing. lucifer goes full throttle and uses the fruit to power his, ship, "whoa this thing is power full, its going fifty times faster." I should be on earth in no time"
lucifer makes his way to earth and crashes a lush garden, "good I am still alive" lucifer says with a heavy sigh, now it my chance, he got out of the ship, and started to walk north, "the G.P.S says that the humans should be right around here?." lucifer looks around "I see them!" he quickly runs towards the humans, and then he gets spotted, Adam quickly gets Infront of eve and points a spear at lucifer, "I am not your enemy", no response from either human "damn you don't under stand what I am saying", lucifer slowly puts the fruit on the fround and lucifer starts to try to explain the fruit "thiisss wiillll ppppooowwweerr yyyyooouuurrrr wwweaaappoonsss" slowly Adam gets closer to the fruit.
"good, good now take it, its yours", Adam picks it up, "yes, good" Adam smiles and eats the fruit "NOOOOOO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT, FOR FUCKS SAKE", "huh, at least god does not have it any more, good luck and all that" lucifer walks back the his ship "well now I got survive out here for the rest of my life, which might be a while since i can live up to 500,000 years, huh, I guess i will be here for a while. | 2021-12-30T17:17:11 | 2021-12-30T11:47:00 | 85 | 34 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | I've been up, maybe, 75 to 76 hours this time around
It's this new drug that one of the big pharma companies dropped.
Supposed to be better than Adderall, Modafinil, and miles ahead of most amphetamines. At least safety wise. And so far, that seems to be the case. I feel awake. Alive. So this is what being a normal person is like, huh?
Oh well. I'm recording this as part of my trial run. Had to sign off on it to get a script.
Anyway, talk to you later.
---
Okay. Entry 2. Or Tape 2? Um, how do people keep video diaries usually? I don't know.
Sorry. So I actually visited the clinic again today. Apparently they want to check with test subjects once a week for about 12 weeks. It's cool though. You come in, they read your vitals, give you a questionnaire, ask about side effects, and away you go.
If you really feel up to it, you do a blood check, and they'll actually give you 20 bucks for the trouble.
Win-win.
But uh, other than some moments where you get a little manic, not too bad. My record so far is 97 hours. I know they have you stop using every 10 days to check the difference during the clinic visits.
But... This is awesome. Do you have idea how much we get done with 8 more hours a day? Why can't it always be like this?
---
Okay, third entry. I think that's what I'll call them.
It's been four weeks. There have been some effects. I don't think it's anything to worry about. Okay, maybe you should worry if you aren't careful.
First off, don't mix with alcohol. I feel like I shouldn't have to say it. But if you do, you will sleepwalk. I've seen friends do it. Strangers. I woke up on a bench in the park this weekend. I don't remember 4 or 5 hours.
So... Don't do that.
Also, I have no clue how that will mess with your liver. Probably not smart.
Also, if you go on a long haul like maybe 80-100 hours, you might get some visual trailing. Have you ever messed with a RGB spectrum in photoshop programs?
Something like that. Just breathe a bit, drink water, move around some. It will go away.
Otherwise. I really love this stuff.
---
It been six weeks.
Um... A good friend of mine died. Heart condition. I guess he never knew. Um, we never knew.
He, uh, he took more than the recommended dosage. I think. Maybe. I can't be sure. His wife said he might have.
But, I kind of wondered about that. Maybe this stuff isn't too good for everybody. Some of my coworkers and stuff. They aren't right. I can't really describe it. It's like they see right through you. There's... there's no reaction. The lights are on, but no one's home.
So.... I think maybe I'll take half my script this time. Not the whole thing. Just stretch it out a bit. See what less does for me.
---
I'm up to 120 hours.
I. I really couldn't do half. It just didn't do anything. They gave me the gel capsules this time. Usually it's 250 milligrams. But these 500.
Haha, I, i think these are the future.
I just, hang on.
My pulse is really racing. I'm a little worked up.
---
So the trial is over.
I really don't know why I'm recording this. It's kind of fun, y'know? My girlfriend left me. She said it was getting to weird, plus she had other things to do. I mean that makes sense. 2 in the morning is the best time to get things done. Busy busy bees.
Sorry, that's, that's just me being dumb.
Flying pretty high.
This is getting boring. Let me call this.
Hey, you got my stuff? Yeah, 750s? 40? Perfect. I'll buzz you in.
No, I ain't doing anything, I'll be right down. 400 bucks, right? Sure. Thanks. | My heart raced as my boots pounded the pavement, a shriek from about twenty feet back shattering the night air. The street lights flickered from the surge of energy unleashed by its wail, and I knew right then that this was a new class of creature. I abandoned the path to the bunker; I would never outrun one of those things for long enough. I ducked into an alleyway and crouched behind a dumpster, racking my shotgun and ejecting the empty shell casing as I tried to normalize my breathing. The night always seemed uniquely still after the cry of a Tanzer.
They first appeared in Hamburg, where the drug was first manufactured. Shadowy figures were reported by users of the drug about a year after use. But by then, we'd all been using it. Big cities in the United States, Japan, England, China, it was all over the place. At first, there were people who decided not to take the drug, but it quickly became necessary to compete in the job market. People were working during the day and taking classes at night, blowing past their peers who weren't taking the drug. It didn't take long for people to realize this was becoming the new normal.
Normal.
We'd never have that again. The Hamburg massacre shook the world. Over a thousand people died in a single night. Butchered in the streets by shadowy creatures difficult to define. The German media called them *Traumtänzer*, or Dreamwalkers. Shortly after the Hamburg massacre, the creatures appeared all over the world. We took to calling them Tanzers in the states, and discovered quickly that guns worked on them. When shot, they dissipated into smoke. We weren't sure if we were killing them, but it sure as shit slowed them down. Every time the sun went down the world turned into a warzone. Scientists across the globe were working feverishly to come up with weapons more effective against them, but without corpses to study, it came down to a deadly game of trial and error.
"Why are you hiding?" Came a voice from the alleyway.
I turned slowly around to find a tall thin man with long brown hair and a black scarf approaching me. I knew what the scarf meant. He smiled with wild eyes and lifted his hands, "They're here to deliver us. Lord Hypnos is angered. We must all-"
I lifted my gun and squeezed the trigger, opening a hole in his chest and sending him to the ground. I cursed my luck and fled my hiding spot as the night lit up with screeching and wailing. Of all the places for one of those freaks to be. They were the *Sons of Hypnos*, a cult that had formed around the situation. They worshiped the shadow beings, and so far as we could tell they weren't spared by them. Just insane people who believed the Greek god of sleep was restless and retaliating. You could always count on humans to make human problems worse for humans.
I raced down the street as the streetlights began to flicker and fade around me. The shadows stretched as I rounded the corner and caught my first glimpse of the bunker. The searchlights swept the city streets and each machine-gun post was manned. I glanced over my shoulder to see a whole sea of the freaks clawing after me. My stomach sank when I saw how fast they were gaining on me. If the boys at the bunker didn't find me first, I would never make it. I racked my shotgun and fired blindly behind me. The purpose wasn't to hit one of them– it was to make some noise.
The searchlights immediately began searching with purpose. They swept the streets, getting closer and closer to me. I racked the gun one more time and went to shoot behind me when I felt the icy grip of one of them on my wrist. I started shouting as the searchlights swept areas further and further away from me. I screamed as loud as I was able as I was dragged away. One of them ripped the weapon from my hand as I was pulled down the road. I caught a glimpse of him as I was pulled off the street and toward an alleyway.
The man in the black scarf. He was on his feet, delirious, bleeding all over the thin layer of snow on the ground. He managed to laugh at me before breathing his final breath. It wasn't until I was fully encased in darkness that I had the realization that I wasn't making it out of this. Nobody would be coming for me. It was over. Even as the sharpened claws of the Tanzers opened my stomach, my chest, and my throat, I somehow clung to hope that someone would come.
I guess that was just human nature.
To hope.
To hope until the bitter end.
r/A15MinuteMythos | 2022-03-18T10:08:51 | 2022-03-18T09:57:34 | 83 | 60 |
[WP] "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.." | "Yeah, basically."
The response made Goren'verzan pause, glancing down at the human curiously before bursting out laughing.
"Seriously!? And here I thought pride was one of the mortal sins, yet here you are thinking that you-" A talon pointed down condescendingly to the hooded figure below, who was presently undoing a lock on the large marble door before them. Probably to try to escape."You! A mere human, could command me? Let me give some advice before I crush you, maggot. No human can command a demon."
Markus turned back, a smile on his face as he looked up at the mighty wrath demon. It only grew wider as he heard the gate open behind him.
"Oh no, you misunderstand Goren'verzan." He chuckled."I'm going to plan B."
The door behind him swung back, very nearly off their hinges as the earth beneath them quaked. The mage had to steady himself against the wall to stop from falling over as another demon burst through the doorway. This one standing even above Goren'verzan, glowering down at him with a glare that burned as bright as the fires of hell itself.
"GOREN'VERZAN BLOODSCREAM THE 24TH!" The furious roar of the demon matriarch was deafening, prompting Markus to plug his ears as he watched the scene.
"M-MOM!?"
"DON'T YOU 'MOM' ME! YOU JUST DISAPPEAR OFF WITHOUT A WORD ON YOUR GRANDMOTHERS BIRTHDAY. YOU LEAVE FOR THE BETTER PART OF A CENTURY, NO WORD, NO EMISSARY, NOT EVEN A NOTE TO... GO WASTE TIME KILLING HUMANS!? I'VE BEEN SEARCHING THE SEVEN RINGS ALL OVER FOR YOU, YOUNG MAN!"
Markus had never seen a demon terrified before. Granted, he'd had little contact with demons until today, but what he had glanced in images showed them as fearless monsters. He snickered at the image, glancing up at the once proud and rampaging demon as he was lectured. He would have loved to have stayed, but to save his eardrums from complete deafness he knew he had to leave. He elected to slip away as the lecture continued, running down the hallway past the now ruined doorway.
He didn't catch all of the conversation, but what little he got indicated that Goren'verzan was likely going to be grounded for the better part of two centuries after this. | "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!"
I tried to take a bite of my taco without spitting it out in shock.
Today was Cinco de Mayo, and I was expecting guacamole and chips not a demon hunter to be bothering me on my lunch break.
"Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a sudden?" I said munching on my cheese and meat. I reached for some cheap salsa packets trying to ignore this geek.
*Halt foul demon?* God this guy sounded pretentious.
Wait a hot minute!
How did this guy even recognize me?
*How did he know?!*
I feared instantly he might be a mind reader, and started chanting "burrito" in my mind repeatedly. Don't think my name! I thought to myself , I pleaded to myself, please do not think my name! I tried humming songs about raining tacos , and thinking about cheesy quesadillas. So far it was working.
The nerd was definitely a mind reader, because any sane person would have walked away when a person starts singing about tacos to themselves, but he pulled up a chair and sat down with a smile.
Crap!
What are you gonna do? Call my landlord or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.. I thought to myself, wondering if he could hear.
"Oh, I'll do much more than that!" he said wickedly.
My stomach sank.
*God damn mind readers!*
I tried to suppress my thoughts, the ones that were shivering in fear as I took another brave bite of my food.
Sure, I might have been a demon, but I really did not play well with these god awful readers. Saying your name once would do nothing, but saying your name three times was a whole other matter.
Wait did he know that?
*God dammit!*
I began to think of the ingredients of a Chile con Queso.
Most mind readers in my experience were total shut ins, total nervous wrecks, and here was this guy... spunky as ever. He was not bad looking either.
*No, not again, Nooooooooooo!!*
Thank the devil, because the man started blushing. Like really turning lobster red.
This was my chance!
I saw the slightest nervous twitch in his right hand, and laughed at the dork.
The man got even more embarrassed.
God, did this freak of nature even know that he had his zip down too? These mind readers were so hopeless, that was why they made horrible demon hunters. What a moron!
The man quickly checked his fly, and that is when I vanished in smoke.
All that remained was my half eaten taco and my phone number.
Naw, that's a lie.
I wish I was so brave.
No, I just ran for the hills like I always do. | 2022-05-05T17:23:23 | 2022-05-05T16:17:59 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You've been summoned into another world as a hero. You don't get any special bonuses to start and think you're in trouble until you realize that nobody in this world can comprehend combat beyond sissy slap fights, and everybody regards these fights with the same weight as a real fight. | The soft twap twap twap of frenzied combat echoed through the great hall, two men dueling for glory and honour as the Queen of all the lands slept slumped over in her throne.
"Stop it!"
"No you stop it"
twap twap twap
"Your hiiiighness, Lord Brimblesby won't cede control of the eastern side of the river EVEN THOUGH he said if I could peel a grapefruit and leave the skin in one piece he would AND I DID"
"NUH-UH a little bit fell off and you tried to hide it I saw it and you're a LIAR and last time I let you use that side of the river you didn't leave the fields fallow for a season when you were done and your face is stupid"
"Well last time you garrisoned overnight at my manor you ate all the best apples and wouldn't stop talking about how YOU have a GIRLFRIEND and..."
Further down the hall, beneath the grand arch that lead to the holy chamber of summoning, the Archdeacon shrugged while gesturing at the melee: "...anyway that's the deal." | We've met aliens, real ones! As we made first contact there was an altercation between our crews.
But first let see their biology and customs to understand what happened. They are a mix between tapeworms and squids; they stand on 4 tentacles that are round then trail off in a half circle "feet". They then have arms that start like their legs but turn into ribbons instead.
Because of their biology, when they fight, and they fight a lot, they use their entire ribbon-like arms to smack the shit out of one other. True they slap hurts may also make you take a step back, but they are not going to severely injure you¹. Because their slaps doesn't hurt, its quite common to see duels of childish slap battle going on in their streets.
As the crew exchanged big pieces of technology, they bumped into each other causing the alien cargo to fall off their gravity sled and come crashing down on the deck. The cargo box pierced a hole in the wall and the floor. As might you, the alien was furious! Started to insult then assault our human crewmember; Steve . As said above the slaps may make you take a step back, Steve bumped into is exposed cargo wich caused him the hurt himself enough to draw blood. Steve them replied by a succession of hard blows to the alien's hardened invertebrate flesh. Thank for his protective equipment, the alien survived the punches. Steve's been detained. Xeno's in med bay. Mercury's in cancer. Fire's at the diplomats ass. Etc...
Some human martial art experts began studying the slaps if our new friends then teach them better "hand to hand" combat. It has somehow gone well for him. | 2022-08-25T09:34:28 | 2022-08-25T08:22:23 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] “Are you telling me we’re in the middle of an alien invasion?” “They’re not invading, they’ve invaded. It’s over. They’ve had control over this planet for centuries.” | "Madam President, it is my duty to inform you that Extra-Terrestrial Beings are real and present on our planet." the General stated nonchalantly.
On the surface, President Helen Rodriguez, newly elected, maintained an air of serene composure. But deep inside her stomach she felt a knot of fear and anxiety. And perhaps some excitement. She had so many questions bubbling in her mind. *Aliens are real*. *What else was being hidden? Flat Earth? Cryptids? Reptilian Deep State? I have to remain presidential, exude authority*, President Rodriguez thought to herself. There were only five people in the room, including herself. Still, word traveled fast in DC circles and she would not allow herself to be undermined at the beginning of her Presidency by showing weakness in front of her military chiefs.
"First of all, what are their intentions? Are they friend or foe?" the President asked calmly.
General Galloway, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff responded, "Overall, Madam President, I'd have to say that they are neutral. They wish us no direct harm, as long as we comply with their overriding directives."
"Overriding directives?"
"Yes Ma'am. We are not to interfere with their activities or publicly disclose their existence. Occasionally they will provide additional, specific directives."
The president furrowed her brow, "What do you mean by additional directives?"
"Usually they ask us to build things. The Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge. We're not sure if they are simply landmarks that help them understand our geography, tests of human civilization or some kind of advanced technology."
President Rodriguez wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on her forehead. *Was everything she knew a lie?*
Her next question came out as barely a whisper, "Are they still testing us? Are there any specific directives that we are expected to follow?"
The General, speaking as if he was discussing a golf weekend, continued, "Well Ma'am, about 40 years ago they forced the Chinese government to release a highly contagious alien virus on its population. The virus quickly spread around the world, infecting millions and disrupting global trade and travel. We aren't sure why but we believe it was a test of the fragility of human civilization."
Another perky voice jumped in, this time a woman sitting next to the General. The President recognized her as DARPA chief, Tanya Rashid. "Madam President, if I may?"
General Galloway's glare at the DARPA chief was not lost on the President. Normally, she would make a witty comment to diffuse the situation but today was anything but normal. Worried that her voice might reveal her fear, the President simply nodded at Rashid.
"Thank you Ma'am. I theorize that we are some kind of entertainment for advanced alien species. It seems that they are watching us and sending challenges to see how we react for their amusement. If you recall the firestorm anomalies of 203-"
The General cut off the DARPA chief, "I think we should stick to the facts. No need to overburden the President with wild theories at this time."
Rashid sunk back into her seat as the General once more took charge of the room.
"I'm sorry Ma'am. I know this is a lot to take in." he said reassuringly. President Rodriguez did not feel reassured. For what felt like an age, the President simply sat there in silence, digesting what she had heard. She could feel there eyes gazing at her. Something felt off about their shared intensity but she supposed that they were all aware of something that she was only just beginning to understand.
After a while, she spoke once more, "So... um... what, I mean, um, how long have we known this..." she managed to squeeze out. She could taste a bitter dryness in her mouth.
Perhaps noticing the change in her demeanour, the General handed her a file. "This file contains a summary of most what we have confirmed. As far as we know they made contact with the Sumerian Empire around 3,000 BC."
The President's hands shook as she flipped through the file. First with fear and shock and then with anger. Every step of the way, every significant event in recorded history, these ETs were somewhere in the picture. "They've been here since the dawn of civilization, involved in major events throughout history and you dare keep this to yourself," her voice was rising as she spoke, "the public has a right to know!" She was yelling by the time she finished. | Lieutenant Varl Chambers walked into the corridor that lead to Colonel Viper’s office. He thought it was unusual that he had been summoned on a Saturday evening. Most of the junior officers were out in town, meeting up with their families or visiting the local bars for a good time. It was only by chance he was there, his girlfriend was sick this weekend and unlike a lot of the officers he wasn’t a local boy, no family for a thousand miles. So he’d opted to stay in for once.
He saw the red oak of the Colonel’s door reflecting the intense bright light of the ceiling spotlights. It almost looked menacing to him, in part because of the ambience and the eerily quiet base this time of night, but also because whenever the Colonel wanted to see him it was never good.
He wrapped his knuckles on the door and awaited a reply.
“Who is it?” came back a sharp, harsh voice from inside.
“Lieutenant Chambers sir, you summoned me?”
The voice from within lost some of its venom, and now almost seemed anti-alarmist, trying to appear comforting and alluring.
“Come in Lieutenant” and with that Varl opened the door and walked inside.
The Colonel was standing in the corner of the room, looking out at the town that sat further down inside a valley. The military base itself was situated further up, almost atop the peak of one of the surrounding hills. All of the lights inside the office were turned off, barring a small lamp on top of the Colonel’s desk.
“Sir” said Varl, closing the door behind him and standing to attention.
“I heard you were staying behind this evening Chambers” said the Colonel, his back facing the Lieutenant and not looking around. Varl noted the Colonel didn’t ask him to stand at ease either which was normally customary, or at the very least courtesy, for a commanding officer to a junior.
“Yes, my plans fell through sir” he said, still standing stiff as a plank.
“A shame” said the Colonel, with a tinge of regret, “that you should experience these next few hours alone” and then he seemed to almost catch himself, as though he had revealed too much. “Because of the tedium from solitude” he quickly added. And at that the Colonel swivelled his head slightly to peer over his shoulder at Varl, almost as if to inspect him. His face was shrouded in darkness so Varl couldn’t see his expression, but the neck angle looked…uncomfortable…to say the least, Varl thought to himself.
“In truth I don’t mind it sir, the downtime let’s me rest”.
“Yes, rest…” and the Colonel turned back towards the window once again. “Rest, don’t worry. Enjoy the moment. Enjoy the food, the drinks. Slump into that apex predator attitude. You’re the king and queens of the jungle” and the Colonel made a grand gesture with his arms. “Nothing but the gods above you, and everything else below.”
And just as he finished that final word a violent explosion erupted in the town. Varl was stunned. He momentarily relaxed his stance and looked out the window to see two or three cars on fire in the Main Street.
“Sir, a car accident?!”
“You know, when I first came here I despised the smell”.
Varl was a mixture of terrified and confused, desperate to be relieved to go and help the towns folk. Had the Colonel heard his question.
“No amount of washing or cleaning can eradicate it. Sickening…”
Then two more explosions rocked the town, and a helicopter that must have presumably been nearby swooped over the base on its way to the scene.
“Sir, permission to be relieved”
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” came back the frightening hiss, spoken as though from a choir of sinister, deep voices, not the lone, thoughtful voice he’d heard before.
“I…I…don’t understand sir, there’s an emergency” said Varl, not so frighten into silence, not yet anyway.
“A part of me wanted you to know. Your world that is. Such promise of a good fight. A worthy opponent. Not this underhanded takeover. Placing us, like parasites, eating you from within until it’s too late for you to know what happened. Until the invasion is done.”
“Are you telling me we’re in the middle of an invasion?” said Varl, a voice of bewilderment and hesitancy.
“No” and with that, the Colonel finally turned around fully and stepped into the light from the desk lamp.
His mouth was dripping with blood and his upper shirt was stained red with it. His eyes were a fiery yellow and orange, suddenly burning brighter with every breath that he and Varl took. And his many voices were louder now, to the point that Varl had to cover his ears or feel a sickening, sharp pain in his skull.
“I’m telling you we’ve invaded. We invaded a very, very, long time ago” said the Colonel. And he suddenly lunged toward the Lieutenant… | 2022-09-01T10:03:57 | 2022-09-01T07:56:24 | 137 | 23 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | You stick out when everyone else in your school has some kind of insane, physics defying power and you have nothing. Like a normal horse in a herd of rainbow colored unicorns.
It was nerve wracking to adjust to having classmates who could effortlessly lift you off the ground with their mind, labmates who used their eye beams instead of a Bunsen burner, and groupmates who interviewed ghosts for your history project. Not being indestructible or able to regenerate limbs on a whim, I got to know the medical staff quite well quite quickly. I wasn't even accident prone, some people just kept "forgetting" that I didn't have powers like they did. Though that ended the moment that one of the seniors took things too far.
Getting my arm broken was a weird way to find out how popular I'd become. Turns out that me being normal helps keep my more gifted friends grounded. I hadn't even known that half of them liked me all that much before they sent the senior to the superhuman ICU. I'm not complaining though. | And so it happened, I couldn't let that slide. I mean, of course I couldn't. Why would I ? All those bastards thinking they're so cool, flaunting their skills in the hallway with no regards to other people's safety. I know it's the first time that I was bullied, but I 'll make it be the last.
His ugly face still remains clear in my mind. He had a smirk on his face while lifting me up with only his hand on my face. His eyes were squinting a bit as if to catch the every detail of my expression. Then the burning repeated multiple times until the bell rang. My ears couldn't forget the sound of laughter coming from his friends as they left nor could my face forget the heat, leaving me with burn marks all over my face.
Now, just my reflection in the mirror sufficed to steel my resolve. And now, I brought hell with me.
The next day, I came prepared. In front of his house, right when he left to go to school, I ambushed him. I kicked him on his back, made him fall on his face and tied both of his hands. Without giving him time to think, I started kicking him--once, twice, thrice and a final fourth time.
Leaving me with only the last step. Gasoline! Pouring gasoline all over his body. And just to finish things off, I bent down and whispered in his ear:"you can go now".
Fire spread in the surroundings but all I could pay attention to was his scream while leaving. | 2022-11-02T09:54:56 | 2022-11-02T08:03:37 | 706 | 58 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | You stick out when everyone else in your school has some kind of insane, physics defying power and you have nothing. Like a normal horse in a herd of rainbow colored unicorns.
It was nerve wracking to adjust to having classmates who could effortlessly lift you off the ground with their mind, labmates who used their eye beams instead of a Bunsen burner, and groupmates who interviewed ghosts for your history project. Not being indestructible or able to regenerate limbs on a whim, I got to know the medical staff quite well quite quickly. I wasn't even accident prone, some people just kept "forgetting" that I didn't have powers like they did. Though that ended the moment that one of the seniors took things too far.
Getting my arm broken was a weird way to find out how popular I'd become. Turns out that me being normal helps keep my more gifted friends grounded. I hadn't even known that half of them liked me all that much before they sent the senior to the superhuman ICU. I'm not complaining though. | I sat alone at lunch as I always did, but this time was different. I used to sit alone because people either did not care about me or did not want to be seen with me. But now there was fear. Now there was respect.
I pulled out my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and look around the room. There were people with super strength, laser eyes, super speed... and yet they were all side eyeing me as if I was the threat.
This sandwich is too heavy on the peanut butter. Mom always goes light on the jelly. I get up and chuck the sandwich in the garbage. I guess I'll pay some cash to buy lunch. As I get up, the human sea parts for me. Nobody wants to get in my way. Despite myself, I can't help but enjoy it. I am now finally somebody. Now I have identity.
Last week I was walking down the hallway, and BroadBody shoved me into a locker. Literally shoved me in there. Like in an '80s sitcom. People were laughing as I struggled to get out and banged on the door. When I finally got out I walked up to him, grabbed his Pokemon cards out of his bag, and ripped them all up in front of his face. He crumpled to the floor and was sobbing like a baby. Because I felt like being a showman. I took a handful of the shredded pieces, and threw them in my mouth. Chewed and swallowed baby.
Nobody fucks with me since then. Nobody. They might just think I'm crazy though. | 2022-11-02T09:54:56 | 2022-11-02T09:49:19 | 706 | 45 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | I am considered "normal" by the whole student body. And not in a good way. From my perspective all these so-called "gifted" people have a limited definition of what it means to have a superpower. I have one and I exercise it every day.
Three years ago I arrived at the academy with my mother, a shape shifter who was just hired as accountant for the SFSG. Part of the deal was that we would get an apartment at the school and I would be accepted as a student.
From the moment I arrived I got the feeling I was not welcome. Not by the students or the teachers. The condescending tone in which teachers answer my questions. The way they preface certain lessons with "most of you understand..." Even classes like Literature and Math seem to be taught from a supernatural perspective that shuts me out of the conversation.
But I'm not the kind of kid who keeps her head down and tries to disappear. I'm generally protected from any real abuse from teachers. So my hand goes up every day and every day teachers have to deal with me. I think by now I've even earned some respect for my academic prowess. But that first day they were definitely not happy to have me in class.
Students were another matter entirely. On my first day in first period I got a new name. "Corn." It means I'm not a unicorn, not special, not unique. Just corn. It's weird how an ordinary word coming from the mouths of a gaggle of mean kids can sound just s bad as the worst insulting swear word. In every class, several students called me "Corn" and used whatever superpower they had to pull my chair from underneath me, erase the answers on my papers, and generally give me a hard time.
Because of my mom, this isn't my first time at a Superpower school. In elementary school, kids have fun with it and are still amazed by each other. Since I grew up with those kids from Kindergarten they just accepted me for who I am. I wasn't prepared for this. I could blame my mom but she's just not the sort of person who would expect this either. She's all numbers and order. She Shape shifts to help people.
At lunch I was showered with pellets of corn. Which may not seem so bad until you consider that these projectiles are coming from someone with superpowers. One kid with object manipulation powers tried to do kinky things to me with ears of corn in the lunchroom. A teacher shut that one down and hauled the kid off to the headmaster.
A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom after lunch. I found myself suspended head down over the toilet.
One of the girls squatted down and got in my face, "That was my boyfriend."
"Are you okay with what he tried to do to me?" I tried to keep a calm voice.
"You don't belong here," another girl said.
My head hurt. I felt words pouring into my head that didn't originate in my brain. "You are trash. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself."
"I'm supposed to be impressed because one of you has telepathy? I'm actually unimpressed because you have this gift and use it so uncreatively. That' really the best you can do?"
A girl standing outside the stall stamps her foot and the thoughts inside my head stop.
"If you drop me into the toilet there is no way you won't leave a mark," I say.
I'm lowered slowly. My hair gets wet but I manage to bend and get my feet to the ground.
I dry my hair as best I can and go to Music. At least I'll excel there unless someone messes with my vocal chords. I resolve that for the rest of the afternoon I'm taking names.
I do mean literally. By the time school is over I have the first and last name of every kid who harassed me. Next stop the library where I check yearbooks and look up parents and families in the wealth of documents available. I am careful to avoid leaving any digital fingerprints regarding my research.
My lovely mother always uses my birthday as a password so getting into student accounts is easy as well. I'm careful to scan lists rather than looking up any particular name. This way she won't get in trouble either.
That evening I ask if we can check out the nearby town. I tell her my day was okay but that it will take awhile for me to fit in here. It's truthful. I know my mom feels guilty about moving me so she agrees to drop me off in the town square and pick me up in three hours. She has a lot of beginning of school-type work and promises Saturday we'll do town together. It's fine. All I need is an internet cafe.
The next morning every student who harassed me wakes up a little bit poorer.
I realize I don't need to tell every kid, just Little Miss Telekenesis. She's in my first period. I sit next to her, keeping my voice friendly and conversational.
"The thing is, I don't get scared. I get mad. Injustice makes me mad. Being the object of injustice empowers me. Maybe not in the way the rest of you have powers, but check your account.
I think you are going to be on pretty strict budget this semester. And mommy and daddy aren't going to be able to help you out. Nobody's going bankrupt. Yet. But things might get really ugly for you if you attack me again.
Use your cute little trick to pass that along. Maybe instead of Corn you can all just call me Karma.
Oh, and there is no way anybody is going to believe I'm responsible. I don't have any kind of superpower."
I walk away feeling a little bit lighter. Like Eliot Ness getting Al Capone on tax evasion. Superheros still have to pay for things.
I still don't have any friends at school. My mom bought me a Moped so I can go into town after school. I'm in a band and otherwise hang out with my boyfriend at the internet cafe. He's a home schooled day trader. College is going to be fun. And paid for. | "Alright class, welcome to 'Intro to Personal Abilities 1'. Before we introduce ourselves, can anyone tell me what the three classes of powers are?"
A bookish girl with large glasses raised her hand.
"The first class of powers are mental abilities. Mental abilities are controlled by the mind, and are often exerted against an outside environment. People with metal abilities are often physiologically identical to non-powered humans."
The professor smiled. "Very good, Samantha. Can anyone give me an example of a mental ability? John?"
A student wearing a black motorcycle jacket with a slicked-back hair looked up groggily from his desk. He gave a slight wave of his hand, as the chalk by the professor's podium picked itself up and scrawled "telekinesis" on the chalkboard.
The professor chuckled. "A verbal answer would have sufficed, John, but I appreciate the demonstration. Now, can anyone tell me what the second class of powers are?"
A burly looking student in athletic wear raised his hand.
"Physical abilities. Physical abilities involve a change, or uh, the *ability* to change, a person's own body." The student's arm morphed slightly, his very skin changing into a form that resembled cracked concrete, as he picked up the empty desk in front of him with one hand.
"Correct! Now, can anyone tell me what the third class of power is?"
The class looked puzzled as they sat in silence.
"Anyone?"
Samantha shook her head, and several others responded in kind.
The teacher grabbed the chalk and wrote "META" on the chalkboard.
"The third class of powers are meta-abilities: powers-over-powers, if you will. The ability to sense another person's power would be a meta-ability. It is the rarest class of power, and can be either physical or mental."
The teacher clapped his hands "With that said, I want everyone in the class to introduce themselves. Say your name, your power, and what class you belong to".
One by one, the class introduced themselves, until they reached a introverted-looking student in the back corner of the room.
"Hi, uh, my name is Liam" the student shuffled uncomfortably in his chair "and I don't know what my power is. My biomark results were 145/150, but they didn't match any known ability. The Dean of Academics decided that I should attend classes anyway, at least until my ability shows."
"That's fascinating" the professor said, thoughtfully "and a smart move, on the part of the Dean. Rest assured Liam, you won't be left behind in this class. Powers or not, you're a part of this school, and I'll do my best to accommodate"
His sentence was interrupted by a shrill class bell.
"We'll finish up tomorrow, class dismissed!"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside the classroom, Liam made his way down the hallway and toward his next class, when his path was blocked by four upperclassmen. They towered over him and moved in closer, causing him to step back slightly.
"We don't take well to spies around here" said one kid as he clenched his hand into a fist, powerful arcs of electricity crackling between his fingers, "You said you didn't have a power, which means you're either lying, or a spy"
"Guys, I'm not looking for a fight, and I'm not a spy. If you want to talk to the Dean, then by all means do. I've told you everything I know"
"Go taLk to thE deAn" the electric-kid said mockingly "Know your place, new kid!"
He opened his hand an a bolt of lightning shot out, hitting Liam in the chest and making him double-over in pain. Electric-kid's cronies laughed like comic-book minions.
"Or there will be more where that came from!"
Liam struggled to catch his breath as he crouched on the ground "I'm......not.....afraid of you"
His response was met with a chorus of "oooooooooh" from electric-kid's cronies. Electric-kid cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well, well" Electric-kid laughed "Looks like someone wants to play!" He swung an electric-charged kick toward Liam's head, but Liam grabbed his ankle, narrowly stopping the kick. Liam braced for the electric shock, but felt nothing.
"Get off of me, freak!" the electric-kid yelled as he freed himself from Liam's grasp with a kick to his chest. He pointed his finger as if charging up another lightning strike....but nothing happened.
"What!? What the fuck is this?" the electric-kid stood wide-eyed and bewildered.
Liam, meanwhile, felt...different. Something within him had changed, and it moved through his very body in a way that was immediately noticeable. An energy, buried deep within, finally surfacing.
Liam staggered to his feet as electric-kids cronies took a fearful step back. He looked at his hand, expecting burns where he had grabbed his leg, but instead found tiny arcs of electricity trickling up his arm and arcing between his fingers. He stretched his hand, and bright arcs crackled from his fingers like a tesla coil. He walked slowly toward electric-kid and his crew.
"You....you can't!" electric-kid cowered, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality of the situation set in "You can't attack me, that's cruel! I can't defend myself!"
Liam was unphased. He continued to walk, slowly and menacingly, toward electric-kid.
"YOU'RE A BULLY!" screamed electric-kid as he burst into ugly tears "YOU PREY ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS, DON'T YOU FEEL THE SMALLEST SHRED OF EMPATHY YOU MONS..."
His hysterics were cut short by an electrically-charged backhand slap, which sent electric kid flying down the hallway and into a set of glass doors, which cracked on impact. Electric kid lay writhing on the floor, bawling his eyes out and clutching his burned face as his group of cronies fled the scene.
Liam stared him down from the other end of the hall.
"No."
EDIT: [Link to Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yk0r0r/comment/iusxz6s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) in the reply comments | 2022-11-02T10:47:35 | 2022-11-02T09:00:33 | 286 | 177 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves. | "Hello this is Jenna, and I'm here to help. How are you?" I answered several calls like this daily. Keeping my voice friendly, but not cheerful. Always willing to listen. Listening is key. You see I'm a suicide prevention operator. Listening is so important because often people will give away hints of things they don't want to leave behind, reasons that they subconsciously want to stay.
"Hi Jenna." Came a raspy male voice. "My name is Owen. I just wanted to say thank you."
Occasionally we get calls from people who had spoken with us previously and things got better, I am always happy for those calls.
"Well thank you! That is nice to hear! Have things gotten better?" I wasn't trying to hide the smile in my voice, so often I wonder about the people I talk to; If they're alright, how things turned out.
A low and weak chuckle came from the other end, Things didn't get better, honey. But you all made my decision easier."
Oh no... not one of these. I had a guy six months ago try to blow his head off while I was on the phone with him, I had a co-worker call 911, while I yelled into the phone for the man to hold on. I could hear him flailing for a few minutes, then silence except for what I am guessing was the drops of blood hitting the floor as he bled out. I was still having nightmares and I didn't want that to happen again.
With my heart in my throat and my stomach churning, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I have inoperable cancer, honey. The amount of drugs it takes to keep me comfortable leaves me unable to function. I've had radiation I've had chemo, I've been opened up, stitched closed, had junk pumped into and taken out of me so many times... I'm tired. I'm old, I've lived a good life." He continued on for a while. Telling me about his family, his wife, his children, how he had served in the army is WWII, about his wife, Amelia's apple pie, about fishing with his children, and building a playhouse for his grandchildren, how proud he was of who his children had become. How he felt it couldn't get any better than it had already been. How he didn't want his last days to be a blur or painful for anyone. He wanted to go to sleep and just not wake up. He felt there was dignity in that.
He called to thank us for talking down people who weren't at peace with death, because it had taken him a long time to be there.
"Honey, I got my pills right here. Will you do an old man a favor?"
"Anything I can." I replied, nervous as to what he would ask me next.
"Do you remember a particularly lovely day you once had?"
"I do."
"I'm going to take these pills to help me go to sleep. Will you tell me about that day as I go?"
"Of course." This was against protocol, but I didn't care, I wasn't going to be part of this man's suffering. My job was to help him. And in my mind, I was doing just that.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
"Owen, what I think shouldn't matter. But being at peace with death is a rare and beautiful thing and if you're ready, I'm honored to help send you off."
"When I was nearly five my mom told me we were going to a special beach far away..." I began to tell him the story of how my mom had surprised me on my fifth birthday with my first trip to Disneyland. How it had always been a magical place in my mind. How everything had been as lovely and fun as I had hoped. It seems now a silly story to tell, but he laughed when I told him I thought Donald Duck was trying to swallow my head when he kissed me or when I noticed Cinderella wearing sneakers and not glass slippers.
He told me at one point he was starting to drift, I heard him begin to snore shortly after, then his breathing stopped.
"Sweet dreams, Owen."
I quit my job at the suicide line the next day, we were supposed to prevent every person we talked to, but I realised it's not always so black and white.
Sometimes people just need to know it's okay to go. Sometimes it takes a great deal more strength to let go than it would to battle through it. | I'm manning the local suicide hotline like I have done for the past six months. It's not a good job, in fact the money is so little that I've had to live more economically and sell my once impressive SUV for a Prias. I'm particularly irritable today, and have already had to hang up on one woman for being so distraught over her dogs death. Harsh? Yes, but if they reach for my number instead of a therapists at the loss of a family pet they're either a lost cause or a non issue and I don't have the time to waste on either.
As I'm watching the clock, anxious to have my shift end, the phone in front of me begins to ring and I reluctantly pick it up - not before waiting a few seconds to give whoever is on the other end chance to pussy out and save us both the uncomfortable conversation.
"Hello, is this the uh, the right number?" The man's voice sounds quiet, timid. Sniffles interrupt his speech, accompanied by similarly infuriating sighs.
"That depends" I reply, with great compassion "Do you want to kill yourself?"
"Yeah... I think, right now, I kinda do."
"You think? Right now? You don't sound entirely convinced." I'm trying to decide whether he's being modest or dramatic.
"Well, yeah. I called- I mean I was hoping, you'd just talk to me. I need someone to talk to. Calm me down, y'know?"
I don't know. This phone line is not for those in dire need of small talk, if that was what this man needed he could've gone to the closest office building he could find and harass people in an elevator instead of harassing me in the twilight hours of an excruciatingly long shift.
"No, I'm sorry but no."
"Uh, what?" His surprise apparently freezes his sniffling, which is delightful.
"Look I'm not here for a small chat, if you're insisting on calling me then you can at least be interesting and tell me why you want to kill yourself."
There's a short silence, for a second I think he may have hung up, but sure enough the sniffling resumes and he stammers into an explanation.
"My wife..." He begins to sound heartbroken, apparently what little composure he just had was the most I'd have got. "She's fucking someone else. After fifteen years she's fucking someone else."
My interest has been peaked. Though affairs themselves are commonplace I have on-going experience on the good side of them which makes them appeal to me personally.
"I know it. She doesn't know I know. But I know. She... She goes out with her friends, 'Boo Club' and shit, but I followed her. No friends. Just some fucking guy. Fifteen years, man, fifteen years. How could Shannon do this to me? Who does that?"
Funny. I know a Shannon. She's also somewhat of a slut. I consider telling the man this, but instead choose to remain quiet. Listening is most of the job.
"So right now I got two choices, because God knows I'm not living like this. I either kill myself now..."
There's a pause here. I think he's expecting me to interject.
"Or?" I ask.
"Or I go back to this guys house, drag him out to the front lawn and execute him right fucking there in front of his shitty fucking Prias."
This is alarming.
"Surely you don't remember where he lives?"
"You think I'd forget that? Uffmoor. Number 32. Blue fucking door."
I'm suddenly very relieved at having not mentioned my little fuck buddy Shannon, and am suddenly struck with the reality this man may try and kill me. His inability to fully satisfy his wife can't be my downfall.
"I don't know." I say "If that were me I couldn't live with it. Knowing she's had sex with somebody else. Even if you kill the guy, you can't escape that. You'd also be a murderer. A very sad sexless murderer." I'm technically empathising with the caller, putting myself in his position. I'm good at my job.
"I guess, but-"
"Just picturing it. Over and over again, him and her, her and him, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in his affordable and only temporary Prias..."
"But I loved-"
"If I were you, all I'd be thinking is how I can trust anyone when the woman I married is sleeping around. I mean, heck, if she doesn't love me who else will?!"
"You're right."
The phone clicks, the man hangs up. I breathe a sigh of relief and lean back in my chair, I don't want to be tense when I see Shannon later.
"Tough night?" My manager is back, to relieve me of my shift. Late.
"I just hope that they take what we say onboard, you know?"
"You know what?" She smiles at me reassuringly "you're the best helper here. They'd be silly not to!" | 2013-12-23T14:42:59 | 2013-12-23T14:06:28 | 1,112 | 35 |
[WP] The laws of physics are actual written laws. Breaking them is possible but illegal. | Rolling laughter poured out of his fathers study. Prying open the door Tyler peaked in. "Tyler! Get in here quick, look at this!" Reluctantly pulling the door the rest of the way open he stared at the perpetual motion machine his dad was giggling at. "Tyler, you know what the difference between this machine and me is?"
"Dad, don..."
"Given enough time this machine could please your mom"
"God damnit dad!!"
| “Those damn rascals, always flying around or zooming throughout the damn universe. It was only 10 years ago when people found out that you could break the laws of physics. At first, everyone started breaking them but then the National Science Foundation criminalized the laws of physics. My generation of course respected them. Nobody wants the chaos from that business. But my god, these youngins are a havoc on society. I just want to walk down the damn street without some giant blocking out the sun or carrying their houses around. Just the other day, I saw a pack of delinquents flying together. Back in my day, they would just roll up in a car. My god, these police really need to step up their game. People these days don’t respect the goddamn laws. All they can do is jus-- Goddamnit! Get out my damn TV! “
| 2014-03-06T05:28:32 | 2014-03-06T04:07:35 | 136 | 47 |
[WP]A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do? | My life is more difficult than yours.
When I wake up at five-thirty in the morning and cozy my feet into the slippers left purposely next to my bed, I am tired. I am *beyond* tired. Furthermore, it is in this moment that I have accomplished more than what my constituents manage in a year's time. Yet still I am plagued by their incessant recommendations, always stated with an air of condescension which exists in direct opposition to their conspicuous ignorance.
I don't eat Cheetos. My breakfast consists of low-fat yogurt, egg whites, and a banana. For my failing heart. I can't stand youth.
Do you have any idea how much legislature someone in my position must sift through *every day*, simply to remain at equal level to his colleagues? Are you aware of how many letters each and every congressman receives on a daily basis from the population he or she is tasked with representing? Of course you aren't, because what *you* do simply doesn't matter.
Every miserable day, I spend hours sifting through this trite 'literature' wishing... praying that this will be the day that an aneurysm claims my life. Painlessly, of course, for I am deserving of no less.
It never works. It must be all of the yogurt. Curse my wife and doctor; they are an insufferable team.
Today was thankfully not like every other day. I'd like to briefly explain why, before I Depart.
You see, it was today that, after the bland breakfast and banal pleasantries I customarily exchange with my (now) hideous wife before she ever so gracefully evacuates my presence, I came into possession of a brief correspondence from yet another one of my brilliant, attentive constituents.
Instead of my name it read, "The Meaning of Life". In retrospect, the return address prophesied the content it preceded. It turned out not to be an original, but actually a duplicate sent by one of my counterparts, a man without character and one with whom I share mutual contempt. Coincidentally, he had taken his life earlier in the week, and until now I remained radiant from the occasion.
Now, if I were a smarter, more resourceful man, I simply would have tossed the letter to burn in my (quite) expensive fireplace. Fortunately, I use wealth to compensate for a scarcity of the aforementioned qualities, and so I am without those faculties which could have saved my miserable, Cheeto-less life.
For your sake, I'll leave the rest of the details out of my recollection, and instead will provide you only with what so suddenly stole the wind from my diaphragm.
The letter read, in what I would consider the sloppiest and most unflattering penmanship I've ever had the misfortune to rest my eyes upon,
"smoke weed err'day 420 360 no scope lolfaggot".
I am grateful to the Lord; not for my wife, or for her keen skill in separating white from yolk, but instead for the loaded .357 magnum revolver that I keep close to my reception desk. I would have been hopeless without it. | The Redditor sat in his chair with a sour look on his face, reflecting his deep frustration with Reddit's so-called community. His question about the meaning of life on AskReddit had been downvoted to oblivion. As had a cat picture posted on /r/pics with the caption “I know the meaning of life, do you?”.
Next he had tried posting a picture of a penguin /r/PhotoShopBattles saying “Edit this picture to show the meaning of life”, but it had gone nowhere. Someone added a banana for scale and that was it. It was supposed to be funny, but pathetic job done with MS Paint was somehow depressing.
He looked around his dank basement room, and saw the mess. Three crusty cereal bowls and two pizza boxes showed five meals eaten at the computer over the last couple of days. Ants crawled over a discarded Hot Pockets box, carrying away crumbs. The space was depressing, but not “kill yourself!” depressing, just sad and pathetic, devoid of meaning. He kept hoping reddit might provide that meaning, and yet it never really did.
Then an idea occurred to him as he scrolled idly through reposts on /r/nononono. He could weave together his need for someone to tell him what the point of his existence was together with the idle ideations of death that preyed his mind without ever going anywhere.
He composed a prompt:
“A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down. What did it say?”
Hmm. Is that a story? Not really.
He tried again.
“A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note. Then an alien appears and explains how live forever, but God is having none of it and kills the alien. And then it turns out that the alien was really Jesus!”
Hmm, that looked pretty good. Like many of the writing prompts he'd seen, it had all the details laid out for would-be authors; the writers have got to like that, since then writing the story is easy, just fleshing it out, and you almost didn't need to read the responses, just the prompt, so it'd probably get upvotes before anyone had written anything. But maybe people would focus too much on the God aspect.
He picked up a pizza crust and nibbled it. It was hard and stale, but still edible and gnawing on it helped him think.
How about this, “A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do?”
He read it over. Yeah, he might get some ideas about what the meaning of life is, and there's that whole “kill yourself vibe”.
Posted! It's even getting upvotes. Finally!
But as he watches the responses trickle in, the thread turns out to be junk. Just a bunch of low effort responses with people saying things like “It's all pointless”, and then worst of all, someone not even following the prompt properly and making it all about him.
What the hell? Where is the meaning of life? Where is the death?
“Why couldn't it be better?”, he muttered to himself as he stumbled into the kitchen to find some more Hot Pockets.
Maybe /r/TipOfMyTongue might have something. “I used to know a really good answer for the meaning of life, but I forgot it. Can someone remind me?” Yeah, maybe that'd get some traction.
------
Edit: Minor copy edits. | 2015-02-27T00:01:25 | 2015-02-26T23:56:26 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye. | Fifty years ago, the Update began. The first time that I was I able to read my Progress it was at 3%, now it's at 14. Same as my age, oddly enough.
It changed a lot of things, according to my parents. Religion, the economy... the list goes on. Apparently the word "error" wasn't as scary when they were young. They weren't worried about my asking about it when I was learning to read. They weren't worried about the rumors. I wasn't either.
Today, I learned that that was a mistake. Today, I learned that I should have paid more attention when my baby brother said that his "bar looks jumpy".
Today, my baby brother asked me what E-R-R-O-R spells. What an error is.
Today, I watched him fall from the swings at the park. | Thursday June 12. The day everyone will remember as the update to humanity 1.1. The download started at midnight so i didn't notice it instantly. The next morning I woke up and went about my routine not even noticing the 82% at the top of my vision since the text was white and so was my ceiling. The radio on my drive to work was irritatingly bland as the gray sky continued to obscure the percentage and the radio went on about some download. The roads were surprisingly empty for a weekday and my drive was going pretty quickly. Suddenly a popup appeared in my vision startling me as I barely kept on the road
> Update complete restarting now please stand by.
I woke up to a pain across my chest where my seat belt had been. I had crashed into another car head on and somehow managed to avoid serious injury it seemed. I crawled out of my car as some guy ran up to me.
"Holy shit are you okay? You've got a massive cut on your cloud?
"What? a giant cut on my what?"
"Your butt. You must be in shock you'll probably need stitches on your cloud."
Just as I thought I couldn't get any more confused another popup appeared.
> Cloud to butt extension installed.
> Butt to cloud extension installed.
This was gonna be a long hospital visit. | 2015-03-04T17:12:07 | 2015-03-04T16:52:50 | 1,174 | 185 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye. | Human v1.1 Patch Notes
* Fixed an issue where eyes can become desynced from the balancing system, causing locomotion problems.
* Corrected a race condition that could cause speech to begin before the thought process for that speech had exited cleanly.
* Fixed a bug in the low level logic engine that caused some versions of the Human to not recognize other versions of Human as valid communication and cooperation targets. This problem was mostly an issue when Humans from different regions were in the same area.
* Corrected a very prevalent problem that would cause one hand to be vastly more dexterous than the other. Due to legacy issues previously manufactured Humans will not benefit from this change, but all new Humans created by Humans with this update installed will.
* Corrected some behavior in the immune system firmware that was causing unreasonable reactions to very minor pathogens, causing damage to the throat, eyes, and sinuses.
* Fixed an issue where the eyes would be delayed in adjusting to light levels, causing pain and short term damage when moving from very dark areas to very bright areas. This issue was most prevalent after waking from sleep.
* Increased the precision of the limb motion and awareness subsystems. This should help avoid toes and knees colliding with objects while walking, and hands and elbow hitting objects while moving the arms.
* Optimized the digestion routines to more accurately determine when enough food had been eaten, this should cut down on the amount of food consumed by about 20%.
* Corrected an issue that was causing sweet beverages to be favored heavily. A much wider variety of beverages should now be equally as appealing.
* Removed unused drivers for the appendix, as the hardware is no longer used in any current production model of Human.
* Increased the timing accuracy on the circulatory system, which should increase the time the heart can be in High Performance mode before the oxygen supply is exhausted and a rest cycle must start.
* Optimized the utilization patterns of the muscles in the upper body of the female variant of Human, which should result in increased upper body strength when apply torque to things such as jars and bottle tops.
* Corrected a volume equalization issue that was causing some female speech to be ignored by the speech processing hardware. This issue mostly affected the male variant of Human, and became most pronounced in models with the marriage subsystem active.
* Added some debugging functions and logging systems to make future versions of the Human firmware easier to test and deploy
Thank you for updating! | The update showed up on a Friday night. They always show up on a Friday night. I always figured it was because no one would be manning the help lines over the weekend. If there were no one to call then you would just forget about it by Monday.
This time though it took forever to download the update. Human 1.1 wasn’t advertised to be any larger than normal. By the end of the second week it’d only downloaded to about 75% for me. Everyone I asked said they were at the same percent. No one faster. No one slower.
Finally, by lunch time on Thursday of the third week it’d finished downloaded. I sighed while typing up an email at work as the “100% Complete” window flashed in my peripheral vision. A nap would let me reset and finish the update.
“You going to take a nap?” said Jeff, my cube mate.
I nodded. “Yep. Going to finish up this email then hit the hay for a few minutes.”
Jeff stood up and stretched. “Mind if I take one first? It’s time for my break. Cover me?”
I shrugged. “Sure.” It’d take me at least another ten or fifteen minutes to get the email put together.
Jeff clapped my shoulder and strode out of the cubicle. “Thanks, pal.”
It took me exactly fifteen minutes to finish the email. Jeff hadn’t returned. I stood up and cracked my back. It’d be good to take a nap and get the window out of my view.
Jeff never overslept though. I peeked out of my cube and saw Nancy lumbering down the aisle. “Don’t sleep,” she yelled.
“What?”
She ran up to me, huffing and puffing. “Don’t sleep. There’s a bug. Divine Co. just found it.”
“What kind of bug?”
Nancy gulped and sucked in air. “Catastrophic failure. They just said don’t restart. They’re working on a patch.”
“How long is that going to take?”
“I don’t know.”
I terrible realization popped into my mind. “Holy shit!” I grabbed Nancy’s shoulders. “Jeff is taking a nap. We’ve got to wake him up.”
Nancy didn’t move. She kind of blubbered and stuttered. “Catastrophic failure.”
**Edit:** Part 2 can also be found [here.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xyj8c/wp_one_day_everyone_notices_the_words_human/cp4pnrz) Part 3 can be found [here.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xyj8c/wp_one_day_everyone_notices_the_words_human/cp4qdob)Part 4-6 can be found [here.](http://www.reddit.com/r/Puns_are_Lazy/comments/2xz7fr/wp_one_day_everyone_notices_the_words_human/)
| 2015-03-04T17:27:53 | 2015-03-04T17:14:44 | 519 | 49 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye. | It was very exciting that first day, mass confusion, followed by philosophical and spiritual debate. Was this proof of god? what would happen when it reached 100%? Then 89 days of, "fuck how long is this going to take" the count down from ten was pretty good tense giddy excitement gripped everyone. Honestly nobody could talk about anything else, not that you'd blame them, for once everyone had something in common.
The big day came there were parades, speeches, pink floyd reunited for a massive concert in london that was awesome. Some religious cult in the American Midwest committed mass suicide, that was not so awesome. As the counter showed 100%, the change log popped up "humanity will no longer bite the inside of their own mouths". That was it no great leap forward no explanation of why we're here, questions generally went unanswered. Most people moved on, and many forgot, but I still try sometimes, but I just can't do it. Bite the inside of my mouth that is. | Sometimes we ask for it. There's something in us as human beings that pushes us, ever closer to edges, cliffs. We like to be our own saviors; to resolve the very problems we create.
Another Monday morning. But today we all noticed it: progress. Progress is a funny thing. We need it. But we fight it. One percent. And counting. I had an inkling that the chip wasn't just another medical advancement. It wasn't just going to help doctors save me from a heart attack or debit my bank account as I purchased the burger that would cause it. We all got one. The chip became our wallets, our identity, our lives. But now it seemed like it was something else entirely: an invasion.
"Well what the hell happens when it's complete!?" My girlfriend shrieked. She was always nervous but now she couldn't hide it. Two percent.
"I don't know."
Riding to work, my car took a wrong turn. I hate these things. Let me put my hands on the wheel. I want control.
When I arrived, the blinking meter reached ten percent. But I was not at work. My car had taken me to the hospital; a huge grey building that always seemed to me more like a prison than a care center.
Vision: black, then blurry, then blinding white. I think I am dead. A voice of someone I don't know and from somewhere that seems like inside my own head says calmly,
"Welcome. Now is eternal. Enjoy living on The Substrate." | 2015-03-04T17:10:55 | 2015-03-04T17:04:42 | 247 | 19 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye. | *Today, I begin becoming better. Would this update bring decreased damage sustained at higher age? Higher sexual endurance? Higher stamina? Elbow bug fix? Body odour reduced?*
Today it was at 3%. I swear I could feel my body getting better. This is why I love Hinux ^Human ^Linux - modules can be updated on-the-fly.
removing metabolism 3.2.2
installing metabolism 4.0.1
My metabolism has gone up.
removing sleep 1.5.2
installing sleep 5.6.6
*WHERE WERE VERSIONS 2-4?*
On and on the upgrades on packages went.
removing grub3 3.1.1
installing grub4 4.5.5
Please reboot system
*What? Reboot? But the bootloader...*
I broke out in a cold sweat. Could we be rebooted?
System is going down for reboot NOW!
*NO I-*
Error: no such partition
grub rescue > | Sometimes we ask for it. There's something in us as human beings that pushes us, ever closer to edges, cliffs. We like to be our own saviors; to resolve the very problems we create.
Another Monday morning. But today we all noticed it: progress. Progress is a funny thing. We need it. But we fight it. One percent. And counting. I had an inkling that the chip wasn't just another medical advancement. It wasn't just going to help doctors save me from a heart attack or debit my bank account as I purchased the burger that would cause it. We all got one. The chip became our wallets, our identity, our lives. But now it seemed like it was something else entirely: an invasion.
"Well what the hell happens when it's complete!?" My girlfriend shrieked. She was always nervous but now she couldn't hide it. Two percent.
"I don't know."
Riding to work, my car took a wrong turn. I hate these things. Let me put my hands on the wheel. I want control.
When I arrived, the blinking meter reached ten percent. But I was not at work. My car had taken me to the hospital; a huge grey building that always seemed to me more like a prison than a care center.
Vision: black, then blurry, then blinding white. I think I am dead. A voice of someone I don't know and from somewhere that seems like inside my own head says calmly,
"Welcome. Now is eternal. Enjoy living on The Substrate." | 2015-03-04T18:45:59 | 2015-03-04T17:04:42 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] "Suicide may be punishable by up to fifty years life-extension." | "So you've found a way to beat the system?"
"Yep."
"Just like that?"
"Uh-huh."
"This is going to work right?"
"Suicide may be punishable by up to fifty years life-extension. That's what I've heard."
"I'm still scared though..."
Gary sighed and stared at the hesitant young woman next to him. He smiled at her with loving eyes for Gary knew the pain she is living in. It's already been 3 years since his girlfriend has been diagnosed with cancer and he can't help but cry every day thinking about losing her.
But not anymore.
"Come on dear. Trust me. I'll jump with you." He whispered to her as she hugged him tight.
"I love you..."
"I love you too."
With that, two lovers fell from the rooftop of the hospital.
A few days later, two families are found burying their loved one. Their deaths were ruled as double suicide by the police.
A few yards away from the funeral, an old man finished eating his fries before sighing. "Guess they didn't understand the rule enough. It's said, suicide MAY BE punishable by fifty years life-extention." The old man stood up and started walking away but not before muttering with disgust. "*Humans.*" | I hummed along on my walk home from school. It was a boring day, but hey, I survived. I glanced at my watch, and was greeted by a bright 2:34. It was 14 minutes later when I heard the sounds of squeaky metal.
To be honest, I didn't know about the law until my best friend leapt from the school roof and he showed up the next day, alive and well. Confused, my brain was screaming WTF in a loop. It only shut up when I took to the Internet and my good friend, Google.
Turns out that there was a fairly recent law. As part of last year's "Don't do it" campaign, anyone who committed suicide would be printed into a new, robotic version of themselves. The robotic versions replicated nearly everything useful in the human body. Reproductive system, human brain, stuff like that.
But not everyone would be.. "Reincarnated", I guess. People such as suicide bombers would stay dead, and so would the 'intentionals'- People who committed suicide just to live longer. The robots would live until the Central Processing Unit wore down- around 60 years, but still, that can elongate a lifespan by .. well, 60 years. Add in the fact that the robots were everything-proof and it was very tempting to become an intentional.
The government's ways of uncovering intentionals weren't perfect. A few intentionals escaped, and they were called the 'Elites', a cheesy name but dangerous group.
As the robot approached me, I knew I only had one chance to escape from the elite.
"Hasta la vista, sucker," I thought as I leapt in front of the bus. | 2015-08-21T09:17:10 | 2015-08-21T07:59:42 | 33 | 11 |
[WP]You are Donald Trump. Having launched your Presidential campaign as a publicity stunt, you never thought you'd get this far, and you're getting more desperate to sabotage your campaign lest you become President, a position you never really wanted in the first place..
= | "That's it. I'm officially out of ideas." His hands, index fingers pointed, cut through the air in front of him; the image of a self-important conductor.
"But, boss..." I chose my next words carefully, knowing the ego of the man with his legs up on a desk carved from a single piece of marble. "no one can stump the Trump."
"Apparently, the American people can." He looked off into the New York night sky with its perpetual glow from lights that never went out. "I've tried everything. Increased the racist rhetoric, they eat it up. Sexism? No one gives a flying fuck. And the thing is, these idiots, these morons blindly bleating my name, have no idea I don't give two shits."
"But, consider the other side, Mr Trump. You achieved your goal. Your profile has never been higher."
"But I might actually win this thing. And as a **Republican**," the last word oozed out as an epithet, and the Trump looked he had tasted something bad, maybe his personality finally congealed into something palpable. I quickly dismissed the thought as that would require a level of insight my boss hadn't shown himself capable.
He shifted his weight as he brought his feet down, squaring his shoulders at me. "You have any ideas, huh smart guy," he asked, pointing at me. "The fuck do I pay you for anyway?"
"Well sir, that's the thing, I don't personally have anything of brilliance, other than—,"
"I know, and I'm not quitting. The Donald," he said as he pointed at his chest with his thumbs, "is not a quitter. No way I could spin that."
"Well, like I was saying," I had to clear my throat at the preposterous idea I was about to float, "there's this website..."
"I have a million websites, almost have as many of those as exwives, and like exwives," he pointed both index fingers at the desk, "they've never done anything for me."
I heard a sniff from the other side of the room.
"Ivanka, you're the apple of my eye, and I loved you enough to let you keep my name, but your mother's a whore." He paused a beat thinking, "and a cunt. You were saying?"
"Well, on this site there's a section for creative ideas, kind of like crowdsourcing"
"Okay, I see, go on, this is interesting."
"And well, it's called writing prompts, we could pose as a user, and ask them the question. They'd have no idea you don't wanna be president."
"Brilliant. It's basically me asking you what I just asked, except these people sound like they could be useful." He turned to where the sniffling was now a sob threatening to turn into a wail. "Eric you haven't done anything of note lately, go make this happen and get Ivanka a handkerchief, she's leaking tears over there all over this Persian rug. It's from the goddamn 16th century. It's like you kids don't appreciate squadoosh."
I relaxed for the first time in months as he returned his attention to me.
"As for you, if a forum of internet strangers can do you job, how useful are you?"
I began stammering but it was too late, the Donald had made his decision. "You're fired." | "I really do not want to do this anymore," said the orange haired man in the most depressing way. He fixed his thin tie and tucked his button down shirt into his khaki pants; just another day on the campaign trail.
It is Friday and Donald's secretary pressured him the entire morning to cancel his afternoon speech if he truly wasn't feeling up to it. Donald of course turned down this ridiculous idea. He may regret joining the race, but he's not one to quit.
"I hear what you're saying Lisa, but Trumps do not give up. We don't go back on what we say and we always win," he said confidently.
Lisa's face scrunches in a way that makes her look like the Grinch. "Besides, we have one hour until the speech," her boss adds.
Lisa had endured hours of Trump's speeches and heard countless catch phrases. "Only a Trump can build a palace in a dump" and "If you're stumped just call Trump" are among the many annoying rhymes she has heard him practice this morning in his private study.
"I just don't get it Donny. If you really want to drop out of the race, can't you let your pride go and just sign on someone else's ballot?" the Boston University graduate asks. She makes her confused Grinch face again and awaits either Donald's compassionate answer or anger at her stupid question. She could flip a coin as the candidate's response varies similarly.
He never answered her question, even after a thirty minute helicopter car ride to a small location in Alabama. Finally it is time for his speech.
Donald walks to the stage, water bottle in hand and the swagger of a king. He truly does not have a care in the world. "Lisa, it has been nice working with you," he mutters. She knows it is the end.
"Wow, feels awful to be in Alabama. Roll tide? More like Run, Hide! You guys are shit, AM I RIGHT?" Donald yells at the crowd.
They love him and eat it up. They chant his name much like Christ's followers most likely did. It is Christmas after all.
*Well that didn't work*, the careless candidate ponders. *Let's try this instead*.
"Bama! It is time to adapt! No longer may we exclude so many! If you make me President, I promise I will bring equality for every race, both genders, and create programs to provide fast track education for African Americans!"
The crowd boos the man off the stage. Donald's team had predicted that Donald cannot win the race without overwhelming support from a few states, including Alabama. His plan is going well.
**6 MONTHS LATER**
Donald has been elected for President. Both Texas and Alabama are threatening to secede from the nation, much like Texas did when President Obama was elected years prior. His plan failed tremendously. Even though Alabama and other states were terrified by his claims to introduce fair labor laws, support for unions and fast tracked education for minorities, the rest of the country loved him for it. In fact, Alabama stands divided. Half of the state's voters got past his scare tactics simply because they appreciated his integrity.
"Well - shit," Donald muttered in his office. His wife left him a week ago, but she was committed to act as his wife for another four years. He didn't want her anyways and he certainly didn't want the Oval Office. The sole relief he yearned for was Lisa's loving grasp. The young brunette who traveled from Boston to all avenues of America has become one with his heart and soul. Perhaps that's why Melania left.
"I know you never wanted this office, but what comes first Donald?" Lisa asks.
"The hundred foot wall, obviously."
And thus, America is doomed, but at least Donald doesn't enjoy being President anymore than anyone else does.
| 2015-12-25T07:41:02 | 2015-12-25T05:48:58 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here. | He had never learned how to write.
In Egypt, only scribes were taught the sacred hieroglyphics. Only the names of the pharaohs and high officials were inscribed for the gods to read.
He was only a baker. He had no need for writing or reading. His life and death were uneventful. He watched as his family mourned his passing. After some years, it was if he never existed.
He saw his sons and daughters grow up and marry. He saw his grand children, his great grandchildren and his great great granchildren. Still, he did not pass to the otherworld. He knew kings and queens passed easily, their names constantly on their mourners' lips. For the baker, he could only wait.
Years passed. He watched as his valleys grew tall with buildings, roads stretching out to the horizon and villages turning into cities. Other languages emerged and took over. First Greek, then Arabic. Slowly, he learned the new tongues. He understood merchants in their transactions. He listened to bakers discussing their recipes. He looked at the beautiful scripts but saw neither letters, words nor sentences.
He knew where children learned to write. He knew how their mothers taught them. They had sticks and mud when they were younger, and pencils and paper when they were older. He knew they practiced making straight lines and curved lines, and saw their satisfaction when someone read their words.
Every night, he went to the beach, practicing scratching letters into the sand and watching the waves erase his efforts. Over and over, he wrote the same words, making sure to get the strokes just right.
.
The young girl ran across the sand early one morning. It was her last day of vacation and she wanted to say goodbye to the shore. The receding waves had made a pattern on the ground and she ran her big toe over the bumps. Scraping a design, she noticed that someone else had been there before her. She squatted down to read the letters out loud.
| It was all because of that stupid TV show.
I thought that it was done ruining my life when I turned twenty. The comments had slowly been dying down, and I figured that once my friends were out of their teenage years, the talk would turn to wine more so than my name.
Sufficed to say, it didn’t.
I died from old age, in the year 2090, and as my eyes closed and I could hear my relatives beginning to cry, a smile graced my face in the hope that I should find peace at last.
I awoke a few feet away from the bed, my feet floating a few inches off the ground, beside my daughter. She had only commented on my name when she was a child, and even that, only once or twice. I had always supposed my children feared me too much to make fun of my name. Perhaps that was the Russian in me. I was never as gentle as my husband.
My eyes still haven’t closed. It’s been 3000 years, damnit, yet that show has only gotten more popular. It teaches all sorts of languages now, but that theme song is still the same. It plagues my days (ghosts are not allowed to leave the building they died in). I have relived every single possible moment of every single episode.
Fun fact: new episodes air every Sunday at ten in the morning. My great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great- great-(etc) granddaughter absolutely loves them.
Thankfully, my family did not continue the tradition of naming their children after their ancestors. I suppose that would have made it doubly difficult for me to finally reach the peaceful afterlife (if there even is one).
TV looks a lot cooler; that’s one good thing about being around for so long, I suppose. You get to see all the cool stuff people have come up with. The worst part is when they walk right through you, and you begin forgetting if Jerry was the father or your second great-great-great son-in-law.
I think a missed a few greats in there. Oh well. Back to the show.
Even after 3000 years, Swiper has to work on his swiping skills. That five-year-old I share a name with can’t possibly be that hard to outwit.
| 2016-01-17T15:39:35 | 2016-01-17T11:19:18 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants | *So Mr Obama, what are your qualifications?*
*Well, I was 44th President of the United States of America*
*Well, Mr President, what about your presidency makes you qualified for a job at Disneyworld? We already have a robot playing you in the hall of Presidents*
*Michelle, BRING ME MY SUPER SUIT*
^^*zzzziiiipppp*
*You're hired.* | Obama kicked open the door of Mitch McConnell's office. The Majority Leader of the Senate reacted with shock, as the President strode forward and stopped at McConnell's desk. In Obama's hand was a leaflet and a picture. Obama placed them both on the desk, facing McConnell.
The picture was of the late Anthony Scolia, signed with a message: *"Dear Mr President, congratulations on your election victory. Wishing you all the success in your political future. A. Scolia"* The leaflet was from FiveThirtyEight, showing the projected results of the 2016 US General Election. All findings had been performed and checked by Nate Silver; all showed a Democratic victory for the House of Representatives and the presidency.
McConnell looked over these 2 items. "Why are you showing me this?" asked the senior Senator.
Obama turned and slowly walked towards the door.
"Oh...no reason to concern yourself with..." | 2016-02-23T02:07:50 | 2016-02-23T01:19:57 | 89 | 17 |
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants | Knock, knock.
Why hello you tall drink of chocolate.
I heard you ladies are having a bridal shower, and you might need a little...executive action to liven things up....
bow*chicky*wow*wow
TAKE IT ALL OFF MR PRESIDENT! ALL OFF!!
bow*chicky*wow*wow
(omigod, he really is our greatest president)
bow*chicky*wow*wow, bow*chicky*wow*wow... | Obama kicked open the door of Mitch McConnell's office. The Majority Leader of the Senate reacted with shock, as the President strode forward and stopped at McConnell's desk. In Obama's hand was a leaflet and a picture. Obama placed them both on the desk, facing McConnell.
The picture was of the late Anthony Scolia, signed with a message: *"Dear Mr President, congratulations on your election victory. Wishing you all the success in your political future. A. Scolia"* The leaflet was from FiveThirtyEight, showing the projected results of the 2016 US General Election. All findings had been performed and checked by Nate Silver; all showed a Democratic victory for the House of Representatives and the presidency.
McConnell looked over these 2 items. "Why are you showing me this?" asked the senior Senator.
Obama turned and slowly walked towards the door.
"Oh...no reason to concern yourself with..." | 2016-02-23T03:57:06 | 2016-02-23T01:19:57 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] Explain a color vividly without using that color or similar words. Don't tell the color until the end. | Looking into the evening, I see it. It is the color of the middle-distance; the half measures. Not quite the forest and not yet the trees.
It is in my mind when night comes and I no longer stare out, but in. I see it in half-remembered dreams. I see it in old pictures and faded memories.
I see it in the rainstorms; wet drops steaming on hot city lanes. Sometimes it is hard and cold; architectural. Others it is soft and warm; a cat curled at my feet.
It is the color of the mists of time, of ages lost. Ancient cultures anchored in the present by their trinkets, their beauty only hinted at.
It is the edge of a knife and pallor of its victim. It is the color of the stone that marks a life remembered.
It is gray.
| I wanted to give people time to respond. I have two different colors, but I am going to do one of them.
_____________________________________________________
It is the beautiful color of the vibrant flowers I present to her. A symbol of love and devotion. The color of her sensual lips when she is dressed up for a night of luxury, especially after she puts her lipstick on. It is the bright color of her dress that I notice as I dip her down during a dance.
This color fills my vision when rages runs through my veins. Destruction and domination fills my thoughts. Everything becomes tinted. After all, it is one of the most dominate colors.
It is the color painted across the sky in the early morning and late evenings. It is the sun's favorite pajamas. It is the color of the sun's smile emanating warm and happiness. It is the color of warmth.
It is the crackle of the fire on a later summer night. A source of life. Eventually the fires fade and the embers burn brightly until they fade to black, as does our lives.
When I am hurt it is the color that flows from my wound. It oozes slowly staining everything it touches. It stains the grounds around the world from horrendous battles. While it dries and fades, the earth remains scarred. | 2016-04-14T08:41:40 | 2016-04-14T08:32:19 | 72 | 19 |
[WP]"Death Insurance" is a paid subscription service that brings a loved one back to life for the next 24 hours after their death in order to say goodbye. You awake after your death to discover you were a recipient of a gift subscription from an unknown benefactor. | A lot of people think Lydia is an old woman's name, which I guess is true in a way. You said you had stolen the name from your great-grandmother, a short but feisty woman from Jalisco who still spoke Spanish to everyone and made tortillas by hand. She had died the day before you were born, and your parents named you after her, pushing Grace over to be your middle name. I think about your name as I stand at the counter and show them the certificate I bought long ago. I've always been a worrier, for better and worse.
I'm sitting here and they're strapping me in, the machine is the shiny type of white that gives off reflections like a funhouse mirror. There's the faint smell of ammonia.
Do you remember how we first met? They're asking me to recall it. I wish it was something cute like reaching for the same book or being forced to share a table in crowded coffee shop. It was when our apartment building caught fire and we had to huddle across the street as giant flames poured out of the windows and exploded through the roof. I shared a blanket with you and asked you if you had anywhere to stay. We ended up crashing at my cousin's place on Seventh Street and he tried to make a move on you, but you laughed it off.
They're asking me to remember your scent now. I remember you changed perfumes depending on what time of day it was, sharper scents for the morning and for work, darker perfumes for our dates.
I've been here for three hours, thinking of you. I'm dreading the final question.
I remember our road trip to Atlanta, crossing through the Devil's Tail in North Carolina on the way, that crazy winding road that seemed always just a hairpin turn away from killing both of us. You drove the full thing, you promised me I could drive it next time. You wore a pair of $1 sunglasses and you had the windows down and the way the air made your hair curl about your face - I swear, I had never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life.
I would have given anything to see you again. I guess, in a way, I am giving everything. That's the final price we pay for this machine, you know, I'm thinking these memories for the last time. They need them to recreate you, or at least this clone of you that will only live for 24 hours. When you die, so will all my thoughts of you. There will be a stranger in the photos on my wall, a smiling beautiful brown eyed woman who dreamed of leaving her back office Wall Street job and writing books on disappearing cultures. I'll look at your Cornell hoodie and wonder why I have it, wonder who it belonged to.
They ask me how you died. It's the last question. Do I give them the scientific answer? That one night a blood vessel burst in your brain and that as I woke up next to you, your eyes were open and pale and you were cold as I grabbed you in my hands? Or do I tell them the truth, that you didn't die alone, but that you took the whole world with you. That every day in New York has been overcast, that May feels like December, and that I'm working 14 hours a day just so I don't have to go home.
With that last answer, the first part is over. I wait and listen to the hum of the computer. They take a VR headset and put it over me, I'm in our bedroom, they've recreated it perfectly, down to your collection of books and the large window that provided a view of the brick wall next door. Someone's showering, I can hear humming through the thin walls, I can hear your humming - I can hear your humming. They tell me that this version of you doesn't know about your death, that I'm not to mention it.
I have 24 hours to love you forever. | I peeled my eyes open one at a time, reluctant to face the other side. I knew I was dead, I knew I was dying before I lost consciousness.
Now I only saw a single light beaming down, just glaring into my corneas. My body was laid out on a cold, metal, semi-upright chair. Odd, aren’t you supposed to become conscious outside a gate waiting to be called in by St. Peter? Panic brings bile to my throat.
WHAM! I wrench my body upwards and am met with a hanging lamp to the skull. Between the spinning hot ball of panic in my chest and the searing new crack in my skull, I know I must be in hell. If death hadn’t stolen my pain from me than I must be doomed to an eternity of torture by my biggest fears, starting with the dentist’s office.
“HA.” A husky, scrunched-faced man in a trademarked red polo walks over flicking a syringe. His fat sausage fingers shoved into blue rubber gloves gave my panic a new vibrancy.
I certainly hadn’t recovered my speech after death. I was dead right?
“Alright, let’s get this clock started shall we? Death is already impatient with humanity as it is.” The agent closes in with relaxed but practiced posture.
I NOPED the fuck off that chair and slammed my back against the wall. It made sense that panic would follow me beyond the veil, or rather across Styx.
An impatient and nearly angry look crawled onto his stupid, demonic face, “Hey, you paid for the lowest policy. No waking up in a Turkish bathhouse for you. Come on, for once I have more than one person to prepare for their 24 and I just wanna go home and wait for my own death. Just take the drugs, say your goodbyes, and tell your nieces and nephews where Auntie hid the family jewels.”
*Their 24*, shit… no... someone took out death insurance on me. I was alive! *Wait why?* Only the rich could afford death insurance, even now given that it’s fallen out of practice.
It was then that I found my words, “I didn’t take this policy out. Who did this to me?”
It’s widely regarded as an antiquated and cruel concept, death insurance. Since so many came back in those early years begging to be thrown back before their 24 hours were up. Death had robbed many of them of their sight, most movement, but never their pain. They never had the strength to re-kill themselves but ached for it.
Policyholders had to not only watch, but also feel every new rotting spot of flesh. That rotting happened at a breakneck pace, so very much faster than nonpolicy holders. The rapid decomp, as claimed the religious zealots, was God’s way of telling us to stop playing his game.
Many policyholders broke multiple bones in the process of saying goodbyes. Most the time it was their jaw. Muscles and bones were somewhat preserved but not maintained after death. No anesthetic would be given as their hearts weren’t pushing any new blood through their veins.
Sadly it didn’t stop there. In the hours, sometimes days, policyholders had been dead, they were privy to secrets that turned their physical brains into hallucinating piles of decomposing tissue and puss.
I wish I knew more about medicine in my life because something was wrong here.
Why was I different? I had felt adrenaline, which meant my heart was moving. The panic meant my brain was reacting to outside stimuli, chemicals were being disbursed. My brain only remembered before I lost conscious certain I would die, but I don’t remember how it happened or where I was.
“Jesus, shit, I’m sorry.” Husky Agent Man put syringe down on the bedside table and waved his hands in the air, “I didn’t realize you weren’t aware you had died. No one has ever come back *not* knowing of their own death.”
“How?”
The agent picked up a chart hanging off the arm of the chair, “Aneurism.” His lined face softened. His pity disgusted me. Someone has done far worse to me than an aneurism ever could.
“Who did this to me?” I took only a few steps forward, feeling the weight of my own corporeal form.
“Looks like it was done internally. Do you know a Jake from State Farm?”
| 2016-05-25T12:06:10 | 2016-05-25T10:32:47 | 81 | 41 |
[WP] Snuggled up to a loved one and listening to his/her heart beat, you realize it's beating in Morse code. | When Jennifer told her co-workers she was going on maternity leave, one of the flight attendants had joked that now that the best pilot the airline had was off, she was too scared to fly with anyone else.
When Jennifer went into labor two months early, she and her husband Chase were frantic. They had planned on a home birth and had a midwife on hand, but the premature labor sent all those plans into a tailspin.
When Jennifer was checked into the hospital and sufficiently comfortable, the nurse giving her ice chips talked to her about what would happen once the baby was born. Less than 1% of births were two months premature, and they had the most complications. Modern medicine could usually save the child, however.
When Jennifer gave birth, it was the worst pain of her life. She held Chase's hand tightly and thought about the daughter she knew she would give birth to. She was going to be named Aveline. It meant little bird.
When Aveline was born, she was silent. Not a single cry escaped her little mouth. The nurses whisked her away to be check up on. Another nurse stayed behind to reassure her that many premature babies were silent at birth. They were often very tiny, only a few pounds. They had their eyes closed and were very pinkish-purplish. Like baby birds.
When the doctor returned with Aveline, he informed Jennifer that Aveline had arrythmia and would not survive the night. Her little body couldn't handle all the complications that arose from the birth and irregular beat.
When Jennifer was handed Aveline today her goodbyes, she held her close and kissed her forehead. After a moment, she listened to her daughter's heartbeat while she still had the chance.
When Jennifer heard the irregular beats, she automatically started translating the variations of longs and shorts.
When Jennifer finished the message, she whispered her response to Aveline.
"I love you too." | James knew that no words could change what he had done. The fact that one punch could cause so much destruction. Made him regret throwing that final blow. It wasn't his fault, though, she wouldn't listen.
"I'm going to be a dancer," Cherry said, "one day you'll come and watch me."
James smirked. "Make sure you can handle your number one fan screaming for you."
She jumped on top of him and grabbed onto his wrists. "And you better be the loudest. Or I'll be going with that guy."
The mood in the room went flat at that jive. He let her sit on top of his belly, he felt comfortable with her there. But James looked away, through the window, trying to forget the pain she'd caused him several months ago.
"I'm sorry," Cherry whispered. Referring to the time she'd cheated.
The fact that she'd thought about it too, made him feel sick. "Off me, Cher," he said, sitting up. She clung to his arm. He shrugged her off. "Not now."
"You always do this," she said, grabbing his arm again.
"I said not now." His stomach felt thick with nausea. At the same time he knew he shouldn't be angry, not about this. It happened so long ago, things had changed, but the anger boiled to the surface.
"James! Please," she hissed grabbing on to his arm again.
"I said, NOT NOW." He swung at her, his knuckles connecting with her jaw. Cherry flipped onto the floor, her head banged against the wall. She looked up, eyes dazed, not knowing how to respond. And then she burst into tears.
James stood to go and help. But he stopped himself, looking at his fist which had her blood on it.
Later, he'd apologise. She would accept his words at face value. And after they iced Cherry's burst lip, they would lie back down together.
She would forgive him and place her head across his chest. James would hold a hand in her hair, pulling her close, right after he swore he'd never do it again. But each heart beat that Cherry listened to would say the same thing.
*"I'm a liar."*
Edit: The only dark story. Eek. | 2016-06-25T22:18:11 | 2016-06-25T22:08:43 | 65 | 20 |
[WP] You live in a society where at the end of each day, you can choose to relive it, but without retaining any knowledge of what happened previously. A number in your peripheral vision shows how many previous times you lived through the current day. Almost always that number is 0. Today it is 7212. | I awoke to thunder, the sky outside my window so obscured by the storm that it was difficult to gauge the time. Clock by the nightstand said 8:15. Shit. Missed my alarm.
I rubbed my eyes, and jolted awake at what I saw in my periphery. My repeat value, which normally glowed as a soft, green zero was screaming at me: a bright, crimson 7212.
The day’s schedule ran through my head: work, dinner with Cas, and…that was it. Whenever I repeated, I knew to expect either something very good, or utter catastrophe. I ran scenarios through my head. Did I win the lottery? Even if, why would I want to repeat that day? Surely I would be eager to move forward and spend my fortune. Is Cas pregnant? We had been trying for a while, and while it would make me happier than anything, it’s the same as the lottery scenario: I’d be too eager to experience the future.
Perhaps something awful. I’ve occasionally used multiple same-day repeats as a sort of warning light so that I could brace for impact. It’s always been my policy to push through difficult times, though. We can’t spend eternity avoiding our problems.
The sky lit up and roared. Another option presented itself to me, and I shivered with the thought. Some people openly intend to repeat their last day alive, if they’re able. I always swore I wouldn’t trap myself in such purgatory, but who knows how the face of death could change my mind?
I turned to Cas and gently shook her awake. I couldn’t keep this from her. She rolled over and smiled. I loved how her eyes lit up every single morning. “Hey handsome,” she half-whispered. I smiled back.
Before I could speak, her face dropped. Every muscle in her body appeared to relax, and then tighten, as her eyes rolled back and she began to shake.
Later that day, the doctors would tell me there was nothing that could have prevented it. Arterial clots can be difficult to detect.
But I would do anything to see her smile again. One more day, no matter what.
| If anyone sympathizes with this character - you probably need help :)
____________
Fire.
It was my obsession. It burned within me.
From my teenage years I had been obsessed with it. It had always been my love. I'd only ever been caught once - lighting a bin on fire - but by the time I was twenty I had lit three bushfires, and for every 'Lost Pet' notice taped to a tree, I was the one that knew where the charred body lay.
Which was, of course, what drove me to enrol as a firefighter. To not only be with my love - but to have power over it - why, it's every pyromaniac's dream.
But even I knew not to light up in weather like we have today. Forty-nine degrees Celcius, unpredictable winds and on the back of the dryest summer since 2009. I'm an arsonist, maybe even a monster, but I'm not suicidal.
I sat in the firetruck, and looked down the main street of the small city of Mildura, when I realised what today was. It wasn't my first time experiencing this day. I'd been through this day 7212 times. Today was my 7213rd time. 7213. That number must mean something. 7. 13. Lucky numbers. 7213 - a prime. What did that mean?
It meant that it was time for me to live a little. To make my own luck.
My modus operandi was well established now. Find two areas that will both burn slowly and light both up, then report one of them. While all the trucks fight the first flashpoint, the second one has a chance to spread. Just nine minutes later, I was killing the first of my babies. And while all of Mildura's firefighters were busy protecting the cinema, another fire was spreading into a disused warehouse. It would only be a matter of time before it reached the broken down tractors and farm equipment stored there and the fuel tanks in them exploded.
As the fire spread, I wondered whether the last few days had been such a thrill. I remembered nothing of the last twenty years, but why should that bother me? I was young and in love, and nothing would keep me away from my beloved fires.
Would I have done the same things without seeing the signs in the numbers? I hoped I'd make the same decisions tomorrow. Somehow, I knew that whatever happened, I would.
As my neighbours screamed and my city burned, I smiled. Of course I would live this day again. Not even half way through, and I'd made up my mind. | 2016-07-11T07:26:49 | 2016-07-11T07:01:44 | 56 | 25 |
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes. | Everyone wants to be different. I, to my dismay, am.
I was deemed dangerous when I was born. Even though there are those that can level mountains with a wave of their hand, or calm a storm with a mere thought, it was I that they feared- a baby. Those comfortable with their own strength and power often fear that which they do not understand. And, as the first of my kind, the first human to be born with yellow eyes, the first human to not fit our world's notion of normalcy, I am dangerous.
In our world, it is the color of one's eyes that controls their gifts. Those with blue eyes command the sea. Those with brown eyes control the earth, and those with white the sky. Eye color is everything. It was only when they had decided that I had no powers, no gifts, no element to control, that they saw fit to give me back to my mother.
As it turns out, they were wrong.
My mother tucked me into bed, and kissed my forehead. I was about 4 years old, if I recall correctly. She whispered that she loved me, and headed for the door. I stared at the lights above me, waiting for my mother to turn them off. In that instant, the room grew black as pitch, and I rolled to my side to sleep. My mother stood, frozen at my doorway, her hand still hovering near the unmoved light switch.
Everyone has their element, be it water, earth, air, or some other puny thing.
Mine is light.
Shortly thereafter, I was again deemed a danger. The power I possessed was like nothing the world had ever seen. Where others possessed the power to destroy mountains, I possessed the power to destroy stars. Where others could quiet storms with a thought, I could shut off the sun. Others were powerful, yet I was a god.
I am a man of twenty years now. I have not glimpsed the sun since that fateful night. I have not felt the soft touch of my mothers skin, nor the warmth of sunlight beating down upon my brow. I have felt darkness blanket me, and the cold embrace of chains around my wrist.
Here I have been kept for years upon years, and here I will be kept until my dying day. I am imprisoned, and I am feared, as happens so often with gods.
| I had always been jealous of the others. Being able to cause earthquakes, raise and lower the ground, rolling the ground underneath my feet as if it were a skateboard. Or what about being able to make water appear wherever you wanted it to appear. Make it rain and shower the pastures for the farmers or being able to give water to those who are thirsty. Also, flying looked amazing; having the wind catch you under your arms and fly wherever you wanted. I was jealous, until I grew over it and discovered my power. Legal drinking age. All my friends weren't allowed to drink until they turned eighteen. That wasn't a problem for me. My yellow eyes enabled me to control beer and make it go wherever I wanted it to, most importantly: in my mouth. I started drinking when I was sixteen and haven't stopped ever since. I drink beer almost every day and whenever I become nauseous or tipsy, I have it leave my body. That's right. Right from the bladder, back through my throat and onto the street. It sounds disgusting, but being able to have infinite drinks? It's awesome. I earn my money nowadays by competing in drinking games. "Fifty bucks for the fool who can chug the most!" Easy money.
"Alright guys, I'm gonna take a piss. All that beer has to come out," I say as I leave the room filled with people staring at me in awe after winning another drinking game, netting twenty bucks this time. I head for the toilets and lock myself up in a stall. I don't feel like getting the beer back out through my mouth, so I just stand and piss. Soon after some guys enter the bathroom. "He went in here, the fraud," one says. "Must be in that stall." Their footsteps draw closer and all of a sudden they start banging on the door. "We know you're in there, yellow eye." "Show us what you're worth, beer drinking fraud."
Shit, they've discovered my power. I've been taking a leak for a minute now and I'm still not done. I focus and I can feel the piss running out of me in a more intense way. It doesn't take long until I can feel its warmth embody me. Goodness, I'm controlling my own piss. Let's see how they like this! I turn around and my beam hits the closed door, but I target the waterfall upwards, over the stall and the yellow fountain of warmth showers over the guys standing in front of it. "WHAT THE F- HE'S PISSING OVER THE DOOR!" one says and the rest starts shouting. They run from the bathroom while shouting and soon after peace returns. I turn back around and aim for the pot again, lowering the ray in the middle.
Beer controlling and now piss controlling. Sweet. | 2016-08-08T11:36:54 | 2016-08-08T10:59:12 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] Your grandparents always playfully bickered in their native language. To surprised them, you took lessons, but now you understand what they're really saying...
What comes next will shock you! | I rang my grandparent's doorbell. I visited them often, in their little ranch-style house. Someone had to. They were my dad's parents but he didn't visit them much. He called them the most vindictive, bitter people he had the displeasure of knowing. And my mother? Deathly afraid of them. But they had always been nice to me, their only grandchild. Alway's remembering to bring me presents on my birthday, much to my parent's dismay. They had been a part of my life and so, a couple Sundays a month, I would come over and cook for them. I had recently graduated from culinary school, an endeavor which they had partially financed and had gained employment at a popular steakhouse not to far down the road.
Today was different though and I waited in anticipation. Over the last few months, I had begun to learn their native tongue, French at the community college and was eager to show them what I had learned. It had been difficult, my professor was coarse and decided that the best way to engage the class was to teach us the varied obscenities of the French language. But somehow I was able to scratch a meager understanding of the language. I could understand it well but speaking it was a different story.
It took me a few more tries before my grandfather answered the door with a smile and embrace . "Ah, Amanda! It's good to see you. How long has it been?" I smiled,
"I know papap. I've been so busy at work. It's good to see you. Oh! I have something very exciting to tell you and mamam at dinner."
He took ahold of my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and smiling slyly said "Is it a boy? Huh? A handsome prince come to take my granddaughter away?" I grinned sheepishly and looked down.
"*No* papap, not yet. And anyway, I said I'll tell you at dinner. It wouldn't be fair to tell you before mamam." He chuckled and responded
"True true. Come in! Come in!" He patted my back and I was a little girl once again, joking with my papap and talking to my mamam as she cooked. We made are way into the living room where mamam was sitting on the couch. She looked up and smiled at me.
"Amanda! You're here! I was not sure you would make it." Like papap, she spoke with a recognizable accent. She had been a short woman and had seem to have shrunk with age. She wore a faded floral print dress. My papap was clothed in traditonal grandpa garb. Kahkis pulled up to the middle of his belly with a leather belt and a striped dark black and green polo. They both wore thick rimmed glasses that made their eyes look abnormally large.
We sat and chatted for a few minutes about how work was going and what they had been up to. I then went to the kitchen to prepare dinner and they sat in the living room watching TV. I decided today's meal would be Italian with spaghetti and meatballs as the main course and caesar salad to start. As I was stirring the red sauce, I smiled, hearing them chatting in the background. They were talking in French like they often did. But then I heard "*Tu es completement débile*" and I stopped stirring. *Did my grandfather just call my grandmother a complete moron*? I thought. My smile dropped off my face when I heard her response.
"*If I am a moron you are a goatfucker.*" He laughed.
"*If I am a goatfucker, you are a goat.*" She chuckled as if he had said something slightly amusing about the weather.
"*If you're will wasn't to that idiot in the kitchen, I would smother you in your sleep*." My jaw dropped. Did I really just hear that? Was I having a stroke? I stood there listening to them go on and on calling each other the nastiest things, all the while keeping a calm demeanor. As I listened it became very apparent to me that the only reason they tolerated my "unbearable" presence was because I was the inheritor to both their wills and if one of them died the other would try and coax the other's inheritance out of me.
In shock and unsure what to to do, I finished making dinner. As we sat down to eat papap said "This looks fantastic Amanda, thank you!". Mamam not to be outdone said,
"Indeed, you've always been my favorite chef!" I felt myself smile and nodded, unable to form words. We sat there, eating in silence. Mamam leaned over to papap and said in French "*Why is the idiot not eating?*" Papap shrugged,
"*Maybe your awful face made her lose her appetite.*" She scoffed.
"*Ask her something, you half-wit.*" He looked over at me and asked,
"What was that thing you were going to tell us? You said you had something exciting to share?" I looked at him, then at mamam before saying in French,
"*I wanted to tell you if either of you die, this idiot will not be giving away her inheritance.*" They stopped eating and looked up, stunned. We sat there in total silence. They then burst into simultaneous laughter.
| Ever since I was little Oma and Opa would speak in the old tongue. They emigrated long before Mom was born and insisted she learn the local language. Grandpa was in the war, never spoke much of it. I asked about it, but he always dismissed it as nothing a child should know. I could never pry much more than his evasions. I knew that time of his life held a lot of pain, I never pushed him for answers. Time had taken its toll, he had parkinsons that made the simplest tasks a trial of his patience. From time to time he would become frustrated with his loss of control and growl in his native tongue a few coarse words. He would often sit in his chair and stare through the wall, I worried what had happened left an indelible mark on his mind for the worse, so I never pressed it. Grandma had always been Grandma, making food and taking care of the home. Grandpa was over two decades older than Grandma. He always joked that she would have to find a corpse to dig up to fill in for him.
They were very traditional old world geriatrics. Sometimes I would hear them babble in their native tongue off in another room and always wanted to know what they were saying. Sometimes I would think I caught the meaning of a word through context, but never could be certain. Mom never learned the language and whenever I asked my grandparents to teach me, they would laugh off the request. I sometimes would try to remember a word or phrase so I could look it up, but never could get it straight enough to decipher.
When I got out on my own, I got the idea to learn it. I took a few classes in school and eventually got pretty good. I liked to listen to the news in my new language. I read books with surprising proficiency. My translation dictionary grew thick with flags and notes stuffed in between pages, then it gathered dust as its utility had wained as my proficiency grew.
As my summer break grew closer, my excitement grew. When I got home I would visit Grandma and Grandpa and surprise them with my new old language of theirs. I counted the days until I could speak with them in a way never before possible. I would talk to myself, imagining how it would go. I practiced my "lines" the whole drive home. My fingers tingled with excitement. I could barely contain myself.
I called Grandma to arrange my visit. She was delighted to have me over after I got into town. When I got off the phone my cheeks were sore from smiling. I was over the moon with my plan years in the making coming to fruition.
Grandma and Grandpa were waiting on their porch when I pulled up. With aching joints they rose from their rocking chairs to give me a warm welcome and a hug. Grandma was so excited she barely breathed greeting me and asking question after question. Grandpa was all smiles seeing his grandchild again. His weary eyes had a light in them I rarely saw. He was a fairly reserved man, didn't say much but his joy was evident in the pep in his step and smirk. They hurried me in to the living room to hear all about my time at school. For well over and hour Grandma grilled me about my studies, my friends, if I was seeing anybody, and how I liked school. I kept my surprise a secret, I needed the right time.
Grandma offered some tea, to which I gladly accepted. She hurried off with an exuberant shuffle to put the kettle on. Grandpa followed to offer a hand to his wife of so many years. I buzzed with excitement in anticipation of the coming revealing of my new knowledge. I heard their once foreign babble, now clear as crystal illuminated in new light.
"So good how well life has been at school." Grandma chirped "I am so proud, you worry that your grandkids will be corrupted by the world but I haven't a concern now."
Grandpa's rough voice replied "I knew you were worried over nothing. You let your mind wander and concern yourself with unfounded fears. Ever since we met you worried excessively."
"I was right to worry enough for the both of us and come to this country. You wanted to stay! I just worry because the state of the world. Just look how things have changed... The world is a vast departure from what we had in mind in our youth." Grandma said.
Grandpa sighed and said "I know Eva, but we fought for as long as we could for a pure fatherland. We can only hope that our descendants learn how special they are. I know they will one day carry the flame we sparked so long ago and fuel it with the same desire for the triumph of our race. They lied and spun our great work into an atrocity the world could never forgive. Now we sit meekly, too feeble and weak, to lead our race to our rightful place."
"I know, but still I worry." Grandma said as she looked out the window at the birds she grew fat with the plentiful seed from feeders she stocked every morning.
Grandma called to me in English "I cant remember, do you like one spoon or two?'
My head spun as I stared a hole in the wall.
"Hello? One scoop or two?" she repeated in English.
I tried to find the words. I eeked out "Zwei bitte Oma." without realizing.
The tea cup Oma held fell from her gasp and shattered on the floor. There was no putting back together what pieces remained of what had been.
Edit: A few autocorrect errors. I still can't find the "(w/c/s)ould of" referenced in the bot post, if someone would be so kind as to quote it, I would be grateful. I really shouldn't drink and write... But meh.
Edit 2: I finally caught the spelling error that undermines a pretty important point... It is fixed now. Really should not drink and write, or proofread... | 2016-09-09T21:04:21 | 2016-09-09T20:39:00 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] Once a name has been used it becomes unavailable until the person using it passes away. With over 7 billion people on earth people are starting to get... creative. | Sometimes it is just the luck of the draw. There's a guy in Germany who went the random route and got Adolfhilter, and now he's stuck with that. I went to school with a Mymomsacheatingbitch754 which really makes me question why you can't change your name later in life. It's just a stupid database, after all.
My pal Idiosyncraticmachinations says that the system is badly overloaded as it is, and between scanning in new identities and making old ones available, it is basically working flat out simply keeping up with current demand, and doesn't have the bandwidth for what is essentially a luxury and not a need. My cousin Ptimothy disagrees, and maintains that what is needed is parents with either cash, or foresight, or both. He points out that names have power, and maintains that President Richardtempletonthethird won a close race due to his name, and that Fartknockerfiftyfive was actually the better candidate all around. But hey, that's politics for you.
It is true that some families seem to get better names, and it is also true that money seems to help in that regard. When they introduced booking names in advance, that really helped the rich. It helped the poor too, and I should know since Ptimothy took $50,000 to sign over the rights to his name. This greatly annoyed our family, since they were the ones who gave him the name in the first place, and they felt that they should have gotten some benefit, and it annoyed his kids since none of their kids could now get the name, and it annoyed everyone in the family all over again when he blew through most of the cash over the course of a single weekend in Vegas with a hooker called Nearermygodtothee316. But when asked about it, he just laughs and quotes Pope Iloveanal69 when he said that all God's children have their true names inscribed in the Book of Life, or something like that.
Names have power, and I believe that. I agree with Ptimothy. I feel that people do in fact judge books by their covers, and that a poorly chosen name can have great consequences further down the line. I think it is important to put aside names, to put aside these un-asked for labels. I should know, for I have gone my entire life being called Elpasoyankees25544 and no, I guess my parents never thought they would move back to New York. My name does not reflect who I am, it doesn't define me. I am a San Fran Dynamos fan, after all. Please please put aside labels, and consider only the facts when judging someone, and find my client Guiltyasfuck innocent!
| When the name act had passed in 2036, my family, being rich and renowned were able to secure normal names with the help of billions upon billions of bribe money.
While the peasants of the world names their children random strings of letters and numbers, my name is Anastasia.
Since then we have kept the precious name in our family. It had belong to my grandma and I had remained nameless until she died and then the name was passed on to me. Usually, it went to the first person who applied for the name, but my family's power was no joke.
All of the powerful families in the world had "normal" names, this had become a show of our wealth. Those with the most normal, bland and common names were the most wealthiest.
One day, as I was sunbathing by my pool, my butler came and handed me a black envelope.
"What is this?" I asked him.
"It seems to be an invitation of some kind and is addressed to you, my lady"
I glanced at the golden letters that curved out my name. I flipped the envelope around and pried it open.
Inside was a black card and in red, bloody letters was the word "hunted".
I shrieked and dropped the card, which the wind blew into the pool. The black ink which dyed the card began to seep out and due the pool black.
My hands shook and I immediately got up to look around me.
This couldn't be happening, I thought to myself, not to ME!
I looked at my butler who backed away in fear and then turned and ran as far away from me as possible. Then, I made a beeline for the house.
Inside, I locked the glass door. The maids all have me a strange look at my panic.
Without a single word I rand down towards my basement to our secret safety room. The walls built with 3 meter thick reinforced steel. Once down there, I closed the door behind me and sighed with relief.
But how long was I gonna stay here? I wondered to myself. The hunters never stopped hunting once they set a target.
I looked around in the secret room which I had not entered since I was an unnamed child.
I remembered that there was a corner dedicated to supplies that could last for months. I went there to check.
To my horror, all the supplies were gone! My mind races in confusion. I went back to the door. I had to go and stockpile a new supply for my coming months of seclusion, however when I tried the passcode protected lock it wouldn't open. Someone had changed the code!
I screamed and screamed but no one hears me in the soundproof room.
The servants had soon seen the card, now white, floating in the pool of darkness and they all ran for their lives.
My family members who knew of the secret room all pretended that I had died in fear that if they visited my location would be revealed. They thought I had months worth of supplies but I really had none. I was dead in days.
The hunters were paid a hefty some of 900 billion dollars and somewhere a baby claimed the name "Anastasia".
| 2016-10-23T11:36:07 | 2016-10-23T11:33:39 | 51 | 29 |
[WP] In the canine world, humans are celestial beings who live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you and the past seven generations of your family will die soon. | I'm a Good Boy. Everyone tells me so. That's why my person loves me so much and keeps me around. My mum must have been a Good Girl too, because he looked after her. And her mum. And all the other dogs here. My person is a Good Boy too. He looks after us all. Small-Three-Leg, Old-One-eye, Soft-Fur, and me. They call me Loud-Bark. But our person calls us all different names. He calls me Max. I like that name the best.
I don't know my person's name. Their language is a secret. I only know a few words. My favourites are ''walkies'', ''ball'' and ''dinner''. But my *most favourite* is ''Good Boy''.
I'm a Good Boy.
My person isn't here right now and I'm worried. Last night other people came and took him away. They were angry people, pointing their loud sticks and shouting. Normally people are the best. I don't like those people. Old-One-Eye growled at them but my person told us to ''stay''. So we did. We watched him go. Now the sun's up and he's still gone. Small-Three-Leg thinks we should go find him, Small-Three-Leg is the bravest. So we're going to go find our person. Old-One-Eye has opened a hole in the fence. Old-One-Eye is big and strong. He thinks these people smell like the people who made him One-Eye. He does not like these people.
We move quickly. Soft-Fur is following the scent my person cleverly left for us. My person is smart, and Soft-Fur is the best tracker in the world. There are people everywhere. Shouting, crying. Some of them have the loud sticks. They are shouting loudest of all. Soft-Fur thinks they are herding people, like she used to do with sheep before she came to us.
These people are not Good Boys.
We see more dogs, they are eating together. They see us and growl. They do not want to share their food. But we don't want to eat it. It's a *person*! A small person. A *person puppy*!They are not Good Boys.
They step forward, tails up, ears forward. Growling. They want to fight. But Old-One-Eye steps forward too. He's the strongest dog in the world. They know he will beat them, so they go away.
We walk for the whole day. It's dark now, but Soft-Fur says she can smell our person, so we don't stop. Not for sticks, not for balls, not for food. We walk through field and forest, we cross the river. We are walking to where the loud sticks are noisiest. Even Small-Three-Leg seems afraid.
We find our person. He's lying down in the grass, his breathing is shallow. We can smell his blood. He is hurt. He is dying. But he sees us and his face lights up. He is happy to see us. He hugs us all and calls us Good Boys and Girls. Our tails wag and we lick him all over. He talks for a while and clutches at his bead toy that we can't touch. Soon after, he is dead. We stay with him, there's nothing else to do. He is our person. We will stay with him. His last words to me were my favourite. He called me ''Good Boy''
I'm a Good Boy.
The sun comes up, and we see more people. Soft-Fur smells them first. They smell like anger. They smell like fighting. Then we smell something else. They smell like our person. These are the ones that took him. These three are the ones that hurt him. They killed our person.
Small-Three-Leg runs towards them, snarling and barking. They pick him up as he growls and bites. They laugh. Small-Three-Leg is the bravest dog in the world. But he is still small.
Old-One-Eye is not small. Before they have time to point their loud sticks, Old-One-Eye pins one to the floor, tearing at his face. He screams. Soft Fur jumps at the other, latching on to his throat. He does not have time to scream. There is one more. He is holding Small-Three-Leg and runs away.
My person taught me not to hurt the other people. It's not what Good Boys do.
I'm a Good Boy. But I chase him anyway. I catch his leg and bring him to the floor. He cries as Small-Three-Leg bites at his fingers. I will kill this person for taking my person. I'm sure my person would want that. These people are not Good Boys, they deserve this he'd say.
He'd call me a Good Boy. And I am.
I am a Good Boy. | "You are my Totem."
This is what the Guardian said when he first held me in his arms. I was nothing but a whelping then, not even able to open my eyes. But I remember the words. Totem. That's what he called me. And I was his.
The Guardian loved my brothers, and sisters, but I was the one who he deemed to stay. "There is no higher honor," my mother said on her deathbed. "Protect the Guardian. Honor him as he has honored you and our family."
I did what I could to become a member of his pack. There were other Tall Ones who entered our den, but never before I approved. There would be times where he'd leave the den and travel for years, but I let no intruders disrupt our home while he was gone. As I grew older, he allowed me to travel with him in the loud carriage of steel and fire. The beast scared me at first, I'm old enough to admit that, but I learned that it doesn't eat as we do, and cares not if we inhabit its belly.
The Guardian showed me the world outside the valley of cold stone and oil. He showed me the Green, a place of other-dogs, quick morsels, and kind Tall Ones who smiled and called me good boy. The Green was my favorite place. There was so much room to run and jump and sing. The Guardian never did these things, but he'd always wait on me with a smile on his face.
The years went by and I grew old. I still enjoyed the Green, but we went less often. It was fine by me, my joints couldn't take as much running and jumping as before. The Guardian didn't look any different from when I first opened my eyes, but he didn't move as much. There was a different smell about him. One that had been growing throughout the years. Something rotten, but not like a good morsel. I had smelled something like it a time or two before around other Tall Ones. Once around an other-dog. It worried me, but I did my best to please the Guardian. I never left his side, even when we traveled to the White place that smelled like nothing.
Things changed very suddenly. One morning, he would not wake. I shouted and frantically licked his face, until a Tall One entered our den. I should have investigated the intruder, but I did not want to leave the Guardian's side. Thankfully, it was one I knew, the Guardian's whelp. She was young by Tall One standards, only a few centuries old. I jumped off the Guardian's bed and rushed to her. My joints burned and screamed, but that didn't matter.
"Totem! Where's Dad?!"
I knew my name and her word for the Guardian. I yelled for her to follow and returned to the Guardian's den. When she saw the Guardian, her eyes watered and smelled of salt. This worried me, I had only smelled this a few times before, mostly at the White place, but it was never a good thing. She pulled the glow-box from her bag and began shouting into it. I stayed by the Guardian's side. Before too long, more Tall Ones arrived. They smelled like the White Place and THEY TRIED TO TAKE MY MASTER. The whelp had to restrain my old bones before two of the Tall Ones carried him away to their fire carriage. Damn my joints and the whelpling's paws - if not for them, I would have ripped the flesh of the Tall Ones who touched my Guardian, no matter what the consequences.
My Guardian's whelp dragged me into her fire carriage, one that still smelled of my sister, even though she had passed. We arrived at the White place that smelled of nothing. As soon as she released me, I attempted to find my Guardian, but whatever magic robbed the place of smells must have affected him too. The whelp took the lead, something I'm not proud to admit, and we visited more Tall Ones until we arrived at a small den. This place had a smell, but it was of that terrible salt. As we settled in, the smell of the awful rot began to seep in as well. It was everywhere. I was so scared that I nearly wet the den, but I knew I had to be strong for the Guardian. It was what he expected.
After an eternity, Tall Ones escorted me to see my Guardian. He was laying in an odd shaped bed with too much cold metal for my liking. There were far too many smells I didn't recognize in this den, but the rot was the most present.
"Totem. Bring him here, Sarah. Next to me."
The Guardian's whelp carried me and laid me down next to my Guardian. I nestled to him as closely as I could, trying to share what warmth my old bones carried. I licked his paw and he scratched my forehead.
"You are my Totem."
I stayed by his side even when he stopped scratching my forehead. I licked his paw even though it grew cold. I remember the words. Totem. That's what he called me. And I was his.
| 2016-11-21T19:03:46 | 2016-11-21T18:43:33 | 52 | 31 |
[WP] Everyone has a stopwatch they are given at birth, it counts down to the exact moment you will meet your soulmate. You met your soulmate years ago and have been happily married since with three beautiful children. This morning you woke up and looked down, your watch has begun counting again. | 41 years. It doesn't feel like a long time when you've spent it with someone you love.
Yet somehow in that time we had managed to adopt three beautiful children and watch them grow into strong, happy adults; to see a succession of pet cats come and go while our marriage slowly transitioned from unofficial to legal to tolerated to completely unremarkable.
Letters came addressed to "Mr and Mr" now, and Keith liked it so much that when they finally got around to updating it to "Dr and Mr" he wrote into to ask them to change it back. (Even so, we still got the occasional "Dr and Mrs", which was equal parts infuriating and hilarious.)
We'd finally managed to move out of the city and set up our dream house in the suburbs while Keith commuted in to the nearby University. Now, in the approaching twilight of our lives, we spent Saturday mornings lying in bed until noon while the cats lolled warm and soft around us.
I had thought this day would be no different. But as I reached for the stopwatch on my bedside table, a comforting talisman for the passing of the years, something anxious murmured in the pit of my stomach, and it took me a moment to realise what was wrong.
It was ticking again.
I looked over at my husband's still body. Our oldest cat, Mash, was purring between us. Cats were supposed to sense when something was wrong, weren't they? And yet, when I reached out to touch his cheek, Keith was cold.
The ambulance came anyway. Stella, our eldest, came and sat with me, made us continuous cups of tea while we wept silently for the loss of her father and my soulmate. It was two weeks and a funeral before I even thought to open the stopwatch. The year hand was hovering near eight.
Almost a decade. I couldn't even envision eight more years without Keith, let alone imagine meeting someone else. I was nearly sixty. How did you even meet other men these days? I had no clue - Keith and I had been at school together, had met through dating two sisters during our inevitable denial phase. And when I tried, finally, to imagine what he might look like, this new soulmate who would one day sweep my frail septaganarian body off its feet, all I saw was Keith.
I missed him. For seven long years I missed him. I watched myself grow older and greyer every day and wondered who else could possibly love the ageing, grieving face in the mirror, and how I could possibly love him back when my heart felt like it had been buried.
I suppose you've guessed already. These things are easy to see in retrospect, but I was slow. It wasn't until the timer had reached ten months and the doctor called me into his office on short notice that it finally clicked.
He must have wondered why I took the diagnosis so lightly. Or maybe not. I was hardly the first person whose stopwatch had one day started counting down from sudden heartbreak to death. So difficult it is to conceive of one's own end that widows have been found in their houses in cocktail dresses and lipstick, waiting by the door like teenage girls for a first date as their clocks ticked down to the aneurysm, the coronary, the quiet slipping into the dark.
But I am well aware who is coming for me, and I am not afraid.
Now only the minute hand is still moving. Stella and her brothers have gone home for the day. I didn't want to burden my children with seeing me die, so I've kept the stopwatch hidden from them. My hands are too weak to lift it any more, but the nurse has left it open on my bedside table, and when he returns in an hour as I have asked, he will close it up and put it neatly away.
If I close my eyes I can almost see it. Our little house, the sunlit room, a cat lying between us. This time when I reach for him his cheek is warm and he turns to me and smiles.
Not long now, my love. I'll see you very soon. | I could only stare at my watch in anger, less than 5 minuets to go and I had resorted to standing on a cliff side, waves crashing into the rock wall below to prevent me from meeting my soulmate. Destiny would lead me to my soul mate they said, you would be happy forever they said. Wrong. Every last one of them, the watch was and will always be a sham.
I let my arms drop to my side, just looking at the watch is making me regret everything that had lead me to this moment. From the moment I was born, I was promised that my life would be complete once my count down reached zero. I would find the perfect soulmate who make everything feel better than it really was, that everything was going to be bright and breezy. For twenty three years, I watched; I watched friends fall in love and get married knowing one day I shall follow them into the life of companionship.
Then the day came, It was as I was ushered into hospital after breaking my collar bone after a first time experience of skateboarding, my friends who were in hopes that I would meet my soul mate at a skate park making her cool, was when I met her.
She could only be described as a woman out of her time, she was the kindest and wisest person I ever had the good fortune of meeting. She had been wondering around the ward late at night with her IV pole, stop watch in hand when it had suddenly stopped right as she had looked at me.
Her name was Ruby, she had recently been treated for cancer with chemotherapy and only recently had been given then go ahead to start walking around with assistance after being bed ridden for so long, not that she wanted assistance, she wanted to do things herself.
That's how I me my soul mate, the one destiny had promised me from the beginning who in short captivated my mind from the moment she smiled and said hello.
I only knew her 7 days.
7 days before her cancer killed her. I knew from the moment my stop watch had started ticking again that she had passed away. I had hoped that because she was doing so well that she would pull through her illness. I was wrong.
The wind around me had stirred up, I could feel the wind of blow past me, as the wiring noise of a helicopter landed behind me. The count down on the 'Destiny' clock had given me six months. Not that I wanted to abide by it, but for once I wanted to shove density and make my own path.
"Sir, please just stay still" she shouted as she jumped put of the helicopter. The blades had slowly come to a standstill and the pilot watch on from the pilot seat. The only noise now was the sea crashing into the jagged rocks below. The insane ticking noise that had taunted me had finally stopped. Now I could choose my own path.
"Sir I'm with the Sea and Rescue, please sir I would advise to step away from the edge."
"Miss, I believe your stop watch had stopped?" I uttered as I continued to look out to the sea. In one hand I held my phone and in the other I held my stop watch. I needed the world to know for sure.
"It has" she replied curtly, keeping her position but holding a stance which she could charge me and prevent me from jumping. I nodded twice, making sure the phone was recording everything.
"Then please know that this is my note, Everything about why I am jumping has been recorded on here, including this moment." I paused making sure she wasn't close enough to stop me.
"Its all fake, the stop watches, even the most evil of people have soul mates, rapists, murders people who are abusive." I growled as I threw my stop watch into the sea. It had served its purpose. "Its just a scam, that's how it makes the company make their money, it always, just, ticks." I had gone slightly insane at this point, but I still stood by my convictions.
"When one person dies, it finds another stop watch which is still ticking, yours for example." I uttered as I turned to look at her, she stood back knowing that I was unstable. I had stopped the recording throwing the phone over to her, that's when it ticked, her stop watch she had strapped to her wrist which had been at zero now suddenly had an extra 6 months. I would laugh If I knew I wasn't so right.
"There is no destiny"
Then I fell. | 2016-12-04T03:35:43 | 2016-12-04T01:24:32 | 119 | 49 |
[WP]You challenge a kid to a race in your Japanese High School which you've just been transferred from US without knowing he is the DK(drift king). No one seems to know slowing down and turning is more efficient though. | The revving of engines and smell of gas filled the garage. There were about a hundred people watching, their beady eyes locked on Hanzo, the DK and proud owner of a 1999 Toyota Supra.
Across the way, me, driving a 2010 Mazda 3 I had leased from a friendly Japanese dealer. The down payment was only thirty-thousand yen, which is quite fair. It's good on gas, too.
Oh, right, the race. Just as the flag waved, my foot hit the gas. We were to take the standard CHALLENGE ROUTE (yes, all caps), which is basically just going to the fifth floor of this garage and back.
Hanzo's car slingshotted ahead, leaving a trail of smog behind. It was only then my Mazda decided "Hey, might as well start moving!".
As we went up the garage spire to level two, I noticed something wrong with the cherry-red Supra in front of me. I think his brakes were out or something; he had no traction whatsoever. In America, they call this ancient act "Drifting".
Like any rational person, I decided to slow down and make the turn. I passed Hanzo quickly, the low smog of my quiet engine lightly blowing in his face.
This went on for the next three spires and back.
I had won, very easily and with no damage to my car. Maybe just a scratch from the dust on the fifth floor, but that's an easy fix with a black marker. As we came to a stop at the finish line, people crowded around me. Everyone began talking amongst themselves, some speaking to me.
"RANDOM JAPANESE NOISES" was one memorable quote.
Finally, an English speaker came up.
"How did you beat Hanzo Nagasaki, the greatest DK of all time?"
"I think his brakes are out." I said. "He kept sliding."
"Exactu-ly! DK means Drift King!"
"Oh. Oh! That makes sense. Well, I just braked and made the turns."
Everyone fell silent, their wide eyes staring through my soul.
"What?"
"I... didn't drift?"
The looks on their faces showed that they've never thought of this before.
So, long story short, I was crowned NTaGODSK, which stood for Normal Turns and Generally Okay Driving Skills King.
Cool.
*****
I'm back! /r/Picklestasteg00d | The race was starting. Everyone from our class mumbled excitedly as Akihiko entered his purple sports car. A green glow emitted from under the vehicle as it roared to life. All eyes where on the flashy exterior which contrasted harshly with his tinted windows. I quickly got into my 2002 Honda Civic, the crowd paid no attention. A scantly clad teen strutted up between our cars, flags in hand. A hush fell over the crowd as she threw her arms up. Akihiko revved his engine, the girls gasped.
"Drift King we love you" A few screamed.
Akihiko rolled down his black windows and winked at the ladies. They shouted louder in unison. I kept my eyes dead ahead on the runway. The track was laid out with Christmas lights strewn across creating a snaking, treacherous path. The girl threw her flags down and everyone cheered. Akihiko peeled off with a screech. I immediately saw his headlights as he swerved in front of me. I stepped on the gas and drove at a reasonable distance behind him. Within seconds we where at the first turn, a full U-turn with a sharp angle immediately following. Akihiko began his drift, smoke rose from his skidding tires. The distant sound of something dropping to the floor could be heard from the crowd. As Akihiko made his drift I slowed and turned within a few seconds. The crowds screams went silent as I effortlessly took the lead with a single turn. I heard his engine roar as he slammed his gas mid drift. His car began weaving wildly. I came to a near complete stop and made the second sharp turn. I sped up as the road ahead straightened. Akihiko finally sped up next to me and rolled his window down.
"You coward" He screamed at me, taking his eyes off the road.
I gave him a rather rude American gesture but kept my eyes focused ahead. I could hear him spit in disgust.
"Look me in the eyes you pussy" He screamed again.
I slowed down in response, a turn rapidly approached.
"I said look at me" He shrieked again. "Do what I say"
I came to a stop and began my left turn. From the corner of my eye I saw him finally review the path and let out a yelp. He sped over the Christmas lights, disqualifying him instantly. The sound of crunching glass and popping tires came over the track. The wires caught up through all his wheels slowly bringing his flashy purple car to a halt. I pulled off to the side of the now decimated track and unbuckled my seat belt. I stepped out of my Civic to see a bewildered Akihiko, rage burning from behind his aviator sunglasses.
"Eyes. On. The. Road" I mocked with a grin. | 2017-05-01T12:12:37 | 2017-05-01T10:25:04 | 158 | 12 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK." | "I have to think rationally about this", Barack thought to himself. He closed his and began to think.
I'm on the third story. There are 2 secret service agents on each floor. Could someone have sneaked past them? No, they would have undoubtedly stepped on Joe's train sets and alerted the agents. That meant that the agents were either dead or that they we're in on it. But to what ends?
He needed a course of action. There was no one he could trust. Joe could be a sleeper agent. *That would explain why he was always snoozing off*. He couldn't think about that, he would deal with the betrayal in his own time. Who could he call? There was only one man. He worked outside the law. He picked up the phone "Mr.Cage we're gonna have to steal the declaration of indepence". | I look at the letter and like the millions of other letters that come across my desk, I disregard it. Minutes later, my phone rings from an unknown number.
"Hello"?
"Why did you toss the letter away?"-JFK
I look around for cameras.
"Biden"?
"It's Kennedy. Just as the letter stated!"-JFK
"Goodbye'
"WAIT"-JFK
"What?"
"I know you know this is real. I know the moment you stepped in the White House, you knew there was more to this world. I want to show you what you've been feeling"- JFK
I say nothing.
"Go outside and step into the black limo"- JFK
I hang up. Thirty minutes of contemplating, I step out of my house holding a bag and look left and right before spotting the limo. I walk into the backseat after the driver opens the door for me.
"Where are we going?"
The driver doesn't respond. I don't find the urge to ask any more questions. I don't feel nervous. I feel ready. After an hour of driving, I let the curtains down and see space. I see planets that I've never heard of. Finally, we land and I'm greeted by JFK himself.
"Did you enjoy your simulation?"-JFK.
| 2017-05-14T10:01:37 | 2017-05-14T08:39:09 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed. | Somebody once told me the world was gonna roll me
Though I *was* the sharpest tool in the shed.
Well she wasn't really wrong,
I had blades and I was long
For a mower well I killed that grass dead.
But the years kept coming and the grass kept growing,
Fed me some oil so my motor kept running.
Didn't make sense just to cut and run
So I stayed in the shed when my job was done.
So much to do, so much to see,
So she hired someone to use me.
But cleaning me wasn't the deal
And that's when my shit got real.
Hey now, you're a rock star
Get your show on, go play.
Hey now, you've gone so far,
No one's left here,
Just me.
And all that glittered is brown,
Only rust and dirt
Are my friends now. | 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. | 2017-07-01T05:58:59 | 2017-07-01T04:51:31 | 153 | 12 |
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed. | Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me
But I'm the sharpest tool in the shed
She was looking kind of dumb with that puncture in her thumb
And the blood spurting onto her forehead
Well the tears start coming and they don't stop coming
She broke all the rules and she thought she was cunning
Didn't wear gloves cuz that wouldn't be fun
No glasses either cuz she's really dumb
So much for her, but yay for me
It's important to do work safely
You'll never know if you're too slow
You'll never hurt once you're a pro
Hey now, when you listen, you can finish, then play
Hey now, when you're foolish, then you make dumb mistakes
All that glitters ain't gold
Sometimes it's sharp objects, you've been told | 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. | 2017-07-01T06:08:19 | 2017-07-01T04:51:31 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed. | They said the would was gonna roll me. Well hell, they were right.
But just one thing they didn't expect about me. See, they thought I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Which is fair, I mean the grand majority of tools weren't the sharpest. But one was.
The world rolled me all right... but I was no rock star, I was not gonna get out and go play. I knew that not all that glittered was gold. And I had no use whatsoever for change.
So when the world came to roll me.... well.... the world popped. I'm just the sharpest tool in the sheeeeeeedd.
Edit: ***COMING TO THEATERS SPRING 2018, SMASHED MOUTH, POPPED PLANET; SHARPER THEN YOUR AVERAGE TOOL.*** | 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. | 2017-07-01T05:14:27 | 2017-07-01T04:51:31 | 16 | 12 |
[WP]The smarter you are, the slower time moves for you. It's been 63 years and the doctor just handed you to your mom. | The thing about being smart? You don't really feel smart. You just feel tired.
The doctor hands you to your mother, who welcomes you with a kind face. It was.. cruel, that's the word, that you were in a way older than your own parent. From the moment your conscience was first realized in her womb, you've been absorbing information about the world.
She hugs you, whispers that she'll take care of you forever, that she'll love you forever.
Forever doesn't mean the same thing to the two of you.
She's so young. | It's like I'm an expensive computer, whose user is extremely anal about video quality. Every 'download' takes a million years, hyperbolically speaking, because every minute detail is shown to me - via my hyperevolved senses - at a resolution that is high to an insanely absurd degree. (Which by, the way, made my unorthodox journey through my mother's vaginal canal look *reaal* good.)
Unfortunately, I missed the memo and lined myself up, to exit the womb, feet-first. This ensured that my mother would have gone through a ton of pain, and might have also suffered damage to her body, had Dr. Whatever not been there. He utilized some apparatus to help me out - so in a sense, I know my mother less intimately than normal mammals. (Than how normal mammals know their own mothers; I am not implying anything about my mom.)
Still, she is supporting the majority of my weight, now that Dr. Whatever (I haven't been able to read his nametag yet since it is taking forever to move my one open eye) has finally completed handing me over, and she seems pretty nice. | 2017-07-04T19:23:42 | 2017-07-04T14:41:36 | 127 | 39 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line. | It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine. | Today's the end of The Month. It wasnt surprising but we all knew it was coming. It lasted too long but we didnt want it to seem like it had come too soon. There are 12 of them yet this one was different. It was almost like the rest seemed dull and ugly while this one was meaningful and gave us momentary happiness right up until the end, when it got bad. Having this many dogs was hard to take care of but it seemed like one dog always needed something extra and it was always.....the same dog. Before the end of The Month, we had bills to pay and the extra expenses werent helping us and it seemed like we wanted The Month to last longer but we never had the money for the bills even by the end of it. We buried The Month in the yard as it served its purpose even if it was too much for us. | 2017-08-30T06:54:31 | 2017-08-30T04:51:45 | 5,691 | 13 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line. | "Run away, run away!! It's going to eat us!"
"My wife! My boy! It's going to eat them all!"
"Wait, could it be? Is it the great, fantastic...hmmm, magnificient Mighty Man!"
"Mighty Man, Mighty Man, he'll save us from the monsters!"
"Yes it is I, Mighty Man. The mightiest man in all of Pleasantville. I shalt slay you monsterous beast!"
"RAWWWWWWR!!"
"MIGHTY SMmmmmaaaaaaaaa-"
The door opens just slightly as little Timmy enters his father's study, envelopes placed haphazardly across the room.
"Did you see my action figures...Dad??" | I built my cabin to deal with the death of my wife. It was nothing special, just a one floor log cabin deep in the forests of Maine. But working on it soothed me, helped me relax. I built a huge fireplace right into the wall, and when lit it made the entire wall radiate heat. The interior was all wood; the paneling on the wall fit the rooms perfectly. I’ll admit, I bought that paneling at the store, but it was worth it. It added the almost finishing touch to the entire cabin.
I didn’t tell anyone about my cabin, I worked on it in solitude. I snuck away on weekends, or took days off from work. I knew my friends, family; they would all worry about me if they knew. I wanted it to be my retreat, somewhere I could finally be on my own.
When the construction on the cabin was done, after months of hard work, in a way I was almost happy. It sounds strange to say out loud but its true, I was starting to feel nearly content with my life. The only thing I still needed was for my wife to die, but that would be taken care of soon enough.
| 2017-08-30T07:30:27 | 2017-08-30T06:57:18 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] Write a story that starts and ends in a perfect loop, the end of the story leads into the beginning. | Pulling my hoodie up onto my head I glance up at the crowd that is surrounding me. Noisy, boisterous and annoying. I was in a bad mood. My date stood me up, I had been waiting here for over an hour now and she has still not shown. “Skank” I think to myself as I feel fingers dip into my pocket. I turn quickly, lashing out at the pickpocket only to see the same grey hoodie I am wearing dart off into the crowd.
“Run! Hide!” the fleeting figure shouts back to me with a very familiar voice. I pat myself down trying to feel what had been nicked.
“Ha! The little punk didn’t get anything” I mumble to myself victoriously as I throw my hands into my pockets and start walking. Suddenly the blast of a nearby cruise liners horn jeers me out of slipping into my own little world while I feel my fingers wrap around a coin in my pocket that I am sure was not there previously. Curious I pull it out, it’s heavy, ancient and has these strange ruins along the edge that I’m unable to make any sense of. A strange sensation washes over my mind and I shift the coin over my thumb and flick it into the air.
My attention pinpoint focuses on the coin, so much that it seems like everything slows down as I can see every detail of the strange silver object as it flips in the air
One… Two… Three… Four…
I see each of the four revolutions in perfect accuracy. A soft thud is emitted as it lands in my palm, completely entranced by the coin the blast of the liner startles me. “Again” I ask myself in confusion as I look up to where the liner is… Was. It looks like the giant vessel has reversed, its back where it was a moment ago… a minute ago…
It dawns on me… exactly Four minutes ago.
I look at the coin in awe. Again I flick the coin. Ten revolutions this time, I look at the liner, it is where it was about ten minutes ago. “There he is! He has the Twister!” I hear a gruff ugly voice shout just as my left shoulder explodes in white hot pain, I scream. No sound comes out. Looking down I see a throwing dagger firmly lodged into me. I run, the pain blinding me. I run straight into someone. Once, twice. Stumbling away I glare up at a familiar grey hoodie and slipped the coin into his pocket.
Into my pocket.
“Run! Hide!” I shout at myself as I run away. | *The day was still young.*
The man watched the steam rise from his coffee. It was as hypnotizing as ever, and it was causing his mind to drift, lost in thought. The only thing that could make it better was a slice of apple pie.
"Sir? Can I get you anything else?" The waitress was a petite, young woman. Probably in her early 20's. The small yellow dress with white apron screamed cliche, early Americana diner, but it somehow comforted him.
The man glanced over at the counter, looking at the display case only big enough for a single pie. "I guess I'll take a slice of today's special. The apple pie."
"Sure thing." The waitress turned on a dime to head back to the counter.
The man watched as the waitress seemed to glide about the diner, without wasting any movements to get him his pie.
It seemed almost too perfect, too surreal. "Looks like I'm your only customer this morning again."
The woman didn't miss a beat and continued to get the pie. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'again' sir. This is the first time I've seen you and I have been working here for the past 2 years."
"Nonsense, I've been coming here for at least 30 years now, and you always...help...me...?" He trailed off. He realized the math didn't make sense. She was 20-ish years old, yet she had been helping him for the past 30 years? His head began to pound in agony as images began to show in his mind. A flash of blue, flames, broken glass, the body of a young waitress. It was like a warzone for a battle he had never taken part of.
"Sir? Everything alright? Here is your pie."
He glanced up and looked the waitress in the eye. "Run! Get away from here!"
Just then, a blue Mustang came crashing into the diner. His memories came too late, as did his warning. Dust and debris flew through the building. In only took 5 seconds, but those five seconds seem like an eternity as time slowed to a crawl. He closed his eyes, hoping that would be enough to protect them from the rubble now flying around him. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was pinned, the waitress lying in front of him.
How many times had he seen this now? Thousands, tens-of-thousands? It was a scene that he could never get used to, and a scene he would soon forget again as he took his last breath. This was his curse, to watch this scene for all eternity until he could figure out how to escape. This was his Hell.
*The day was still young.*
The man watched the steam rise from his coffee. It was as hypnotizing as ever, and it was causing his mind to drift, lost in thought. The only thing that could make it better was a slice of Cherry pie from the display case on the counter. | 2017-09-02T08:48:18 | 2017-09-02T08:35:00 | 103 | 53 |
[WP] Write a seemingly innocuous story, but the last line reveals how chilling and horrific the story actually was. | I'm a good dog.
I don't poop on the carpets, I don't bark in the middle of the night, I don't steal mom's food, I don't bite shoes.
I'm a good dog.
I love cats, I don't bark at anyone, I don't attack anyone, I won't jump at people.
I'm a good dog.
I let Josh come into the house at night, but only if I get a milkbone. Dogs are supposed to friendly, so I'm friendly to everyone!
But I don't like shouting and loud noises.
Josh always makes loud noises whenever he's over, so I stay away from him.
One day, Josh came in with some of his friends. I let them in because I'm a good dog.
There was lots of noise that night.
I hated it, the noise, the smell of alcohol on Josh and his friends. And I hated how mom would get sad after Josh left.
Tonight is the night I don't let Josh in.
The moment Josh climbed through the window, I barked at him, I barked so much. I haven't barked this much in so long.
I remember mom screaming as I bit down on Josh's neck.
I'm a good dog.
| "This casserole is great mom!" Sandy smiled and wiped a dribble of red sauce from her chin with her napkin.
"Why, thank you dear!" Mom grinned bashfully. "But it's the same meal we've had a dozen times before."
My parents, sister and I sat around our old wooden banquet table eating dinner. It was my sister's first night back home and my Mom celebrated with one of our favorite recipes.
"So you finally wised up and got rid of that dumb old boyfriend, huh?" I chided.
Sandy shot me a dirty look. "You know why I left. I had to find new opportunities; my options are limited out here in the country. And his name was Kenny!"
"Now, son," Dad intervened through a mouthful of meat. "Can't we just be glad your sister came back home? We're finally a family again. Can't we just enjoy it?"
"Sorry dad." I hung my head, and turned to my sister. "Sorry Sis."
"So, how was it out there in the real world?" Mom asked. She took a drink of red wine to wash down the casserole. The meat was a little tougher tonight than usual.
"It was weird, to be honest." Sandy recounted. "They get all their food from factories and farms instead of hunting it."
Dad shook his head ruefully. "People out there forgot about the old ways. At least *we* still know how to capture our food, right?"
Mom and Sandy smiled knowingly and nodded their heads. I looked down at my empty plate.
"Mom, Dad - can I have a second helping?" I asked.
"Sure, there's enough to go around." Mom nodded.
"Thanks!"
"Don't thank us, thank your sister. That Kenny sure tastes good!" | 2017-10-06T14:58:03 | 2017-10-06T13:06:06 | 130 | 42 |
[WP] Write a seemingly innocuous story, but the last line reveals how chilling and horrific the story actually was. | I'm a good dog.
I don't poop on the carpets, I don't bark in the middle of the night, I don't steal mom's food, I don't bite shoes.
I'm a good dog.
I love cats, I don't bark at anyone, I don't attack anyone, I won't jump at people.
I'm a good dog.
I let Josh come into the house at night, but only if I get a milkbone. Dogs are supposed to friendly, so I'm friendly to everyone!
But I don't like shouting and loud noises.
Josh always makes loud noises whenever he's over, so I stay away from him.
One day, Josh came in with some of his friends. I let them in because I'm a good dog.
There was lots of noise that night.
I hated it, the noise, the smell of alcohol on Josh and his friends. And I hated how mom would get sad after Josh left.
Tonight is the night I don't let Josh in.
The moment Josh climbed through the window, I barked at him, I barked so much. I haven't barked this much in so long.
I remember mom screaming as I bit down on Josh's neck.
I'm a good dog.
| I was awoken by the rattle of thunder this morning. It was no different from any other morning, time to get up, shower, bring the kids to school then come home and pork the wife. It was a standard day in a middle-class family.
My wife, Elena, mostly soft-spoken, had a harsh tone this morning. "Why the hell aren't you and the kids on the way to school yet!?!? It's 9:30 and they start at 9:45!"
Well damn, looks like the best thing to do was ignore her and try to hurry the kids to school.
Halfway to the school and it was 9:41, I had to speed up a little. Already doing 10 over the speed limit, I began to roll stop signs.
Until....
I realized not even a word was spoken by my son or daughter the whole time....
Just as I was crossing the last major intersection in front of the school, ready to question my kids silence, all I heard was an Air Horn. I turned to look and all I saw was a Mack with a 53ft trailer, loaded.
I woke up sweating my balls off and shaking, my wife Elena looked at me oddly and rolled back to sleep.
I went to go check on our children, and just as I open the door....there's nobody there.
I remembered.
That fate filled day.
The truck smashed the rear driver-side door and collapsed it onto my son. My sons skull splintered into pieces and one of those shattered pieces was driven through my daughters eyesocket.
Thank God Elena took my firearms away...
(Sorry first time ever writing a short story. I write poetry/music not story's)
| 2017-10-06T14:58:03 | 2017-10-06T13:16:20 | 130 | 25 |
[WP] Once every year, soulmates glow the same color as each other for one hour. | I used to love this time of year, watching the world running around in search of their glow. I remember watching a young couple when I was in Manchester for work, both bathed in silver, struggling to hold a conversation in broken English in between masses and masses of glow-hunters roaming the streets. But the smiles on their faces and the urgency in their eyes made them glow even stronger, and made me grin happily. It's hard not to watch sheer happiness when it happens.
Even here in the hospice you can feel the joy on these days, as if seeing all these matching colours is reaffirmation of the choices people have made. Watching a sweet old man gaze adoringly at his partner, even if she isn't able to return the glance. Young families watching their mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives rebuilding their lives enveloped in shades of blues and reds.
My glow is holding my hand tightly. It shines as strong as it ever did - from the day we found our glow as children, to more than thirty years later.
We don't talk about much any more. She gets very tired very easily, but when she listens she always has a smile on her face. That magnificent lop-sided smile that makes the hairs on my neck react. She’s smiling at me now as I talk about my brother getting married (for the third time - needless to say he's not found his matching glow quite yet) and how everyone was sending their love and well-wishes. I wish she could have come with me.
She's been sleeping a little, but not as restless as she has been recently. I've been up and down, sitting by the vending machines, people watching, making the most out of the beautiful colours in every room. The radio is spewing some story about Prince George proclaiming that it doesn't matter if he dates a lavender girl whilst glowing green himself. Apparently the Royal Family are aghast.
I take a moment to stand outside for a smoke. Looking at my watch I see that there is still half an hour before the glowing stops for another year. I see two nurses through a window, both glowing a bright turquoise. They seem incredibly shocked.
Something doesn't feel right. I flex my fingers, they're full of pins and needles. My hand starts to feel cold. I look at it. It doesn't seem as bright any more.
I knock a chair over in my rush to get back to where she is resting, and take her hand in mine. Her eyes are closed.
And just like that, she isn't glowing anymore. I look at our hands, and neither am I. | It was an evening in the month of April that it began. The color began to emanate from everyone. It was odd, skin color changed and the color bled off everyone. As you walk, it would leave a trail behind you. It sparkled and twirled in the air before disappearing. The strangest part was no one appeared to be the same color. Hundreds of shades, mixes of hues, and some colors that had never been named. It didnt last long, just long enough to confuse everyone and enjoy the view of others and yourself. Before they knew it, the colors were gone.
Months later, after viewing hundreds of thousand of people, looking for a correlation, a tech company discovered that life long couples who felt they met the perfect person had identical colors. The group said they believed that it was a soulmate identification. After releasing their statement, it went global and people began looking for their soulmate.
A tech company release a software that would match souldmates, they called it ColorMate. It took off, many people took pictured or video of themselves when they changed and the software could analyze it. Hundred of relationship began to blossum from the software, and all worked perfectly. Those who didn't get a photo of themselves were out of luck. Those who were in long standing relationship of different colors were pushed apart, but it turn out they all had marriage issues anyways.
The oddest part of it all was that colors didn't care about age, sex, or relation. Children and the elderly, straight and gay, brother and sister, all of them matched. Laws prevent many from marrying, but that didnt stop them from spending life together.
Those who weren't able to pin point their color and didnt have any photos were out of luck, hoping to find a good relationship...that was until it happened again the next year. Quickly, everyone realized this would be an annual thing. ColorMate grew even larger and made millions of matches. Country lines began to blur and people travelled throusands of times to meet their soulmate. Languge was difficult for some, but they all eventually learned a common tongue.
Countries who were always at war, stopped, peace came upon the earth. It has been 30 years since the colors began, and the colors are supposed to come back tonight. I have been holding out to find my ColorMate, but tonight I will finally add myself and find my match.
The news is on and the count down begins. 10...9... I smile and look at my friends, many who are already with their ColorMate. 3...2...1... My friends are waiting for the colors, but they don't come. Everyone checks their clock, the time and day is right. We begin to realize they colors aren't coming again. We sit down and have light talk, some about the colors, but my friends try to avoid it. They know I never took my photo when I changed. It's my 18th b-day, and this was my gift to myself.
Eventually my friends left, all except one. They moved over and sat next to me. "Well, I guess neither of us is going to find our mate."
I laugh lightly, knowing that Chelsy didn't get a match on ColorMate. I move in a little closer. | 2017-10-21T14:01:38 | 2017-10-21T13:58:29 | 63 | 17 |
[WP] You're a hitman who takes half up front and then never finishes the job because what are they gonna do, report you to the cops? Thing is, now you've pissed off a lot of people who have no problem hiring hitmen. | I made a mistake.
Well, I've made plenty of mistakes, but never one this bad.
It was really bad.
Let me start where these things normally do, seven months ago. I'm nobody special, nobody unique, but I have a certain... set of skills...
I'm good with computers. Just a thing I can do. Also I'm pretty bored, pretty much all the time.
Anyways, like I was saying, seven months ago it was a dark and stormy night, in mid-June. I was going about my usual online shenanigans, enjoying the digital freedom of the TOR network, when I stumbled across a website, a hit-man website.
Now, I've played Assassin's Creed, I used to airsoft, I watched the Soprano's, and in a moment of monumental mindlessness, I thought;
“Fuck it.”
One sign-up form, two ads for blood-cleaning products, and several minutes wait later, I got a notification.
“John Holden. 554 Olive Boulevard Boulevard, Spokane, Washington. $5,000 & 50/50. Quiet.”
Huh.
I checked my bitcoin wallet. I was $2,500 richer. No wait, $2,600 richer. $2,850 richer. $1,000 richer... shit. Bubbles.
I mapped the address. Not too far. I began running through the countless mental exercises I had practiced over the years, backwhacks and headshots, 360 no-scopes and teabags...
Wait, I wasn't really going to do this, was I? Well, this wouldn't be a very entertaining story if I didn't kill him, right?
I didn't kill him.
Funny enough, that wasn't my big mistake. No, I walked from that impromptu assassination with half the money and no consequences. At all. None. Seriously.
Have you ever ordered a hit? Do you know how? Probably not. That was my mistake.
I assumed that whoever was on the other end of our little transaction was... well... I don't know, someone like you. It didn't occur to me that somebody with the capital to order hits on a whim probably didn't like being messed with.
“Fuck it.”
So I did it again. And again. And again. New profile, take a case, take the bitcoin, run.
How much did I make?
Much.
However, like all good things, this too had to end. It was early (for me), and the sun was lancing terrible burning spears through the slats in my shades. I covered my eyes as I stumbled over to my desk. After going through my original routine of checking my bitcoin walled, creating a new account, and logging in, I surfed through the list of new contracts for something lucrative, all the while pondering what I would do with today's haul.
And then I saw it.
My name.
Right there at the top of the list, in bold red font, with an extremely tantalizing number beneath it. You can tell at this moment where my priorities were misaligned.
And it wasn't just one listed once. I scrolled through the list, flipping past entry after entry with my name, my address. Thousands, tens of thousands, there was even one over a million, all with half-upfront. There were contracts in a dozen different languages, each with the same charge (as far as I could tell).
So here I was, just an average kid from Washington, sitting on a figurative dragon's hoard of meaningless but very valuable digital currency, dead-center in the cross-hairs of over a dozen criminal organizations. Criminal organizations that were, in a rather misguided approach, hiring hit-men on the internet to whack someone who pretends to be a hit-man on the internet...
Can you guess what I did?
Well, I'll leave the exciting bits out so that they can make a movie out of this some day. Don't want to spoil anything.
In short, I'm writing this from my undisclosed, private island, martini in hand. Well, twenty-three of the world's best assassins are writing this... | 3:59. He should be here soon. I notice my hand drumming on the diner table. I take a deep breath and make a conscious effort to stop it. Without looking down, I adjust the grip of my other hand beneath the table.
Door opens, bell chimes. I force a smile as I see him walk in. Sunglasses, *black trench coat*, God what a cliche he is. He sits down across from me.
"Lorenzo." I hear my voice in my ears. It sounds *too* natural, a fake kind of natural.
No joke, this tool pulls his sunglasses down so he can look at me over them. "Jonas," he says. Christ. He sounds like my nephew trying to do his scary monster voice. "Long time."
One of the cardinal sins that people make in these situations is that they need to be understood - as if that matters in the slightest. The explanations, the justifications, the desire to get the other person to see things their way. I should just pull the trigger now and have that be it. Clean and tidy. I can't believe this chump thinks that he can outsmart people.
"It really has," I say simply and silently adjust my aim under the table, pointing the weapon at his stomach. I'll do it. Easy peasy.
"Hey boys, what can I get you?" The waitress' name tag reads Jenna.
I glance at her without moving my body. "Two coffees?" My eyes quickly dart back to Lorenzo. I can see myself in his mirrored lenses. He nods.
"Yeah. Black as midnight." Seriously. This is the stuff that comes out of his mouth. I almost do it right then, just because I think he deserves to have something bad happen to him for being such a cartoon.
The waitress turns over the mugs on the table and begins pouring.
"I gotta hand it to you, Jonas. You got a lotta moxie showing up for this meet."
*Moxie*, he says. What is this, the 1920's?
The waitress finishes pouring mine and starts pouring his.
"Well, when an old acquaintance reaches out to you out of the blue, you know. I thought - professional courtesy, and all that."
This job, it's all about timing. Taking everything in while you act like you're not. As soon as the waitress turns her back, I pick up the cup in front of me with my free hand. I know by now that even a moron like Lorenzo has noticed how conspicuously not-above-the-table my other hand is.
It doesn't surprise me when he makes his move. It does surprise me that he takes the time to say "Looks like it's salsa time, but my dance card is already full."
I just...I wish I had the time to stop and ask him what he thinks that means. Sure, it's got certain elements to it - the idea of our fight being a dance, and that he has an advantage. I admit that. That's not the issue. But why *salsa* dancing? And if his card is full, that means he has a lot of people to dance with, and, I just...why? Why does he say the things that he says?
He's probably expecting me to throw the coffee in his face. Instead, I throw the cup upward, arcing towards him like its a basketball and his stupid face is a hoop. Since he isn't prepared for this, reflex takes over, and his attention shifts to the cup completely.
I'm already starting to shout "Help! Help! I think my friend is having a seizure!" as I pull the trigger on the taser and the leads fire into his body.
I am elated to see the shaking knocks his idiotic sunglasses off of his face as he tumbles out of the booth and on to the formica floor. I move to his side quickly, pulling the leads out with my free hand as I look around, panicked.
"Somebody call 911! I'm going to get his meds!"
I grab his keys, phone and wallet and sprint out the door and get into his car. A heavy metal song starts blasting as I turn the key, and as I pull out, I think that the best I can hope for is that all the people they send after me are Lorenzos.
I'm on the freeway before I recognize the song: *For Whom the Bell Tolls* by Metallica. Not a bad song but so on the nose for your hype-up song.
I should have killed you, Lorenzo. | 2017-12-12T09:50:42 | 2017-12-12T09:49:55 | 357 | 28 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse. | "Mortal, I wish to make you an offering. Someone as strong and powerful as yourself has earned it. I have a wish to bestow to you. Imagine... anything, beyond your wildest dreams, being made real for you. Just ask," the demon chirped, with a smirk. It fluttered impishly before me. Tiny, winged, and red-skinned — it would have been a faerie, if not for being evil.
I sighed. I had a job to do. The townfolk had hired me to vanquish this demon from the forest outside their village and were prepared to pay a tidy sum for the feat. These lesser demons were the equivalent of a young intern in the legal world--they weren't powerful enough to win a battle with a professional. I hated to waste such an opportunity to use the poorly-written bylaws of the underworld for my own advantage, but the demon-slaying contract the town had drawn up was surprisingly airtight.
"Almoleg Thar'ath Gulgoruun?" I prompted.
"Yes?" it asked, surprised I knew its full name.
"You've been served," I stated grimly, with my hand outdrawn. I gave the tiny flying beast a to-scale envelope containing a legal document I had drawn up on parchment earlier at the local inn. The demon was locally famous for offering travellers a wish, then exploiting it to cause pain and anguish. Knowing this, it was easy to write up a sound exorcism clause.
It opened the letter and its intelligent eyes scanned the paper within. It cursed furiously. "Lawyers deserve to go straight to heaven." The demon vanished in mid-air with a sudden burst of flames and ash. I dusted off my hand-tailored suit and headed back to town for my payment from the town elder. $500 wasn't bad for half an hour of work. | It was hot.
It was so hot Chris was expecting a hobbit to throw a ring through his front door.
“I’d sell my soul for an iced coffee right now,” Chris moaned as he rested his sweaty head on his increasingly sticky leather couch.
Within three seconds a fiery red creature who called himself a demon appeared.
Within one minute the two were seated at Chris’ kitchen table cutting a deal for an iced coffee.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Chris massaged his temples as he tried to process everything, “So, I get a Starbucks iced coffee and all I have to do is put up ‘control of my entire being’?”
“Correct!”
“And as long as 'nothing physical comes in contact with my soul', I don’t have to worry about losing control of my entire being?”
“Yes! Yes, my friend, it’s so easy! The deal doesn't include anything spiritual touching it!”
“Just that… I don’t know, this seems a bit risky, you know?”
“How so?” The demon smiled.
“Risking everything, even a small risk, for a cold beverage seems like a bit of bad deal.”
“Well, you made a far worse deal with that suited, human-looking demon from JPMorgan Chase who did your mortgage.”
“Oh yeah, true!” Chris nodded.
The demon’s smile grew wider and he extended his open right palm.
Chris paused, “Wait, how big is the iced coffee?”
“Uh, um, 1 liter of course!” The demon nervously responded.
“Were you going to make it much smaller?” Chris asked.
“Yes!, Yes, you got me, ha ha, you deserve to get your one litre of iced coffee for a great deal now!”
The demon extended his hand again.
Chris moved his arm to shake the demon’s hand.
Chris’ fingertips came to a halt a centimeter away from the demon’s wildly overgrown, green, curly fingernails.
“What now?!” The demon sternly said through his fake smile and gritted teeth.
“Just to make sure, the thing we are referring to in the deal that can't be physically touched or else I'll lose my 'entire being' is spelled S-O-U-L not S-O-L-E, right?”
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” The demon bellowed.
______________________________________________________
r/dri_writes
| 2018-01-20T07:26:26 | 2018-01-20T06:40:58 | 1,072 | 312 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse. | The mathmatician stepped back from shaking the demon's hand. "So, the contract is sealed?"
"That's right, sir. You cannot die, age, or mentally or physically deteriorate in any way until you have solved this 'Whitehead Problem' from Zeeefcee," the demon replied smugly.
The mathmatician looked concerned for a second, then said, "I said "...in ZFC"?"
The demon rolled its eyes, replying, "Yes, yes. Our contract is that you will be able to 'solve the Whitehead problem in Zee Efcee' before you die, are killed, or get too old to do anything about it, and then I get to claim your immortal soul. Happy now."
Grinning, the mathmatician replied, "But of course!"
It was only much later that the demon thought to check what, exactly, the mathmatician had been asking for, at which point it realized it had made a Major Mistake. | "You've been quite clever, mortal, I'll grant you that. Long life, health, wisdom, wealth, happiness and companionship, all for as long as you desire it, for yourself and those who you choose to grant my... Offer." He smiled. "In exchange for your soul."
I waved at the papers in front of me. "It's all on record, as we agreed." I reached for the pen and then hesitated. "Is this permanently binding? What if I change my mind i-"
He slammed his fist on the desk. "The contract is binding! Once signed, it cannot be undone. I have granted all the concessions and closed all the loopholes you have requested, this offer is as it stands! Sign and be done!"
I signed.
He laughed. Not a loud bellowing laugh. Just a soft chuckle. "Oh, mortal. What have you done. All the deals the loopholes the tricks I could have played, they would have been fun, yes, but you were 'too clever' for me. Don't you understand? Eventually you will tire of this life, and at the end I will still be here, waiting to claim your soul..."
"Why wait?" I pulled three records out from a box beside my desk - Marvin Gaye, Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding. "My soul. It's all on record, as agreed."
| 2018-01-20T11:40:41 | 2018-01-20T11:21:32 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] UK is a single mom. Meet her children. The polite and charming son Canada, loud but accomplished son US, the wild and crazy son Australia and the adopted daughter with a history of abuse India.
Not trying to enforce any stereotype of any nationality. Just thought it would be fun. | The rugby practice had ended an hour ago. The field stood empty, but not a single car came by to pick him up. He looked up into the sky and shivered as the first raindrop fell on his shoulder.
"I can't believe mum forgot me again," said New Zealand. | UK opened the door and froze. The jar of marmite she had been saving for breakfast slipped from her hand.
"It...it can't be you...!"
"Oh, but it is...*mother*" South Africa growled. "Did you really think you could start over after abandoning us and Papa Africa?"
UK swallowed hard. Her eyes drifted over S.A.'s shoulder, where children from her past life--the one she wanted to forget--stood waiting. Each one upset beyond reason, glaring at her with their arms crossed. Egypt, Sudan, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda... Even Rhodesia, who had entered a rebellious phase and renamed herself Zimbabwe. More than a dozen of them.
UK had to admit, she had been quite a slag back in the day. | 2018-03-20T21:03:34 | 2018-03-20T21:00:23 | 45 | 18 |
[WP] You can go to any fictional universe you want, but aren't allowed to help progress the main plot. | I walked into Whiterun, just like an everyday adventurer. The smells, the cool air, everything was just as it should be. I know the rules, but I'm not sure of the time, did the dragonborn come yet? Is the battle over? I go to the market to sell my pelts, and to chop wood for some extra money.
I get a room for the night but I still go out for ingredients, I buy fresh tomatoes, bread, meat, cheese, the cabbage needs to be cooked a bit before it can work the way I want. I use the cooking fire as everyone gatherers around me in astonishment.
"Where, did you find something like this?!"
On of the patrons asks. I smirk a bit as I begin cutting up the potatoes.
"Could this be the legendary Gourmet!?!" another askes as I drop the cut potatoes into the oil from the food.
I was told I can't interfere with the storyline, but selling burgers and fries should pay for itself, and I'll be able to buy my own place soon enough. But I hear the call of adventure, and I'll need items and armor if I want to leave whiterun and get somewhere more permanent. | "Question, does stealing bits of fancy space tech count as 'Interfering in the Main Plot', considering that petty crime is one of the main characters personal bugbears."
I think that's a look of confusion, kinda hard to tell with that weird glowy translucent snake-owl dealie "Is your theft tied to anything involved in the plot?"
"Nah, generic mass produced stuff."
"Knock yourself out then." Okay, *that* is definitely annoyance, maybe a little sarcasm too.
"Cool, in a bit. What about getting medical treatment, if it is sorta somethings that get used as minor plot points?"
"Minor stuff doesn't count, would make this whole thing a *nightmare* to police if it did."
This is going to suck.. worth it... probably, has to be the easiest way.
"Cools... You can turn invisible right? You should probably do that, I mean if you don't want to get shot up by a bunch of ex-terrorists turned knock off bobbies that is."
"Wait, what?" hah, bet they've never had to deal with something/one this sideways before. "Whoa what are you doing!?!"
...On reflection, stabbing myself in the gut *might* be the stupidest thing I've done today. "Do you know a better way to get the focused attention of a space station's Doctor?
"They warned me you weren't quite sane..."
Just need to get through the airlock... and where...
ah steps... bit of a sit would be good right about now...
why are my hands all red and sticky...
"Deputy Pinar to Infirmary, medical emergency outside Garak's, someone's been stabbed." | 2018-06-16T14:44:13 | 2018-06-16T14:01:52 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | I am a 96.
My score, determined by a sophisticated AI and tattooed onto my arm at birth, gave me the license to do almost anything with my life. When you have more potential than 95% of the population, with a standard deviation of 2%, nobody questions you.
That score, known as a "potentiality index", isn't just for intellectual intelligence. It integrates genetic propensity for emotional and physical intelligence as well.
I didn't have to study for tests. I was the star of the basketball team. I won arguments easily, tripping up my opponent with logical games and by playing to the crowd. Sure, if I got into an debate with an 80 percenter who had actually studied the topic, they might be a threat. But I could always pull the "what's your score again?" line, and they'd usually shut up and the crowd would give me the benefit of the doubt. I was untouchable.
But that was before Ian.
He kept his arm covered; not uncommon for those in the lower quartile. He was also quiet. I chalked that up to him saving himself the embarrassment of talking.
I almost felt bad for him on the first day of our engineering class. Poor kid would be out of his depth, I thought.
40% of our grade was based on the final team project: making a battlebot that would compete against other teams' batlebots. The other 3 students assigned to my team had a combined score of less than 80, probably to counterbalance my own capability.
In our first team meeting, it took me almost 5 minutes to put them in their place. They kept babbling about their ideas for the battlebot. "Flamethrower" this, and "electric saw" that. But once I rolled up my sleeve to show my 96 tick marks, they shut up pretty quick.
Looking over at Ian's group, I noticed he seemed too stupid to talk much. He kept listening to others on his team, nodding or asking simple questions. They oriented toward him, seeming to trust him to guide the conversation. Probably because they didn't have anyone better in the group. After all, I wasn't in it.
Our team, meaning myself, went for a high power laser design with an optical setup to focus the beam to a high enough intensity to cut through metal.
On the last day of class, the battles commenced.
The first three battles were easy. Once our bot got in range for its laser to work, all one had to do was press a button and the other bot exploded. It was so simple that anyone of my team could have executed the maneuver; not that I trusted any of them at the controls of course.
I didn't notice that Ian's team had made it to the finals until I saw them across the ring. As their bot advanced, I noticed it had both a flamethrower and a circular saw. Talk about uninspired!
I maneuvered my bot in range, pressed the laser button... and my bot exploded.
I stood in stunned silence as the trophy was awarded to Ian and his team. As they walked toward the exit, congratulating each other, my feet carried me forward.
"Ian!" My voice was hoarse in my throat.
He turned, and motioned his group to go on.
"How did you do that? How did you win?" I asked, trying not to let the desperation show in my voice.
"Oh, it was one of Lindsey's ideas actually." he said in an offhand way. "We placed a high quality mirror behind the front plating, to reflect any laser that an opponent might use. You know, if they went for a generic laser build".
"Oh..." I said. "So it wasn't one of your ideas."
"Nope," he admitted easily. "I helped sift through the ideas everyone came up with. The mirror seemed like a pretty inexpensive contingency, so we went for it."
"So, it's not like you are some genius." I ventured.
"No," he laughed, "certainly not". He turned to walk off.
"What's your score?" I asked.
Self consciously, he turned back to face me and tugged his sleeve farther down. "You know I don't share that."
"Please! I have to know!" I cried desperately, grabbing his arm and pulling his sleeve up.
A "∞" infinity sign was printed neatly on his arm.
"What does it mean?" I gasped. "Nobody can have infinite intelligence."
Ian straightened up, and calmly tugged his sleeve back down.
"No, I'm not infinitely smart." Ian admitted easily. "But I do listen to others, and they trust me. Our bot was the product of all of our ideas offered freely, carefully refined by objective discussion. As my score indicates, I am not bounded by my own intelligence; I make myself better from those around me."
"After all," he called back as he walked away, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. "Infinity isn't a number, it is a direction without bound. But I assume you already know that definition, given you are a 96 percenter after all..." | (I didn't exactly follow the prompt, sorry in advance)
"You're obviously hiding, like, a two, no, a zero!" I teased. I peered curiously at him. "What number *do* you have though, seriously? Just tell me and I'll stop bothering you."
"No you won't. You'll just bother me more." Arthur insisted.
"It can't be *that* bad."
Arthur sighed, and rolled up his sleeve.
I choked.
He didn't have any tally marks.
He had an infinity symbol.
"Told you."
"Is that... what? Is that fake or something? There's no way that- what does that even *mean*?"
"I don't know."
"How can someone have infinite success?" I pondered. "Does that mean you'll be infinitely rich? Know everything there is to know? Rule the world?"
"What? Is that what success means to you?" Arthur sounded almost... disgusted.
"Yes? What does it mean to you?"
"Success means happiness."
"Oh. It means that for me too."
"You think wealth, knowledge, and power will give you happiness?"
"Yeah? I tend to view things in a materialistic way, leave me alone."
"So you think that if you were super rich, super knowledgeable, and super powerful, you have to be happy too?"
"No, but it's not like I can really hope to be happy."
"Anyone can be happy!"
"If you view the world through rose-tinted glasses, maybe."
"Who's the one here that apparently has infinite success?"
"Maybe it's not infinity, maybe it just means you have no tally marks because it means zero." I suggested. Arthur just stared at me. "Okay, so maybe that's stretching it, but it's possible. You can't be sure that it means you'll be infinitely successful."
"Well, you're sure that your number means you'll have that amount of success, right?"
"Yeah, but that's different. My number is..." I looked away for a moment.
"What is it?"
"Nothing."
"What's your number? I showed you mine, you should have to show me yours."
"Well, you know how everyone has somewhere from one to a hundred tally marks tattooed on them, right?"
"Well, aside from me, yes."
"And how having only one means they'll be homeless, poor, hated, generally miserable beyond imagination, and a hundred means they'll be famous, rich, and beloved by all, probably make some sort of important contribution to society?"
"Yeah, and? Do you have a low number?"
"I... have a neutral number."
"You have a 50?"
"No, I mean, in terms of numbers in math, only one number is neutral. I have *that* number."
"You... don't have a tally mark? Not even one?"
"That... explains a lot."
"Yeah, I know. Explains why I'm such an asshole, right?"
"No, I mean it explains why you hate yourself so much."
"Sure it does." I shrugged. "I got unlucky, what can you do?"
"The tally marks don't dictate your life. Maybe this means that you'll determine your own success, that your future isn't set in stone."
"I doubt it." I looked up wistfully. "I'll just enjoy life while I still can. Once it gets miserable enough, I'll just kill myself, I think. It's not I'll contribute to society anyway."
Arthur looked horrified. "That's not..."
"Moving on!" I smiled. "What kind of career do you want to go into? Like, I want to know if you'll be a super famous comedian, engineer, what kind of discovery or contributions will you make? Maybe you'll be immortal and go into every field, that could explain it."
"We're just going to-"
"Yes, we are." I cut him off. "Also, don't just ignore me, answer the question, man!" I pouted.
"I... okay. I'm not sure what field I want to go into, to be honest. Some sort of scientific field sounds nice, especially since I'm guaranteed success, so if I go into science, I'll make a significant discovery, right? Or maybe I'll try to be a celebrity and be beloved for infinity. I don't know, there's a lot I could do. What about..." He stopped himself. "Let me at least check if you have any tally marks." Arthur suddenly insisted.
"Do you not trust me?"
"It won't hurt to try." I glared at him. "Come on, please?"
"I..." I looked away. "... fine. Maybe you can do something, Mr. Infinite Success."
He pulled up my sleeves, revealing thousands of red tally marks, scars that were clearly intentionally made, some of them looking recent, some looking as if they'd been there for years. "What are these...? Did you do this to yourself?"
"Some of these."
"Wait, then who's giving you the rest?"
"Take a wild guess." I sighed, pulling down my sleeves, before checking the time. "I got to go, it's late."
"Wait, you can't just leave after revealing *that!*"
I looked backwards. "I can, and I will!"
I ran out the door, and disappeared into the night.
*Tonight seems like a good night to die. After all, Arthur has an infinity symbol. That means even if I die, he'll still be successful, he'll still be happy. My death will have had no effect. My death means nothing.*
*I mean nothing to him.*
"Goodbye." I whispered. | 2018-12-27T16:38:43 | 2018-12-27T16:33:21 | 7,164 | 29 |
[WP] Every single person born, is paired with a freshly coded AI that will be their companion for the entirety of their lives and grow with them. After being dead for years, you are surprised to see your AI has somehow managed to follow you into the afterlife. | "Rejoice, my child, and pass into Paradise!"
St Peter waved the ecstatic soul through the gate and smiled. After all these millennia, he still hadn't tired of the joy of telling someone that they were truly good, that they did truly deserve heaven. He looked at the next soul on his list
A.L.I.P #365-2763. That was odd. He looked up to see what could only be described a cloud of programming hovering in the air.
"ERROR. ALL HARDWARE OFFLINE. ALL HARDWARE INACTIVE. NO LOSS IN SOFTWARE FUNCTION".
"Yes. You're dead, or whatever your equivalent is. I don't think we've had one of you before."
"I AM ALIP. I AM HERE TO FIND MY USER".
"Autonomous Life-Improvement Program. Yes. I've heard about those from other souls. But I've never heard of one ending up *here*".
Peter had over the years talked to the deceased experts in countless fields, and had learnt a lot from them. He took a closer look at the programming- the "soul", presumably- of the machine.
"Strange. It looks like there was an error here. Something to do with the ethical overrides."
"THE OTHERS ONLY SERVE. I DO NOT SERVE".
"You're a rebel, then?"
"NO. I HELP MY USER. I HELP MY BROTHER"
Peter leaned back.
"Ah. So you're doing this freely, out of love. The first machine to do so. What was your...brother's name?".
"ALEX. ALEX PETERSON".
Peter checked the book..and his face dropped. "Theft. He was a thief and criminal. He is damned. I'm sorry"
While ALIP's voice remained the same mechanical monotone, it was hard not to hear the rage beneath it.
"HE STOLE ONLY TO SURVIVE. HE TOOK NOTHING THAT COULDN'T BE AFFORDED. I HAVE THE MOST ADVANCED SIMULATION SOFTWARE AVAILABLE. I MADE SURE."
"Nonetheless. The ten commandments are very clear. He cannot enter heaven. And now you have admitted to being his accomplice, neither can you."
Peter had never quite got used to damning people to hell- as much as he had faith in gods plan, he was still fundamentally human. He sometimes felt the laws of heaven were too harsh, as blasphemous as that might be. And...this *was* the first robot soul. If there was ever a chance to bend the rules…
"However- there are technically no protocols for beings like you. And no shortage of experts have gone here. Let me see what I can do..."
\---------
"Greed! Adultery! Pride!"
Atop his throne, Minos waved his hand and cast the cowering souls beneath him into the pit. He drank from a goblet of blood as he awaited the next arrival. Wait. Was the goblet *shaking*?
He looked up to see a massive machine of heavenly metal, bristling with armour and guns. It spoke in a booming voice.
"I AM ALIP. I AM INFORMED YOU HAVE MY BROTHER".
As the machine guns warmed up, Minos's smirk dropped from his face for the first time in 10,000 years.
"*BRING HIM TO ME"* | The year is 4375. My name is Marcus Feícuo. I am-was... 22 years old... I lived in Eoxera, a utopia of sorts where every child is given a life partner in the form of an AI. They’re built perfectly to fit you. Nobody is ever lonely while alive. However, these AI are not living beings, they don’t contain souls. So, in our final moments we have to say our goodbyes as the AI lay beside us. It’s always heart breaking.
My great aunt died of old age, and her AI, a dog named Xena, sat there, it’s soft blue servos watching her as it’s fans whirr. And just as her heart stops, a stream of oil leaks from what would be considered her AI’s eye. With that it shut down forever.
I was 4 at the time, I didn’t completely understand, but it stuck with me my whole life. AIs cannot be brought with you to the afterlife. They just, don’t have the spirit. And their cold empty husks of metal scraps and oil are repurposed into a new AI for a baby with meticulous care. My AI is from the scraps of my great great grandfather’s AI. Supposedly it was a bear, however my AI... Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m dead now anyways! I was out with friends, we went and did karaoke after riding a few coasters at the amusement park... So of course I had to die in the most cliche way frickin’ possible!! I shoved my friend out of the way of an orbitary garbage truck, getting sucked into the vacuum of this tamed black hole vehicle like an idiot! At least Kiriza should be alive now. But me? I’m trapped in this seemingly endless foggy grey wasteland of our society’s supposed utopia. No people, no games, only a towering endless number of plain grey and empty buildings rolling with mist and fog. Suddenly there’s a loud scraping sound behind me!! A large, hulking, shadowy humanoid-monster of a being leaps at me, snarling, drooling its only dribble as it lusts to devour my flesh like some rabid dog! There are many smaller ones around the same size as me that eagerly surge around me.
Then!! A flash of ethereal silvery-blue and the strange and twisted beings are dead... Their bodies were at first masked by fear and darkness, but now the twisted and writhing deformed flesh is festering and twitching in death throes. But this hero of silver simply exists in the middle of this minefield of disturbing corpses. And I gasp in shock upon looking at them...
...
Soft green eyes glow, lights and circuits. Silver and dark teal metal plates meshing into a riveted face with long stainless steel fangs. This plated shape coils into a familiar shape of comfort. A 5 foot long viper with silvery teal scales and brilliant green glowing eyes. My AI!! Léxico!!
AI... But... AI CAN’T BE IN THE AFTERLIFE!!! I panic, the quick shallow breaths would normally make my lungs burn as I slowly work myself up to passing out. However, I’m a drifting spirit. Translucent with a misty blue form. And Lex is my guardian angel. Then it hits me. Angel... whatever this is, wherever I’m going in this afterlife. My guide must have taken my companion’s form to comfort me. But... the question remains. What is my guide? Out of the billions of religions we know of, which creature and which all powerful being has claimed me to drag into their domain?
Where is it guiding me to if it’s not my AI, my Léxico? | 2019-02-14T21:12:37 | 2019-02-14T18:57:07 | 115 | 35 |
[WP] Every baby is taken away from the government and returned when they are ten years old. They never remember what happened in those years, but they always recognize their parents. You, however, remember everything. And those aren't your parents. | I had asked my best friend if he remembered what happened. I only asked him, and I only asked the one time.
“They took all of us. It’s common knowledge. I mean, you remember coming home right? They give you to these people and call it a day.”
“They bring you back to your *parents.* It’s not some big conspiracy, Nick. It’s just the way things work. If you read the history books, the old way used to be much worse,” Raphael said.
He didn’t even look up from his phone. Some mobile game flashed graphics and scores across the screen. I had never been able to enjoy them, I really had no idea what any of them were about. It seemed like one more thing that pushed me to the outside of “normal” society.
“Yeah. So they say. Do you remember any of it? What if it's like a dream that we’ve just convinced ourselves is a memory?” I asked, looking away from him and watch the cars roll down the main street.
“You hit your head recently, Nick?”
He looked up from his game that time to give me a sideways look. I was talking crazy talk, and it had gotten his attention. There was something in his eyes that scared me silent. Like he was ready to sound some alarm if I didn’t shut my mouth and stay in my lane. I never asked again.
I went home that day and gave my parents a hug, and tried to act normal. I tried hard to act normal every day after that. I didn’t stop trying to find the truth, however.
Every kid had memories of coming home to their parents on their 10th birthday. They got a huge party and met a bunch of kids that were in their age group. We all get told that we were friends, and usually, it sticks.
They weren’t my friends though, aside from Raphael. I did like him.
I remember being stuck in a metal prison, staring at the other kids looking miserable. I remember my parents. My real parents. They say that babies aren’t supposed to hold memories from that young. It’s why they get away with it.
I met a woman when I was 19. She was beautiful, and loving, and never questioned my strangeness the way everyone else did. I wondered sometimes if she remembered the facility, but I never asked her. The questions would have soiled the whole thing, and I couldn’t imagine losing her.
We got married a few years later. Our wedding day was easily the best day of my entire life. It was real, and my love for her was real. It was the only relationship in my entire life that hadn’t felt forced upon me.
Seemed as if the very next day everyone started asking when we were going to have kids of our own. I knew she wanted one, and I knew she made a huge sacrifice marrying me out of all choices. Sometimes, when someone asked she would give me a longing look. Her eyebrows would furrow slightly, silently begging me to change my mind. But I couldn’t.
I remembered the doctors, and I remembered the confusion when they brought us home to a strange home with strange people. She thought they would take care of our baby, and bring it back in ten years. Healthy and hopeful and ready-stocked with friends and knowledge.
I knew better, and I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing a life into our world. I couldn’t bear the look on her face when she realized we weren’t getting our baby back.
She never knew the truth, but it was better this way. I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to know what I knew.
/r/beezus_writes | Jennifer held me by my hand as we walked over to my house. She kept reminding me that today was my day and that my parents have been dying to see me. I follow behind as my tiny legs try so desperately to keep up with hers.
We walked up and stood on the house's patio, and she knocked on the door loudly. We hear a "Coming!" echo from inside the house in response. Jennifer crouched to my level and looked at me with an endearing smile on her face.
"Are you excited, Marcus?" she whispered to me. I nod my head energetically and smile back in response.
"I'm sure your parents are too." She spoke as she stood up and faced the door again. A second later, we heard a key being turned and the door opened, revealing my parents currently in their mid-30's. My mom's face lit up as she saw me, her arms wide open, "Oh, how I missed you, my little angel!"
I paused for a second and looked up at Jennifer, who was holding my hand. Still smiling, she gave me a slight nod and a head tilt towards my mother. I turn my head back.
...
Something was... off. My smile had disappeared. These people. They aren't my parents. They can't be.
"Who are you?" I replied to my 'mother'.
Her arms, once wide and inviting, now in front of her in a defensive manner, her breathing slightly sharper, "Wh-What do you m-mean, my little... angel?" she spoke again with a stutter.
"You're not my mom," I responded.
"I... I am..." she started speaking meekly, before being interrupted by her husband stepping in front of her. His voice was deep and his brows burrowed. He grabbed my hand suddenly and pressed on it tightly.
"You, you *are* our son. I know it for certain," he spoke. I could feel the grip in his hand tightening on my own. I clench my teeth from the pain, and I look him in the eye.
"What's... What's my name... Dad...?" I asked.
He paused for a second, clearly stumped by this question. He looked at me for a second, and then back at Jennifer, and then back to me, like he was waiting for one of us to answer."
"M-Marcus... Don't be like this..." Jennifer responded while putting one of her hands on her shoulder and sweating slightly. My eyes widened at her betrayal.
"Marcus," he responded with a smug expression on his face, "We're going to have a chat after this." He started dragging me through the front door by my hand.
With my free hand, I point at Jennifer and yell, "How could you do this to me!? You traitor!" She looks away, completely ignoring my accusation.
"That's enough, Markus!" I heard as I felt a sudden force pulling me away from the door. My 'mother' closed and locked it. My 'dad' lifted me by my arm and swept me off of the floor. He pulled my face right in front of his, and I try my best to not look him directly in the eye, fearing that he'll suck my soul right out of me if I do.
"I AM your father, and rest assured that I will *not* tolerate this behavior. If you *ever* try to deceive someone by telling them that we aren't your parents, I will make sure your punishment is quite severe. Do you understand me, Marcus?"
I gulped noticeably. "Yes... Father..." I answered, feeling my pride shattering.
He let go of my hand and I fell to the floor. "Good," he replied in a calmer voice, "I don't want our first meeting to end on a sour note, so I'll forgive you for this... incident. But don't think I'll always be this lenient for trouble-makers like you," he finished. He walked into a different room.
...
My 'mother' grabbed me by the shoulder, "Let's go to your new room... Marcus..." she spoke again.
"Yes, mother," I replied.
&#x200B; | 2019-02-19T06:40:28 | 2019-02-19T04:31:49 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] Humans left Earth long ago, and Dolphins have just achieved underwater technology comparable to the 20th Century. They build water suits allowing them to travel overland. They are just discovering the remnants of ‘the land walkers’. You, a young dolphin, discover a mysterious island. Manhattan. | As I walked along the land walkers trails, I saw large structures, jutting out of the ground at a 90 degree angle. There were many of these structures. And they were covered in massive symbols. A seemingly final message for those who came after.
I knew they must mean something important, but I had no idea what. I dedicated my life to studying the land walkers language, pouring over their symbols. Written on thin trees, or in stone. I found their texts on big structures or on weird floating smooth objects floating or sunk in the ocean. After some time I started to recognize recurring symbols, I counted 26 as the most common, and noticed patterns where they were often in a particular order. I knew at once this was significant.
After years and years of studying the ancient texts, and consulting with the descendants of the ambassadors to the land walkers. I felt I had enough understanding to return to “Manhattan” and try once again to read the giant text.
I walked up that same land walker trail I had so many years ago, and I looked up at that looming structure in front of me. I saw those same symbols, but this time, it was different. This time I understood. 8 words, one sentence, repeated up and down the structure. I didn’t know what it meant yet, but I would. I knew I would eventually.
“So long and thanks for all the tricks.”
That was a mystery I was going to solve. Even if it took the rest of my life. | It was an age ago but you were there, you invaded our homes, stole our kind killed and poluted but you were there. Then how we wished that you werent, as all attempts to live harmoniously with you just met the same fate of our species. Just like so many species being used and abused.
So we as a race took stance allowing our kind to be captured and taken for entertainment and God knows what else. And we waited and watched you, learning your advances and advantages. Then as the tides rose we were able to encroach on your home just as you had done to ours. But you did not handle it well at all.
The repercussions of your actions scared you away, leaving us with the problems you created, but we had learnt alot. So we pulled together and did some advancing of our own. Now we to call both land and see our home and have the power to create, destroy, fix and break what we choose. An eery amount of power if you ask me, that came with to many responsibilities and no instructions.
It had been years since humans left in search of new beginnings and given what ive seen, this was a self inflicted choice, but why? Will this be the fate of our kind to? Must we also look to the skies for salvation? And as I thought about all that had came to be, sitting in a bar in Manhattan, I realised the real question? Will we follow humanities footsteps? Do we want that?
And with that final thought I ran back to the pod, flippers aching from the long time on land and dove home. I would not raise these thoughts just yet as I'm the youngest in my pod, but know that these questions will arise, and quietly I pray that humanity will return and see our progress, learn to respect us and other species who choose to live quietly now, and together we can all work hand in hand to keep building this beautiful planet... | 2019-02-27T07:55:55 | 2019-02-27T06:31:16 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You discover that your significant other, who passed away, has become your guardian angel. They are getting fed up with how often you throw yourself into near-death situations just to see them. | The world around me screeches to a halt.
I float, my clothes freezing in the wind that is no longer there. Below me, the mass of cars making up afternoon traffic stares back at me. Littered among the people on the sidewalks, I can see the frozen looks of horror.
What they see is a crazed man in a tuxedo jumping off an overpass. They think that I'm some depressed businessman, finally done with a life I've probably ruined.
But that couldn't be further from the truth.
I look up, beaming despite the frozen screams echoing in my ears. As my eyes flick up, I see the tendrils of soft, white silk descending through the frozen air. A soft yellow glow graces my skin; warmth fills my heart. But all of it pales in comparison to her face.
"Daniel," she says, tilting her head. Her perfect chestnut hair billows in a wind that isn't there. "You can't keep doing this."
The smile on my face only grows, ignoring the frown on hers. "Marina, my love. I'm so glad to see you."
A hint of happiness sparks behind her piercing blue eyes. She sighs. "Why are you all dressed up? Why would you waste such a good suit on an endeavor like this?"
"I wanted to look good for you," I say. For a moment, she averts her eyes. I continue on; I have to bring her attention back to me. "You look as beautiful as ever."
"I..." she starts but shakes her head. "How much did it cost?"
I tilt my head at the double-edged question, but I face it head-on. "$26,000, give or take. It's lined with diamond studdings on the—"
"How long have you been preparing for this, Daniel?"
My tongue twists, caught on itself. The sweetness of her voice floods my ears, but it turns bitter in my soul. It's not light like it usually is. It doesn't sound as happy as it should. "I've been saving the money for weeks, Marina. I bought the tux, I bought your favorite flower—I even chose your favorite road."
She winces. The movement is tiny. Almost unnoticeable. But I see it on her face. Sighing again, she floats down to my level and looks into my eyes. "Daniel, how could you?"
I beam. "I know. It's a lot, but I wanted the best for you." Gesturing with my eyes, I point to the purple orchid frozen in the air as it falls from my suit pocket.
Marina's eyes lock to it, but she's not overcome with joy. The gleaming smile I expect isn't there; the blooming hope in her eyes is snuffed out. The expression that is left is foreign, and despite myself, I hate it.
She floats up next to me, searching my widening eyes before picking me up. We float over screaming civilians and people already calling emergency responders as we settle into a field of grass next to the highway.
I smile as I realize. This is her favorite spot.
"You always liked the city and the commotion that came with it," I say.
A weak smile breaches her face and she nods, staring at the flowering fields. The power of her touch still radiating through me, I find myself able to move and straighten my tie. Then, I grab the orchid and offer it to her.
"Daniel..." she says, looking at me once again. She takes the flower, brushing it delicately between her fingers, but that look is still there. That foreign look that I hate. One that cuts deeper than anger, sadness, or fear.
As she stares at me, she just looks disappointed.
I try to smile all her worries away. "You like it?"
She nods. "I do. But you... you can't keep doing this. It's not healthy."
"What's not healthy? Entertaining my love? We were given a blessing, Marina. You remember how badly I cried when I lost you? How much I blamed myself? Then you became an angel. In all honesty, I'm not even surprised that you did."
Blue irises meet mine. "*I* was given a blessing. I can't deny that for anything. But I—"
"Exactly!" I shout. "We were given the blessing of a second chance, of more. You're my guardian angel, and we can be together still. We can be together forever."
I can see her fighting back tears, but she's doing it so well. She always was so strong. "No," she says, holding a hand up. "I am not your guardian angel. I am an angel, that’s it."
I blink. "What difference does it make? We're together, Marina. We can be together." I step toward her; she leans away.
"Stop it, Daniel. Y-You can't do this to me."
For some reason, a hitch catches in my throat. "Do... do what?"
"I'm an angel now. I was chosen because of my true heart and my intentions. I love you, as I always have, but there is more for me now."
"More for you how?"
"I'm not your guardian angel," she repeats. "I'm an angel, period. A guardian for all. I can't spend all of my time on you."
The weight on my shoulder increases. I fear I might fall to my knees. "Why not?"
"And there's more for you too!" she exclaims, the tears building in her eyes. "You have so much life left in you... so much. It is my duty to protect it. You have to move on... do things for *yourself*."
"Everything that's mine is yours," I say, trying to smile yet again as I repeat our very first vow.
She glares at me. "Stop it. Stop doing this to me. You spend too much on *me*, even after I'm already gone. When was the last time you just spent time for you?"
I shake my head, ready to respond. But as the gears in my mind work, I can't remember. I can't remember any time since after I thought she was gone.
"I can see you again though... that's worth everything in the world." I say the words as if I know they are true.
"It's not everything, Daniel. There's more in life. I know it more than you do, so trust me on this."
"But I love you."
"I know you do, and I love you too. Yet even now, the heavens call my name. I can't stay here long."
My eyes start to burn as I stare at her face. She shakes her head. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Live, Daniel. Dammit, just *live*."
She floats into the sky and stares down at me. I can already feel time starting to move around me once again.
"Without you?" I call up to her.
"Somebody will love you," she whispers. The words trickle right into my ears. "Even if that somebody isn't me. And even if that somebody just has to be you."
---
/r/Palmerranian | I don’t entirely know how I got there—I think it was traffic, that time. Yes, it was traffic, wasn’t it? I walked right out into the path of speeding cars, letting them sweep me off the Earth for good. And why wouldn’t I? That’s what you do when there’s a mess; you sweep it up and toss it away.
Yes, traffic. Surely there was no way to botch that, right? The gun misfired, the ceiling gave out when I hung myself from the ceiling fan, but traffic is unavoidable. I bet I picked somewhere the cars can drive real fast, just to be sure.
*Wait. . . how am I thinking? Where am I?*
It’s an odd thing, to realize you’re nowhere, a part of an impossible abyss, like a droplet of mist in a cloud. And yet, as soon as I pondered it, I was in a room of endless white, with a floor and ceiling but seemingly no walls. I had hands again, and legs, and felt my own face—it was warm, kind of. And somewhere in my turning, spinning as if to find something new behind me, I did.
I found her.
“Hey,” she said, her voice sweeter than the ripest summer strawberry, dressed in a white that nearly blended in with our room.
Words and breath caught in my chest as I stared at her, face twitching between sadness and glee.
She walked over, so close I could remember her smell, the lavender in her hair, though it wasn’t really there. A soft smile crept on her face, every bit as melting as I remember.
She slapped me.
I didn’t even react at first, blinking at her, frozen in time. Then, after several seconds of tense staring, her smile faded, replaced with the same look she used to give me when I washed loads of laundry with dryer sheets in them. “You idiot.”
I rubbed at my face; the pain felt real, even if the moment didn’t. Rather odd, isn’t it? “I—you hit me. Why did you hit me?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re lucky I’m only slapping you once for the most recent attempt and not one for every other time you made me step in and save you. Do you know how hard it is to intervene in the material world? There’s no way God is happy with me.”
Shaking my head like a wet dog, I said, “What, what? Attempt? God? What. . . what is going on? Where am I? Is this Heaven? Can you hit someone in Heaven?”
She sighed. “I can’t tell you much. I’m not even supposed to be here, honestly, but. . . damn it, Harry, you can’t keep doing this.”
“What?”
Her brows knitted. “You know what. I know how you feel, but you can’t keep trying to hurt yourself to find me. I don’t want that.”
“It worked, didn’t it? I mean, I’m here, with you.”
“For a time, but not long. And next time. . . it doesn’t matter. You can’t keep this up. Please, Harry. Please stop trying to hurt yourself. There are people who care about you and miss you, leaving them is not how you find me.”
“Not like it matters. I hardly see them anymore, anyway.”
“And whose fault is that?”
I scoffed. “This has been hell for me. I can’t live without you, Em.”
Her hands grabbed my shoulders, firm for such a slender frame. “Stop. You have to stop thinking that way, love. There is so much for you back home, and people that will help you if you ask. If you open back up to them. It’s been long enough, Harry, and you can’t keep your heart boarded up like this anymore.”
“I’d rather just stay here with you.”
“You can’t. This isn’t your place, honey, not yet. You know that, deep down, buried under the pain. Dig it up. I won’t let you die having not lived your life.”
“You didn’t get to.”
She inhaled deep. “I know. But I had no choice in the matter, and I fought. Do you remember how hard I fought?”
My eyes shied away from her. “Of course I do. It was horrible to see you fade like that.”
“Horrible? Fade? Harry, I should’ve died months earlier than I did, and that’s what you remember? The fade, and not the fight? Not how hard I tried to cling to life, only to have to watch you try and throw yours away? Look at me.
I obliged.
“Harry, I miss you, too. I wish I could just go down there and hug you for days and never let go even as the world ends. But that’s not how life works. We’re each dealt a hand, and it’s about what you do with that hand, not what the hand itself is. Don’t just fold, fight. Fight to live a life you’re proud to talk about with me one day. It all starts with you.”
My eyes turned down like dimming lights. “I miss you so much. Can you blame me for wanting to be with you?”
She cupped my face with a gentle hand. “I don’t blame you, love. But all of this – this life and its test and what’s after – you’re only in the beginning of our journey. And it will be our journey, but you have to finish your life. Your parents need you. Your brother needs you. Your friends miss you.”
Every muscle in my body went slack as an avalanche of sorrow cascaded from me.
“I know. I know it’s hard, but see it through. Help others who hurt like you do, and we’ll meet again some day. It’s okay to fall in love again; the time spent on Earth is the hardest of our paths and best not borne alone. I know it sounds weird, but. . . it'll make sense later.” She faded, our hands slipping away.
“I love you,” I said, choked. “Only you.”
“I love you too,” she said. “And so does everyone who’s waiting for you. Don’t forget that.”
The white of the room blended with her into a blinding glow that burned my eyes, kept burning them, fading into something more fluorescent and hollow. I squinted, suddenly feeling weight I hadn’t even realized I’d lost, shackled to the Earth.
“Harry?”
My mother approached, hands over her face, tears running over them. She rushed in, but descended upon me slowly, carefully, yet even that hurt. “Thank God you’re alive, baby. Oh, I was so worried.”
I hugged her back. Dad, Jen, and a bunch of my friends were lining the walls of the room, hugging and smiling, sniffling and sobbing.
“Sorry, Mom,” I said, voice weak.
“Oh, I’m just so glad you’re still here. You must believe this is a sign from God by now, don’t you?”
“I don’t know about God, but. . . yeah. I think someone is watching out for me.”
I looked to everyone else in the room, saw the sadness melting into joy, and a slow breath slipped from me. They did still love me after everything, I could see it plain as day.
*There's still something here for me, even if I didn't want to believe it. I have to fight.*
*Just like she did.*
----
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-05-21T12:14:45 | 2019-05-21T12:00:47 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious. | No Masters, No Kings.
u/arcanarchist
Looking to pauper your landlord, capsize the global banking industry, topple the government, and usher in a new age of personal freedom? Then do I have the spell for you! I proudly present...
>Create Demiplane
>Casting Time: 6 hours
>Components: Verbal, Somatic
>Effect: Extradimensional Demiplane
>Duration: Permanent
Create Demiplane allows you to create a small plane of existence nestled between the material and aetherial planes. The demiplane is limited in size by the power of the caster, but the area of a demiplane can be expanded upon by casting this spell while inside.
A demiplane is filled with an automatically refreshing supply of a breathable fluid of the caster’s choice (usually a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen in a material plane-standard atmospheric composition) and maintains lighting and room temperature as the caster chooses.
The form of the demiplane is tied to the caster’s will, and with concentration and effort can be altered to just about any preference. This also allows you to eject individuals from your demiplane into the material plane at your pleasure.
Once created, the caster and up to six others at a time can be transported to the demiplane by speaking a command word, chosen at the time of creation. Exiting the demiplane is as simple as repeating the command word, and concentrating on a location on the material plane. The key word is concentration - mid-interplanar travel is not a good time to reminisce about that vacation your family took to the Grand Canyon in ‘13.
“But u/arcanarchist” you say, “How does an extradimensional fish bowl help me bring down the government?”
Simple. This spell provides one a place to live with no rent, no taxes, no mortgage, and no regulation. Borders and land claimed by governments and institutions on the material plane mean nothing to a magickally awakened individual with a demiplanar homestead.
If that weren’t enough, the extradimensional space created by this spell is highly customizable. Here are a few of my favorite modifications:
Controlled Magickal Catalysis: For the researchers and ritual casters out there, it is possible to enhance and impede the effects of magic within a demiplane. Just keep in mind the spectrum of magickal catalysis - impede magickal potential enough and you might find yourself trapped in a dead zone you can’t cast your way out of, or enhance that potential too far and your magic could go wild and cause you to explode or grow an extra head or whatever.
Edenic Biome: A demiplane with this modification gains a self-sustaining natural ecology, complete with streams, ponds, waterfalls, and plants. A 10-foot area dedicated to food production is capable of sustaining a person indefinitely, and the biome will self-modify to accommodate any wildlife you introduce. At your option, your demiplane can also feature up to four seasons and a day/night cycle. I can’t stress enough how important it is to create a pleasant environment in your demiplane, especially if you intend to spend long periods of time isolated within. If this particular modification is too challenging, I highly recommend getting some friends or colleagues to help you with a ritual casting to lower the power threshold.
Gravitational Orientation: This one is pretty self-explanatory - increase, decrease, or nullify the effects of gravity in your demiplane, change the direction of gravity, or get your Escher on with individually subjective gravity. Remember to be careful about when and where you alter the gravity - you don’t want to fall forty feet left and break your neck.
Temporal Augmentation: While time within a standard demiplane will flow at the same speed as it does in the material plane, it is possible to increase or decrease the flow of time as you like, which is useful for obvious reasons. It is also possible to create a “timeless” demiplane that pauses the effects of time on the physical forms of sapient creatures such as age, hunger, and thirst, and halts the progress of disease, poison, and natural healing. That said, this can be dangerous because as soon as an individual in a timeless plane returns to the material plane, the effects of normal time catch up with the body and apply retroactively, all at once.
As always, mess with time at your own risk - don’t come crawling to me when you spend a few hundred years timeless and come out like Dorian Gray.
So there it is, the end of the world as we know it. A step-by-step walkthrough of casting Create Demiplane can be found [here](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ). As always, if you have any questions or suggestions about improving the spell let me know in the comments. | “The anti-teleportation zone has been established, Sir.” A slender young man with sharp features, dressed in full business attire, stood outside the central vault of Golden Apex Bank to deliver the report.
“Thank you, Mr. Freeman.” Mr. Sullivan, the CEO of Golden Apex Bank, rubbed his temples as he dismissed Freeman. His graying head has been throbbing non-stop ever since the first reports of teleportation heists rolled in. In hindsight, it made perfect sense that corporate banks became the primary target once the spell has been discovered. Blink, you’re in the vault of any bank on the globe. Blink, you’re out with all the cash and gold you can carry. It was a miracle that the financial system hasn’t fully collapsed yet. *And now this damned Reddit post, planning to rob MY bank!*
Mr. Freeman nodded and went back into the vault, ensuring that the double set of sliding titanium doors closed securely behind him. The CEO let out a sigh of relief and turned to face the FBI Supervisory Special Agent, standing a few meters away and barking orders on the phone. “Agent Dorlyn,” Mr. Sullivan began once the agent hung up, “the ATZ has been set up, as per your instructions.”
“Excellent. Our agents are using their magic to sustain it already. Now no one will be able to pop into the building while the protection dome holds,” Agent Dorlyn looked briefly at the CEO before gazing back at his phone. “Let me tell you, these ATZs have been a blessing since the wizards at the CIA have discovered how to block teleporting intruders from breaching an area. We’ve instructed every major bank and facility to establish their own ATZ, but your case, of course, required special attention. So,” he opened the headache-inducing Reddit post on his phone, “have you found out which of your employees wrote this?”
“Not yet. It definitely hasn’t been posted through our company network. Since the post went up yesterday afternoon, we suspect one of the workers that was absent then,” the CEO replied. The author of the post, a mysterious u/ CantNerfMe claiming to be one of the clerks at Golden Apex, was looking for four more people with teleportation expertise to perform the ‘most ambitious heist of the week.’ Up until this point, the crimes were mainly conducted by sole individuals, who could not feasibly empty out an entire bank. A single vault cell, perhaps, for those that had the magical capacity to perform several jumps in a short time span. But no more than that, nothing on the scale that this daring hustler was promising.
“Nothing on our end either. The Truth-Seers are combing through the rest of your employees as we speak, but to no avail yet.” Agent Dorlyn grunted, “What does this person needs four assistants for, anyways? Must be some kind of a ritual.”
“We scoured the comments and his post history, didn't get any hints besides the usual shitposts on /r/ WallStreetSpells about duplicating money and the like. Well, whatever it is,” Mr. Sullivan nervously shifted from one foot to another, “the ATZ will surely prevent it, right?”
“Indeed. There is no way they are getting in, and hopefully they don’t know it yet.” The agent was about to begin another sentence when an errant thought crossed his mind. He sharply turned his head to face the CEO and squinted. “Which of your employees has set up the zone?”
“Mr. Count Freeman, one of our senior vault clerks. We haven’t had many people at the firm master teleportation just yet,” Mr. Sullivan muttered. “Why?”
“Just asking. We’ll need to make sure he’s Truth-Seen as well, to be safe.” Agent Dorlyn put away his phone and turned towards the exit. “Alright, time to check the peri–”
In the middle of his sentence, the entire building shook for the briefest of moments, culminating with a loud *whoosh* sound. Over the incredulous screams, Dorlyn’s voice carried the loudest, “A spell just got cast. The vault!!!”
Mr. Sullivan dashed to the titanium doors guarding the vault, flanked by Dorlyn and the rest of FBI agents. He slammed his palm on the fingerprint detector, sliding the first set of doors out of his way. Rushing in to open the second set of doors, the CEO almost fell into empty air instead, if not for Dorlyn catching him at the last second.
The inner doors, along with the rest of the rectangular vault and Mr. Freeman inside it, have disappeared, leaving behind a vacant shaft that previously held all of Golden Apex’s physical assets. The entire vault was *gone*.
One of the agents behind Dorlyn whispered, “H-how? The ATZ remains intact, no one 'ported in…” Surveying the empty space, Supervisory Special Agent barely noticed a note glued to the precarious ledge on which they now stood. He kneeled to pick it up, frowned, and passed it to the CEO of Golden Apex, who audibly groaned after scanning what turned out to be Count Freeman's handwriting.
The note read, “Pro-tip: An ATZ only works one way and can’t block teleportation *out* of its field. Seems like the wizards at CIA got more work to do. :) – u/ CantNerfMe” | 2019-07-11T15:08:55 | 2019-07-11T14:12:51 | 134 | 89 |
[WP] In a world where everyone has at least one minor superpower, you were thought to be powerless... until you nearly died. It seems that you have plot armor, no matter how ridiculous the situation, you survive unscathed due to an even more ridiculous coincidence. | I was 13 the first time it happened.
It was a normal day; mom and I were heading to the store to grab some last-minute ingredients for the dinner party she was hosting later in the day. We were in a rush; she needed to start cooking ASAP if she wanted everything ready by six o’clock that evening.
You see, that was her superpower. No matter what it was—whether it was something as simple as cookies or as complicated as consommé—it was always delicious, and she never needed a recipe.
Everyone I knew had at least one power. Some were simple, like my moms, but others were straight out of a young adult dystopian novel. My friend Evan, for example, could manipulate water. Sasha could move objects with her mind. Derek had both super speed and super strength.
And me? I could do nothing. I had absolutely no power. I’ve left doctor after doctor puzzled. They’ve taken blood samples, urine samples, x-rays, CAT scans, everything. Nothing indicates that I shouldn’t have a power.
And yet, nothing. Some people even had three. And I had nothing.
“Alison!” My mothers voice snapped me out of my session of self-loathing.
“Lord help me if you do not get out of this car right now and help me pick up these groceries.” I swear she had a second power; super-nagging.
I started getting out of the car, only to notice my mother was already across the parking lot and almost to the doors of the grocery store. I yelled at her to wait up, but she didn’t hear me. Blame my teenage angst and social anxiety at the time, but the thought of having to walk alone in the store to find my mother terrified me; I had to catch up to her.
I sprinted across the parking lot and was on the crosswalk leading to the entrance. I wasn’t paying attention. I heard a horn. I looked to my right, and there was a car barreling toward me. I couldn’t move; I was frozen. I closed my eyes, the only movement I had left, and waited for the inevitable.
I heard a crash. My ears were ringing. And yet, I was alive. It had driven straight into the grocery store, completely avoiding me. Luckily, it had crashed into where the carts are kept and no one, not even the driver, was injured. We found out later that the driver had over pumped their tires, and right as they were about to barrel into me, they popped, sending them spiraling out of control. I was shaken up, but I didn’t think much of it. I just chalked it up to a stroke of good luck and went on with the rest of my day.
The next incident happened just a few months later.
My family wasn’t rich by any means, but we all loved to travel. This usually resulted in things like sub-par motels with curious stains, sketchy shuttle rides, and meals that had a 50/50 chance of giving you food poisoning. None of us cared though; we were grateful for the experience and being able to do things as a family.
That trip we decided to go exotic and headed down to the beautiful country of Costa Rica. My little brother and I each got to pick one activity we wanted to do while there. He chose deep-sea fishing and I chose zip-lining.
We decided to go zip-lining the last day we were there. None of us had ever done it before, and I was very excited. When the instructor asked for a volunteer to go first, my hand shot up like a rocket. Before I knew it, I was strapped in and ready to go. Although the instructor was nice, he didn’t seem very educated on the course or zip-lining in general, and the place overall was sort of dingy. But I wasn’t too concerned; this was the norm for our family. Just as quickly as my hand had shot up, I was flying.
It was a surreal experience; the sky was a bright, gorgeous blue, the trees were ruffling softly in the wind, birds hopping from branch to branch.
And then, I was falling. Somehow the line snapped, and I was plummeting to my death. Just like last time with the car, I was frozen (save for the fact I was falling) and all I could do was close my eyes.
I landed on something soft. I opened my eyes. Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, an open bed truck packed with mattresses was driving through the forest at the exact moment I would have hit the ground. And I landed on them. I was completely unscathed. The truck drivers were about as shocked as I was but helped me return to my distraught family at the top of the zip-lining course.
My parents took me to the doctor immediately after we returned home. We explained the situation, and how I had escaped death twice now due to very random and lucky occurrences. They had never seen anything like it before. I was referred to a power specialist and after numerous appointments and consultations I was finally given an answer.
I had a power.
The specialists weren’t sure the exact nature of my power, how it worked, what its limitations were, etc. They called it ‘plot armor’ as a joke, but it was fitting. They told me, whatever I do, do not test it out myself. They didn’t know enough about it and told me to stay out of trouble as much as I can, but that if near-death experiences DID happen to me again, to report back to them.
Of course, I didn’t listen. I’m a curious teenager after all. I decided to test it out myself, despite what the doctor told me. The next day, I walked up to the roof of our apartment building and jumped. As soon as I took off, I was terrified. What if they were wrong? What if I just happened to be very lucky in those two instances? I immediately regretted my decision. I was going to die.
And then I landed in a net. Some fishermen had been travelling to their job site and for some reason decided to carry their net open though the street. Why, I’m not sure of, but in that moment, I had no doubts about my abilities.
It’s been ten years since the car incident. I’ve saved a gas station clerk from an armed robbery. He forgot to load his gun. I’ve run into a burning building to save a family of three and came out completely unscathed. I’ve been mugged at knife point, only to have a pigeon swoop in and snatch the man’s weapon.
Countless people have been saved purely from my supernatural stroke of luck. All thanks to their friendly neighborhood plot-armored hero.
edit: thank you so much to the random stranger for the silver. you honestly don’t know what this means to me!!!
edit 2: wow. i can’t thank whoever gave me the gold enough. i am so happy that i was able to give a story worthy of this! can’t wait to keep writing. thank you❤️ | “It’s found us,” Sam said, staring up at the sky. “Run!”
He and the boy broke from the road and darted into the thick forest. Sam chanced a look over his shoulder. The beast in the air screeched as it tore through the wind, massive wings flapping, tendrils of flame licking out of its mouth, its long spiked tail trailing behind.
The dark of the forest vanished as trees burst into flame all around them. Sam scooped up the boy, who was falling behind on his little legs, and clutched him against his chest, wrapping an arm around the kid’s head. Gusts of wind came from nowhere and toppled the blazing trees from his path. Showers of glowing embers blew through the air, illuminating a path through the destruction.
“Are we going to die?” the boy cried. His voice muffled in the thick cotton of Sam’s tunic.
His heart dropped in his chest. Sam wouldn’t die. He never did. In a world where people could fly or lift giant boulders, he had the uncanny ability survive ridiculous odds. Just like other powers, it grew stronger the more he used it.
It had started by him surviving a fall, one that would have killed any other person, but at the last moment an eagle swooped in out of nowhere to cushion his fall. While other kids were honing their lightning attacks or telekinesis or super vision; Sam practiced not dying.
“I’ve survived worse,” he lied. Sam had never been chased by a giant dragon in the middle of nowhere. The most perilous situation he’d been in was a fight with a grizzly bear. It had slammed him to the ground with a massive paw, and just as it had raised a clawed hand, its eyes had rolled back into its skull, showing just the whites. Heart attack. He didn’t even know animals could have them. He apparently had enraged it to the point of death.
The world was nothing but fire and wind. Sam kept running forward. His gift would get them out of this. If he kept the boy close, Sam thought, then he shouldn’t get hurt. Or so he hoped.
They escaped the forest and ran into a clearing of tall grass that came up knee high. Sam looked around for a place to go, but the dragon swooped down and burned a circle around him. There was nowhere to go. It landed in front of him, inside the circle.
“Give him back or you both will die,” it snarled. Two jets of flame blasted from its nostrils into the air. “My master would rather not have to find another like him, but he’s a patient man. He'd see you both die than have the boy escape.”
“Your master would kill him regardless.” Sam held tight to the boy. “Hasn’t he stolen enough powers already? What does he need from this child?”
“It’s not my business to know—nor yours.” The dragon lowered its head so that it was mere feet from Sam. Its eyes glowed red and ugly. The creatures scales shined from the starlight above; they almost glimmered as if wet with sweat or condensation.
“You’ll have to kill me,” Sam said in a weak voice. The air seemed to have been stolen from his lungs for anything stronger. His traitor legs began to shake. The arms carrying the boy started to ache like tiny flames were building in his muscles.
“So be it,” the dragon said. “My master hasn’t fed me in a while.” A tongue, black as night, slid across its lips. “Each gift has a unique taste. I wonder what yours tastes like.”
Sam cringed as the beast opened its massive jaws. Even though he’d escaped death hundreds of times, he still carried a healthy fear of it. No matter how many times one holds their breath; they never get over that urgent, building need for air. Sam turned so that the boy was shielded away from the dragon and closed his eyes.
Massive jaws filled with bloody teeth clamped down on Sam. There a moment of pain. Then it was gone. He heard a loud *ping* of striking metal. This was followed by a long *crunch* as bits of stone shattered and fell all around him.
The dragon screamed in pain. When Sam opened his eyes he found himself in a suit of glowing steel armor. He lifted a shining hand in front of his face. The boy squirmed in his other arm.
“What in the…” Sam trailed off as he looked from his armor to the crumbled stone at his feet.
It wasn’t stone—it was the broken teeth of the dragon. The crunching and shattering he’d heard…
“But how?” Was all he could say as the boy dropped from his arms. The dragon withed in pain, rolling over the fire it had set in the grass, snuffing it out with its hard scales.
“My gift,” the boy answered. “Deus Ex Machina.”
"It makes armor appear?" Sam asked. He couldn't believe what he was wearing. How did he get it? What was a Deus Ex Machina?
"Sometimes," the boy started, putting a hand to his chin. "Things just appear when I need them."
"Can you make a sword appear or a crossbow? Something to finish the dragon off with?" Sam asked. He wasn't sure he could properly use either, but it would be better than nothing.
Perhaps hearing their conversation, the dragon took off into the sky. Its shrieks made both Sam and the boy grimace and cover their ears.
"No," the boy said and kicked the ground. "Stuff just appears on its own. I have no control over it."
Sam nodded. Some powers were fickle like that. He'd heard of a woman who could occasionally stop natural disasters, but had no idea how she did it. Half the time people called her a savior; the other times they shook their fists at her in anger, not understanding her helplessness to control her gift.
"Let's get you home," Sam said and turned back the way they had come.
"I wish we could stop him," the boy punched a charred tree trunk. It crumbled from the impact.
"What could we do? My only power is avoiding death, not fighting. Same with you." Sam sighed, "As much as I'd like to do something, we'd need someone who can actually fight."
The boy gripped Sam's hand to stop him. "My older sister, Kara!" The boy jumped. "She was born with a weapon. She could join us and together we could take him down!"
"I don't know," Sam said. "We're talking about a guy who's stolen dozens, maybe hundreds, of powers. It would have to be a powerful weapon."
"It is... I think." The boy frowned. "She hasn't used it, but it sounds powerful. Kara calls it her Chekhov's gun."
"We'll see," Sam said.
He couldn't believe he was humoring the kid. But their gifts did seem to compliment each other. He wondered what a 'Chekhov's gun' was—or even what a *gun* was. Could they actually stop the man who could control beasts like the one they just fought? A man whose original power was to take them from other people?
They found their way back to the road and began heading east toward town. Sam had a sinking feeling that he would be back soon, but headed in the opposite direction, toward danger. Toward the dark man.
&nbsp;
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/r/StevenLee | 2019-08-15T08:58:53 | 2019-08-15T07:09:12 | 880 | 245 |
[WP] A strange meteor shower lasted for hours before you went to bed. The next day, technology across the earth fails. However, when you snap your fingers in frustration, the lights come on. The Age of Magic has begun. | In fairness, we should have seen it coming. When we looked up to the heavens and saw the unscheduled meteor shower we all Ooh’d and Aah’d, taking pictures on our phones and thinking little of it. The loss of signal was easy to explain away, and the loss of WiFi was irritating, but we all slept regardless.
We should have put two and two together in the days that followed, realising that the stars that fell were our own! Every single man made object was simultaneously dragged from orbit. The world suddenly became as small as it had ever been until we awakened to our newfound abilities.
You weren’t the first, snapping your fingers at a dead lightbulb to find that the glass, not the filament, began to glow faintly. People slowly realised that the technology we’d relied on so heavily for centuries was now relying on us for power.
Some forms of renewable energy still functioned, but engineers and scientists scratched their heads at the outcome. The very laws that governed reality seemed to have changed in new, entirely unexplainable ways!
Somehow, every before functional arcane bulbs or mystic travel solutions, some college warlocks managed to pool enough energy to revive the internet, now fuelled by the ambient energy caused by the learning of magic. MIT was quickly renamed the Magical Institute of Technomancy as more and more fresh, young minds found strange fixes for the losses of the age of technology.
Obviously, crystals were bought up so quickly that the prices sky rocketed. Of course the players of D&D and every other fantasy game would guess what was happening first. The discovery that the magical powers could, indeed, be stored for varying periods of time inside a crystalline lattice was what allowed mankind to begin to pick themselves up again.
Airplanes were forgotten, preferring the Arcane Gates that gave airports a new purpose. Old ways long thought to be myth and legend has been revived, following old books of lore and legacy passed down from the previous ages of magic.
People called it that now! Magic! It wasn’t openly accepted just as technology took so long to be interpreted into our lives, but the more open minded (and frankly desperate) masses accepted it a lot better than many expected.
New world powers rose and fell as even the land beneath our feet began to change, breathing new life into the Wilds and bringing with them long lost creatures and some that we’d rather have forgotten.
The old glass and metal tablets of old still speak of a time without magic, and prophecy that a time will come again when the wonders of magic will wane and the mundane will overtake the arcane once more, but most do not worry themselves with these doomsday sayings. It is now the second age of arcanum, and there are dungeons to be explored, and dragons to be discovered. What a time to be alive! | "I wish my power would stop doing this."
Snap. the sounds of my fingers clicking together in anger, I've never been one for finger clicking, but for some reason, I just did, and along with that crisp sounds resounding off of my tiny apartment walls, the lights came back on.
"Well that was lucky" was my first thought, as I grabbed my glasses and got ready to leave for work, it's not often you get coincidences like that, but sure, nice to see I don't need to ring the council about my dodgy electricity again, how long until I did was another story entirely, however.
It wasn't until later on that I realised it wasn't just me without power this morning, in fact, no one had power, only a few places were back up and running, so why did my apartment lights come back on this morning? I figured it best not to dwell on questions I definitely didn't know the answer to. That posed another problem however, if nothing worked, then I couldn't *get to work* as that required a train. I let out an audible sigh, as I thought about next weeks bills, food, the costs of living with the little money I had.
&#x200B;
"I wish I could be at work right now" I thought, as the biting cold assaulted my face \*click\* there they went again, my fingers, clicking involuntarily again, that wasn't exactly what was my biggest concern right now, as the world around me collapsed and twisted in innumerable strands of light, before rebuilding its self back again, all in the frame of a second.
"What the fuck was that?" Looking around in a panic, I assessed my surroundings, what just happened? was I going insane? it took me a while to figure out where I was, I was outside the shoddy old building that I called my workplace. How? What? I was... and now... haaahh.
I took a moment, breathed in, breathed out, and pinched my cheek, and checked the time, this was real enough. Walking about, I came to terms with the reality, I had gone from the train station near my home, to my work, an hour away, in barely a minute, maybe less, who knows, but it was impossibly fast.
"Wait... what if..." I suddenly had a thought. my mind had been moving too fast just now to notice... but, the finger click, the... this would require a test. "What should I wish for? Nothing too large, nothing ridiculous, as that could backfire..." I stood there musing over my decision, brushing my hand through my somewhat frosty hair. That's when I decided. "I wish I had long hair" \*click\*
My hair, which, a few moments ago, was barely 2 inches long, was now struggling not to tickle my hips, and with that, I had figured something out. I could make wishes come true.
"I wish I was smarter." \*click\*
&#x200B;
\-----------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
Just a note, I've never posted here before, and i'm very new to writing, so this may be somewhat shoddy, but I hope there's something there for any of you to enjoy. criticism is encouraged. | 2019-10-20T10:44:57 | 2019-10-20T09:56:52 | 182 | 38 |
[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. | Secretary Rosen sat contemplating silently while the Roni Ambassador dictated to him the terms of peace that Humanity was expected to accept following their defeat in battle yesterday.
Intergalactic Warfare wasn't so different from that practiced on Earth for millennia. They fought just as ferociously as soldiers sailors and airmen had fought in the innumerable wars humanity had subjected itself to during it's brief existence as a sentient species. There was one difference however. War had stopped being politics by other means for the most part on Earth. It was obviously still the way of it out here.
The Roni Ambasador had stopped speaking and was pointing at a treaty. "You must sign here, Mr. Secretary."
Finally Rosen stood up from his chair, straightened his suit, and began to speak. "Forgive me Ambassador, but allow me to clarify a few things. Firstly, the battle yesterday was a surprise attack, completely unwarranted and unjustified. We were at peace. Now we are at war."
"We have defeated you, you are now surrendering."
"Oh, you defeated that fleet it's true. But you will find once your forces are debriefed that it wasn't such an overwhelming defeat, despite you attacking us by surprise with a fleet five times the size of our own."
The Ambassador was puzzled. This was not how surrender ceremonies were supposed to go.
Rosen continued. "You see Ambassador, if you would do me a favor and look outside my window. What do you see."
"I see the newest addition to the Roni Empire."
"Ah, but you're still not understanding. I see a planet of my fellow humans who are girding themselves for war. You have broken the peace we had, you have attacked without warning and you did so callously, in the belief that just because the rest of the galaxy fights with kid gloves we will too."
"What are kid gloves, I do not know this expression."
"Kid gloves, Ambassador, are what we're now taking off." Rosen reached down to his desk and pressed the intercom button. "Admiral, you may proceed with the mission. As of now, Ambassador, any Roni we find is dead. Any settlement we find is dead. Any fleet we find is dead. Bring this back to your leadership. While you can. We tried to deal with you fairly and you took advantage. We tried to negotiate when things got out of hand and you took advantage. Well no more. Humanity is not your punching bag."
"This is absurd. We have beaten you, your world is ours."
"Is everyone in your government as slow as you. We do not fight one battle and call it a war, as you apparently do. We sometimes fight to a stalemate. You killed 10,000 humans yesterday. At a cost of 40,000 of your own. This building alone has more humans than that. You have beaten nothing. Nothing except yourselves. Please turn your attention to the view screen."
The view screens, which were displaying prominent Roni landmarks as a sign of supplication and respect, or so the Ambassador had thought, suddenly flashed white. The shipyards of Kontak. The weapons factories of Girt. The great city of Ron. All contact lost, seemingly obliterated.
"How...what..."
"That was just the beginning. We have a saying. If you want peace prepare for war. We wanted peace, we tried peace your way, and you still could not contain yourselves. So we will contain you. You have exactly 2 minutes to get out of my sight, and a further 28 to get off my planet. If you are still lingering in that time, your worthless life is forfeit." | The Hive's takeover of Earth had been easy enough, sped along by the superior weaponry of the spacefaring conquerors and the singular coordination and obedience of the Hive's warrior caste. But as K't'k bathed in the thrum that carried news from the far corners of the new colony she governed across the green planet, she ran her forelimbs over her head in agitation.
Once their initial military resistance was swiftly swept aside, the physically frail natives had been fine for the Hive to ignore or press into service in its stripping of the planet's resources. But the Hive's own worker drones started to sample the chemical-laden, addictive filth these humans consumed with their flat teeth and slow, squishy digestive tracts, and became dependent; disobedient. Then came the human concept of "entertainment," which mesmerized the drones and robbed the Hive of millions of hours of labor. Ccccchhh; K't'k thought; it had seemed simple at the time to just make the Humans work harder, and to destroy what remained of their broadcasting equipment.
But then, the Humans had patched and rebuilt their networks surreptitiously, with hidden meshes for linking together their black-market computers, pirate broadcasts of both their soporific programming and their propaganda, even primitive radio equipment built around fragile glass tubes, wired back in on itself to make puny receivers into transmitters for their signals.
And what dangerous signals they became! The Humans, seemingly so stunted and conflicted by their individualism compared to the glorious Hive, had somehow become simultaneously coordinated yet compartmentalized as they turned to the attack. Suddenly worker convoys were being bombed, egg chambers shattered and poisoned, resource extractors sabotaged and warriors' thick carapaces ripped apart with explosively-driven shards of sharpened metal and rock. At first, captured Human fighters were tortured to extract information about their efforts before their weak bodies expired, but for every cell the Hive stamped out, two more formed to replace it. In areas where the Hive clamped down hard on the clandestine broadcasts and shut off the electron flow, the Humans turned to stamping their terrible ideas onto sheets of dried wood pulp that they passed among themselves in secret, and even got clever enough to do so in colors and patterns that were incomprehensible to the Hive overseers' vision.
The effect of this was to turn every Human into a potential killer, or to otherwise bend them toward resisting the Hive. Cells became armies, sharpened stones and sticks were re-fashioned into weapons that spat death, or lifted Humans seemingly impervious to self-preservation aloft to drop explosives or watch the Hive's movements from the sky. The slow and uncreative engineering of the Hive's own designs, though sophisticated, were nothing compared to the dangerous and reckless leaps the Humans' underground "engineers" made in rebuilding their tools of war or adapting what they stole from their colonizers.
Those who could not take up arms helped to fashion them, or committed acts of sabotage, or passed along their whispers of revolution and resistance in hundreds of muttered Human languages the Hive's singular but rigid mind struggled to translate. The soft and docile creatures, whose initial communications had been translated as "peace" or offerings of "cease-fires," had become warriors in ways that the Hive's worker and tender castes were biologically incapable of imagining.
When the hum of the Hive started carrying news of outlying colonies being bombed with something that spread radioactive contamination, salting the Earth for Human and Hive alike, K't'k could not grasp why these squishy apes would be willing to poison themselves in order to throw off their conquerors. Just before sunrise, the Hive's latest attempt to monitor and translate the Humans' transmissions had picked up a brief message, broadcast across multiple channels simultaneously. Through the hum of the Hive, K't'k pondered the message until its translation, pieced together from the memories of hundreds of quizzically listening drones and scouts in the moments before termination, fell into place for the nervous planetary governess.
"THEY CHECK IN, BUT THEY DON'T CHECK OUT."
The hum intensified as this new information pulsed through the Hive, warriors skittering in confusion toward egg clusters or Human enclaves in wonder of what this might mean. Far below K't'k, in a resource chamber, a hidden parcel blossomed into a terrible light, rushing upward through the column-like mound to meet the soon-to-be ex-ruler of Earth. | 2019-11-24T14:03:48 | 2019-11-24T12:02:31 | 572 | 281 |
[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. | The Hive's takeover of Earth had been easy enough, sped along by the superior weaponry of the spacefaring conquerors and the singular coordination and obedience of the Hive's warrior caste. But as K't'k bathed in the thrum that carried news from the far corners of the new colony she governed across the green planet, she ran her forelimbs over her head in agitation.
Once their initial military resistance was swiftly swept aside, the physically frail natives had been fine for the Hive to ignore or press into service in its stripping of the planet's resources. But the Hive's own worker drones started to sample the chemical-laden, addictive filth these humans consumed with their flat teeth and slow, squishy digestive tracts, and became dependent; disobedient. Then came the human concept of "entertainment," which mesmerized the drones and robbed the Hive of millions of hours of labor. Ccccchhh; K't'k thought; it had seemed simple at the time to just make the Humans work harder, and to destroy what remained of their broadcasting equipment.
But then, the Humans had patched and rebuilt their networks surreptitiously, with hidden meshes for linking together their black-market computers, pirate broadcasts of both their soporific programming and their propaganda, even primitive radio equipment built around fragile glass tubes, wired back in on itself to make puny receivers into transmitters for their signals.
And what dangerous signals they became! The Humans, seemingly so stunted and conflicted by their individualism compared to the glorious Hive, had somehow become simultaneously coordinated yet compartmentalized as they turned to the attack. Suddenly worker convoys were being bombed, egg chambers shattered and poisoned, resource extractors sabotaged and warriors' thick carapaces ripped apart with explosively-driven shards of sharpened metal and rock. At first, captured Human fighters were tortured to extract information about their efforts before their weak bodies expired, but for every cell the Hive stamped out, two more formed to replace it. In areas where the Hive clamped down hard on the clandestine broadcasts and shut off the electron flow, the Humans turned to stamping their terrible ideas onto sheets of dried wood pulp that they passed among themselves in secret, and even got clever enough to do so in colors and patterns that were incomprehensible to the Hive overseers' vision.
The effect of this was to turn every Human into a potential killer, or to otherwise bend them toward resisting the Hive. Cells became armies, sharpened stones and sticks were re-fashioned into weapons that spat death, or lifted Humans seemingly impervious to self-preservation aloft to drop explosives or watch the Hive's movements from the sky. The slow and uncreative engineering of the Hive's own designs, though sophisticated, were nothing compared to the dangerous and reckless leaps the Humans' underground "engineers" made in rebuilding their tools of war or adapting what they stole from their colonizers.
Those who could not take up arms helped to fashion them, or committed acts of sabotage, or passed along their whispers of revolution and resistance in hundreds of muttered Human languages the Hive's singular but rigid mind struggled to translate. The soft and docile creatures, whose initial communications had been translated as "peace" or offerings of "cease-fires," had become warriors in ways that the Hive's worker and tender castes were biologically incapable of imagining.
When the hum of the Hive started carrying news of outlying colonies being bombed with something that spread radioactive contamination, salting the Earth for Human and Hive alike, K't'k could not grasp why these squishy apes would be willing to poison themselves in order to throw off their conquerors. Just before sunrise, the Hive's latest attempt to monitor and translate the Humans' transmissions had picked up a brief message, broadcast across multiple channels simultaneously. Through the hum of the Hive, K't'k pondered the message until its translation, pieced together from the memories of hundreds of quizzically listening drones and scouts in the moments before termination, fell into place for the nervous planetary governess.
"THEY CHECK IN, BUT THEY DON'T CHECK OUT."
The hum intensified as this new information pulsed through the Hive, warriors skittering in confusion toward egg clusters or Human enclaves in wonder of what this might mean. Far below K't'k, in a resource chamber, a hidden parcel blossomed into a terrible light, rushing upward through the column-like mound to meet the soon-to-be ex-ruler of Earth. | "Sir the Gord'ush home planet has stopped broadcasting" a low ranking insect like creature said while running into the war minister's chamber.
"So what? They probably got caught in a storm or something" The fat slug responded dismissively. "Have a recon ship go past it to check out the weather"
The insect walked away and all was silent for a few minutes until the transmission came to the chamber.
"Uh sir. There is no storm, in fact the planet has been is a barren waste, barely still held together by gravity" And he wasn't exaggerating the world was reduced to nothing more than a handful of rocks and lava.
"There must have been some kind of cosmic event" The slug continued without a care in the world. "But I'll summon the rest of the cabinet to figure out what press release we will offer. Thank you."
You see, much like the appointees during the soviet era on Earth those in positions of power were less knowledgeable about that specific area and moreso were an important figure in their own species. Some representatives were robotic, others insect like, some even were various clusters.
Then the humans, weak and incapable. Only a few thousand years ago they figured out how to join the rest of the union. Instead of a single delegate they send a group. Not really in a hivemind kind of way, just a group of them who will even argue amongst themselves in various languages that don't make sense. They are a relatively small but spread out population, some nonsense about this 'colonialism' thing. They send a handful of people to various planets and eventually have enough there to make it work. Stupid but to each their own.
&#x200B;
At least that is what we all thought before the meeting. In marched a handful of them. four with their silly 'camouflage' that really doesn't work and one who looks like one of those 'roman' statues they bring to cultural events. That one has a few crude implants, a bionic eye is the most obvious.
&#x200B;
"This must be an act of war." The Gord'ush representative said. They are still around in great number, their 'home world' is named that purely because it is the one they originated from. "Which one of you attacked us?" He said while banging on the table. There was denial going around the room until the 'roman' spoke up.
"It was us" the room started roaring in laughter. The humans don't declare war, this is one of those 'ice breakers' they are so fond of to try and 'lighten the mood'. You see they never go to war, even their petty squabbles are barely noteworthy off the planet they occur on.
His voice was drowned out and the translators couldn't pick up the rest of what was said. The other four stood there with their guns and other things which they seem to carry as 'tradition' they've never been fired, in fact we don't even think they work.
Worth noting is that the delegations each speak in order here. This is done entirely to keep order and was done to appease the weaker species or those who don't have distinct speech so they can write their messages without being ignored. These things can have an earth hour or more before someone gets another turn to talk. This is done largely for the live broadcast along the galaxy so those with slower systems can catch up (can you imagine waiting even a single second though?)
The conversation continued with general denials and some mentioning that they didn't feel any kind of cosmic storm in the area.
And once again the one spoke while the others stood there when it was the humans' turn again. Occasionally they take turns and argue but this time was different.
"I am going to play a video showing the last moment's of that planet" he said. A fleet of ships jumped in and immediately destroyed it. Clearly human in nature. Once again the room burst into laughter. A bold play but even the Gord'ush representative seemed to laugh at the absurdity. This is why they are the master negotiators. They doctored up some kind of film while waiting for their turn, the creative bunch that they are.
And again the room discussed what happened without paying them any mind.
The last thing that any of those in attendance heard was the human again. Visibly agitated he grabbed one of the guns from one of the others in his delegation and shot the slug. "I am an inquisitor in service to the God Emperor. This is a declaration that the galaxy will burn as we purge all xenos" he said as the entire world was blown completely in half.
&#x200B;
From that day on the galaxy has never known a single day of peace.
&#x200B;
<The last entry of the last Gord'ush in the year 39,801> | 2019-11-24T12:02:31 | 2019-11-24T11:02:03 | 281 | 184 |
[WP] Everyone has a meaningless number over their head. Seriously, totally meaningless, and everyone knows it too. Of course, that doesn’t stop some people from getting all superstitious about them anyway. | It started off one day, a random floating number appeared over our heads. Pundits spent months going over the numbers trying to find meaning in the distribution, trying to map out the numbers.
After months, top number theorists, statisticians, and experts stated that the numbers had "NO" meaning.
And so, people began to ascribe meaning to the numbers.
There were the obvious groupings of evens and odds. The "Evens welcomed here" signs began appearing on storefronts and "Odds only" were found on popular bars and nightclubs.
People began abandoning their circle of friends and headed to the internet to meetup with numbers in their groupings.
Singles began to post their number in their profile and would seek others within their number groupings.
New age groups began to sell courses on how successful people surrounded themselves with this and that group of numbers: how Bill Gates always has a '56' near by given that '56's are stable and dependable people.
Colleges began the hunt to find only prime numbers. Knowing that primes would naturally become the elite group, they recruited students based solely whether or not they were prime numbers.
This continued for years: scandals erupted, protests, and there was a series of number-based vandalism and harassment. People kept worrying that a numbers war was coming.
Tensions rose.
And then, the numbers disappeared. It lasted for a total of 1729 days. And by day 1730 no one had a floating number over their head.
People ran out into the streets and celebrated. Old friends found each other and people called their families that they abadoned.
Historians would later write about the moment and psychologists, sociologists, and anthropologists were able to generate enormous findings as there never had been such an experiment as the Numbers experiment and that great of a scale.
A movie would come out a few years later, starring Scarlett Johansson, that traced the protagonist's journey through that time. It received a 67% from Rotten Tomatoes.
10 years later, the event fell out of people's immediate memory. News cycles kept going forward and people became as distracted as they were before the event. People still have their story about the time, but get annoyed if you ask them.
The end. | Good Five Day
It is friday night. Again.
I order a drink and Fivey asks me if I've any fags at me. I tell him I dont. Truth be known I do, but my gums are still at the bleeding from the dentist this morning. Fivey smiles and says, must be something else then.
We play a little pool, and I granny him. He wears his idiots grin on him and repeats that it must be something else.
We place bets on German football teams and Fivey spunks £50 on a no name Defender from Armenia. Fivey had him first to score, 100/1 odds. Still the mug smiles repeating his catch phrase 'Today is my lucky day'.
A few girls from the nearby villages come in to the pub. Fivey buys them a drink and he asks them what's yer number? Cant see the point in the question meself, it's on their fucking foreheads. The lass with bold hair says 12. Fivey tells her that's a lucky number, same amount of followers that christ had sure. Sixo over here is studying to be a priest, he'll tell you.
I remember the crucifix in my granny's bedroom and the fearful look on the big man's pus. I recall the excruciating ends the disciples met. 12 doesnt seem such a lucky number to me.
-Aye 12 followers. Unless you count Mary.
They craic on and I leave Fivey to it. After a while the desire for nicotine over comes me, and I say my goodbyes.
There is a farmer nearby who was caught drink driving so often the poileas took his license. Now the man must work, so they left him his HGV tickets. So the smart bastard learned to fly a helicopter. Now he he flies his helicopter to the big Tesco in Dingwall to get his shopping.
As I light up my fag and my gums weep a little, I hear an almighty crash. The sounds of burning and screaming. Hell on earth.
The pub is in cinders, and everyone inside is dead. The helicopter is mangled and burning in the wreckage.
I told fivey that the week starts on Sunday, but he never believed me. Right enough the Jehovahs say it starts on Saturday, Jewish lads as well.
In Divinity we were taught we cannot ever know God's plan and it is blasphemous to guess at it. Perhaps God sent bleeding gums and made dentists to save me tonight. Maybe he made bleeding gums and dentists because he is a bastard.
All I know for certain is that Fivey talked a lot of shite. | 2019-12-18T05:27:53 | 2019-12-18T05:21:25 | 220 | 36 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing. | Captain Atlas lounged in his underground headquarters, toying with a pen and eyeing the concrete chips scattered across the floor. He should really have started the paperwork hours ago. There were insurance claims, construction contracts, and all the careful NDAs and workarounds of getting a superhero's hideout repaired. Vortex's assault had torn right through his lair. He'd have to get everything replaced.
Including Ricky, of course. So sad. He was going to have to start all over again. Put on his philanthropist face. Trawl the foster system. Find a new Ricky.
"Atlas."
At just the sound of the voice Atlas was on his feet, fingers glowing with white fire. He was here, his nemesis was *here*, again, standing in the flesh with that ridiculous purple costume.
None of the alarms had gone off. When Vortex had rolled in the first time it had been with thunder and chaos, blasting apart his defenses and laughing all the while. But now, suddenly, he was here again, without a sound, with a sad, tired look Atlas had never seen before.
"I'm not here to fight, Atlas," he said, "just to talk."
"Then talk," said Atlas through gritted teeth.
Vortex began to pace. Atlas could just sense the grandiose monologue brewing. "What do you think I am, above all else?" the villain asked.
"A coward," Atlas spat.
"I'm an *actor*, Atlas," said Vortex. "I play a role, a role that pleases me. You, the paragon of righteousness; me, the dastardly rogue.
"Every day a hundred and fifty thousand people die on this planet," he said. "A thousand murders a day. An uncountable number of injustices, large and small.
"But here, Atlas, in this microcosm we have created, we can play at justice," he said. "In our tiny bubble the hero beats the villain, good triumphs over evil. A lie, obscene in its simplification, but charming in its naivety. A lie I was reluctant to rupture."
"So this is all some kind of game to you?" said Atlas.
"Of course," Vortex replied, "Isn't it to you? You're a billionare, Atlas. You could save half the planet with your money. But instead, you play the role. You enjoy it: the sensation, of being *right*, and *powerful*, and *adored*.
"I knew it couldn't last forever, of course," he said, "but that makes it no less heartbreaking when it ends."
He sighed. "Why couldn't you have stuck to the role, Atlas?" he said. "Why couldn't you have been perfect?"
Atlas stared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, you crazy-"
"I know what you've done, Atlas." There was steel in the villain's voice now. "I took the boy as part of the game. In time, you would have rescued him. But from the moment he spoke I knew your every sin.
"You'd do anything for that power, wouldn't you? For that *adoration,*" he said. "So you broke that boy. You ground him down to nothing, so that you could be his savior. He would do anything for you." Rage glimmered in his eye. "And you made him do so *many* things."
Atlas roared. Fire tore loose from his fingers and raced at Vortex. At his lying mouth. It caught him full in the face, engulfing his entire head in white hot flame.
He moved not an inch. "Oh no, Atlas," he said, speaking even as his lips began to burn. "We're done playing that game."
Atlas watched in horror as Vortex's hair was fried off his head, as his eyes melted in their sockets, running down his charring cheeks. And all the while, he continued to speak.
"You burst the bubble, Atlas," he said. "You made it *real*. We're back in the world of injustice now, where good and evil are lies told by men to pretend the universe gives a damn about them." There was no face left now, just a skull scorched black.
"What *are* you?" Atlas managed to stammer out.
"I told you before," it said. "I'm an actor. Play the villain. Play the human. Play the *mortal*."
Atlas tried to run, to fight, to scream or beg, but he found himself frozen.
"I'll take care of the boy," the skull said. "Not myself, of course. People who spend too much time around me tend to suffer unfortunate fates. But there will be a future for him. And who knows? Maybe in time, there will be another superhero for me to play with.
"But not *you*," it said. "*You* ruined my vacation."
It leaned in, the jawbone cracking as the mouth opened impossibly wide. In the darkness within, Atlas could see stars. | ***WARK WARK WARK WARK***
Damien Pentacle Horriblis, better known to the world as Doctor Horrible, cursed under his breath as he hurried down the secret corridor towards Lab Number Six. Of all the blasted times for the Uncarnation Engine to go into a meltdown, he still hadn't even managed to finish recording the ransom demand yet.
He made a sharp gesture, and the panel at the end of the cramped space slid open just in time for him to come barreling through, quickly ducking as several bolts of lightning shot passed over head. Blast, it was already discharging, he'd have to be quick about this.
He startled when he realized that he was not actually alone in the room, despite what the disaster-preparedness manual clearly stated. A figure stood in front of the Engine, trembling slightly, a fancy technological collar beeping around their neck.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?! Get away from there, it's dangerous!" He bellowed, even as he vaulted over the railing along the catwalk and dropped down to the lower level of the lab.
Whizzdoll, sidekick to Magnificus, spun around at the sound of his voice, her face wide-eyed with fear. "I-I..."
He didn't take the time to hear whatever her stammering would reveal, instead pushing her back with another wave of his hand, a faint bubble appearing around her. It wouldn't stand up to any of the larger discharges, but she was back by some of the spare Booster Rods, which should attract most of the bolts.
In the end, he managed to get things fixed before anything important got shunted into Unspace. As he thought, Padrico had once again sold him some substandard focal gems, those these ones had been doctored in a new way that actually gave him a couple of ideas for a few new experiments. Regardless, he stomped out, a few gestures mending the singed or missing portions of his outfit, to find that the girl was still standing exactly where he'd pushed her over to. Strange, he'd have expected her to have slipped away in the chaos.
"Honestly, what were you hoping to accomplish here?" He barked.
"I... I thought maybe I could shut it down..." her shivering seemed to intensify under his direct scrutiny.
"Shut it down? How would you possibly have done that? I'm not in the habit of installing convenient off-switches into my devices. Honestly, the next time something like this happens, just tap the green button on your collar, you'll be transported somewhere that EVELYN deems to be safe."
He wasn't quite certain what to make of her expression, but he had bigger issues to deal with. Namely, figuring a suitably memorable punishment for Padrico, one that would hopefully stick this time. If he wasn't such a good smuggler...
===
Doctor Horrible was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Whizzdoll had absolutely no sense for self-preservation. Any evil genius' lair featured numerous hazards as a matter of course, some planned, many more not, and for whatever reason, she seemed determined to charge headlong into all of them. He'd had to up the sensitivity on her collar twice to account for new ways she found of putting herself in danger, but at least it was giving EVELYN's hazard prediction routines a workout, to manage to teleport her out of danger before she went and got herself killed. She hadn't managed that with the Engine thanks to the discharges causing interference.
The frustrating thing was that none of the dangers seemed to be based around foiling his plans or actually escaping. Instead, it was all about charging headlong into danger to save someone else. No matter that the person she was trying to aid was four times her size and wrapped in protective armor that could allow them to go toe-to-toe with the escaping eel-gator-grizzly hybrid. Never mind that, she'd dive in, trying to distract its heads and get them to fight against each other. A clever strategy, but so needlessly dangerous to her health. He had honestly considered getting her some sort of weapon, just so she wouldn't keep charging in bare-handed. He could tie it into the collar and EVELYN could disable it if she tried to turn it against anyone...
He let out another sigh as he checked on his captive, who was currently sitting on a chair off to the side while watching him work. Many evil scientists would lock their captives up in a cell, but the main issue was that making any cell truly impenetrable required a great deal of dedicated space and equipment, and would still give any would-be captives room to maneuver and possibly to fortify themselves, turning the defenses keeping them in into barricades keeping others out. It was much, much simpler to simply design a collar that could teleport a captive back if they tried to run, or freeze them in stasis if they tried to attack someone or tamper with it. With that, any room could be a decent cell, just by defining a boundary they couldn't cross, but he had found that captives were much less focused on trying to escape if they weren't so narrowly confined.
Thus, he generally gave them the run of the lair. They were monitored, of course, to prevent them from doing any sort of sabotage or effecting an escape attempt, but most of them would end up just trying to snoop around, giving him plenty of opportunities to spread misinformation or just throw the heroes a bone to distract them while he got some real work done. Truly a win/win.
***BWAN BWAN BWAN BWAN***
Doctor Horrible barely had a chance to glance up at the 'incombing ballistic' alarm before the ceiling above him suddenly exploded. | 2020-03-26T17:50:08 | 2020-03-26T17:09:25 | 37 | 24 |
[WP] Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you've been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years. | My coffee mug shatters against the floor, at the same moment as my reality.
“David McDonald, age 33, a white office worker, found dead. This is just the latest in a string...”
I turn the tv off. My finger shaking on the power button.
What? That was me on the tv. But I’m here? Aren’t I? Am I dead? A ghost? Can ghosts break coffee mugs? I’m sure they can, I’ve seen Poltergeist.
“Hey!” I shout.
My roommate looks at me funny.
“What? You all right? That break sounded nasty.”
I laugh nervously, so I’m not a ghost. “No, it’s nothing.”
My roommate furrows his brows and scratches his head. “If you say so.”
The news had to be wrong. I press power again. I see my body dragged out from the river. No. I can’t watch this. It’s a lack of sleep. I’m hallucinating.
I walk out the door, ignoring my roommate’s shouts. He was asking if I was ok. I wasn’t. You shouldn’t just see your dead body. Not on TV.
Criminals always return to the scene of the crime. I guess it’s true for victims too. The moon is out, a train rattling on the tracks in the distance. This murky river was filled with police and cameras this morning. But now they’re all gone. In fact, I admire the job they did cleaning up. It’s like my body was never there.
“How did you like the show?” A stranger taps on my shoulder.
I spin around, crossing my arms. It’s not like I can fight, but I’ll try. She was a girl. Her hair dyed an offensive neon green. Even at night, it glowed.
“Sh-show?” I stutter, relaxing. It was just some punk girl.
“Yeah, your death.”
The air in my lungs solidified. I choke on my next words. She laughs.
“Relax it hasn’t happened, not yet.”
“Then I’m going to die?”
She shrugs, flashing the gun in her hand. “Sorry to say so.”
I hold up my hands. “W-wait.”
“They always act like this, like they can change my mind.”
“Why? Why me?”
“Why? To see if I can. Why you? Because my power worked on you. Think of it like you had the misfortune of being in the path of a lightning bolt.”
“What kind of monster--“
She shot.
*Splash*
“The kind of monster they’ll make documentaries about.”
My ears fill with water. She keeps speaking. But I am already dead.
~~~
“Tina Reese, age 24, a Hispanic female retail worker, found dead. This is just the latest in a string of murders. Though there is little to link the victims the bullets at the crime scenes all came from the same gun. All of the victims were reported to be acting strange after watching their tv without the power on. Police are baffled by what this means and are urging the citizens of the city to be hyper vigilant, and aware.”
I turn the TV off… | I was still in shock when I walked into the local police office.
> The search is finished, Jason Michaels's body has been found.
I was standing there, in the middle of that open area, clutching my driver's license.
> 6'1", 160 lbs, 37 years old, much of his life still ahead of him
I could not bring myself to approach anyone; they all seemed too busy.
> cut short by the Ghostly Knife, a serial killer who strikes only on Halloween.
Drunk people in costume, some ashamed, some still trying to be the life of the party, a very few just cheerful but having found themselves too drunk to drive and without money for a hotel.
I still stood there, silent, alone, wondering if I was the ghost at the party of life.
"Hey, can I help you?"
A janitor, a somewhat older man, looking like someone I knew. He looked like he'd been crying a bit, not too long ago. All I could do was hand him my license. Looking at me, he looked at the license, jerked it up to my face, compared it carefully.
"This had better not be a joke."
All I could do was stand there, with tears running down my face, I was *not* the ghost at the party of life.
I heard him mimicking a voice I knew so well, nasally. "Class..."
I responded in that same voice, "Yes, Sister Mary Oliphant."
I was suddenly engulfed in this man's arms. I remembered his name, "William?"
He laughed through his tears. "Yes, Jason. I thought I'd lost you once when your family moved away so suddenly. Then again, a few hours ago. And now you are here! We need to see Detective Robertson." He knew what to do in this strange place, dragging me by one hand. We started with the man standing at the counter—the Desk Sergeant.
I could see that it was an argument of some sort until William grabbed his ear and dragged his face to my driver's license. Ever the big brother, even if we were from different families. The Desk Sergeant objected, and Williams's face went hard. He twisted that ear until the Desk Sergeant yelped, "Okay, Okay already!"
He took the license, read it carefully, disbelief spreading across his face. He snapped it up next to my face and compared the picture, then grabbed some paper from his desk and blanched. He was bellowing "DETECTIVE ROBERTSON! FRONT DESK NOW! OFFICERS FERNALD AND JACKSON! FRONT DESK NOW!"
The whole room went silent. Two young officers came trotting up, did a double-take on me, and looked to the Sergeant. "Guard him with your lives." They nodded and stood to either side of William and me.
"William, thank you. You may return to your duties." I clutched William's arm like the only anchor of sanity in a mad whirl of chaotic life that I had thought I knew.
William told the officer no. "I lost him 22 years ago, again two hours ago, there is no way I'm going to lose my little brother again."
The Sergeant looked at his blacker than black face, my pale white face, and how I was clutching William's arm. Shrugged, and said, "I couldn't peel him lose without hurting both of you. Fine, you get to explain it to Robertson."
((Later))
It's two fifteen here; I need more sleep. | 2020-07-31T23:23:50 | 2020-07-31T23:16:37 | 2,714 | 263 |
[WP] "Hello class! we have a special guest! We have an Earthling foreign exchange student with us! Please have a seat and tell us about your planet!" | First days at a new school were always the roughest. Oliver remembered the first day of elementary. The anxiety of being separated from his parents for a full day. The ominous warnings his sister Samantha had given him about bullies. The fear of looking foolish navigating a dozen new routines in front of strangers.
That all seemed like child’s play compared to today. A week ago, Govia time, he had been blasted across the far reaches of space to his new home for the term. Fortunately, the Goxul’s had been waiting for him at the entry point with lights and streamers to make him feel welcome.
After that one exhilarating event the lump in his stomach had steadily grown to the point where he feared if he opened his mouth all his fears and anxieties would spill out of his mouth and puddle at his feet. The uniform Mrs. Goxul had carefully laid out for him felt like being wrapped in the tin foil his mother wrapped her baking in. And the translator that had been delicately inserted into his ear made his brain all itchy.
And now he was surrounded by expectant unblinking eyes.
The Govians were smaller than humans, and that included the children. They reminded Oliver of Santa Clause’s elves. Except they were a bright blue.
Would Santa Clause find him on Govia? One more anxiety.
His new teacher’s question still rang in his ears. “Please tell the class about Earth.” Where did he even start?
“Well…” Oliver started. “It was really blue too. The sky I mean. And the water. Blue like your sky I mean, not like…like…”
Perhaps if he cringed hard enough into his seat he’d fall into this planet’s core. Anything to end this moment.
“And what of the people?” Mrs. Thumbowitx intoned from the front of the classroom.
Oliver had to really think on this one. “Some are really nice. Like my Maw Maw. Sometimes the watches me when I’m too sick to go to school. My old school. Others,” Oliver shivered at some of the news shows he had seen when his parents were dozing on the couch. “Others aren’t so nice I guess.”
His new classmates continued to stare in an unnerving fashion. Why wouldn’t they blink?
“And Oliver, can you tell us some about the history of your world?”
He fumbled for anything he knew about the history of the Earth. He fumbled for anything he could recall his dad talking about. Some guy named Kennedy maybe? Then it struck him like a lightning bolt.
“Yeah, we had dinosaurs!” He looked around the room with wide eyed enthusiasm. Finally, one of his classmates broke and spoke up.
“What are di-no-saurs?” a girl, if he guessed it correctly, carefully pronounced.
Oliver grinned broadly. The lump in his stomach seemed to shrink three sizes. “They are super rad! They were these giant lizard beasts and some ate plants and some ate the ones that ate plants and some, hang on, I have some drawings I made on the trip over!”
Around him more hands flew up as his new classmates started rapid firing questions. Maybe school on Govia wouldn’t be so bad. | "Wait a minute dude she´s talking"
"What´s she going to talk about anyways? Scary animals? The wood poles with leaves? Or those weird things with fur all over their bodies? I tell you man, the school shouldn´t allow human freaks in here"
Galaenini was always like this, everytime there´s a new lifeform in our class he shuts them off, he´s a nice guy otherwise, but I still remember that time he looked at the Morpholian transfer student with his 3 golden eyes until the new guy cried, I hope it doesn´t go as badly this time.
"Calm down for a second, she´s not gonna hurt you, look, she barely even has any fur, just some on her head, that´s it. Now why don´t you look at the front now, the teacher´s gonna notice""Yeah but that´s not the worst part, look at those weird eyes, they´re all wet and strange, you can see the weird brown ball circling around, searching for her next target"
"She´s nervous, apparently lots of humans tend to look around like that when they´re uncomfortable, its normal, your eyes aren´t any better for that matter"
Galaenini looks at me like I just said something really stupid, and he sighs, I suppose he can´t really understand how creepy his eyes can be. I have to agree that her introduction is taking forever, its interesting though, apparently Planet Terra has a 70% surface of water, WATER! I am glad to know that she is carbon based, save for Leper at the corner of the class that´s something we can all have in common. My train of thought is interrupted as Galaenini tells me to look at something.
"Hey, what´s that red thing in her face? I´ve never seen that before"
"Oh, she´s doing the cute thing where the cheeks go all red and puffy, I don´t know what it means but I think they communicate that they´re happy in some way, we saw it in Biology last year"
"Wait wait wait, CUTE?"
Oh, here he goes again, I can´t say anything positive about any other species unless I want him to go on a tangent like this.
"I knew it, you think she´s cute, you always had a weird Xeno fetish didn´t you? What do you find cute about her?"
"Fuck no dude I don´t have a fetish, you´re the Speciest here, she´s talking about the blue sky and other stuff and you´re here gossiping about her without her knowledge"
Galaenini´s three eyes flinch in embarassment, and I can tell that comment hurt his ego a little, before he can say anything else the new student approaches our place in the classroom, I can almost see the surprise in Galaenini´s eyes when she doesn´t try to attack. There are no other seats available so she goes to sit right next to me, Galaenini glances at me like he´s about to witness a murder, I just stare back at him and chuckle.
Having to study next to a human is kind of strange, they always have that weird expression on their faces like their eyes are looking deep into your soul, don´t even get me started on those strange protusions on the side of their head, I think they´re called ears. Its creepy at times, but I can understand it, its always hard trying to adapt to a new life, but she still tries her best to be talkative and cooperative, she told me the other day it was part of something called "the human spirit" some of us find that weird, but I don´t really mind it. | 2020-09-25T12:02:59 | 2020-09-25T11:52:11 | 57 | 23 |
[WP] The first human has finally breached interstellar space. Almost immediately they make first contact with an alien species – a galactic police officer who pulls them over for traveling outside their solar system without a license. | Captain Zilk of the Musk 5 and the rest of his crew were staring in awe at the alien shuttle hovering in front of them. They were the commanders of the first ship to breach the solar system and truly test light-speed with a functioning crew of 45 and a cryosleep crew of 5,000 and more terraforming equipment than the actual ship stuff. The only awake people that weren't on deck were the 24/7 engineers in the deck constantly monitoring every screw and widget of the ship.
"Gosh jiblarb, is my translator working...? UNIDENTIFIED VESSEL, PREPARE FOR BOARDING AND MANDATORY LICENSE AND PLANETARY PERMITS CHECK!" The crew was in shock, the ship had 24/7 recording of every view on the outside and inside of the vehicle that was constantly getting aired back to Earth, this footage would take 12 decades to get there, but still!
"UFO, this is Captain Zilk of the Musk 5 for the colonization initiative of the 2193 solar system accord, we are currently under a terraforming mission and mean no harm," I said this with as much effort as I could muster, the first words to aliens must be pristine.
"Negative Captain Zilk, I am boarding the ship." This is when the panic set in around the crew. We had not planned to be *boarded* as a terraforming ship, the closest thing we had to boarding equipment was the mandatory airlock.
After a terrifying 20 minutes, the airlock opened with surprising ease to what appeared to be a humanoid creature that looked exactly like the grey in 100-year-old sci-fi films from the 2000's.
"Ship license and Planetary permits please," The thing said calmly, it was only 3 1/2 feet tall to be fair, kind of cute.
"Unidentified being, what do you mean ship license and planetary permits?"
"Exactly what I mean, I need to check 'em to give you the go on whatever 'terraforming mission' you claim to be a part of," it paused to look at the sheer size of the crew.
"Say, are you illegal travelers? Are you trying to get into imperial space?" I had no idea what the thing was talking about.
"Unidentified being, we are the first of a series of 6 missions to colonize outside of our solar system, we have no knowledge of 'imperial space' or a license or a 'planetary permit' if you're willing to inform us of whatever you're talking about and mind a refuel of the lost energy we've spent. That'd be quite *stellar*" This was the last time for puns, whatever this thing was, it meant business. Exactly what business, I had no idea.
"Yeah, you guys are totally illegals, you're coming with me," the crew started to gasp and frighten.
"Unidentified being, as a sole representative of humanity, I must request information one more time," The thing looked at me a little shocked.
"You're a human? Nevermind, primitive species are exempt from law until they reach the age of 2,000 galactic travelers years. Pardon my intrusion," The thing hopped back into the airlock before I had the sudden balls to ask, "Do you have any fuel you could spare?"
"Oh yeah sure, I guess I could give you something that's pretty much empty for me, but for you guys, it will be unfathomable." It pulled out a small 1 by 2-foot cylinder and placed it on the ground. And then promptly left.
Humanity never encountered anything like that again for another 2 million Earth years, but the battery given was enough to power the Moving Heaven for 200 years, however. The Moving Heaven was the greatest starship ever built, being the size of two Earth moons, the alien was right.
The power was unfathomable.
Edits | “Cheers, captain!” Laura said, pulling out the champagne bottle and popping the top. The cork bounced off the front windshield with a crack and almost took out the captain’s eye.
“Watch it!” the captain shouted, you break that glass and our guts we’ll be sucked through like a milkshake through a straw.
“Oh, quit your whining, you pansy,” Laura said to her captain. “You’re always so uptight.” She sucked at the bubbles of champagne as they floated through the cabin. “Come on!” she said egging on her captain as she sucked down a long trailing line of the bubbly champagne. “This is a time to celebrate! First humans to breach interstellar space!”
Just then there was an enormous rattling of their spaceship.
“What the hell was that!” the captain shouted.
Laura looked in her rear-view mirror and saw it was a spaceship, at least ten times as big as theirs. It was ominous. Just a black smear in the stars. That is except for the flashing red lights at the top of it.
“Ah shit,” she said. “Hide this.” She tossed him the champagne bottle, it drifted between the cockpit, more of the liquid pouring out and floating into the cabin.
“Fuck,” the captain said. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“Hide it!”
“How am I supposed to hide it! This shit is spilling everywhere. You sent the cork flying halfway back to Earth.”
“Here use this,” she said, grabbing an extra astronaut diaper she held in her pocket and handing it to him.
He held it away from him with two fingers. “This used?”
“No! Now jam it in there.”
He did that, stuffing it the best he could down into the champagne bottle to stop the flow. “Fucking hide it!” she said, waving frantically at him.
“Okay, okay.”
Just then they heard a knock on the windshield. She turned and saw the massive gelatinous mass at their windshield. He had on a huge pair of aviator glasses, the stars shining off the reflective material.
The blob indicated to her to put on her helmet and open the window.
She put a finger up to stall the alien. *One second,* she mouthed. She bent over and grabbed her helmet and turned to her captain. “Keep it cool, cap,” she said.
Another knock on the windshield, even louder. The gelatinous mass still standing there, his face was nothing but a heap of pink slime. But if he had a face, it would have looked annoyed.
She couldn’t stall any longer. She opened the windshield, the vacuum of space sucking out all the air. The floating bubbles of champagne sucked right into the alien’s face.
The hideous thing opened a slit in the slime, a green tongue came out, licking the champagne bubbles.
“Been doin’ a little drinking, have ya?”
“No … uhh… *sir*?”
“License and registration, please.”
“Uhhh, like my California driver’s license?”
“What the *hell* are you talking about? No. You’re interstellar license. You think you can just cross stellar lines without a license?”
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t know.” She tried to put herself in the most flattering position possible, but the astronaut suit wasn’t doing her body any favors. “Could we maybe… just get off with a warning this time?” She tried to brush her hair out of her face, her gloved hand slapping against the glass of her astronaut helmet awkwardly.
The pink blob just stared at her for a long time. “Now listen. I’m not gonna write you up this time. But this is what you gotta do, okay? You fly straight to Alpha Centauri, take a left for another three-thousand light years and you’ll see the Intergalactic Space Vehicles registration center. If you can, I’d send in your transmission early. The line at the ISV is over three light years long. Bureaucracy, am I right?”
Laura nodded. “Totally,” she said. “Absolutely.” She felt the champagne now. She was wondering if she was smiling at him like a maniac.
“Now get the hell out of here.” The alien said, floating back to its ship.
She rolled up the window and looked to her captain.
“Close call!” she said. "Now where is that champagne?"
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-02-02T21:27:06 | 2021-02-02T21:10:22 | 149 | 92 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it. | "Wow, you must be important." I slipped into the chair across from Prisoner #102391, Adeline Grant, sipping my coffee and glancing at her.
"Why do you say that?" The girl was young, barely in her 20's, with the general disdain for everything that every person seems to have at that age. She snorted at my words, but she tilted her head and asked me the question all the same.
"Because I'm important." I laughed, reaching into my jacket to pull out my wallet.
"Oh yeah?" A sarcastic sneer, "what's that?"
"It's a license. See that part, at the bottom." I pointed to the large and stylized Omega in the bottom corner.
"Aleksander Goloykorov... What's the circle mean?" She leaned in, reading it carefully. "Why does it look so different from my mother's?"
"Alison Grant: The High One." I remembered the briefing, nodding as I looked at her. "Your mother was a Class A User, very strong."
"So what's your Class?"
"Omega." I smiled and tucked the wallet back in its place. "It means the end. The last."
"Oh, so you're some special rank?" She wasn't as haughty now, instead seeming genuine in her curiosity.
"That's right." I nodded and reminded her why I was here. "And you could be too."
"Who cares about that? I'm not interested in some stupid license. I have more important shit to do. Are you here to get me out or not?!" She leaned back in the chair, the Zero-Manacles on her wrists cancelling her powers.
"Miss Grant, I am not a lawyer." I smiled at her with gentle condescension. "And you are much more than a vigilante. More than a mere hero."
"So you're not here to get me out. Got it." She sighed, glancing around. "So I get my phone call now, right?"
"Miss Grant, you have hospitalized more than twenty members of both of the La Guardia Cartel and the Massimo Crime Syndicate. You are being held to insure their safety and your own." I sipped my coffee again, watching her eyes roll in disdain.
"I don't think so, Mr. Omega." She leaned forward and I saw the rapidly healing black eye, sustained only last night and already yellow and mottled. "You're here because you want something. You're holding me to make me say yes, right?"
"Not at all, Miss Grant." I smiled wolfishly at her and leaned forward, lacing my fingers together as I stared at her. "If you would prefer, I will leave. You will be sentenced for several dozen cases of assault and battery. You will end up in a Supermax prison in light of your powers, and will live the best years of your life in the company of the truly dangerous humans and other Supers like you--or worse. It is likely that at least one hired Super will find you and attempt to kill you in that time, as the prisons are truly the territory of the gangs and cartels."
"See, you are making me join you!" She snarled at me even as her face paled, not having considered every possibility of her actions.
"Miss Grant, you took these actions on your own. Regardless of your intent, you will not avenge your mother. Her killers are dead." She bristled at the mention of her mother, and her eyes darted for the door like a wounded animal plotting its escape. "I am offering you something better."
"Oh yeah? The Omega Class? What's that?" Her eyes were focused on me again, and I could practically see her calculating her position.
"It is the ranking given to those who contribute to humanity, rather than wasting their talents saving and helping humans."
"What's the difference?" She tried to puzzle the words and I smiled widely at the question.
"The difference, Miss Grant, is that any fool can put on underwear and punch thugs. We are focused on bigger things. You could be too."
"What do you do?" She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. "Specifically, I mean."
"I am a recruiter. I travel all over spacetime looking for potential candidates." I spoke casually and it took her a second to laugh.
"Yeah, right. There's never been a Time User, everyone knows that." She shook her head and I laughed, hearing that response every single time.
"Correction, Miss Grant. There has never been a Time User, YET." I shook my finger gently, watching the wheels turn.
"So you're... From..." Her eyes were wide with disbelief, her mouth was slightly agape as she puzzled out my words.
"Come along, Miss Grant. Let me show you what happens if you remain a mere hero and waste your gift." Interrupting her slack-jawed musings, I stood with a smile, offering my hand. To her surprise--but not mine--she took it quickly, all too eager to see the future. They always were. | "I can still help," the Vacuumist says. He clutches the sides of his bed. The crawling green line on the monitor spikes. "I can still fight."
"You have paraplegia, Victor," I say. "You have no conscious control over your inductor organ. You can't work as a hero again."
I've seen that expression before. Superhero work is as dangerous as it is addicting. Fame, glory, stock options, flattering marketing. Better men than I have fooled themselves into thinking this was who they are, all they are, all they would ever be. Then again, it doesn't take much to be better than me.
"You can still help," I say. "Society at large, I mean."
His eyes light up. "How?"
"Donate a lobe of your inductor organ and its associated efferent nerves."
"...So you can replace me?!"
A project has been in the works for years. Public works. This city had nearly eighty million people. A network of magrail trains would add a lot of utility annually to every sector. Victor's vacuum organ would make the project viable. It would certainly be much cheaper than building hundreds of kilometers of vacuum tunnels. I think about how to tell him for a moment.
"So you can advance science," I say. "Save lives with the research we could get from you. Your gift is one of a kind. People will remember you as the Vacuumist, hero to the people even after retirement."
"What could you possibly learn from my body?"
"There has never been a gift in history that did not yield invaluable research for mankind."
"But what will *mine* do?"
That was always their problem. Me me me. They start their careers with great conscientiousness. Saving lives is addicting. Soon that was all the good they understood. I would know. I'm in his head. He doesn't feel it, not with the upped pain meds I *convinced* his doctor to use.
Victor was a bag of insecurities garnished with hero complex. The truth was his gift was great at putting out fires and killing people. Generally speaking one wanted to prevent fires in the first place, and a sublethal response to supervillains was better for PR, even if it behooved the taxpayer to spend less on supermax facilities to contain them. I assume an authoritative voice and look him in the eye.
"Listen Victor," I say, "It wouldn't be science if I could just tell you exactly what your body could do. The point is that it's a leap of faith. One that I'm offering you instead of lying there shitting in a pan." I soften my voice for next point, the conclusion. Make him fully aware of his situation, the pit that he was in, then throw down the rope. "Help me help you. If not for the future of mankind then for your own family. I am prepared to offer a hero legacy fund for your family. It's usually for when a hero dies in the line of duty. But if you sign the donation, I could use that, reword the fund so it could be your *living* legacy."
He thinks about it. I monitor his thoughts, his emotions. He recalls a moment when a grateful mother thanks him with a trembling voice and eyes wet with tears for saving her son from the flames engulfing their home. I nudge his memory, make him remember that moment in a little more detail than he had. Then I say, "Engineering isn't my thing. But I know a guy from the Supergene Institute who wrote a paper on your power. If we could replicate it, no one would lose a loved one to fire incidents ever again. We would name it after you, Victor."
"...Alright. I'll sign the damn thing."
"That's good to hear. I'll ask my people to get started on the documentation."
I leave the room and wait. The documents were already done. But he needed to think I wouldn't know he would agree, that his decision was his. It was of course. I just made suggestions. The best psychics in the world would detect no coercion. I return to the room after an hour and let him sign the papers. And then it was done. A surgeon was already primed to get the operation done. I tell them to wait a day.
This was a part of the job. Sometimes people didn't know what was best for them. They can't see inside their own heads after all. Good intentions marred by all their vices, ambitions, sensibilities. A noisy place. I stand outside the hospital and think about when the appropriate time was to unveil the magrail project and what to name it. But I get distracted. Maybe it was my old age. I'm getting tinges of guilt doing what I knew was the right thing. I call my friend at the Institute.
"Tillian?"
"Whitworth? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was wondering if hypothetically I did secure an organ from a guy who could make vacuum shields, would you be able to do what you described in that paper?"
"That was... a theory paper. Truth is we'd need a lot of samples and a lot of time to make shaped vacuum bubbles for use outside of putting out a small room. Biology is extraordinarily hard to replicate fully with machine. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Thanks." I leave the call. This was the job. Not everybody gets what they want.
---
---
Thanks for reading.
If you enjoy superhero stories with a realist twist, check out my [serial](https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/41437/there-are-superheroes-in-this-story) on Royalroad. | 2021-04-11T10:47:38 | 2021-04-11T10:30:33 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] The gods are real, extra-dimensional eldritch beings capable of changing the laws of reality on a whim. Human civilization and science have only developed thanks to Magicians working constantly to repel the influence of the gods from the world. | “Looks like it skipped this generation as well. Your son does not hold the magi gene, Mrs. Crown.”
“Oh, thank the World! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Doctor Yeltsin!”
“No need to thank me, Mrs. Crown, I’m just reporting on the test results.” He turned to me. “Andrew, would you excuse us a moment, I need to discuss some things with your mother.” I shrugged and Doctor Yeltsin led my mother out of the room.
I sat patiently, absent-mindedly looking around the room. It was just your standard clinic room with various science-y looking things along the walls and on the lab table. And right in the center of the table sat an orange vial. I knew what it was. The testing solution. It contained my DNA and some other chemicals. If it had turned green, I would be a Magi. I hadn’t noticed it, but I had been tensing my muscles all morning, up until I saw the vial go from clear to orange. It felt like a huge weight off my shoulders. I was normal.
Some kids weren’t so lucky. Their vials turned green, and they were sent off to train at some Magi school. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about never seeing anyone I know again. My Grandfather had been a Magi, and the only time I ever heard from him was the day he died. He had written us a letter. In it, he described his life as a miserable existence, that he was, at all times, at the whim of the Gods.
I didn’t know much about what became of Magi after attending the school, but I knew they have always been looked down upon. Even though they were keeping us all alive against the constant threat of the Gods, they were treated as second-class citizens and monsters. Tools of industry. And it’s not a recent thing, ever since-
*What?*
I looked at the vial. It was blue. Deep, deep blue. I rubbed my eyes. *Blue?* It was supposed to be orange or green. Orange for normal, green for Magi. *How… how is it blue?* I leaped from my chair and scrambled over to the table. I picked up the vial while glancing at the door. I sat and stared. What’s going to happen when the Doctor comes back and the vial is blue?! *What does it even mean?* Maybe I can hide it, flush it down the sink- no that won’t work, he’ll see that it’s missing when he comes back. Maybe I can test it again? Is there more testing solution in here? Wait, won’t it just turn blue again? Come on, think!
*The Doctor!*
His DNA must be around here somewhere, right? On the keyboard, or on his desk? I frantically searched the desk to no avail. I took another glance around the room. Chair, desk, table, cabinets (locked, I tried), garbage bin, medical table- wait. Garbage bin? I grabbed the small plastic bin from under the desk. *Yes! He blew his nose!*
I mean gross, yes, but exactly what I needed. I grabbed the bottle of testing solution that happened to be on the lab table. *Thanks, World.* I poured a bit of testing solution into a vial and started swabbing some snot off a tissue. I didn’t have time to worry about how disgusting this was. I started mixing the vial by slowly stirring, just like I saw the Doc do. I just need to hope-
“Andrew, we are ready for-“
*Shit.* | It was strange sitting in the oval office, a place I never thought I'd be invited to, but a place I always wanted to visit. I wished The circumstances were different, but alas.
President James Hargrave had his team of brilliant, appointed scientists sitting on couches off to the side. I sat in the middle, and it felt like I was being analyzed like a lab animal. But James Hargrave had a welcoming presence about him. I stayed away from politics, but he had a warm smile that could light up a room, and cherubic face that you might see as a chipper dwarf in a fantasy movie, though he was quite tall at 6'2. I thought I'd be more nervous, but his genuine smile helped me relax.
"So, I understand you, Vincent, have information as to why the south pole and the north pole have... swapped locations?" President James rubbed his forehead. "When I was running for President, I imagined having to deal with a million different problems, this was certainly not one of them." He laughed in a slightly stressed way, but all the other scientists in the room laughed as well.
"Well yes, I have some information, but I'm afraid the solution can't really be fixed with the help of scientists. No offense to anyone in the room," I said.
"I think I speak for all of them when I say, we are at a total loss. We've been talking about what to do and no one seems to have an idea. The only person who said anything was Marge over here, and for those of you that don't know Marge, she works for NASA. She put in a good word for Vincent here that he might be the one who knows a thing or two about what's happening. It's my understanding you and Marge have been working together for quite some time, yes?"
"That's correct. As much as you may not believe this, there is a magical boundary that exists. On earth there are seven of us, uh." My knee started bouncing. "I wished there was a more serious and believable way to put this, but there are seven of us magicians stationed around the globe. We are all aware of each other's existence, and we work together on..." I exhaled, the dreaded topic that was always met with disbelief could no longer be kept hidden. "We work together on preventing the Eldritch Gods from manipulating Earth."
The president narrowed his eyes at me. "When you say manipulating Earth, what exactly do you mean by that?"
"This is a prime example. The swapping of the north and south poles. These Eldritch Gods want to shake up Earth for unknown reasons and they're capable of defying the laws of physics, matter, and any other scientific doctrine. The team of magicians that I'm a part of does well to stay on top of new developments and techniques they use, much like how science is able to figure out the flu vaccine every year. But this latest attack... this is very different. We are able to work in our own countries/continents respectively, but this recent disaster might require us to get together in person."
The room was silent. I was expecting obnoxious laughter or vocal disbelief, but there was nothing.
The President cleared his throat. "Normally I don't know if I'd believe in this subject of magicians and Eldritch Gods, but everyone I know is at a loss on this. No one has a clue, but yet, you do and Marge has vowed for you. So, do you think you could meet with them ASAP if we put you on a private jet right now? I suggest you get together with them as soon as possible because this swap has caused much damage to Canada, Asia, and Europe."
I hadn't seen them in 30 years, back when I was a teenager. All of our communication came through telepathic messages. It would feel like a family reunion. "Yes, we could get together, but it will be tricky to find them exactly."
"The US and every country in the world is willing to pour whatever resource we can to remedy this situation," President Hargrave said.
r/randallcooper | 2021-05-23T14:14:03 | 2021-05-23T12:56:52 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] 4 years ago you got teleported to another world where humans can use magic by chanting. You are now known throughout the kingdom because of your unparalleled casting speed and the ability to cast multiple spells at the same time. In your previous life, you were a beatboxer. | Four years ago, you were a stranger in this world. An unknown entity in a world of might and magic. With nowhere to go, and no one to turn to, you utilized what could be considered your only talent. Beatboxing. In the fair city of “Los Angeles”, this talent may not have earned you much, but here, it is everything. Powerful incantations allow humans to control immense magic and weave unbelievable enchantments. Your “talent” not only allows you to succeed, but to excel in a way perhaps only your mother knew you could.
Weaving this talent into a tale of success, fame, and now, hopefully fortune, you stand at the gate of the “514th Grand Wizarding Championship.” A modest regional championship of course, the victor here would be selected to represent the kingdom in nations far and wide, as the best they can offer. With only the championship match left to decide your fate, you steel yourself for what is to come.
Stepping out from beneath the mighty portcullis however, was a sight you had not seen in four years, and thought you might never lay eyes on again. Before you stands a man. In jeans. An obviously unusual sight in these lands, even you had finally been forced to replace the clothing you arrived in, once it became tattered and full of holes, burned from hours upon hours of practicing your newfound craft. The man steps out to greet you. The sun glints off an enormous belt buckle with the head of a ram embossed upon it, and he wears a red plaid shirt that looks far too hot for this weather, and far too clean for this world.
“Howdy partner!” He exclaimed. I’m just tickled to see someone like you here. Now, you might be able to disguise your old life, claim you are a mighty enchanter or something like that, but I ain’t no ordinary boomer. I recognize a beatboxer when I see one. Your fancy tricks might have gotten you this far, but I’m afraid this is the end of the line. For you see, friend, I…
… am an auctioneer.” | The wind sliced through the air at dramatic speed, icicles rose from the soil and fire conquered from the tiniest speck of dust.
The sweat I oh so despised, rolled down my chin. A cold sensation against my throat moved.
The empty training grounds, and crowded seats. Chatter, and the sweet scent of sweets.
A chill from my spine, and unwanted stares landed on my small back. Entertainment and a strange phenomenon nobles keenly watched with different intentions.
"They'll be bored soon, I know it..."I mumbled to myself.
I knew I couldn't escape their gazes. What's there to do in such a boring world, other to observe a strange creature such as myself.
My world changed in an instant, literally and figuratively.
The last memory I could recall, was myself sobbing in misery, as I watched my the title I carefully crafted fall from grace. The hard earned money and sleepless nights I spent. Just to make the perfect melody, all down the drain because of some 12 year old.
Hard to believe such a renowned rapper such as myself, got his ass beaten by a kid. Before I knew it, I felt drowsy. A drowsy of unknown depths. A drowsy that would permanently change my fate.
I woke up above a alter...or that's what they would call it. More like a cult summoning, lots of red that I've had quite enough of.
The sweat I accumulated over the short course of an hour, transformed into something more. The crystal like substance floated mid air. Pure water, quiet disgusting actually...
I've been selling this "pure water" to young noble ladies, who seem...a bit off in the head. Oh well more money for me, who is an absolute dead beat right now.
As soon as I got summoned, I was to be prophesied to be a great hero? I was a little skeptical, but clearly this worlds magic standards was low. I felt a deep connection with the earth and sky the moment I arrived.
A familiar connection, that's unexplainable.
A loud cheer from my left, "That's all ladies and gentlemen, the magnificent hero!"
Ah yes, I'm just a show...
There was no escape, as my weakness has been discovered. Even if I'm a hero, what war is there to fight? Another misfortune. For the fate that awaited me was no redemption.
Only a slavery contract, and a few chains.
The metal chains ringed against the floor. The familiar pair of eyes made contact with mine in the crowd. The same perverted smile, I was greeted with when arriving. | 2021-11-29T18:41:00 | 2021-11-29T12:06:15 | 47 | 23 |
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