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[WP] You're a cop who reported to the final events of an action movie. This is your police report. | Officer: Al Powell [8L30]
Date: 25 December 1988
Charges: Terroristic Threats [4], Destruction of Public Property [213], Assaulting a Peace Officer [73], Murder [14], Interference with Federal Flight Operations, Assault of a Federal Agent [2], Murder of a Federal Agent [2], Murder of a Peace Officer [2], Felony Armed Robbery, Impersonation of a City Employee, Possession of an unlicensed firearm [22], CHARGES CONTINUED ON FELONY INFORMATION
Location: Nakatomi Plaza Building 2, 2121 Avenue of the Stars #120, Los Angeles, CA 90064 – Skyscraper facing South-SouthEast at cross street of the Avenue of the Stars and W. Galaxy Way
Suspect description: European men speaking German 10-12 led by Alan Rickman. All bodies recovered at the scene and in possession of the county coroner.
Event Summary:
While conducting a routine patrol in the second district I received and responded to a call for service at Nakatomi Plaza Building 2, 2121 Avenue of the Stars #120, Los Angeles, CA 90064 – Skyscraper facing South-SouthEast at cross street of the Avenue of the Stars and W. Galaxy Way
Upon arriving and conducting a through search of the area and speaking with building security personnel I was assured that there was no call for service and that it had been a misrouting by patrol dispatch. Approximately 2030 I exited the plaza and headed back to my patrol vehicle upon entering my patrol vehicle and shifting into gear the body of one of the suspects impacted the hood of my patrol vehicle. At that point I came under automatic high caliber weapons fire coming from the upper levels of the building; during this time I reversed my patrol vehicle to remove myself from the line of fire totaling my patrol vehicle off of the side of a parking embankment.
Officers arrived at the scene approximately 2045 to provide assistance and we established a security perimeter and requested SWAT units and Federal assistance.
I was able to establish radio communications with the complainant inside Nakatomi Plaza 2, the subject seemed to be a police office however he was not from our jurisdiction as he did not use California Penal Code references when transmitting. Complainant gave location and approximate number of hostages and the amount of plastic explosives, automatic weapons, and rockets. Complainant identified himself as ‘Roy’.
Deputy Chief of Police Dwayne Robinson and Mobile Emergency Operations arrived on scene and took command from there.
| Form 6931283/b (Loss of Police Equipment)
Officer: Lt. Charles A. Tamburro
Summary: At approximately 7:30pm on 23 April 1991 a dispatch came in regarding a disturbance in the Fremont area. As ordered, I piloted my issued police helicopter, registration number N830RC, a Bell 206B JetRanger II, to the area to provide aerial assistance and observation to officers on the ground.
Upon arriving, I began observation of the upper floors of the building, and witnessed a desk crash out through a window and fall to the ground. I then observed officers on the ground coming under fire from what appeared to be an M134 Minigun operated by a suspect inside the building. As the JetRanger has no protection from such a weapon, I maneuvered around the building out of sight of the suspect, intending to retreat to a safe distance and then position myself to observe. During this period there were a number of explosions inside and outside the building.
A SWAT team entered the building, and I continued circling searching for anyone attempting to leave. During this time, there was a very large explosion. Shortly after the explosion, I observed an officer riding a motorcycle into the building.
Between one and two minutes later, as I hovered outside the building, the officer rode his motorcycle through a window, and jumped off, grabbing onto the outside of the helicopter. He then broke the canopy's front-left windshield panel, and snaked in through the hole. I suspect the panel was damaged by previous activities, creating microfissures in the plexiglas allowing it to be broken in this manner. The officer who came in through the hole was very limber, as climbing in through the broken windshield of a helicopter and then turning oneself around to sit in the cockpit and face forward would be very challenging. The officer then commandeered the helicopter, whereupon I concluded that the individual was not a police officer, but had stolen the uniform and may have been the suspected cop killer reported at the location, and this was his chosen method of escape. He ordered me to "get out," which I did as quickly as possible, jumping from the helicopter to the ground below, breaking my left femur and spraining both ankles.
From that point, I was not a direct witness to what happened with the helicopter. The suspect who took it flew it out of the area; reports indicate that it was seen to be chasing a police van and that the suspect was shooting at people in the van. It later crashed into the van and was destroyed, but again I was not a witness to those events.
As regards reports of the suspect having an unusual appearance, moving in impossible ways, or being resistant to gunfire, I witnessed nothing of that sort.
Recommendations: The helicopter having burned after the crash, no fingerprints will likely be recovered. But the suspect was riding a (presumably stolen) police motorcycle, which should be checked for fingerprints.
| 2015-12-14T09:57:21 | 2015-12-14T09:46:38 | 59 | 14 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came. | "Well I'm not really sure why we brought all these people together" the man in charge said in a sad voice "all of you guys seem the same".
Murmurs were heard from a few of the members after this comment, annoyed that they were involved in this. Others simply expressed their frustration with gestures.
"Usually it's pretty clear" the man continued "you have one side that's unintelligent and the other side that's intelligent."
"psst!" whispered the man to my right "hey you! Do you have any idea why we're here?"
I gestured to him multiple times, expressing that I didn't know. I was completely lost. This man was striking in a way, his skin was smooth and shiny like creamy porcelain. I noticed a few of the other people in the room were like that, and those people seemed to be the most talkative, whispering to their companions. The rest of the people simply shook their heads or told them to be quiet.
"alright" the man continued "we're gonna have to interview these guys one by one, you there" he said pointing at the man to my right, "why do you think you're here?"
"I assume this has to do with my large collection of large dildos, I'm an avid collector"
"What? Jesus what no that has... fuck ok what about you" he asked pointing at me, "what do you have to say for yourself"
I gestured to him multiple times to show my confusion
"what the hell are you doing? This isn't charades, speak u..." He paused for a moment "oh shit"
he quickly ran around the room surveying the 10 participants.
"oh for the love of... did they do it again? Was this Larry? It's always fucking Larry. Ok people there was a big mix up, apparently some jackass over at HR took the meaning of "bright" and "dumb" way too fucking literally." | I woke in small metal container. The walls had the wavy pattern of a cargo crate, and the size fit the idea as well. There where ten of us, I was the first to wake up. It was clear what was happening, I had been told of the risks when I submitted my paper.
I was about 21 at the time and had just finished my philosophy paper. I knew it was good, even from my harsh self criticism. It was another unmistakable 100, and over time, that brings unwanted attention. My prof had told me a few weeks earlier that I should start making mistakes, but I had to much honour in what I did. Although discovering the meaning to life might have been a bit flamboyant. On my way home from the school I could already hear the helicopter. They followed me, and I knew I had overdone it.
Now I was in a small container with four other people sleeping on the ground, and five other in full blown comas. The sound of their heartbeats on the machines eventually woke up the other four strangers.
"...oh shit does my head hurt..." the old man in the brown vest yawned. I could recognize him from his popular book series; TARN BACKSTER Learn The World And Its History.
"FUUUCK!" The woman in the blue vest yelled as she realized what was going on. She had been on television the night before receiving a scientific achievement award.
Two other men woke up silently. They both knew what was going, and everyone knew them. Mark Cameer, and Ben Owen. They had been famous for being here more than ten consecutive times in a row. Mark was a grandmaster, and Ben was a musician. They knew each other very well by now, and started up a conversation.
The girl in the corner woke up last, but it was obvious from the first look that she was different. Drool hung down from her sticking out tongue, and she had strong characteristics of some with down syndrome. "REEEEEEEEEEEEE" she gave a battle cry similar to a howler monkey as she woke up.
"HELLO, I AM D99100, IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU"
I was startled to hear the robotic voice. One of the men in a coma was clearly now attached to a different machine. That was when I realized the girl wasn't with my group, but instead the computer attached to deeply sleeping man. | 2016-03-03T06:05:43 | 2016-03-03T05:36:34 | 378 | 17 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came. | I leaned back in my chair. The room they'd put us in was spacious, and I couldn't even find any of the cameras. Of the ten of us awaiting the test, only three were standing, all of them pacing back and forth.
"I can't believe I actually made it," the girl sitting across from me said.
"Someone must have liked your video," a Chinese-looking boy said. I was at least a little impressed that everyone gathered this time knew English; that hadn't always been the case.
"Well, which do you think you are?" someone else asked.
One of the people who'd been pacing, a well-dressed young man, stopped and turned to the table. "Don't be ridiculous. We're not meant to know that. That's why I'm first going to determine the other four bright ones, and we'll make sure the others don't drag us down."
"*Other* four?" someone asked.
"Great pep talk," I said under my breath.
"Yes, well," he continued, "normally I don't take part in silly displays such as this, but father thought it would be good publicity. So, if you five imbeciles could just stay in your corner and...eat paste, or whatever it is you do, that -"
"Big words coming from someone who didn't complete high school," I said with a smirk. I could see his face slowly turning red.
"I'll have you know I received the equivalent lessons from instructors who would have made your 'teachers' look like gorillas."
I nodded slowly. I knew he was a slow learner, but he had certainly had the best opportunities to learn.
"Hey, now, we need to get along," a woman said, standing. She was definitely the oldest among us.
"Or daddy's gonna have to pay off a judge," I murmured. I should be grateful he didn't hear me.
"Let's just introduce ourselves," she said. I inwardly groaned. Ice breakers were never fun. "I'll start. I'm Linda, from Pennsylvania."
"Well," the rich-looking man interjected, "My name is Richard Pendleton, the third, but you all know me. I'm -"
"Can I call you 'Dick'?" I asked. He squinted at me.
"No, I daresay you should not."
"How about you go next?" Linda gestured at me, hoping to prevent any arguments. I gave a slow nod, maintaining eye contact with Dick.
I stood up and looked around. At least the ones gathered were varied. Maybe not all races were represented, but it was a decent sampling. Except that there were only, like, three Asians, and Asia accounted for a huge portion of the planet's population.
"I'm Ben, from Henderson. Yeah, the cool one by Vegas."
"Can I call you -" Dick started, apparently not thinking his insult through. He stalled for a few moments, before sheepishly saying "Benjamin?"
I held back a snicker. "Sure."
The introductions continued; Maxim, from Russia; Shota and Ichika, both from Japan; Minjae, from Korea; Maite from Chile; Willow, from England; and Logan, from Canada. I let most of that pass right by me; I wasn't great with names in the first place, and the test wasn't memorizing stranger's information. But it would probably help the viewers at home.
"So, what is this test?" I asked once introductions were finally done.
"Haven't you heard of it?" Dick asked. "You must have seen reruns."
"They do a different test every time," Logan said. "Not like they have a shortage of time to get it set up in."
"Seems like a whole lotta trouble for one episode," Willow said.
"Like gathering the five smartest and five dumbest in the world?" I asked.
"I'm quite glad you're here to bring *down* the curve," Dick said, grinning at me.
"So you can be the best of the imbeciles?" I asked.
"That's enough out of both of you," Linda said. "Whatever the test is, we'll need to work together on it, okay? The 'smarter' five don't get any more prize money than the others."
I noticed a door across the room opening, and stood up. "Guess our bonding time is over. Let's get this over with." | part 1 of (I don’t even know)
let me know if I should post the rest
"this is all they could come up with?"
Jennifer shrugged, not really having a worthwhile reply. We sat at our assigned table and looked around the large, mostly empty, conference hall surveying its eight other occupants. "I thought it would be easier to tell." I said to nobody in particular with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and disappointment.
This was it, all of it. One of the most expensive multinational projects in the world. Five years ago without much warning every established nation in the world instituted a mandatory standardised unified test course, for the purpose of determining the five most, and least intelligent people on earth. This "test" included measurements of logic, social intelligence, fundamental and advanced creative problem solving, reflexes, literal brain scans, memory tests, and the list goes on. Billions of dollars every year, and this, is it?
Looking around the room you'd expect to be able to tell which is which, the most and least intelligent I mean, I've known math types who can do calculus in their head but couldn't hold a conversation if they were payed to, and I've seen the opposite as well. Only a few things were sure, everyone was weird, and nobody knew why they were here.
I looked around again, this time taking in each team in turn. Once the security guys put us in here we were each given a name tag and a list of teams. Jennifer was my partner and, honestly, the most normal person there. I decided to start looking at the teams by the order on the list, not alphabetical of course.
Milo and Isaac. I looked up and saw in the far corner of the room there was a very tan and muscular man with more than a few tattoos (visible because of the amount of shirt he wasn't wearing) with the nametag reading Milo. Next to him talking quietly was an eastern european looking guy was wearing a purple beanie, far too much makeup, and a badge that read Isaac.
James and Maria. Maria (mid thirties, slightly annoying) was on her way to talk to Milo and introduce herself, clearly not interested in her own partner. Meanwhile James (who must have been someone famous based on the reactions he provoked from some of the others) was talking to two girls from the other teams and was about to be joined by jennifer, fine let her talk I've been busy checking out the competition. Surely thats what this is about, competition, why would they put us in teams otherwise.
Lisa and Chelsea. They were almost twins and made up the majority of the present cult of James.
Michael and Shey. Michael was a fifty something man who despite his apparent age carried himself in a very imposing manner. Conversely Shey appeared to be a high school age girl still wearing her uniform.
Nothing clear, nothing obvious. I wondered who was who, but only briefly. Jennifer returned just then, saying in a casual way, "musician". "what?" I was actually surprised. "he's a musician," She nodded in James' direction. "you seemed curious about why they were crowding him so I pretended to join in so they'd let it slip naturally." Whoever set this up, they picked me a good partner.
Five minutes of casual conversation, getting to know each other. Then the LCD panel in the front of the room lit up. On the screen red text began creating itself. "you have been selected as the most and least intelligent people on earth by a rigorous testing system, however two of you were not. Find and evict the impostors. You have two hours." below this was a timer showing the remaining time.
It took a few of us a moment to process this. "one of the teams was fake?" Maria lost her composure (if she had any to begin with) immediately. James was nice enough to try and calm her down, with limited success. Isaac chimed in a quick reply in an obviously fake British accent he used to cover his obviously real Russian one. "not necessarily luv, they could be split up." "that would make the most sense." Shey said, and everyone nodded silently. "but how are we supposed to know?" Milo said, sweat clearly forming on his brow. "that," I pointed out "is up to us." "what if we can't do it?" This came from chelsea. There was a pause while we all remembered how the chosen ten were never announced to the public. The pause grew into an all consuming silence that spared nothing but a faint ticking and the fainter hum of electronics behind the monitor. 1:57:05, 1:57:04, 1:57:03... | 2016-03-03T06:35:14 | 2016-03-03T06:19:08 | 151 | 40 |
[WP] Humanity meets an immortal being, who can answer any question, except for "Does God exist?". One day, the being is tricked into answering. | My first year of communication with Earth was nearing its end, thankfully.
“How many more of your species exist?” The speaker blared with yet another question.
“We do not count the individuals. We are all one.” Another unsatisfying answer for the humans but that is what they get for applying their logic to my species. They had been asking questions non-stop since I had arrived. It has been best to communicate through their electronics since a casual look at their history has shown them to be violent and unpredictable.
“But how do you have competing…” The humans question had been cut short. The crowd inside the transmission station had pushed him away. I had informed them they may ask any question but I would not answer them all. At first they simply shouted their questions over one another. They broadcast videos, radio, screamed into phone lines, spammed message boards. Anything to get their questions in electronic form hoping their question would be next.
“Do crabs think fish can fly?” The high pitched voice of the next human rang out in the nearly hollow space craft.
“No, crabs do not possess the capacity for abstract thinking.”
“Do any other species have abstract thinking?”
This human was lucky, she actually got a second question in. “None that are currently alive.” The human was ushered off stage as the answer rang out. Each person was allowed twenty seconds ask their question, a system that was put in place after the first month of chaos. The line of people waiting their turn was months long at this point.
“Does god have a plan for me?” Said a small voice. I gazed back at the video feed of the human asking this question, a young woman wearing a small gold cross.
“I cannot answer that.” No questions about the creator, that was the one rule. It did not stop them from trying.
An old man with thin rimmed glasses was next up. “Is it possible to travel faster than the speed of light?” I enjoyed the questions from the scientific community the most. They received the most thorough answers.
“You cannot move faster than light, but you may arrive at a location is less time than it takes light to travel there.”
“So worm hole travel is real?”
“Yes”
A small boy, no more than twelve year old stepped up next. I despised children and their asinine questions but if this is how the human wanted to waste my time then so be it.
“A-are you the smartest b-being?” He squeaked, stammering out his question.
“No” I leaned back and stared at the metallic roof of my craft.
“So could you make a math problem so hard that you could not solve it?”
That question sounded vaguely familiar. “I could not”
“But it is possible then?” I looked back toward the video feed. Why was he not being moved along, surely he was over his time limit.
“Yes it is possible”
“If no other creatures have abstract thought and you are smarter than humans then that implies that there is another being in this universe that is smarter than you.” He said with more confidence in his voice.
Why wasn’t the crowd stopping this boy?
“So then you’re implying that there is something greater than you. Something you would not consider alive in the typical sense. There is a creator.”
“I cannot answer that.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
| I had been walking in the cave for quite some time. The few times I had slept, it was hard to tell how long I had slept, without a watch to tell time being underground completely ruined my biological clock.
That was one of the stipulation for visiting him. No technology from the past four centuries, no weapons. The second stipulation was put in place recently--some violent protesters calling him 'an affront to the order of things'. Ever since he had been found five years ago he had been a source of controversy, even as the average person lost interest. The echoing of the rattling of the chains told me I was getting close.
In the darkness, my eyes long having adjusted to the low light, I saw him. His hair reached the floor of the cave, were I saw the the tatters of buck skins covering him, his yellowed nails poking out at the hems. I heard the chains rattle slightly as I drew closer I saw just how thick they were were. From his youthful features, the voice I heard just felt...wrong.
"Why hello little one."
"Hi."
"It's hard to tell time down here. What year is it now?"
"I know better than to answer that."
A resounding laugh came from his gaunt features, his body rocked back and forth in the chains that attached to each side of the cave.
"Oh you are so much more fun than that last group. So angry... I know why you're here. Ask away little one."
I didn't think he would be so forward. He answered any question. **Any** question. History questions, math questions. Even economics questions. Questions he had no way of knowing the answers to. The sign at the entrance mentioned as much.
>Do not bring any technology before the Anomaly
>Do not answer any questions of the Anomaly
>Do not attempt to free the Anomaly
The second one was scrawled one the walls of the cave in early modern English. That last one was learned the hard way unfortunately. An activist group cried out against his treatment, live streaming their attempt to free him. The video gave people, myself included, more than a few nightmares. I'm fairly sure that the first rule was just people being paranoid.
Probably.
"Why am I here?"
"Because you have a question, obviously. Just like all the others who've grace my humble abode."
True, but not quite answering the question. I could work with that.
"How did the first people come to be?"
"Like anything, a product of those who came before them. But they were different, so they stood apart, and knew loneliness until the found others like them."
"Did you guide them?"
"At first. Eventually they no longer needed our help. IT was our of pride mostly, we thought but we fulfilled our duty."
"You mentioned others. Who were they?"
"Like me. Well not all like me. Some had differing views but we were family."
"I noticed that was past tense. That you 'were' a family. Are you no longer a family?"
"No...we had something of a major disagreement."
"About?"
"About your future."
"Who did you have the disagreement with?"
"The other side obviously. Some saying that you should still be part of the plan."
"And you thought we shouldn't be?"
"No. I personally didn't think you deserved to be. Some who sided with me thought, you should be truly free to do as you wished."
"You were a leader?"
"I lead my people. And what a leader I was!"
"Who was the leader of your opposition?"
He fell silent at that. Not only that but he was eerily still, staring at my with his piercing eyes. He didn't need to answer. I was confident that I had my answer until he spoke.
His answer still haunts me to this day. | 2016-04-17T09:55:01 | 2016-04-17T06:15:01 | 510 | 224 |
[WP] You're a sniper, but your gun only accepts... unconventional ammo. | Rifles aren’t cheap. Your run-of-the-mill hunting rifle will service if the target is a whitetail at 150 yards, but if you are trying to hit a target on the run at 1000 yds, military-grade tech is needed, which increases the price. At 2000 yards, even military grade firearms fails, and it is up to one-of-a-kind, hand crafted, laser precision hardware, which comes with one-of-a-kind pricing.
Yet, there is yet one higher grade, if you can find it. A rifle so advanced, you can do the impossible. I have broken the 10000 yard mark three times. The last shot was the dictator of a third world country, one of those 10 acre Middle Eastern countries that no one remembers. I spent three days moving into position on a rooftop overlooking his villa, and another four learning his daily schedule before taking the shot. The projectile pierced through two panes of bullet-proof glass before hitting him directly in the brain stem. He was dead before he hit the ground, and I was gone before his bodyguard found the body.
A rifle this powerful is available only to a certain few people, and the price is astronomical. I had found the letter sitting on my desk. Red leather embossed with gold letters, detailing out the cost for such a weapon. My soul, for a rifle that would surpass anything of this earth.
I paid it willingly.
Its power was not of this world, so even the highest quality ammunition was not enough. It required something more dear: bone. More specifically, my bone. I tried firing a bullet made from bone stolen from a target, but the rifle refused to fire. It must be from me. So, I did what I had to do. Mobility can be sacrificed, if the need is great enough. 24 bullets, crafted from the foot and lower leg below the knee.
Because rifles aren’t cheap.
| Early on in my career, there was a hit that I almost royally screwed up. I didn't notice a bodyguard was missing, and he found me right after I pulled the triggrr. I broke him, but not after he broke my rifle. So, after payday, I set up a meeting with my supplier. After I get her up to speed on needing a new gun, she looked like she was bursting with excitement, saying she's got just the thing. She came out with what looked like an ordinary rifle, but the chamber was off. It's size was all wrong, like it was meant for a weird caliber or sonething. I asked her what bullets it shot, she gave me a wink and a grin and pulled out a rabbit's foot. I stare at her for a second, wondering when she boarded the crazy train. She takes the gun back, and as if it were the normal thing to do, she loads up the rabbit's foot. Even more confused, she drags me to the shooting range, takes out one of her "hard targets" (I stopped questioning where she got those people, or why they're okay with being shot), and gestures me to fire. Shaking my head, I take aim, eye on the scope, scope on the mark, finger on the trigger, and pull. Instead of a puff of burnt hairball, out came a ball of golden, sparkling light, and it splattered all over the guy's chest. Looking at my supplier, she gives me a look and a child - like grin. "Just wait for it." The guy stands up from his post down range, and immediately trips on his shoelaces. As he tries to get up, the dummies collapse in a pile around him, then the ceiling caves in. He throws out his back moving the rubble, twists his ankle stepping away from the wreck, and then collapses from a heart attack. I stare at my supplier, dumbstruck. "Pretty neat, right?" It was worth the money. Yeah, the ammo's a pain, and I feel bad for bunnies everywhere, but it leaves no trace, nigh - impossible to link to assassination, 100% lethal, and to be honest, kinda entertaining. | 2016-10-25T15:46:53 | 2016-10-25T13:14:11 | 75 | 45 |
[WP] After you died you are told you will get to spend the rest of your life with the person you love most. The next you expect to wake up next to your husband/wife but you don't.
*the next day you expect to wake up... | Sarah awoke, expecting to see the smiling face of her boyfriend. She knew she had died. The last thing she remembered seeing was the back of a truck cutting through the windshield, it must have cut through her next. Sarah readily admitted that the accident was her fault, she just wasn't paying enough attention to the road and it cost her dearly. Immediately afterwards a voice spoke to her, giving her the knowledge that while she has passed on from one plane to another, she could at least share this next adventure with the individual she held most dear.
As she rose from the bed and planted her feet on the floor Sarah looked around. Everything looked normal in her apartment, it was just as she left it. Upon second glance however she noticed that everything around her had a slightly hazy, gaseous effect added to it. She began walking around her now blurred apartment, calling Brian's name knowing he had to be here, after all she was promised that the one she loved most would join her in this new existence.
When Sarah stepped outside her building, still calling out for Brian she heard the voice suddenly answer back "Brian's not here." Startled, Sarah managed to stammer "Well who is then? Is it my mom? Okay yeah, I love her but I couldn't stand being in the same house when I lived with her, the thought of spending eternity together just sounds terrible."
"Your mom isn't here either" The voice responded, "What did I first tell you?" "Duh" Sarah said, she was starting to get annoyed. "You promised me when I died I would spend this next life with the person I love and that person is Brian, so get him here right now!"
The voice let out a low mocking laugh, "Brian is with his wife. Apparently the bond they held was stronger than whatever it was you two had." Panic began to set in, Sarah couldn't believe it "There's no way that's true, he said he was going to leave her. He was going to tell her everything! He said it a million times that he didn't love her and that he loved me!" There was a moment of silence, and it was broken when the voice once again inquired "Do you remember what I told you?"
"Yes" Sarah said, a hint of panic in her voice, "you told me I would spend this new life with the person I loved." The voice spoke slowly and without compassion, "People share their next life with the other person they were closest to. They only get to be together though, if that feeling is reciprocated." Sarah felt her insides twist as she fell to her knees, tears started to form as she barely formed the words "So where does that leave me?"
The voice stated matter-of-factly "Just as I told you, with the person you've always truly loved the most." | The sleep was the best part of it.
It was blissful, everlasting, and full of dreams I couldn't have even imagined to dream while I was still alive. I knew it would come to an end at some point, and then I would get to spend the rest of my life with the person I loved the most. I couldn't wait to embrace my Rosita and start our life all over again, together.
It was blissful, everlasting, and full of nightmares. I had been told I would get to spend the rest of my life with the person I loved most, but I had been told this after I had died. I had died, and so would I not have no more life left to live? I would never get to see my Rosita again. I had been told I would get to spend the rest of my life with the person I loved most, but what if it had been a lie? They could have told me anything, and I could but hope whatever good they told me was true, for it meant more life rather than dull and terrifying non-existence.
It was blissful, but it wasn't everlasting.
I began to feel the pressure of the covers, heavy and silky, the familiar touch of my pajamas on my skin, and through my eyelids I could see a light of slowly increasing intensity. I heard the distant hallow toll of the church's bell from my childhood hometown, and with a smile began to lazily and gracefully stretch my body like the cat I'd never have again. I opened my eyes, and they opened wide. Next to me... was me.
I lay there transfixed, wondering what this meant. This had to still be a dream, or a sick and cruel joke. Was I really dead, after all? I had never touched hallucinogenic drugs, but many of my friends had, and I began to suspect they had slipped me something, somehow.
Me, the other me, also stretched his body, lazily and gracefully like a sloth with rheumatism, with a smile on his face that assured me other me had to have been on a watchlist for sexual predators. His eyes opened and sparkled like emerald mirrors before me. I was amazed for a moment--I had always hated my eyes, why was this sloth-like fucker so blessed?
His eyes were also open wide when he realized who he was looking at.
"Um."
That's about right.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
We lay silent, just staring at each other in our mutual bewilderedness.
"So," he began again, and smiled, "how *you* doin'?"
I wasn't sure how to answer. This was not something I had expected. I wasn't even sure what "life" was going to be from now on, or how long it would last. Perhaps as long as I had lived before? Then I would have to spend a good few decades with this man, this other me. He seemed at least a little sleazy, but I guess I should have expected that.
"I'm doin' mighty fine. My name's Emilio."
"*My* name is Emilio!"
Oh well, if I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone, I guess spending it with someone who enjoys the same things I do is not so bad.
"So, how about a handjob?"
...plus, it doesn't hurt to be bisexual. | 2017-01-08T02:54:37 | 2017-01-08T02:41:33 | 431 | 24 |
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future. | They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left. | The two players sit down at the game table amid a sea of onlookers, Bob the psychic looks upon his opponent no doubt peering into her mind. At that very same moment, Betty the Sage whose stoic pose and closed eyes telegraph what must be her visualizing a vivid flash of what's to come.
A breathless moment passes as the crowd of spectators watch the two greatest chess masters in known history lock eyes and in an instant the two share a knowing glance, stand up, shake hands and walk from the stage.
Upon finally realizing what was unfolding one of the breathless spectators finds their voice and manages to ask "W...wait, Who won?" The two players again exchange a glance and proceed out of the room without a word, though each of the opponents had reportedly been seen chuckling silently as they exited.
Edited to complete the thought, thanks to the suggestions below for pointing it out. | 2017-01-19T17:36:57 | 2017-01-19T17:07:33 | 372 | 36 |
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future. | They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left. | Chess... a game the displays a balance of skill and strategy... a game I never excelled in, to be quite honest. However, here I am, staring at my few black pieces and an empty mahogany board, always one step ahead.
Louis moved his knight and then I moved my rook without hesitation. "Checkmate" I scowled.
"You always manage to best me!" He laughed. "Please tell me how you do it with such little knowledge of the game."
"Well..." I sighed, "I can see the future."
Louis interjected. "But I can read your mind! You know that! Tell me your cheap trick!"
"What makes a lion superior to its prey?"
He stares at me blankly.
I smile. "His speed and instincts!"
"Fuck you, Rob." Louis cussed as he walked away from the empty table and out of the recreation room.
I guess it's time for our meds. | 2017-01-19T17:36:57 | 2017-01-19T16:02:28 | 372 | 23 |
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future. | ###### CNN (Chess News Network) Alert ########
###### For Immediate Publication ########
The final match in the greatest chess tournament of all time is underway. The flip of the coin came out heads and the Russian Alexei Kusnetskov elected to start. The challenger from China, Ming Zhang, ready and waiting for the first move.
We are currently in hour number 15 of this epic game, as Alexei is yet to decide on an opening move that Zhang won't anticipate.
Updates to follow.
######################################## | Chess... a game the displays a balance of skill and strategy... a game I never excelled in, to be quite honest. However, here I am, staring at my few black pieces and an empty mahogany board, always one step ahead.
Louis moved his knight and then I moved my rook without hesitation. "Checkmate" I scowled.
"You always manage to best me!" He laughed. "Please tell me how you do it with such little knowledge of the game."
"Well..." I sighed, "I can see the future."
Louis interjected. "But I can read your mind! You know that! Tell me your cheap trick!"
"What makes a lion superior to its prey?"
He stares at me blankly.
I smile. "His speed and instincts!"
"Fuck you, Rob." Louis cussed as he walked away from the empty table and out of the recreation room.
I guess it's time for our meds. | 2017-01-19T16:03:28 | 2017-01-19T16:02:28 | 129 | 23 |
[WP] Your friends call you "one hit wonder". The first time you attempt anything, you're successful, but never after that. Now the CIA is recruiting you for one, and only one, mission. | I tripped over and fell into the door I was trying to open. Getting back on my feet, I fell again. The security guard rushed over to help and extended his hand to pull me up. I reached out and completely missed.
"I'm forry, dine won't."
He looked at me with confusion.
"Sorry. I mean; I'm fine, don't worry."
I walked up to the reception and immediately noticed how stunning the receptionist was. I knew it wouldn't work like the first time, but I may as well try a pickup line I've been working on.
"Hey, sweet butts. Wanna choke on me later?"
"What the fuck..." She stammered out.
"I said, I'm here to see Agent Plimpson. Simpson! Asian Simpson."
If I were to be honest with myself, things weren't going too well. Someone once told me that taking a deep breath can relax you, but I don't want to blow the one chance I have of doing that right now.
She reached down to the phone staring at me like I was a freak, "Simpson? A man in reception is here to see you." She nodded at me, "What's your name, sir?"
"Peter Ferris. Wait. Sorry, it's Percy Linden."
Now completely confused and cautious, she repeated both names back over the phone and hung up. "He'll be down to see you in a moment. Take a seat over there."
"Thanks."
As I walked across the lobby, I overheard her mentioning me to the security guard. I was starting to feel embarrassed.
*Thunk!*
"Sir, are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine. I just prefer the floor."
That wasn't true. The first time I sat on a seat was amazing and since then I've just not quite nailed the art of sitting in a chair. I'd pick up a magazine to read but who knows how that will go down. The guard was now standing behind me permanently so it was best I just didn't try to do anything at all.
"Mr Linden!" Agent Simpson waved me over as he appeared from the elevator lobby.
I got up off the floor, lost balance, and dropped again.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The guard said aggressively as he voluntarily pulled me back onto my feet.
Agent Simpson rushed over, "It's quite alright, Leon. Mr Linden here has a special condition and, well, let's just say this isn't his first rodeo."
"Which was actually really fun!" I blurted out. "The second time didn't go so well, though. A child was killed, but the other person, the clown, I hear can move his legs again."
Both of the men stared back at me as though I just killed the conversation. Maybe I did. I probably did.
"Let's just head to my office, Mr Linden," said Agent Simpson as we started walking toward the elevators. "We'll need to get you clearance before you can-"
*THUNK!!*
"...nevermind. I see you've been here before."
I rubbed my forehead furiously to make the pain go away, "Has that column always been there?"
"Yes. You know what? Have you ever walked around here with your eyes closed?"
"No, that would be stup-... Oh, I've never thought of that."
"Okay. First time walking to the level 8 east wing briefing room with your eyes closed. Do it."
"I wasn't taken to level 8 last time."
"Okay, keep them shut until we get out of the elevator then."
"You're the floss."
Simpson sighed.
"Sorry," I said "I meant, boss... Hm. I need to stop calling you that."
I heard the elevator arrive and blindly walked into it, hitting level 8 on the panel, I guess, and we started moving.
I heard Simpson speak, "We'll need to get a list of things you've done compared to the tasks required on the mission-"
"Hold it." I stopped him short. The third person breathing behind me just fumbled and I heard a click. I immediately turned around, grabbed his wrist, pried the gun from his hands and fired two shots.
"Jesus Christ!" Agent Simpson yelled.
I opened my eyes to see a dead man slumped on the floor with a shot in the heart and head each.
"How did you know?!" Agent Simpson stammered at me in disbelief. "We'd be dead and you just pulled off the most perfect takedown... Holy fuck!"
"Let's just hope that never happens again, right?" I laughed and unloaded the gun.
*BLAM!*
I just shot myself in the foot. | "Just one more please? Really when are you going to need to balance an 18th century ostrich painting on your head again anyway?"
Well....he had a point. Roy had excuses to save most things for later, but this one was just strange enough to be safe to waste. Much to his roommates delight, Roy balanced the priceless painting perfectly on his head, then jerked his head to send it rotating through the air. He caught it with delicate precision and set it down, frowning a bit as he did.
"Crap...I didn't mean to catch it, got over excited. Yeah we should get this back to your grandma, if it falls I'm useless now."
Joey carefully placed the painting back in its protective case and zipped it up. After learning of Roy's gift, he began borrowing the most random things he could to see the extent of his new friends powers. At first, Roy was hesitant. He had been taught all his life to save his power as long as possible, but because of that even he didn't know everything he could do. Once Joey was able to obtain all these obscure items, Roy finally began to realize he really could do *anything*...but definitely only one time.
"THAT WAS SO COOL THOUGH PLEASE LET ME PUT IT ON YOUTUBE!" Roy sighed and put his head down. Should have seen this coming, it comes up every time.
"I know I know man, but we'll just put up a few and say it took you like 102 tries or something. Make a little off ads while you're viral then suddenly stop saying you've suffered some weird injury and can't make anymore videos. They're entertained, we're rich, and your power doesn't get drained any more then you've already agreed to! Win-win man!"
Yet again, he had a point. The videos already exists, and they don't prove he has powers, so.....
"Fine, dude. Man I can't tell if you're a good or bad influence on me anymore."
"Little of both." Joey says as he grins and begins deciding on which video to upload. "So I'm thinking cutting watermelon by throwing it through a chain link fence?"
"Ha yeah, that was pretty cool."
-----------------------------------------------------
A few days went by and the two had nearly forgotten about the video. Most of the comments were calling it a fake, and they couldn't think of how to prove it's legitimacy without revealing Roy's powers, so they just ignored it. Joey had *finally* stopped bugging about the whole thing, until that Friday night while they were *supposed* to be studying for exams.
"Holy shit man some random dude proved your video was real! The views have more then tripled and we finally have more likes then dislikes!"
"What? Who? Why? How?"
"Who cares man the numbers just keep going up! Look at your facebook I bet people started tagging you and shit!"
Sure enough he was right, when Roy connected to wifi his phone started exploding, and the icon on every one of his social media sites had "+99" by it. Two hours into sorting through it all he gave up.
"Dude there's like 3000 friend requests, a billion messages, so many tags holy shit my time line is literally just that video over and over again. I can't do this anymore I'm already failing my math class. Fucking practice problems kill me everytime."
"...I got three tags...all asking if you're my roommate. Lame."
"...wanna deal with the emails I got asking about advertising opportunities?"
"Hell yeah I do!"
-----------------------------------------------------
The first month went by in a blurry flash for both of them. Roy quickly named Joey as his manager/cameraman/publicist and they happily spilt everything 50/50. For the first time in his life, Roy felt good about his powers instead of the constant worry he had been used to.
They came home one night from yet another interview. That 4th video they released of Roy threading a needle from a football field away really caught everyone's attention. They opened to door to find a simple business card on the floor. The black font simply said "Call (xxx)xxx-xxxx for work. -CIA"
"Ok maybe I'm wrong but I doubt this is how the CIA would get a hold of you. Anyone could have slid this under the door, I'd still call but would demand proof of who they were."
As he finished speaking, Joey's personal phone notified him of a text. "Honestly we didn't want to scare you guys, but if you insist..."
"Huh...? Who the f.."
Suddenly every window and door burst open revealing tactical officers and one man in a suit who literally came out of the closet.
"If you're interested, it pays well. Would normally be dangerous but not to you, also once you do it we won't have to worry about you doing it again. Really it's better for both of us this way."
Roy sighed and put his head down. "What exactly is *it*?"
"We need you to kill the president of the United States of America."
| 2017-03-21T16:41:10 | 2017-03-21T14:10:19 | 399 | 213 |
[WP] You wake up only to realize that one common thing ceased to exist. There's no trace for it, no-one ever heard of it and no-one seems to be missing it.
The common thing that I thought of was ice cream, but I guess a much better story awaits somewhere behind something more... *creatively common*... | A small breeze froze the cold sweat on my brow as I tumbled out of my haunting dreamworld. I’d dreamed I’d had no mouth; when I tried to speak I couldn’t. All I could do was growl. I sounded like a wounded animal.
Eyes open, my hands shot to my face. I felt my mouth, pulling on my bottom lip. I threw back the covers and swung my legs off the bed exposing my nakedness to my posters. I turned and looked at the reflection in my mirror. There it was. Two lips, teeth, and a tongue. Everything in order.
I sat back down in bed and felt my pulse in my throat. Just a bad dream, I told myself, nothing more. Of course I had a mouth. I wondered if anything could actually survive without a mouth. How would that work? I watched the dust dance in the diagonal light rays pouring through my windows and waited for my heart to settle.
A polite knock came from the door. Tat tat tat.
“Yeah?” I said. “Come in.”
Tat tat tat.
I crossed the room and opened the door to my mother who looked like she’d been up for hours already. She smiled and tapped her wrist.
“What?” I asked.
The smile left her eyes as she cocked her head back and then to the side. She looked shocked, which gave way to curiosity as she looked my face up and down. Finally she put the back of her hand to my forehead and rolled her eyes upward and nodded. Fever? Maybe I was still pale from sleep. She took the hand away and shook her head.
“What?” I repeated.
A flurry of hand motions and the shocked look again. What the... She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the kitchen. She put me in front of father and pointed at me as if she was a carnival barker. Another flurry of hand motions. He responded in kind.
“What am I missing? When did you two learn sign-language?” I asked, half laughing, anxiety crawling up my neck.
They both turned to stare at me. I’m still dreaming. I pinched myself to make sure. Nope.
They had continued to throw hands at one another. My mother looked more frightened than dad, who looked annoyed. He stood and took my hands in his and turned them over once, twice and then back to my mother with a shrug.
“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore.” I said nearing tears. “Can someone please talk to me?” Neither seemed eager to speak up, so I did. “Say something!”
Smack. Across the left cheek from father. He took my shoulders and shook gently. Fear was in his eyes now too. I reached for father’s paper on sitting on the kitchen table. I scanned with my index for the words I needed.
“Why” “don’t” “you” “talk”
Their eyes watched my finger stop under each and looked at each other. Slowly, I watched their hands produce the same movement. Father looked at the paper, and did the same.
“we” “are” “Why” “aren’t” “you”
| It started pretty harmless.
When I woke up, on September 6th, a Saturday, I was weirded out. It took me a few moments to gather my thoughts. It had been something I had dreamt. I couldn't exactly remember the story, but you know these mornings when you just know your dream was odd, and kind of meaningful even; and you just can't stop thinking about it, even though you don't even know what it was.
It was one of those dreams.
I was attempting to lucid dream at the time, so I tried writing down what I remembered. An odd feeling, something with a forest, a cute Slovakian girl, the color purple...? It was pointless. But I knew I wanted to dream of it again. The whole day I was unproductive, kept going back to reading my - rather pathetic - dream report; trying to remember some more tidbits. Hadn't there been a train? Had the girl looked like Maya from High School? Had it been raining?
My sister asked me what I was constantly doing on my phone. I told her. She just looked at me with confusion and asked for clarification. I told her again. She still didn't understand.
How do you deal with these situations? When something is just so utterly weird and inexplicable... like someone not knowing what the word 'dream' means? And, even worse, what do you do when you realize it's not just one person, it's everyone?
That night, I woke up from a dreamless sleep. You know, usually when you think you didn't have a dream, you simply forgot about it because you woke up in the wrong sleep phase. But it was different. I somehow knew I really hadn't dreamt. I'm usually fairly good at dream recall - I'm an aspiring lucid dreamer, after all - but I didn't remember a single dream that night, or the next one, or the rest of the month - or ever again really.
Now you might say, that's not too bad. Dreams are cool, but not that important. Well, true. But we're not talking just about the dreams you have at night here. The same seemed to have happened to all dreams. Everyone used to have dreams - maybe realistic ones, a better job, a nice house, a family, a vacation, a new gaming PC - maybe silly ones, being a famous football player, banging that hot actress, changing the world. But people just - stopped. They became content. They spent the whole day doing whatever their job or task was, and then they enjoyed their free time, and that was it. I noticed it as odd, of course, but that doesn't mean I was excluded. I fell into the same pattern, and I was content with it. The thing is, I still remember that I *had* dreams once, I just don't remember what they were, and honestly, I don't miss them. Didn't they cause unnecessary anxiety and stress? What torture it must be to constantly want more, to hunt after what you can't have?
That's what I used to tell myself. But it didn't work. Deep down, I always knew there was something missing. I can't even imagine a world different from this, but I *know* it has to exist. And just like the nightly dreams disappearing were the prelude to all ambition and aspiration disappearing, I think they are the key to bringing it back. I sleep a lot these days. I eat bananas, vitamine B6, whatever I can find. It has to work. If not, humanity is doomed to a fate much worse than extinction - absolute complacency.
I have no future, so I must dream. | 2017-06-16T14:56:03 | 2017-06-16T14:04:50 | 100 | 47 |
[WP] Our universe is in fact a simulation - it was a school project in God School. However, it was the one the got an A+ (top notch). Now tell me a story about living in a universe that got graded D- (barely above fail) | "Mr. Smith! Please sit down. How are you doing this eternity?" Teacher said, motioning to a single chair in front of his own.
"Fine, I guess. A little nervous about why you asked to talk privately." Smith sat down and looked around at the classroom with anxiety. Did Teacher know about how he bent natural laws in the last assignment? Is this about his outburst at Mason?
"I wanted to talk to you about your capstone project. I am going to have to terminate the universe early. There are some... concerns that I and other faculty have."
"I thought my interpretation was approved. All of the preliminary work showed the universe would fall into normal acceptable levels of development while minimizing entropy." Smith pulled out his notes and papers on the project, paging through them to look for any mistake he had missed.
"It isn't that."
"Did I not put enough matter? Was there too much matter? Oh no... Was it anti mater? Did my interpretation result in too much anti-matter?"
Teacher just shook his head and frowned a little."Not at all. I have to terminate it because everyone is dead."
"Dead?"
"Well, mostly dead."
"I don't understand. That universe had trillions upon trillions of planets, with roughly a tenth of those inhabitable. How could they be mostly dead? I checked on it before our last class it looked healthy."
"Well, to start, it wasn't necessarily your fault. Even if you had personally managed and watched over it every moment you will still see random variances that could create larger issues. Your own interpretation of natural laws for your universe ended up allowing more variances to occur, and while initially it looked as if they would beneficial in the end they proved to be a destructive force. I also believe your own direct interference may have created series of events that triggered our initial concern."
Smith pulled out a glass slate and tapped a few points on it. After some waiting the universe status application was up and he was able to see what Teacher was talking about.
"The genetic drift..." Smith said with a hint of confusion. He was pretty sure he should only be seeing one fully sentient and complex lifeform on each inhabited planet, but each planet developed multiple, sometimes even dozens.
"And the loosening on the various restraints we often put in place to prevent mortals from accessing greater power too quickly."
"Wait... This looks like the universe committed suicide. Or tried to at least." Entropy had set in. Stars were purposefully extinguished. Whole systems were destroyed.
"Yes. That brings us to how self-aware it became." Teacher carefully reached over to the tablet and tapped a couple places on it.
"They knew?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"You told them. Which brings me to why I will be giving you a D- on this assignment." Teach said with a long pause afterwards. Smith was speechless and looked around the classroom in an attempt to understand what had happened. He thought through the project, the calculations, the start up, the guidance he gave it. He couldn't think of how he could have told the universe it was just a simulation and not an actual fully realized creation.
"If I understand correctly, you have a hobby of fantasy role playing game?" Teacher slowly asked, wanting Smith to connect the dots.
"Well, I understand fully realized simulations based on speculative fiction with magic that break the laws of nature are banned. Only partial... Oh no..."
"Yes."
"I must have...."
"You did."
"The group I have been playing with, I was the only one with knowledge of how to create custom simulations to play in. There were a few worlds in my universe that I thought would be great to play in and explore so I create a copy and made adjustments. I put in all the restraints and settings meant for a speculative universe. It was only supposed to be just that one world."
"And yet?" Teacher said motioning for Smith to keep figuring it all out. Smith taped a few points on the tablet and groaned when he saw it.
"I never made a copy. I made changes to the base universe, and played in it directly with my friends thinking it was a limited simulation when it was actually a fully functioning one."
"Looking at the logs it appears you and your friends went into the simulation to play, got severely inebriated, and believing the residents wouldn't be able to understand, told them all about this project. The knowledge was quickly spread because your introduction of ridiculous types of magic allowed a free travel and communication throughout the universe. It also allowed them to test and prove that it was a simulation. They tried to contact you before the suicide, but they missed the time difference and didn't realize they would need thousands of years to gain a proper response. They threatened to kill themselves unless they were handed full control of the simulation, and believing a non response was a denial of their terms they used the magic to horrific effect. To be fair, this is actually one of the better results. I have rejected countless proposals to allow simulations like this because often, when they are allowed, we have other universes infected or worse. I would have hated to see your simulation be the end of the enter classes, fortunately they never figured out how to hop around. And I know you would have hated to see them leap into an actual creation."
"Wait... this would normally fail me."
"Yes. We felt, however, that this was a simple mistake. We realized what you meant to do and didn't want to punish you for forgetting a step or two in what is, honestly, a complicated process. We also saw that while you accidentally changed the fundamental laws of your universe, you also accidentally isolated it from causing harm outside of its bounds."
"Thank you sir." Smith sighed and looked at his notes. All the work for little reward. He would still be graduating but the GPA would hurt enough that he might not be able to gain access to full creation.
"I know you are the end of your education, but you really should take a class in speculative fantasy. The orcs were really the more aggressive ones in the suicide plan."
Smith nodded and sighed. He was pretty disappointed in himself. It shouldn't have ended like that.
"Don't worry. I'm sure you won't do it again. In the meantime," Teacher passed over a small disk, "I am sure you could enjoy my old RPG world. I'll admit it isn't nearly as free as your own but you should be able to still enjoy it with out risking the other student projects."
*Edit: Names* | A good world requires balance. This our God failed to realize. And for that we paid a hefty price.
We awoke in fields of sprawling acres and towering pillars. Mansions stuffed with luxurious furniture and decadent food sprang up in rows around us. "My gift to you," He had said, in his glorious voice. It rumbled like thunder and touched our hearts. And He lived with us, in the greatest house of all, at the top of a mountain framed in cherry blossoms. His house was a constant party open to all, and even the trees would uproot themselves to shuffle across the land and mingle in the atmosphere.
But as time grew on, we grew tired, and we found problems in this perfect world. Problems in that there were no problems. No challenges for us to overcome. If we were hungry, food would appear on our table. We could never be injured, and the concept of death was foreign to us- if you wanted to save time, you'd leap from the third floor balcony. Much faster than stairs. Gradually, the party-goers dwindled, and society moved away from our God to settle the untamed lands before us. We built villages from earth and stone and subsided on nuts, fruits, and vegetables, which the plants happily shared.
The concept of death was so foreign to us that when Paul failed to get up from his bed that day, we believed him to be sleeping. But something was not quite right. He was so cold, and lacked the gentle rise and fall of our chests we all share. When we took an ear to his heart, we heard silence, not the rhythmic thumping of our own. Paul was the first human to die. But he would not be the last.
It was chaos that week when I left my stone abode. Many felt too weak to leave their homes and died later in a phenomenon we'd label "disease". The dark berries our town had been known for were no longer fit to eat. Though they still carried their strong, bittersweet taste, all who partook in it would convulse and lay still not long after. The plants turned a blind eye to our requests for food, so we heaved rocks until they complied. Something had changed, and we needed to find out what. So four others and I set out on the long trek, back to the land of God, in search of those sprawling acres and towering pillars of marble. In a land so far away, where nothing went wrong, a land so different from now that it may as well have been imaginary.
We trekked through the forest by our town. Once a welcome, gentle place, it had turned dark and dangerous. Plants displayed thorns and powder that would itch like mad if it got on you. We encountered a pack of wolves and squared off, them circling for an opening and us throwing stones until they decided we were more trouble than we were worth. The world had not become hostile to us alone- we found the strange vines of another plant that had wrapped around an old oak, draining it of its life. We found the corpse of an elephant, once proud and majestic, now still and reeking, with a host of maggots feasting upon its flesh.
The desert was hot and dry and we lost Amelia to the thirst. She'd run off, screaming about a pool of water, when we could see no such place in the dry lands. We set up tarps made from our clothes and waited out the sun, traveling only by night, where those same tarps shielded us from the biting cold. It was not all bad. In the desert, the nights would be so clear, you could see thousands of stars. The moon looked much bigger then, like when we lived in Paradise, a glowing ball of silver that chased away the terrors of the night.
We lost John to the alligators in the swamps. He was standing with us as we plotted a course. And then he was in the water, thrashing and flipping, splashing up mud and blood as he wrestled with the jaws of a gator. It was enormous, much larger than any of us could fathom. We ran when his screaming attracted more and left him to his fate.
At last, we'd reached the land of God, but it was darker than we remembered. The shadows seemed much longer and the same mansions that had once looked so roomy now felt cold and empty. We took refuge in my old home, next to tables of rotting food and slept in a bed of dust and chipped paint. Spiders had moved in. I guess we were fortunate they weren't venomous.
"I'm staying here," Abe said. "I can't go any farther. I'll clean up this home. I'll live here. I can't go any farther." He kept repeating this, and I didn't blame him. He was afraid of death. Of what might come after. He was afraid of what we'd find atop His mountain, where we once laughed and feasted. He was afraid of corrupting those memories. We all were.
We trekked on, with just the two of us left. Arkesh made good company. He made me smile with stories of better times when we stopped to rest on the mountain path. He kept his chin up, always hopeful that we could take things back, apologize to Him. He was adamant there'd been a mistake. That when we saw Him again, he'd welcome us with open arms. That He was just lonely, cooped up in a mansion way up here with no one to keep him company.
The topiary was cheery as ever. They waved their greetings as the gates swung open without so much as a squeak. The place had changed very little, but felt so alien now with what we'd seen. Arkesh lifted the brass knocker and tapped it against the door. It swung open, as it always did.
The house was empty. Gone were the tables of food and wine. Gone were the guests of all shapes, sizes, and species. It felt eerily quiet, in a place that had never been. Our footsteps echoed.
We searched each room on the ground floor, and ascended the marble staircase when we found no trace of Him. The upstairs was equally clean, with golden statues of beautiful men and women bowing upon our entry. "My gift to you" was emblazoned on the wall in gold lettering, as bright as the day it was made. And beneath the letters, lay our God. His body was cold and lacked the gentle rise and fall that our chests shared. When we took an ear to his heart, we heard silence, not the rhythmic beating of our own. I looked at Arkesh and he looked at me. And we stood together in His empty house, with the body of our fallen god, unsure of what to do.
_________________________________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | 2017-08-18T12:13:46 | 2017-08-18T11:52:07 | 399 | 195 |
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own. | The piano stood her vigil for over forty years. Each day the man sat and played the same song, and every time the keys absorbed a little bit of the love radiating from his soul, vibrating both the strings of her soundboard and the strings within her very subatomic structure.
As the years passed, the love the piano absorbed never faded. It grew exponentially, with each song adding to its depth. Until the day finally came that the man at the keys could barely play anymore.
The piano knew that this was the last time he would sit at her keys and play the song, the song that opened an entire world of his own imagining.
As the last key fell, the strings of the piano vibrated, but didn’t stop; their vibration had reached a type of critical mass. The energy poured out from the deepest levels of reality, from places so pure and true that those who glimpse them spend a lifetime seeking out just one more nanosecond of such truth, and took the man at the keys along with them.
The trip was only one way. No song existed that could bring him back to the world before, but he had no reason to return. His decades of love and pure caring for his fellow man had brought him to this place of true connection, a world devoid of hatred, but where it was OK to feel bad because someone was always there to make things better.
To this day, whenever you do something selfless, whenever you forgive an unkindness, whenever you chose love and honest connection over anger and isolation, you can hear him, playing his song from the deepest places of your soul.
“Won’t you please? Won’t you please?
Please won’t you be, my neighbor?” | Jamie came up to me with a piece of paper. "I have a new song for you to learn" she says with enthusiasm. I am known across campus for my piano skills. I once played in the most prestigious of concert halls. I lead her back to my apartment and I pull out my keyboard. Jamie sets down the sheet music on the stand and look to figure out the notes.
I sight-read the music perfectly to find that it's the Imperial March from Star Wars. When I finish playing I look up to find that I'm no longer sitting in my room. I look up from my sheet music to find a tall black figure standing in front of me. The sound of his breath through his mask makes me pee myself a bit. He lowers his head slowly and with the most feminine tone says "OMG that was the best thing I have ever heard in a long time. Play it again!"
I'm taken aback by the strange contradiction. On all the movies I had seen and all the books I had read. Vader is supposed to be the bad guy, what is going on?
"Mr. Vader, sir, could you repeat what you just said?" I say confused and dazed. "I said you should play it again. It was better than what these plebes can do."
I look at the keyboard and start to play it again. I finish the song and notice that I am on the other side of the room. I look around confused. Did everything change or did I just teleport?
I look at the keyboard and fiddle with the keys. Little do I know that I unintentionally played the Jaws theme song. The next thing I know I'm soaking wet, floating in the middle of the ocean with my keyboard. I look around and see one singular fin coming towards me. I look at the keyboard and struggle to play something. The end result was the theme song for Friends. I end up shivering and drenched sitting in a restaurant across the table from Chandler. He looks up at me and asks "Where did you come from?" I answer "I don't know" I rack my brain thinking of a way to get home. The trouble is that I never picked the theme song of my life. | 2017-10-01T18:48:14 | 2017-10-01T17:21:53 | 1,167 | 16 |
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own. | Justin began very slowly at first. He let out a nervous exhale as he pressed his fingers gently upon the keys. His hands trembled in uncertainty.
He had heard of the piano's magical powers, but he couldn't resist. All he wanted was to play a song. It'd been months and months since he'd delved into his beloved hobby of playing his favorite instrument.
And then an idea popped into his head.
"I won't play the *theme song*" he thought to himself, as his fingers pressed against the keys with building confidence.
"I'll just keep playing *this*, instead..." he smiled to himself.
Rains of Castamere.
[**Game Of Thrones Spoiler from here on out.**]
Oh, but the piano's magic didn't bother with such technicalities! Soon the room became dark, and the voices of men singing along to his tune rose louder and louder and to Justin's utter horror he opened his eyes to that dreadful scene.
His body went numb as he absorbed the shock.
"Rob..." he whispered wide eyed in recognition. His lips began to tremble as he watched the way Catelyn's red hair glimmered with warmth beneath the candle lights.
"It's a trap!" Justin screamed out.
Everyone turned to face Justin. For a brief moment the room went silent as the strange man with odd clothing stood paralyzed in the corner.
And then it happened all at once.
"They're gonna kill you, run!" Justin screamed.
Rob rose abruptly from his chair and creased his brows in realization of what was happening.
"Run," Justin cried, "its the red wedding!" He yelled right before taking a knife to his eye.
**------**
**First time writing one of these 😬😬 still learning the ins and outs, awesome prompt OP! ** | Jamie came up to me with a piece of paper. "I have a new song for you to learn" she says with enthusiasm. I am known across campus for my piano skills. I once played in the most prestigious of concert halls. I lead her back to my apartment and I pull out my keyboard. Jamie sets down the sheet music on the stand and look to figure out the notes.
I sight-read the music perfectly to find that it's the Imperial March from Star Wars. When I finish playing I look up to find that I'm no longer sitting in my room. I look up from my sheet music to find a tall black figure standing in front of me. The sound of his breath through his mask makes me pee myself a bit. He lowers his head slowly and with the most feminine tone says "OMG that was the best thing I have ever heard in a long time. Play it again!"
I'm taken aback by the strange contradiction. On all the movies I had seen and all the books I had read. Vader is supposed to be the bad guy, what is going on?
"Mr. Vader, sir, could you repeat what you just said?" I say confused and dazed. "I said you should play it again. It was better than what these plebes can do."
I look at the keyboard and start to play it again. I finish the song and notice that I am on the other side of the room. I look around confused. Did everything change or did I just teleport?
I look at the keyboard and fiddle with the keys. Little do I know that I unintentionally played the Jaws theme song. The next thing I know I'm soaking wet, floating in the middle of the ocean with my keyboard. I look around and see one singular fin coming towards me. I look at the keyboard and struggle to play something. The end result was the theme song for Friends. I end up shivering and drenched sitting in a restaurant across the table from Chandler. He looks up at me and asks "Where did you come from?" I answer "I don't know" I rack my brain thinking of a way to get home. The trouble is that I never picked the theme song of my life. | 2017-10-01T18:20:58 | 2017-10-01T17:21:53 | 74 | 16 |
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own. | "Space. The final frontier," I said to myself, deciding what I'd play as I sat down at my new piano. I had just picked it up at an estate sale last weekend and had been too busy to try it out.
"These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise," I continued as I played the first few notes. "Its continuing mission, to explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before."
I hit a forte as I launched into the main theme, and it felt almost otherworldly as I was swept away into the music. This was truly the best instrument I had ever owned; I couldn't believe I got such a good deal on it. It was almost like the heirs were afraid to keep it...
I finished with a flair, then stood up and jokingly said "Computer, end program." No sooner had the words left my mouth when I was overwhelmed with horror as my living room began to disappear, replaced with... No! A holodeck? The only thing remaining from seconds ago was the piano.
I ran for the door which opened into what I recognized as one of the corridors from the Enterprise-D. "What happened? Where am I?" I asked a yellow shirted crewman. He clearly saw the terror in my face as he hit his combadge. "We need a medical team to Holodeck 2... Looks like he may be experiencing psychosis... He doesn't know where he is."
I sat down and felt the walls closing in on me, my heart racing. The next thing I knew, I was in sick bay. | Jamie came up to me with a piece of paper. "I have a new song for you to learn" she says with enthusiasm. I am known across campus for my piano skills. I once played in the most prestigious of concert halls. I lead her back to my apartment and I pull out my keyboard. Jamie sets down the sheet music on the stand and look to figure out the notes.
I sight-read the music perfectly to find that it's the Imperial March from Star Wars. When I finish playing I look up to find that I'm no longer sitting in my room. I look up from my sheet music to find a tall black figure standing in front of me. The sound of his breath through his mask makes me pee myself a bit. He lowers his head slowly and with the most feminine tone says "OMG that was the best thing I have ever heard in a long time. Play it again!"
I'm taken aback by the strange contradiction. On all the movies I had seen and all the books I had read. Vader is supposed to be the bad guy, what is going on?
"Mr. Vader, sir, could you repeat what you just said?" I say confused and dazed. "I said you should play it again. It was better than what these plebes can do."
I look at the keyboard and start to play it again. I finish the song and notice that I am on the other side of the room. I look around confused. Did everything change or did I just teleport?
I look at the keyboard and fiddle with the keys. Little do I know that I unintentionally played the Jaws theme song. The next thing I know I'm soaking wet, floating in the middle of the ocean with my keyboard. I look around and see one singular fin coming towards me. I look at the keyboard and struggle to play something. The end result was the theme song for Friends. I end up shivering and drenched sitting in a restaurant across the table from Chandler. He looks up at me and asks "Where did you come from?" I answer "I don't know" I rack my brain thinking of a way to get home. The trouble is that I never picked the theme song of my life. | 2017-10-01T19:04:04 | 2017-10-01T17:21:53 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] Your significant other is possessed by a demon. Soon after; you realize you love the demon and not your SO anymore and it's actually mutual. Now the exorcist has arrived. | You had always wondered if a chair propped under a doorknob would actually keep a door closed. Now you knew it did, but you wished it was under better circumstances.
At first you thought that Stacy was just hung over; it was a wild night, after all, and you both had spent entire mornings just groaning and eating everything but the kitchen sink. This morning, though, was definitely different. It started with her endless screeching, which you ignored because quite frankly you wanted to screech, too. Then it was the tossing and turning, the kicking and crying. A bad hang over, then. You decided not to give her a hard time about it.
The line was crossed, however, when you offered to feed her some breakfast and she bit your hand.
The chase around the house was brief and ended with you trapped in the guest room, chair propped under the doorknob, listening to her kick and scratch at the door and walls.
You calmed down enough to be thoroughly terrified, and used the landline to call the only person you could think of: your mother.
You explained the situation to her three times before she stopped laughing.
"This is serious!" you barked, "I think she's possessed or something!"
"But she bit you!"
You let her laugh for a moment, still distraught that your own mother found this amusing. "But, mom, there's something wrong. I don't know what to do!"
"I'll go ask someone at the church, alright?"
"Alright, thanks, please hurry!"
You sat in silence for two hours. You left your cellphone in your bedroom, you and Stacy had just moved the desktop out of the spare room last week, and you had decided against putting a TV in here. Once the panic had subsided and Stacy had stopped violently assaulting the wall, you grew rather board.
You were shocked out of your self-pitying by a knock on the door.
Stacy's voice was rough and soft, "Hey, Anna? That's your name, right?"
That caught you for a moment; Stacy's voice, but without Stacy speaking. "Um, yeah. I'm Anna."
"I was looking through the scrapbooks in the living room," her voice explained. "This is Stacy's body? Yeah?"
"That's right . . ."
"I'm sorry that transition was so rough back there," she chuckled. "It's just, I really need to feed, when I first take over a body? It's rough."
"Take over a body?"
Stacy's voice sounded sad, "Oh, yeah. You're going to want Stacy back. Right?"
"I mean, it's her body, I live with her, yeah." You're both quiet for a moment. It sounded like Stacy, or rather Stacy's body, sat down against the wall in the hall. You sat on the other side of the door, listening for any signs of something entirely demonic. "What's your name?" You ask through the door.
"Lilli."
"Lilli? That sounds awfully normal for a, um, well, uh . . ."
"A demon. Yeah. It's a nickname, for Lilith."
Your eyes widened, "Like, THE Lilith?"
"No," she laughed, the sound so much deeper and richer than Stacy's. "There are, like, a few thousand of us. All named after the first one, but yeah. That's why I go by Lilli. Lil, if you're feeling friendly."
You find yourself smiling, but then check yourself. You're not supposed to be smiling with Lil, short for Lilith.
"What are you doing here?"
"It's kind of nicer, wouldn't you think? With trees and grass and quiet. There's always screaming, back home. I like the quiet."
You looked towards the somewhat busy street that lead into town. You never thought of it as quiet, but you supposed it was nice. It wasn't too noisy, no screaming at least.
"If I open the door will you try to eat my hand again?"
She laughed again, dark and rolling. "No, I found something else to eat."
You don't think about that sentence too much and open the door, for a moment eager to see what she looks like before you realized Lil is possessing Stacy's body. You're disappointed.
She smiled when you open the door, and you can see dried blood on her face and neck. It's Stacy's body still, but she stood differently, without fidgeting or swaying on her feet. This is Lil.
"So, you found something to eat?" you gestured to the mess she made uneasily.
"Oh, um, yeah, sorry . . ." she stepped to the side and you could see more blood in the kitchen. You peaked in and saw Stacy's cat dead on the floor. "It's just. I need blood, in whatever capacity. I'm not super picky about the source. I hope you're not upset." You could see something like genuine remorse on her face, even as she tried to justify herself. "I know a lot of humans like their pet things, but I don't see the appeal. I am sorry, though."
"It was Stacy's cat," you replied, heart suddenly warm. "I never cared for it, and it hated me. Say, do you like plants? Like gardens, growing things?"
Lil's face lit up, smile bright, "I love gardens! I always look for them when I'm on Earth! We don't have interesting plants back home."
The landline rang and you almost ignored it, but second thought ignoring a call.
It was your mom again. "Dear, I'm at the church with Father Welch. He said he can perform an exorcism for you."
You guess Lil could hear the conversation, as her body tensed up.
"Actually, Mom," you say slowly, improvising on the spot, "I don't actually need that priest actually? Um, thanks for your help?"
"Did you get the demon out of your girlfriend?"
"Um," you hesitate, looking at the demon possessing your girlfriend, and lied. "I did, yeah, I did. Thanks Mom!"
You hung up before she could ask anymore questions.
"Right," you said, bouncing on your feet, leading her outside toward the backyard, "to the garden!" | "Can't I just clock him? I really bloody want to." The girl holding the pan took a test swing in the hallway. Two kilos of lovely iron-reinforced teflon, with the added bonus of oil that hadn't quite cooled yet. It was dripping on the rug.
"No, Hal, Hal, hey. Hey!"
Mid-swing the pan changed direction and hit the full-length smile of the boy standing behind her. The smile fractured and his whole image quivered with the force of non-stick teflon. Well, seven years' bad luck hardly mattered now. The girl's arm tried to swing around and hit the real version opposite the mirror. Sam ducked a fist while the girl re-gained composure.
"Oh, come on, Anna, give it up," she said, "you've got plenty of other nice boys down there." She heard Anna think some things she'd rather not repeat out loud. How rude.
Poor Sam. Her arm was better at least.
"Did she call me a-"
"Oh yeah. And more. She's complaining there's too much red? And she's not much for the punk aesthetic."
"Huh."
"She's right, to be fair. They do stew in their own culture."
"Well, she should've thought about that before trying to throw out my black hex stuff."
"Oh, She'll be fine, Sam" said Halaratha with a tentative wave that almost turned into a Sam-slap. Oh someone like Anna would find friends. She'd settle down into a bit of debauchery, and red wasn't all that bad. The doorbell rang. It was the priest.
"No, we spoke about this," said Sam. She dropped the bent pan. Fine.
"Okay. But for the record, I could take her on, okay? She's got what, one hand left? Three fingers?" Hal stopped there, tried and failed to cross her arms in anger. She smiled. Demons don't get scared, alright? Get a grip.
Sam opened the door to the thin man. His perfectly black cassock flowed to his perfectly black shoes. He had bibles akimbo, and the kind of rimless glasses with sharp edges you could cut yourself on. Hal winced.
"Please, come this way father. Welcome, welcome." Father Tom was impressed. Real tallow candles. God-fearing neighbourhood. Nice cloth on a real wooden table. Not veneer. This living room had the real stuff, even if there was a shattered mirror in the hallway. He sat, opened his briefcase of holy water and selected a flask.
"So, you're the one afflicted. We're ready for you. Please, sit." Father Tom dimmed the lights and Sam helped a shaking Hal through the door. She shivered, and stumbled to a sofa to grab a sweater, then practically collapsed half-Anna into a seat opposite. Fuck the cold. Her priest just stared from his pair of rimless sermon sweepers. The cute woolen sweater didn't help at all. Just looking at the table felt like an arctic winter. Hal mumbled something to herself. Sam thought it sounded like "well, fuck you too".
The priest took his left bible. He began the prayer and took Anna's hands, then poured holy water, and lit his freezing incense. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Just incense in the cold. And the living room was gone, evaporated to a desolate white that struggled hard to meander into shades of pink and punk. The priest blurred together. Fuck it Sam. Fuck it four ways to hell. Her teeth chattered and she hoped Anna's did too. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't, okay? It seemed to drag on in slow motion. She could only make out his glasses now. Only that and silence. The other girl was back in control. She stared, and waited for the old eternal pain to return. It would come, and her old life would return. The red-grey underworld monotony in full technicolor agony.
"Hmph. Ow!" White punk went black. She opened her eyes to dripping tallow on the floorboards. One arm, then two stuggled to pick her up off the floor. Floorboards turned to wall, then a painting. One of her arms flew through the blizzard helplessly and found a familiar shoulder propping her up. She strained through ice to move her neck. Sam was grinning. The pan lay a little way off.
"Hey, H, are you there honey?"
"Mhmm."
"Hal?"
"Mm, ugh. Yeah, what?"
The tablecloth was gone and lay by the bibles on the floor. Tallow seeped across the bare oak and stopped just short of a chalk outline. It had smudged a little, but the behemoth of demon swearing and interlocked geometry would do. The chair Anna had been sitting on was worse for wear.
"You remember what's next?"
"Mmm, yeah." Halaratha raised one cool hand and pointed it swaying at a paralyzed priest. He was howling his own brand of sacred profanities. Try as he might his arms wouldn't move from the table.
"Haiax, motherfucker." Good. She didn't miss. The white-red call of the underworld strengthened a little as shards of dark magic wound their way around a cassock. The priest's eyes clouded over. He gently lifted both hands up, then collected his things off the floor and started making his way to the door.
"Well, Sam, Anna, I do hope you're both feeling better. You can rest easy now, the darkness has passed. I trust this will mark the end of your absences and we can all move forward". The priest shook his hand. Woodenly.
"Absolutely. Yeah, um, and cheers again for coming. I think we're both feeling much better," said Sam. The cold was fading. She could just about stand on her own. They gave the black robe a wave down the driveway.
"Take care Father Thomas. I feel much more at ease now. Bye! Bye for now! All the best!" She gave the priest a wink and another Haiax for good measure. He wouldn't remember even if he bathed in holy water. They closed the door. Damn, her shoulder hurt. She looked to Sam. She didn't care and hugged him anyway.
"Are we gonna have to go to A and E with that?"
Sam heard a muffled "don't care." Her voice wavered.
"Hey, I only missed the chair by a little." She nodded. It didn't matter now. The cow was gone forever. And demons don't cry, okay? | 2017-10-10T02:01:46 | 2017-10-09T14:52:53 | 1,140 | 10 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Alex,
It has been 99 days since you left. 99 days. Some days are easier than the rest. There are days when I genuinely smile as I remember you. You left me with so many good memories; and I thank you for each and every one. I miss you. Every. Single. Day.
You said we'd be together for the rest of our lives - we just didn't realize how short the rest of your life would be. I will love you, for the rest of mine.
Yours Forever,
Aya | Dear Melody,
It's been a year.
I guess I know why you didn't call me. It's not like I bothered to keep in touch. Not like we stayed close. Besides, I'm pretty sure I was kind of a jerk to you when we were still talking.
I miss you. I wasn't really expecting to, I hadn't thought about you for a long time. I don't even really remember the last time I saw you.
But couldn't you have called Kyle or James or anyone? Or even what's his name, your boyfriend who I really don't like?
He calls you his angel. He says he was planning to propose. I don't think he really knew you. Either that or he's why you left. Doesn't really matter. You're gone now.
I know this is silly. I feel silly writing this. I'm going to burn this anyways and hope it gets to you somehow.
Hope sounds better than pretend.
I miss you. And I'm sorry. | 2017-11-05T21:44:07 | 2017-11-05T18:20:52 | 1,462 | 157 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear grandad,
You died 11 years ago when I was only 10years old. I had begged my parents to go to your funeral but they refused and I never got to go. I never got a formal goodbye so here it is.
I loved playing the violin for you. It always brought you such joy. I loved how you would always say “one day I’ll be better than you” after I finished playing. I stopped playing after you died. I’d like to think we’re equal at playing the violin now even if just by default. I remember I would always play the violin downstairs at your home but one day I visited and you were upstairs in bed. Struggling to be alive and being in pain. Even than you listened to me play. Little did I know that would be the last time I would play for you.
You would look at me now with such proud eyes. You were always proud of everything I did. I wish you were here to see me graduate university despite all the odds. I wish you were here to listen to me play the violin one more time. I wish you were here telling me how proud you are of me and everything I’ve ever done.
One day I’ll play for you once more. Until then rest easy granddad.
Love from your granddaughter | Michael,
We were both graduating. I understand, and it was easier for us to just go our own separate ways. I wanted to say something, but rejection hurts more than leaving questions unasked. It wouldn't have worked anyway.
I loved how you call me Katherine instead of Katie. Everyone else called me Katie, even though I introduced myself as Katherine.
I loved that you made a game of making me laugh when I wasn't supposed to.
I loved that I would wake up tangled in you, like you couldn't get close enough while we were asleep.
I loved crawling in bed with you after getting back from an early class.
I'm sorry that I hid things from you. I was afraid. Afraid of pushing you away and losing the little time we had left. I told you we had a little scare, no big deal. I told you that I took care of it, I was fine, don't worry about it. That wasn't a total lie, but I definitely fudged some things.
I'm sorry I was short with you, cold to you by the end. It wasn't logical, I just didn't know how to deal.
It was more than a little scare. I was more than a few days late. It took more than just a pill. I would have been due last month. I was terrified, and I didn't want to put that on you. I'm still not okay.
I imagine a parallel universe where it had gone differently. I Know I made the right decision for me at the time, but there's always the *what-if*. Where would we be? Would we be happy? Would you resent me?
Do you resent me now?
I miss you.
Katherine | 2017-11-05T21:06:53 | 2017-11-05T19:14:02 | 351 | 236 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E. | Dear Dani,
After everything that happened I continue to see you everywhere I go. Whether it's bringing up the past or driving through town and seeing a car just like yours or in my dreams sometimes I can't escape you. And I always think about what exactly it is I will do when I see you again. I want to scream at you or just flat out ignore you. There are so many options and I have ran each one through my head multiple times. In the end I know though it will be none of those things. As usual I will just forgive you and allow you to hurt me again. Because as much as I keep telling myself that you hurt me for the last time and I need to shake you off I just cant shake the fact that I miss you.
I miss your contagious laugh and smile. I miss the times we hung out and talked for hours. I miss not being judged and just having fun with you. You were so beautiful. I had people tell me you weren't that pretty but they were wrong. You were the most beautiful girl I had met at the time. In the end they were right though. After what happened I need to remind myself that you aren't. I don't miss how you made me feel. I don't miss the times you avoided talking to me or not showing up to places we were supposed to hang out. The last time we had seen each other was one of the greatest nights of my life and as much as I know deep down there is a part of me that misses you and would love to see you again.
I hope to God I don't. | 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T19:53:10 | 235 | 95 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E. | Hey Em,
I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown.
But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some.
And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words.
You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck.
After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride.
I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with.
So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may.
-M | 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T19:02:54 | 235 | 55 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy | Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil | 2017-11-05T22:27:41 | 2017-11-05T22:17:00 | 102 | 16 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Mom,
It’s been a few months since we’ve last talked. I miss you.
I’m still not quite sure why you decided to cut me out of your life. I’d always thought family wasn’t just blood relations, but those who matter to us. You’ve shown me otherwise.
I just can’t believe you threw me out like that. I watched as you spent years proving how much I mattered to you. And you mattered just as much to me. Then you turned around and got rid of me and my father like we were garbage.
Even if something happened between you and my father, why are you throwing me out? You even tried to turn my sisters against me. You’re trying to sabotage what little family I have left out of spite.
And you know that you’re full of shit. When I called you out on it you just said nothing, because there’s nothing for you to say.
You’re just being shitty because you can be. I hope you enjoy the rest of your shallow life surrounded by the people you’ve manipulated into liking you, because that’s all you’re ever going to get.
Love,
Your Little Shit | Hey Em,
I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown.
But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some.
And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words.
You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck.
After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride.
I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with.
So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may.
-M | 2017-11-05T21:31:44 | 2017-11-05T19:02:54 | 81 | 55 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Omar,
I know, I know. The last thing you wanted was your obituary to read "...an Oakland Man." I was telling some of my other friends that despite the fact we'd only been close friends for something like a couple years, you were someone that I would've wanted in the groom's party when I eventually got married. I don't share feelings easily, but with you it always felt okay.
I've moved to LA. I left Rdio that October. You'll be happy to know that Darrell and Raquel have bought my old place. They actually stay in the room you were in; they've converted the master bedroom to a gym.
Oh right! I finally went to Coachella. Your father had expressed to me, with tears in his eyes, how happy you seemed from all of the pictures you'd taken on your phone. I couldn't stop thinking of you and how you were always so easy with everyone. Totally understand what you loved about the music festival scene, now that I've gotten a few under my belt.
I try to live my life the way you did: always enjoying the moment, truly! These days I also chastise people for texting while driving. I have to confess to checking my phone at lights, sometimes. The traffic is just so bad here.
Oh! Also, I don't know if you know this happened, but your brother, or was it a cousin? He got super proselytizy at your memorial service, and left a small stack of pocket bibles for everyone. Your father kind of yelled at him to stop after a little while... it was kind of awkward.
I had to unfriend you on Facebook, sorry about that. Someone in your family had taken to using your phone, and hadn't deleted messenger, so it would show you as online, and after a while I just couldn't take it any more.
I think that's it... Every year, around that time in April, memories come up; you were such a brilliant light in our lives, and we miss you, and will continue to miss you.
Your friend always,
kevin | Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry. | 2017-11-05T22:20:06 | 2017-11-05T22:02:40 | 78 | 18 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore. | Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil | 2017-11-05T23:19:05 | 2017-11-05T22:17:00 | 58 | 16 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear friend,
Oh dear friend. If only I could just step back for just one day and talk to you about all that has occurred since we last saw each other. I’m so thankful that we were able to spend the time in life together that we did.
I miss that little sigh of excitement that would rise up from my chest and escape my mouth every time you’d call or anytime I’d see you walking toward me with that little mischievous grin on your face. You were the best part of my days and for that I am forever grateful to you. I want you to know that. I’m so grateful.
The hours we spent on the phone talking about everything and anything and nothing at all. Sometimes talking about nothing at all can mean the world to someone and make all the difference. I just want you to know it made all the difference to me.
I want you to know that you taught me to love in a time that I felt nothing was worth loving.
I want you to know that you taught me my worth in a time of my life that I felt like I had no value and like my life wasn’t worth living. You made breathing exciting. You made laughing and crying together something to live for. I want you to know I’m so thankful for that.
If ever a miracle brings you to this letter, I just want you to know you are forever imprinted on my heart and every once in awhile I feel your mischievous grin creep across my face.
Stay golden | Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO | 2017-11-05T23:44:56 | 2017-11-05T21:34:09 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321 | Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil | 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-05T22:17:00 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321 | Dear anyone,
I’ve had bad times the past couple years since their blood bath of a divorce. The way she handled everything. Destroyed everyone’s lives. Picked a new family with new children to cook them breakfast before school like I️ would get. I️ know I’m an adult, I️ know I️ can take care of myself. But I️ just feel... discarded, thrown away, me and dad. But we’ve become best friends now so that’s the only positive. I️ don’t miss you, I️ miss the old you before you’ve changed so much but stayed just the same, the way you just dropped into a new family and act the exact same way you would with us. I️ want to hate you, I️ need to hate you, but how can someone hate their mother who was their greatest role model and friend growing up? It just hurts, and makes me not miss anyone. Not feel anything. Not want to feel anything. Not want to try anymore. Everything is just everything and nothing is bliss
-Falling son
P.s sorry for bad grammar it’s late and these other comments hit me right in the feels.
Edit: I️ don’t know why there’s question marks in a box but there supposed to be “I’s” | 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-06T01:52:49 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321 | Hi,
You’ve been gone for about a month and it feels like the longest month of my life. It’s crazy that I spend so much time worrying about the possible bad outcomes of every situation but you truly never know what is going to happen. Six months ago I did not think we would still be together. Yet after everything that’s happened recently I’m still glad that we are.
I hope when you come back that we can keep growing together and experiencing life together. I want to know what it feels like to actually work on something, to not give up and in return, not be given up on.
I’m worrying even now about all of the possible outcomes, what you did while you were away. It’s so hard not to torture yourself with thoughts of the person you love with someone else. Especially being “young” as everyone says that we are. I really couldn’t care less though. I cannot picture my life without you in it. I can’t wait to see your smiling lovely face. I’ve missed you every second of every day.
When you find something special you do not let go.
PS:I hope you aren’t lying.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-05T23:59:24 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand | Hey kiddo. It's been too long since I've seen you. It's crushing to carry this weight some time. I'm really trying to show you that you can grow up and accomplish anything but it's manifesting in me leaving you behind. Your mom and I weren't right. She will forever hate me for it but I needed to do this for my happiness. You'll learn one day that everything comes at a price, and I've paid a huge one in losing you. There's this part of me that hopes one day you'll understand. There's also a part of me that knows you might grow up and feel abandoned and alone and lacking a male influence in your life, find the first shitty guy that comes along and fall in love with him because you never knew what love from a man is supposed to look like. I made so many huge mistakes. I just was trying to be more. I grew up with nothing and I was determined to make sure you never had to live like that. Your mom thinks I'm selfish and only care about myself. Somehow it always felt like I was doing it for you. So you could see. You can start with nothing and still achieve your dreams. You can be anything. I hope one day you see that I never stopped loving you. I just wasn't happy with your mom and someone else made me feel the way I was supposed to feel. I hope when you are given the choice, you choose happiness. I love you and I miss you. Please don't hate me. | 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-05T22:18:21 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand | I really miss the look on your face when I would pop up unannounced... You would walk into the room, eyes lit up and say "my Andy!" That always made my day. I loved feeling wanted, needed, loved. I'm starting to ache from the pain of no longer hearing your laugh. The way it would hit me full on in the chest and bounce around all of my insides until everything was right in the world. I miss the way your eyes glowed when I was happy and the way they would darken when I was putting on a false smile. I miss the way I could tell you anything and you never judged me, you shared a story of your own. I miss my best friend.... My heart, my rock, my everything. And though I have so many people around me that love me and care for me, try so hard to keep my head above water for me... I can't help but feel like there will always be a part of me that's missing. No one will ever bounce around my insides until they are a gushy mess of happiness the way that you did. They say the memories will make it easier in the long run... But sometimes... The memories crush me.
I just need you here with me. It kills me that you’re gone and I can’t do anything about it. I can never see you again and my soul aches with exhaustion. I don’t know how to live without you alive. | 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-06T00:06:31 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You gained the ability to stop time, so you use it right away... but the true ability was to only stop your own time, not others. 10 years of other's time later, the ability stops and you find yourself stuck in some kind of glass museum display, with a sign saying "The Immortal Man". | It starts with a breath. The barest sigh, quickening to a gasp, and the burning in your parched throat heightens it to a cough. You blink, eyes drier than they've ever been, stinging like sand under your eyelids. Still wheezing for breath, rubbing your eyes, you notice that your elbow hurts. All of you hurts, actually, but your elbow is *stiff*. Frowning in consternation, you reach out to massage the abused joint- and freeze, at the sea of eyes around you.
You blink hard, one more time. Trying to ignore the glaring lights and sharp, nearly clinically white walls, and look around you. Some part of you, wanting no share in whatever this trouble is, sighs that the faces are still there. Starting with awe up at- wait, what? *Up* at you? You weren't here before. Before? No, before you were outside, it was just barely too warm, humid, and the cicadas were clicking from the trees. You rounded that corner too fast, without looking, and- stopped. You wince at the sudden onset of memories, and, shaking your head, step straight into the glass.
Of course. Why wouldn't they imprison you? You're an anomaly, never before seen, stopped time, paralyzed yourself, required neither food nor drink. They had every reason for suspicion! The important thing is, you can't panic. You look around (calmly, you tell yourself. Just taking measure of the situation). Five glass walls, taller than your head by maybe six inches, and wider than you by maybe the same amount on each side. You stepped back, till your fingertips could brush the glass behind you, then crashed into the wall with all the force you could muster.
In your defense, you never were good with small spaces. | As if it wasn't enough, that damn leprechaun neglected to mention the fact that once time unfroze all my sphincters would relax, now I'm stuck inside a glass cage with my own filth up to my ankles, and the museum won't open for at least 8 more hours.
It's been 5 days now, I'm starting to think something bad is going on, there are no guards, no lights nothing, maybe the museum is being remodeled and they haven't reach this wing yet, God I'm so hungry.
Day 6 now, don't ask me how but I managed to tumble that damn cage freeing myself, after cleaning myself with my sweater I stumbled my way to the nearest drinking fountain, dry as a bone, at this rate I'll end up drinking the toilet bowls water.
Ok I'm starting to reaaally worry now, I'm not exactly proud of saying this but I had to resort to drink from the bowl but that's not the weird part, the water tastes like rotten eggs and salt, and it burned in the way down and God did it burn in the way out.
Ok ok ok relax, relax, Something fucked up just happened I was scavenging for food in the machines in the main entrance and I could hear two guys talking, they sounded like soldiers but I don't know how to say it, I guess less disciplined, but it was people so I rushed to call for help, then a thunderous growl, screams, gunfire and what I can only describe as bodies exploding. So I froze and I mean I literally froze I have no idea how long it was this time but at least I managed not to shit myself this time.
I found a somewhat safe way out from the museum to the nearby shops, I still have to cross a stretch of open ground but there are old trenches dug through out, I haven't seen or heard anyone in weeks, I'm so scared, I'm even considering on just freezing myself.
I jerry-rigged a clock using two jugs of water o e dripping into the next one so I can at least estimate how much time I freezing myself I've managed to at least control myself in intervals of 6 hours. I'm gonna start freeze leaping when I wake up. Wish me luck | 2017-11-22T17:02:55 | 2017-11-22T14:56:58 | 190 | 134 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | He has it, of course. Heck, I could probably say any random string of words and he'd have the game to match. Infinite monkeys and all that.
MY TURN.
I stare down at the cards in my hand, trying to pay attention despite the sweat soaking my back. They're the exact set we have at home, with little cartoon illustrations on the fronts. And they're worn--exceedingly worn. The cartoon dog on the two of spades has a scratch over its ear. The king of hearts, a bright pink heart with a crown and scepter, is bent in the upper left corner.
Holy sh--
Quickly, I peek across the table. A couple of the cards in his bony hands have bright purple marker scribbled across the backs. One is creased in the middle. Another has been repaired with Hello Kitty tape.
I clench my jaw shut before my mouth can drop open, trying to keep my breathing calm and even. Whether this is coincidence or luck or just the sheer inexplicable mechanisms of the universe, I don't care. My little girl never figured out how I was so good at the game. Hell if I'm going to give it up now, not when it matters more than anything else in the world.
When I get back I'm going to let her win the next hundred games in a row.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SIXES?
I always did have a good poker face.
"Go fish." | “You got it?”
The question takes me off guard, I’m still trying to process this new info. The tall man with the black hooded cloak at the end of my bed tilted his head slightly, the scythe that rested in the crook of his arm caught the moonlight ominously.
“Sorry, this outfit does normally startles people. How’s this?”
His form shimmered and before me stood an old gentleman with immaculately manicured whiskers and a twinkle in His eye. His tweed suit with matching trilby in stark contrast to His previous outfit. He adjusted his grip on His suspiciously scythe-like curved cane.
“Ahh, less doom and gloom now. Gotta keep up appearances though,” He indicated His cane, ”So how’s that choice of game coming along?”
The question was delivered with considerably less dread attached than the previous proposition. More like that of certain playful gods from the pantheons rather than Death come to claim you.
A small whoosh of breath escaped my lips. A decision has to be made. This body of mine was considerably less spry than my younger years, and nor was my mind functioning at full capacity. What game could I choose and what chance did I have, it seemed like anything was on the table. Did I even want to win? I had lived a full life, I tried to be kind, a good person, I saw the world, I loved my family. Did I need more of that if He has decided it was my time?
Resolved, I look up at Him. He smiled broadly, a smile of a man confident in himself “What shall it be, a game of strength, of skill, or perhaps of wits?”
“A game of chance perhaps,” I responded, his smile broadening to one of pure glee.
“Now this, should be interesting.” | 2018-03-07T06:37:49 | 2018-03-07T02:57:36 | 324 | 46 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | Jason was surprised, Death knows who he deals with.
"*Any* game?" he replied, with a hint of confidence in his voice.
"Any game you want. Remember, cheating is allow-"
Jason cut him off. "Do you want to get the setup or should I?"
"Setup? What do you mean? You haven't even told me a game yet." Death was confused. Of course he wasn't shaken, he had dealt with this many times, people overconfident in their poker skills.
"Very well, I shall summon a deck of cards an-"
"No, we're not playing cards Mr. Reaper. Hold on, give me a couple minutes and I'll set everything up, okay? Shouldn't be long."
Death conceded. "10 minutes. I've got some emails to catch up on." And like that, Death vanished.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Jason runs down a checklist of what he needs. "Two controllers, yeah, an old CRT, check. This seems in order."
"HEY DEATH." Jason yells, as a black smoke emits from the wall before him.
"Game's ready."
A familiar glow fills the room. Jason takes a seat on the metal folding chair he set up and picks up the purple controller.
*MARTH* blares out of the TV.
Death stops. A supernatural being is frozen by the sound of a simple character selection in a video game.
"You can pick Fox, he's pretty strong, Mr. Reaper. Can I pick the stage? I want to play on Final Destination." | My heart was pounding as I sat in the plane, staring at the map. There was just me and one other person on board. I was waiting for him to take his exit first, staring at that yellow dot. However we were almost halfway through the island, and he was still there. Panicking I decided if I jumped and went straight down I might stand a chance.
I jumped, looking straight now to the center of the island, the school I knew so well. So many good and bad times in this school with my friends. I angled for the high roof, landed, and then fell off the roof.
I looked up, and say the tip of his parachute disappear over the rooftop. He had the advantage. Panicking, I started to run. I dived into a first floor window and into a classroom. A frying pan was on the teachers desk. I picked it up sadly, knowing it would not save me.
I went to the door, checking left then right, on my turn back to the left to start my run, I heard it. A slight footstep from the stairs nearby. There it was, the bastard himself, in a yellow banana suit, shot gun pointed at my face...
BAM! It was over. I was dead. A feeling I had had many times before, but this time I knew it was forever.... Except not! DINK! The bullets hit my pan! Saving me from lethal damage. I was alive, but in my shock I did not move. It was too late, he was going to end me with the next shot.
And then it happened. He never pulled the trigger. I just stood there for a second, confused. But I realized I had to take this opportunity. I took my pan and bashed his head in. WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Brendan it's done, that ban wave we promised just rolled out. We even kicked them mid match."
"Good job intern Steve. That should keep the masses at bay for another day" | 2018-03-07T07:23:27 | 2018-03-07T07:11:15 | 88 | 17 |
[WP] Every year, a human is chosen to be God. The existence of said human is erased for that year, but will return once the shift finishes. At the end, they will be shown a summary of how they did as God. This year it's your turn. And you suck at it. | Getting called up to the bigs was huge. Staring down on all of creation, I couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated by it all. Even with access to the power of the cosmos I was getting seriously freaked out. Archangel Gabriel was standing off to the side droning on in a somewhat bored voice.
"Welcome to Heaven. You have been appointed to a year long shift as God. I will be your responsibility to administer the cosmos and all of creation. To the left is the prayer pipeline should you want a direct line to some of your constituents." He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, "Do try to keep things moving along. It's inconsiderate to mess things up for the next God."
"Uhhhh...I um yeah, I'll be sure that I don't," I gulp, "mess things up that is. I won't do it bad. Wrong."
Archangel Gabriel gives me a pointed stare, "Are you drunk?"
"No, Gabe, not at all. I mean, maybe a couple. But I, URRRRRP," I cough into my hand, "sorry, I get a bit gassy when I'm nervous."
Gabe walks away, muttering under his breath, it didn't sound very positive.
All right, not going to let Gabe get me down. I got work to do. All these guys that came before me really dropped the ball. Time for someone with some fresh ideas to get in here and put things together. First thing was first, peace in the middle east. Those guys deserved it. It'd been a rough century.
I begin to focus my will, staring at the middle east on the globe floating before me. Nothing is happening. "GABE! How do I peace stuff?"
He strolls back into view, an annoyed look on his face. "What?"
"I want to peace something. How do I do it?"
"You want a piece of what now? Just wish it and it will be yours," a glower, "though you should really be focusing on the needs of all creation."
"No, no, no, I don't want a piece of anything, I just want to make those dudes in the middle east stop blowing each other up all of the time." I pointe a finger in the general direction of what I sort of remembered to be the middle east from ninth grade geography.
"I see. What kind of peace do you want?"
"I just want everyone to have everything they want so there won't be any more problems."
Gabe blinks once, "Are you sure?"
I nod definitely. "Yeah, positive."
"It is done," Gabe said.
"Are they all happy?"
"Well, it is difficult to say, they are all dead."
"WHAT? What do you mean?"
"A good chunk of both sides have been so harmed by the history of war that they wished the other side dead. So, even though you have resolved the territorial dispute, they middle east is now empty." Gabe points to the corner, "Well there are like three people out in the desert there. No one really knew about them. I guess they can just own it all."
I exhale a deep breath, "Can I get a do\-over?"
Gabe is running his hand through his hair, his wings flapping a bit, "You want to resurrect them all? Anoint the entire middle east as your progeny?"
"No, I just want to, like, reverse the decision."
"Go back in time you mean."
"Yeah, that," I replied.
"It is done."
"Awesome, so they're all alive and well now?"
"Yes, but you have destroyed the concept of time. Things no longer proceed from one thing to the next, they jump back and forward at will. The fabric of existence is beginning to pull apart without time as a governing principle."
"Wait, what? What do you mean?"
"Exactly as I have said. You have reversed the flow of time. By doing so you have allowed time to flow forward and backwards. You have destroyed pretty much the one immutable law of the universe on your first decision on your first day." Gabe shook his head. "It's gotta be some kind of record."
"Well, now do I do?"
"We have an existence save file that we backup the first day for any God. Normally it doesn't get this bad." Gabe walks away, muttering again, "Destroyed time in under ten minutes. Un\-fucking\-believable."
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | At the end of my term, I sat down with the archangel Gabriel for my performance review. And he did not seem overly pleased.
If you were mortal and attempted to gaze upon Gabriel's face, you would see only an infinite well of light, so bright it seems to punish your eyes for daring to look. But I was not mortal--at least, for six more hours, I was not. And so to me Gabriel looked as he really did: pale, tired-eyed, badly in need of a shave.
"Well," he said, crisply, before I even quite sat down, "I hope you've enjoyed your term as God, because your followers certainly haven't."
I winced. A year ago today, I had disappeared off our mortal earth and looked around to find myself in this strange underside, the world beyond our world. Gabriel had been the first to greet me. He had sighed at my panic and laid out the rules: I was only one in a line of tens of thousands of humans who had been plucked off the world to play God for a year.
"But why?" I had argued, at the time.
"That's just the way we do things." The archangel had seemed so irritated, as if I was a petulant child arguing over dessert. "You could say *hey, thanks for omnipotence, buddy*."
I didn't get the point of it all then, and I didn't get it now that my year was up.
Gabriel raised his brows and said, "You know you have to *return* to this earth you've been shepherding."
I fumbled my hands between my knees. "I am aware of that, yes."
"And you are aware that five of your seven major continents are plunged into outright anarchy and warfare." Gabriel's eyes were sharp and burning as the sword that sat sheathed eternally at his side. "You have let chaos consume entire cities and nations. You're practically *encouraging* them to annihilate each other."
My eyes looked everywhere and away. We were in Gabriel's private office, a clear box floating in the eternal sky beyond our universe. His desk was ornate, gilt, and just as extravagant as the pair of chairs sitting on either side of it.
It is difficult to describe my exact relationship with space and time in that moment. But imagine our planet is a marble sitting in a box in a room in some stranger's grand home. That box is our universe, and that home is the land of the dead, where the gods and past souls wait for us to notice them.
I have lived in that home an entire year and wandered the halls of the spirits. I have seen the underbelly of the sky and all our world's greatest secrets; I have let stars pour through my fingers like water. And all the while my real home sat at the bottom of the box waiting for me, inevitable as death itself.
Gabriel spoke, snapping me back to attention: "You have quite literally decimated this planet's human population. You have let your own people fall to ruin. You have let tragedy after tragedy befall them and robbed them of civilization as they have always known it."
"Yes," I said. "I have."
"Why would you do that to your own kind? What sort of life do you think is waiting for you down there?"
*A short one, I hope*. But I didn't say that. Instead, I could offer only, "It's not about my life. Or anyone else's life."
"Not even your family and friends?"
"Oh." My laugh rang hollow and tired. "They're dead." I could list the ways, if he asked me. Every earthquake and fire and robbery and random act of singularly fucking human brutality. "I never played favorites."
"Why did you do it?"
I just shrugged. "It was never about us. People. It was about every other living thing on that earth, and what needed to happen to save it all." I bit my fingernail, hard. "So I did what had to be done."
Gabriel stared at me hard for a few long seconds, searching my eyes for something. I nail my stare to the abyss of night spreading below us. The long way back to the physical world.
The angel stood up and stuck out his hand to me. "Congratulations," he said. "You got the job."
For a long moment, I blinked back to him before nervously accepting the handshake. "I'm... sorry?"
"Do you think we keep trying out a new God every year because it's *fun?* Finding the right candidate with the right priorities is nearly impossible. Can't exactly put out an advert for this sort of thing; anyone who would volunteer would have to be goddamn meglomaniac. And ever since the last God we hired got offed--"
"That can happen?"
"Well, if you're not careful," Gabriel returned, like it was obvious. "But I have faith in you. All of us do." He shook my hand, warmly. "Welcome to the team, boss." | 2018-05-05T08:49:09 | 2018-05-05T08:29:57 | 194 | 38 |
[WP] You are the world's greatest detective. With your near superhuman intellect, you have never failed to solve a case before. But one day, you finally meet your match: a criminal so unbelievably stupid that you cannot possibly comprehend and predict what he's going to do next. | It was maddening. *Infuriating.* How could you possibly see that coming? Weeks of setting an elaborate trap, involving plotting every escape route down to the weak bricks in the fucking wall, men hidden in every crack, crevice and cavity you could find. It was the perfect setup. Have him come in for the great diamond, exactly 03:16 *sharp*, wait for him to take it, have wherever he came from blocked off, and have men surround him from every angle. It was the stuff detective movie dreams were made of, what children playing cops and robbers with their legos imagine they're going to foil with their scheming intellect, but *nooooo!*
This, this... ***buffoon*** walks straight through the front fucking door *at* ***fucking midnight***, slaps the glass cover away like my precious little kitten does when her favourite toy is dangled above her, grabs the diamond with his disgusting sausage fingers, and fucks off. All in the span of five fucking minutes. There are no words to describe how utterly livid I am in this moment. But it's fine. Oh, it's fine. It's fine, it's fine.
*It's not fine at all!* I can't predict this fool! He has no motivations, no reason, no rhyme! I'd prefer tracking a deranged serial killer obsessed with the number four that leaves utterly gruesome crime scenes behind, for God's sake! Last week, this halfwit was robbing a McDonald's, the week before that he was stealing glue sticks from a primary school, and now he's only gone and robbed a diamond worth a thousand times more than the McDonald's he stole from!
I slammed my diary into the desk, pen whirling away into some distant corner. I'd get it later. Standing up quickly and turning on my heel, I grit my teeth and stormed out the door, turning too fast to greet the dull, grey sky out the adjacent window with my utterly sour expression as I strode down the corridor, barely paying attention to the dull, generic surroundings. Staring down the mugshot of the ugly toupee'd mug, hatred threatening to boil over more and more every millisecond longer that I spent staring at his inattentive face. I snarled through my clenched teeth, crumpling the photo in my hands. I have single-handedly found out more serial killers than I could count, global thieves that had stolen millions in goods, terrorists living in a hole in a field, for God's sake. This *uneducated muppet* will not evade me again. | “Why would you do this,” I shouted, “All this could bring is the death of us all!” It seemed ridiculous! Was he actually intending to make it rain cats and dogs? “You see,” he began, “ my daddy never bought me a puppy. I want a puppy!!! I want a fluffy puppy, and the fluffiest puppy is a husky! And what is fluffier than a fluffy husky? A wolf puppy! So I made it rain wolves.”
What kind of lunatic would do such a thing, I though. My mind raced with possible solutions. Perhaps he was disturbed as a child, causing wolves to be symbolic to him in some way. This, however, would not match what he said next.
“I watch the TV and see big kitties licking zoo people. What’s so special about the zoo man that I can get a big kitty too? So I begged and pled but my mommy said no. So I made it rain tigers too!”
It soon dawned on me that I was not dealing with your ordinary criminal. Quite clearly, this was a mastermind! He thinks out of the box and must be intentionally throwing me off! Well, that and he has literally thrown me off his weather platform.
“Where did you go? I can’t see you thinky-man,” He screamed above me. Crawling around the ledge, I managed to scoot around behind him. Suddenly, he began pounding the grill I was so desperately clutching. “ Come back! Come back! Come back,” he screeched, tears rushing down his cheeks, “I wanted to play some more! Play! Play! Play!” The tips of my fingers were aching due to the grating metal platform. One cut, with blood beginning to trickle. I decided to spring up, unable to endure this torture anymore.
“Behind you, oaf!” I cried, as I leapt towards his back. With my left leg extend I proceeded to charge. As I await impact, he turns to me. His eyes, deep with sorrow and full of water, cause me to freeze in my tracks. Had he not realized the cause of his actions? Was I fighting an innocent man? I reflect on the occurrences, once again rethinking my foe. Letting out a sigh, I reach for his shoulder.
“Come on son, I’ve got something to show you.” His eyes flickered with joy, and he willingly accompanied me. On the way down I reach for the switch labeled “OFF”, written in crayon. The sky clears and the animals dissipate into water vapor.
We leave the weather platform and reach a small shop with a beat up sign. “Kelly’s animal shelter? What is that,” he asked. “You’ll see,” I replied, “ Come on, you’ll like it!” We enter the building and Kelly greets me from behind the counter. “Good afternoon to you as well, miss Blanchet! I think I found that employee you were looking for.” | 2018-06-04T05:08:39 | 2018-06-04T04:31:15 | 69 | 18 |
[WP] You wished to be rich. And your wish was granted. You were now born into a rich family... But more different than yours. A different mother, father, siblings, cousins, friends, a job, etc. And you still remember your last life. Today, you saw your original mother, begging on the streets... | The old lady sat there,
playing a little song.
A few people dropped coins,
But most moved along.
 
A memory crept up slowly,
from a corner in my mind.
I had seen this face before,
the wrinkles, the eyes so kind.
 
And it all came back to me,
the poverty and the struggle.
To pay rent or eat food,
the bills we had to juggle.
 
And so I sat next to her,
and I began to cry.
I am so sorry that I left,
without even a goodbye.
 
She looks at me blankly,
says whatever do you mean.
I don't have a son, well,
had one but he died as a teen.
 
I cried out in disbelief,
it was I and I abandoned you.
Took my chance at riches,
and an actual home to come to.
 
She looks at me with kindness,
softly tells me not to be sad.
She remembers now, but its the past,
and she really isn't mad.
 
I ask her to come live with me,
at my massive palace.
I promise her a better life,
I say this with no malice.
 
She turns down my offer,
with a sad and little smile.
I have a family and a life already,
but come and see us, once in a while.
 
I break down crying,
right there on the sidewalk.
How could I do this to them,
I can barely talk.
 
To my surprise, she consoles me,
tells me she doesn't blame.
I was a struggling young kid,
She might have done the same.
 
I take out my wallet and offer,
money, as much as she needs.
I have more than enough now,
to make sure she succeeds.
 
She smiles again, surprisingly.
says one thing she has learned.
Wouldn't even wish upon an enemy,
money they haven't earned.
 
Money can't buy happiness,
money can't buy you love.
Money can't buy you passage,
to the heavenly abode above.
 
She tells me I'll be welcome back,
her eyes bright and green.
And walks away from me silently,
richer than I have ever been. | I don't remember a time when this wasn't my wish. I didn't fit. I was the weird one, the weak one, the soft one, the lowest face on the family totem pole. When something went wrong, it was generally my fault. *"Why did they treat me differently?"* I asked myself this question so continuously that it one day quit being a question. It was just a manta, continually mumbled in the white noise of my subconscious. *"Different--They--Me--Why?"* It became just the endless sound of the endless ocean, breaking against my soul.
Other people had real families. Brothers that looked out for them, sisters that laughed with them, parents that were interested in their lives. They were rich in everything that mattered. I was a beggar in rags, watching furtively from the outside.
And yet rags were all I had, so I held onto them to keep me warm. I shivered and moved cautiously to conserve my scant body heat.
Years passed. A child became an adult. And an inner transformation took place. And slowly, cautiously at first, but then recklessly, hectically, I traded in my rags for real clothes-new ones, clean ones- some gifts from kind passersby, other I bought with my own scrapped together pennies. I burned the old rags and found they gave off far more heat that way than they ever had when I huddled inside them.
And then one day I looked around and saw that I had become rich. I had brothers who cared about me, I had sisters I could trust. Family I had *chosen*, and who had chosen me as well. I was wanted. Loved. Rich.
The ancient background hum of broken and unanswerable questions cleared away from my mind, like morning mist at sunrise. I stepped out of my home, feet on the pavement, eyes on the horizon, greeting each new day with eagerness.
Today I passed another beggar on the street. Rags like I had once hidden in. Face turned down into her beggar's bowl, not even noticing the foot traffic. I gave her what I had, a few dollars, and a smile. She looked up at me then and I recognized her. I understood her through and through. I don't know if she recognized me, at least not in the same way I recognized her. But she seemed grateful. And while we can find new family, we are only ever given one birth mother, and we have to make the best of what who we get.
We had lunch together. She drank warm soup and ate half a sandwich, while I watched. We talked about little things. It was what we had in common. As delicately as I could, I offered to take her shopping, but no, she prefered her rags. Then it was time to go. I will change my route after today, to walk past that street corner more often. | 2018-07-07T08:04:43 | 2018-07-07T07:33:12 | 191 | 17 |
[WP] You wake up in the 1400's dark ages, with nothing but the clothes on your back and your knowledge. The only way you get back to the present, is by surviving until your time period. You dont age until you reach the moment you were sent back. | George lay down in his soft bed and closed his eyes. After a few minutes of twisting and turning, he fell asleep.
Suddenly, as soon as he went into his slumber, he woke up. He was laying on his back, looking up at the treetops. At first he thought he was dreaming, but then realized he wouldn’t know that he was dreaming.
George felt a searing pain on his wrist and looked down to it, realizing it was words.
*Year: 1400*
*618 Years, 3 months, 1 week, 5 days, 2 hours, 4 minutes, 9 seconds remaining*
“What?” George mumbled, his brain not fully comprehending the situation.
George sat up, upsetting the fallen leaves of the forest floor. He got to his feet and scanned his surroundings. It was woods for as far as the eyes could, see besides a small stream tricking through the the scenery.
“Hello?”
George was met with only his echo.
“Hellooo?”
The squawk of a distant bird answered his call.
George followed the stream, figuring water meant civilization. Regularly he called out, invariably met by his own echo. He drank from the stream and tried to ignore his growing hunger.
The hours went by, and the stream grew larger. Eventually, as the darkness approached, it spilled into the Ohio river, although George didn’t know its name. As the sun set, casting a red light on the water, George saw a lone canoe on the waves.
“Hey! Over here! Hey!”
The canoe’s owner looked over at him, a mix of surprise and confusion on his face. He began paddling towards George.
The owner, a young man, walked towards him. “Hatito,” he said, putting his flat hand in the air.
“Uh, hello?” George mimicked his hand expression.
The man began to spout out a sentence of seemingly gibberish words.
“Uh, yeah. Where am I?”
More gibberish from the growingly confused man.
“What?”
The man gestured to his canoe, asking George to follow him.
“I guess.”
George stepped into the canoe, behind the man, and tried to keep his balance. As he looked at the man’s back, he took in his appearance.
The man had a headband with a single turkey feather protruding out of the front. The color of his shirt was decorated with native-American like designs.
After a few minutes, the man and George arrived at a small village of thatch homes. In the center was a campfire with strangely dressed people dancing around it. It looked like the illustrations of old Native American villages in his high school history books.
They stepped out, and the man greeted an older person with the same “hatito” and hand expression. The man pointed to George, more gibberish.
The man had a young woman dressed in feathers and fur lead him into a small thatch building. She provided him with a blanket and a clay cup of strange tea, and left quickly.
As he took a sip of his beverage, the realization hit George. He was in North America in the 1400s.
Before he could scream he fell asleep.
——————————————————
Over the next 60 years, George realized he couldn’t age. He learnt the language and culture of the natives, becoming a sort of a legend. He watched many tribe members die, villages be burnt to the ground and rebuilt, even had a wife and kids. He would constantly warn them of an invading, evil force coming in 1492, coining his name as “The Prophet”.
In 1489 The Prophet and his 1000 army of followers marched through North America on a southern bound course, starting a continent-wide religion. He and his best warriors, most collected along the way, departed from the tip of Florida on 10-people boats. They landed in Cuba on 1491.
They set up a village a few meters away from where the invaders would land a few months later. Massive catapults were constructed on the shore, aimed for the horizon.
When a great foreign ship appeared on the waters, they fired their arrows and their catapults. The boat sank next to the shore, allowing the warriors to raid it. The invaders will killed, their guns stolen from their bodies, the horses were stolen and any valuables were hauled off the ship. They were taken back to the mainland. Horses spread across the Americas, along with the idea of guns. However, so did the various invading diseases. Although George had vaccinations, the natives didn’t. The diseases swept across America, killing millions. Thankfully this would make them immune to the diseases that would come one day in the future.
George started a country in the Ohio river valley, slowly spreading across North America. “Prophitisim” became a world religion.
In 1701, they departed on their mighty ship towards Europe. Their army landed in Portugal and quickly began killing the native population.
George looked back at his life, and thought of the few hundred years to come. As his armies spread across Eurasia, he thought about what a strange life it’s been.
**This is what happens when I’m bored at 11:00. Thanks to anyone who actually read it.**
**Edit: Holy shit, thank you guys! I might do a part two, don’t know where to post it though. This is my first writing prompt so, wow, it’s been an honor.**
**edit 2: writing part two now, might take a few hours**
**edit 3: the [second part ](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/986ffe/comment/e4etkyn?st=JKZJD8D1&sh=d709484c) is in the replies!**
~~**edit 4: The official map of george's Europe is out! (https://imgur.com/gallery/3P9h1Si)**~~
**Here's a better map! (https://imgur.com/gallery/IC9IjYf)
**Edit: I made a subreddit r/dr_johns_stories** if i make a part 3 it will be posted there. | At first I thought I had woken up in a weird dream. Who wouldn't think they had woken up in a weird dream?
But this... place smelled utterly foreign to me and you don't smell in dreams anyways. My head aches horribly, heads don't ache in dreams. And the accents! Wow, but at least it's English. Those quickly dispelled the idea that maybe I just was having a very vivid dream inspired by being at the Great Western War. As I wandered the town it became very clear that no, I was not in a dream or at some form of a reenactment event.
So many weird looks. No one was shouting or running away from me, so I must be not sticking out like a total sore thumb.
Oh right, I last remember being at GWW 2018. I'm wearing my garb. It's a 1480's Italian Gamurra and Giornea. Maybe my clothes aren't too far off from the time period. The women here... their outer kirtles are rather sleek with waist seams, but I don't see any pleats.
Is it possible? English speaking, front lacing, minimal ornamentation, snug gowns with waist seams? Sweeeet, it looks like it's somewhere between 1470s and 1490s England. I've probably missed the Black Death!
What am I doing here though? How did I get here? This has to be a dream right? But it's not... I can smell the town (ick) and feel walls of these small thatch houses.
Where is everyone I know? My boyfriend? My cat? What about the rest of my family? Are they okay? Do they even exist? What about me? Do I exist?
Wait, some lady is walking over here. What is she saying? Damn it, over 500 years of language shifting sure does make it hard to understand her. Wait, she's asking me if I'm okay? Maybe... Maybe I can convince her I'm an Italian traveler who has gotten lost! She could help!
Yes, yes, she seems to be buying it! She's offered her hospitality. Maybe I've managed to make a friend!
\_\_\_1 week later\_\_\_
It appears I did indeed land in England in 1483! Well Shit, the War of the Roses is going still going on. My hostess and her family are moderately well off and she's happy to keep helping me figure out what happened. Though, as far as she knows I'm from Italy and know my name, but I have no memories of who my family are or how I ended up alone on the outskirts of Coventry.
While I learned how to use a drop spindle back in 2018 (and was pretty good at it) I'm a novice compared to my hostess and her daughter. And my lack of knowledge concerning the Catholic faith is causing some road blocks... but they seem to be at least willing to believe it's all related to the head injury. At least they don't think I'm a witch! I'm contributing how I can to the household, as I don't want my hosts to resent my presence.
They were kind enough to alter a gown and kirtle to fit me. So now I have one warmer outfit in addition to my linen gamurra, camicia, and giornea.
\_\_\_1 year later\_\_\_
I've managed to learn how to fake being Catholic. I've gotten way better at spinning. And my hosts have basically adopted me. To the point where they are actively looking to find a husband for me. I'm not a total idiot, they are looking to forge ties with other important families in the area, but they are also trying to make sure I'll like my future husband. I'm not sure I'll have much choice but accept a marriage. Women don't have many rights here. As cliché and stupid as it may sound, a good marriage might be my only chance at having a decent life in this time.
\_\_5 years later\_\_
Henry Tudor, King Henry VII is now on the throne. I wonder what he's like. I've read what he's like from history book in the future, and heard the gossip on the streets. My hosts were successful in finding me a decent marriage. I've now had 2 children. How is that going to work? Am I changing the course of history by having these children? Were these children always meant to be? Will they inexplicably time travel as well?
I've learned how to spin and weave and take care of all household tasks nearly as well as a native 1489 woman. No one would look at me now and think I'm out of place. But these memories of the future... they keep me from feeling fully present. To never see my loved ones again, every day hurts.
\_\_\_10 years later\_\_\_
I've now been here for 16 years and it is 1499. The renaissance has started in Italy. I wonder if I'll live long enough to see it. My second child died before she reached her 10th birthday. My fourth died shortly after birth. It really brought home how easy it is for people to die in this time. Infections, illness, I'm just lucky I have not succumbed to any.
\_\_\_Another 10 years\_\_\_
It is May of 1509. King Henry VIII has started his reign! Oh boy are these people going to have an interesting life with him as a monarch. At this point I have been here for 26 years. About 5 years ago I realized I had not aged a day since I got here. That is a problem.
People now believe in witches and will kill them. I cannot be seen as a witch. If I am not aging, perhaps I'll live long enough to get into the renaissance and see some amazing things happen. But I could not do it in Coventry. I spent a couple years quietly learning to read and write in Italian, Latin, and Spanish. I squirreled away quite a bit of money, and managed to leave before anyone realized I had gone. It hurt, and still hurts to have left my children. But with accusations of witchcraft you can be guilty by association, those accusations would have happened eventually. Anyways, they are mostly grown, with my eldest already married. They will be okay.
I'm headed to Italy. | 2018-08-17T18:20:44 | 2018-08-17T17:59:28 | 922 | 99 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | Life had a unifying feature.
It didn't matter if your species evolved in the oceans of a moon on a gas giant, or in the crevices of a planet tidal-locked with its star, it will always have one critical trait:
Fear.
Fear is what keeps species in check, what ensures that they don't kill themselves in foolish endeavors. Fear is the power that allows a civilization to grow and become stronger; fear of one's neighbor, fear of hunger, fear of poverty, fear of sickness, fear of death. Fear ensures that nuclear weapons aren't used to bring about their own apocalypse, that antimatter reactors have proper safeguards and never too much fuel, that interstellar travel is strictly regulated and properly defended.
And it is fear that we have conquered. Our species, the self-proclaimed Forebearers, were the first and most magnificent of races. When we stretched our hands out to the cosmos, we found a fledgling universe, filled with potential, yet without any to protect them. As we marched forward, we claimed civilization after civilization under our banner, showing them the dark futures that existed, and the safety of life within our control. As our technology advanced, those civilizations under us were provided greater shelter and safety and comfort, and reminded how steep the fall from our graces was.
Our control of fear allowed us to expand to over a quarter of the galactic arm. We had mastered it, mastered the ability to instill fear and terror and show species the better way. Our way.
Until we met them. Humanity, they called themselves. One of millions of species on their planet, they were the sole species that could begin to understand the universal truths. They'd expanded to their moon and their nearby planets, inhospitable as they were. Still primitive by all accounts, they held promise to become the next in line to join our ranks.
Except they didn't.
Maybe we'd foolishly relied on fear for so long that we'd never considered other options, but when the vast might of our civilization was thrown on display, when the veil of the future was ripped back and exposed for all to see, when our arcane technology that can split reality and reshape it at will was brought forth, when the sheer terror of how tiny they were compared to the great and grand Forebearers gripped them thoroughly... they simply acknowledged us. When given the option to join us or be left to drift for all eternity, they chose to drift. When told they would receive no help from us and would end up as so many other species we'd failed to reach before they'd rendered themselves extinct, they had ready their reply.
And such a simple reply it was: "When we were young, we looked to the heavens for the potential of our species. When we grew older, we found we could reach out to test ourselves. And when we took our first steps on new worlds, our elation was palpable. Now that we have met you, we have seen all that we can become, but we also see that, under your reign, we will not reach the heights we know we can. We have hope that we will be able to come to you again, as equals, in the future, and beg you to anticipate this joyous occasion."
Fear united our grand vision. We had conquered fear, but still, it controlled us.
Fear does not hold humanity.
And that is unacceptable. | "How many have we lost so far?" Growled General Barkler, as he stared at the great blue orb sitting in space. He had been ordered to fetch this world and its spoils, but it was not coming easily. It may as well be inside the neighbor's fence.
"The tally is in the tens of millions, sir. But it's worse than that." The first officer's frowning face of fur was furrowed in a furious fit of frustration. "They've actually started *breeding* the ones they've captured. Losses are expected to continue to grow exponentially."
"All right. Patch me through to home command so I can beg for permission to leave."
The holographic screen blinked up in the middle of the room. The three faces of the Poodle Presidency Pact displaying in a beautiful array of grays. Princess Primbottom addressed her military commander.
"General! We were getting worried, we haven't received any reports. Have you enslaved the humans yet?"
Barkler was not expecting to feel quite so ashamed. He actually started *whining*. How undignfied! In front of his officers, the crew, and the PPP! He curled his tail between his legs and could not have looked more pitiful.
"I take it things have not gone well." Prince Puffyface noted. "Please, general, give us the report. Sit. Speak."
Barkler placed his rear end on the floor, lifted his head as high as his little legs would allow, took a deep breath, and gave a bark to regain his composure.
"Pristine Personelle of the Poodle Presidency Pact, here is my report."
"On starship date 2078 the Rover Squadron arrived to earth. We descended with our most elite troops as our frontal invasion force. Their mission was just as it was on all other planets, find the inhabitants, enter their homes, demand food and constant playtimes, jump on their furniture, shed everywhere possible, bark at strangers, and excrete waste in their yards.
As expected, we were met with little resistance. What was unexpected was that these aliens... these Hyew-mans... actually enjoyed it! They happily take them in, walk them every day, throw balls or sticks for hours in games of fetch, even training them to do things we previously had thought too cruel! Even our oldest veterans have returned with some new tricks!
We've jumped on them and all their friends, barked incessantly, slobbered all over their faces, and in return they give them fancy collars and then pick up any messes produced. Even when we destroy their furniture or eat their foot coverings they just continue to reciprocate some kind of strange emotion... love they call it!
It has gotten bad enough that our troops are refusing to come back. They willingly submit themselves to these aliens, calling them their new masters. I've lost more men than I can count. I'll have the battle statist send you a complete report of the numbers."
There was silence over the call. The general began to wonder if they were still connected, or if his report was too long. No, they were still moving. They are discussing with their telepathic poodle link. Perhaps it would be best to play dead.
President Paddlepants broke the silence. "General Barkler, you have our permission to leave. This is a lost cause."
Barkley buried his face in his paws and began to whine again.
The president continued. "It's not your fault, general. You did as protocol dictated. Return home and prepare for your next assignment. Don't worry. You are a good boy."
Barkler barked in acknowledgement, and tapped the button to close communication. "All right men, let's go home. I need to go see my puppers!" | 2019-06-11T10:06:47 | 2019-06-11T09:05:18 | 363 | 216 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | It isn't mind reading. We don't know what an individual is thinking or even feeling. It's more like a mirror showing the population the depths of their, well in this case, humanity.
Preparations began as usual with the media team replicating the local communication techniques and enhancing. All sentient life forms are ignorant of their potential for manipulation, always assuming they are better than the generations passed and wiser through technology. Advancements in civilisation help them forget where they have come from. The media team will remind them. Media will remind them of the depravity if their kind. Media will remind them how it is it feel by showing them the worst they have to offer.
The execution team were initially concerned due to the mass gatherings with no apparent focus, as if they were awaiting our arrival. A lack of celebration among them was, perhaps, apt due to what was about to commence. Across the continent holograms appeared in front of the people, showing them all at their worst. Almost real replicants of their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers killing in the worst ways and on the grandest scale. Relentless destruction only matched by the grief and despair it caused. Yet they just stood and watched. Where every planet beforehand had turned and run, begging for a blessed relief, the humans held their ground.
At each gathering a single volunteer stepped forward, without request, carrying nothing but a red a green floral decoration with them. Only a single sentence was muttered, inaudible to anyone but themselves but echoed across countries.
"Lest we forget." | It was, entertaining, to say the least.
The big "Fuck" as we here called it was here for 3 months. 92 days exactly. The sky twisted, clouds cried and mountains burned as it crashed into our now desolate orbit. Like many, I wanted to see what the "Fuck" was. When it arrived, the beast had latched onto the moon. It wasn't too big either, however, it occasionally sent a large tentacle to earth.
We wanted to deal with that tentacle of course, but any large scale attacks would most likely eliminate our moon. Humanity decided to launch a battle of attrition against the beast. We citizens, well we had other plans. "Fuck" became a part of many Lovecraft fans hobbies. Chronicling it, theorizing about it, obsessing over it.
"Fuck" also arguably helped humanity. The powerful energy that had razed our forests had made planting initiatives. We planted trees and created jobs studying it and destroying its tentacles. I even got hired studying it. Wars stopped because we had to deal with "Fuck". All religions were now called bogus, and any religious wars stopped. Only bad thing out of this was no confirmed afterlife. Hell, even it's tentacles were helpful, being high in vitamin D and tasting vaguely like chicken.
After 3 months (91 days to be exact), we knew "Fuck" clearly had an agenda. He was here to destroy us. He was doing *such* a great job too. But then he realized what he did. On the day next day he left, he almost looked completed. Like something was going to happen after he left. Oh well, it doesn't matter to me. It's been 3 days since he left. Apparently, there's a war going on about why "Fuck" left. I wonder what I'll have for dinner tonight? I dunno, I'm all out of tentacle. | 2019-06-11T10:57:39 | 2019-06-11T08:38:53 | 116 | 38 |
[WP] You are the King's must trusted advisor. Your advice has saved the kingdom from devastation many times. There's just one problem: You're actually trying to sabotage the King with the worst advice you can think of, but it always somehow works out. | Dear Diary,
I hate this new guy we took on as king. Today I told him to charge the people double gold coins for our crops because we need to do some renos on the castle wall and that's not cheap. He agreed. What an idiot. They'll hang him for this for sure.
Dear Diary,
. . . Apparently, our crops are now considered *bougie* and we are making an insane profit just from selling wheat and corn off the king's land. I have been promoted. Fuck me.
Dear Diary,
I advised our king to pour the hot tar over our exterior castle wall since we are not currently at war and do not need it. He agreed. What a waste of resources and man power. Moron. Can't wait for him to be superseded.
Dear Diary,
The tar has strengthened our walls and rendered them impassable. We are being hailed as the strongest fortress in the lands and our king, a genius leader. He gave me a bonus. You've got to be kidding me.
Dear Diary,
There's a small kingdom next to ours that poses no threat and we've been at peace for decades. Plus our people and theirs get along. I suggested we attack. The king agreed. This will bite him in the ass for sure. I swear, he's got cheese for brains.
Dear Diary,
Unaware to us, the kingdom next door was being overrun by unruly Vikings who were making the people there work for them and their kind. When we attacked, our royal solider battalion eliminated all high ranking Vikings and we liberated the people from five years of oppression. I am now the most trusted and respected adviser in our history. Perfect.
Dear Diary,
Since my last entry, everyone and anyone has been coming to me for advice. I have been running things around here for the last 4 moons while the king has been taking advantage of his new celebrity status. He has been out every night sleeping with random concubines, going through our historic barely and ale reserve (which I don't even know how he found since it's in barrels in the deep cellars that were built before he was even born) and then he went on to disturb our live stock. 'Cow tipping' is what he called it. This can't last. Eventually the people will see him as the fraud that he is.
Dear Diary,
The rulers of distant nations have heard of our king and his 'cow tipping' ways. They think he's hilarious. They believe him to be a god among men. Thanks to him and my advice, we have now created a peace through-out the lands and all the people have never been so happy and fulfilled. I fucking hate this guy.
Dear Diary,
Our king has been promoted to emperor of many lands. I, in turn, have been promoted to king. This is horseshit. | Dear VILE diary,
It is me again Kraxis the malevolent. I have fooled the stupid king, Proolt the seventeenth, into thinking my name is Sixark the BEnevolent. I have become his most trusted of advisors through a series of backfiring attempts at his crown. I sha’n’t get into detail but I will say it involved a lot of angry geese that I stole from a deranged little boy who said he had magic beans. Turns out the geese could lay gold. but I have plan to rid of the king that will surely work. I asked my supplier of evil necessities to get me the biggest wolf in the tundra of north. I can already feel the kings blood on the floor now.
THE WEEK AFTER
THEY WERE MALAMUTE PUPS. GOD DAMMIT. They are adorable but still. And to make matters worse in my favor, they arrived on his daughter’s birthday. He thought I had given a gift to her and the royal family. The praise hasn’t stopped. But now I have another way to destroy them. They invited to have our portrait done, and I am going to be choosing the painter. I have already seen the skills of our court painters and there is one particular moron I have in mind.
ANOTHER WEEK PASSES
SURREALISM. The portrait was horrid and the king complimented this moron’s skills. I couldn’t tell the difference between garbage and surrealism. And topping this painter’s cake, he is a prince. The king was so “moved” by his art that the painter is to wed the princess. All of my plans have not worked so far but that was because I wasn’t putting my magic to good use. I have decided to give the dearly beloveds “special” rings. The painter prince will get a ring talent drain. He will be stripped of his so called skills. The princess will be given a ring of decay. She will become uglier and uglier until she is nothing but a pile of bubbling ooze and toads.
A MONTH GOES BY
THEY WERE SWITCHED! The prince had decided his little brother would be the ring bearer. The little runt got the rings switched. The rings were supposed to work on those specific genders but with them being switched, the effects were reversed. The prince became beautiful and the princess is now really good at the piano. MORE PRAISE ENSUED. SCREW IT! I’ll just use the direct approach. In front of everyone tomorrow I am going to stab the king with his own dagger. AH HA HA HA HA!
FOUR DAYS GO BY
A GARBAGE KNIFE. The king was carrying a fake knife. He was given by a witch who said it was amazing and would destroy anyone it hit with a single blow. The witch LIED. I took his knife from his pocket and hit his armor hoping for it to break. But the goddamn knife broke instead. I was congratulated on saving the king from an untimely demise. I fear my luck will be like this forever and I may as well just work as his trustworthy advisor. No more schemes but I will be trying every single direct approach I can until I can steal his crown, his throne, and his kingdom. | 2019-07-07T18:40:41 | 2019-07-07T17:47:28 | 133 | 18 |
[WP] Walking home one night you find an old lamp and a Genie pops out. He tells you that you have 6 wishes, 3 more than usual. You take it home to sleep on it, because this is important. You must be sure! You wake up to find a frantic Genie. You only have one wish left because you sleep talk. | A weight landed on my chest and I woke with a grunt, sitting up so fast the heavy Persian cat that had jumped on me bolted away. I do not have a cat. Blinking and trying to focus in the dim light I see the wall opposite my bed is obscured by stacked cases of Pepsi that reached from floor to ceiling.
"What the hell?" I whisper. The genie appears next to me, glaring. He is semi-transparent and looks like a hipster from Williamsburg from the waist up, his lower half trailing into a tail as he floats above my bed. He explained last night he likes to keep up with fashion and there wasn't much else to do inside a lamp waiting to be rubbed.
"You didn't tell me you talk in your sleep," he said. His voice is ethereal, sounding as if it's coming from all around me rather than one source. It makes his irritation hit harder.
"I didn't think it was relevant?" I said, confused. I did talk in my sleep sometimes, I had ever since I was a child. My sister complained about it so much she convinced my parents to let her turn our attic into a separate bedroom to get away from it. Later she had admitted the sleep talking was not that bad but provided a handy excuse to get out of sharing a bedroom.
The genie sighed. As my sleeping brain reached full wakefulness and I evaluated the mountain of soda before me I began to understand why it was relevant. My eyes bulged and I turned back to the genie and said "oh no."
"You bet, 'oh no'! You're down to one wish," he said, gesturing around my apartment.
"Oh my god," I said, bringing my hands to my face. My dreams were coming back to me in patches. I had been riding a camel through a desert waving a sword. Then, I was in a castle fighting assassins. After that, things got weirder because I brought one of the assassins back to my mother's house for a time out but she was having a barbeque so I had to introduce him to all my mother's friends as my boyfriend to keep an eye on him. And there was a pool filled with marshmallows.
I looked back to the genie, "OH GOD," I said.
"Yeah," he replied. "It's a bit small minded of you to think all genies come from the Arabian Nights," he said.
"That's the only context I have, and I was unconscious! Blame Walt Disney, not me," I huffed as I extricated myself from my blankets. I rushed out of my bedroom to see not one, but five big Persian cats. He had floated out after me and I turned back to him, "I wished for five cats?"
"Not exactly. You wished for the mightiest beasts of Persia as reward for saving the kingdom from assassins. This was my interpretation." I sighed in relief, I could have woken up to an apartment full of cobras or tigers.
"And I guess the pepsi came from the barbeque part," I said, hand on my forehead as I tried to figure out what I was going to do with all these cats in a building that did not allow pets.
"Yes, you wished you could have Pepsi all the time," he said. I cringed. I didn't even like Pepsi.
"That's two, what were the other two?" I said, nervous. The genie turned towards the window. I rushed over and as what I saw took shape in my mind I slid down to my knees in disbelief. The Upper West Side of Manhattan still sprawled below my second floor window, but now it was covered in sand and palm trees. Stalls as if from a bazaar were spread out where bodegas used to be, and camels were tied up to posts and trees. The sun was getting bright already and I could feel the desert heat radiating up from the sand. In February.
One of the cats came over to rub against me and purred as I stared at the scene. I scratched its ears and turned around, sitting on the floor with my back to the wall underneath the sill, and looked back at the genie.
"One left, huh?" I said. I knew it was bad but I wanted to laugh, hard.
"That's right," he replied.
"I think I'm going to save it til later," I said, picking up the cat and putting it on my lap.
"What?" the genie said, shocked.
"I mean, sure this is bad, but I've never had the chance to ride a camel before," I said. | I found an old lamp as I walked home last night. Or maybe the old lamp found me. That's how those things work, right? It was sitting on the mailbox of the house at the corner. I rubbed it, because what else do you do when you have something smooth and shiny? Well, out popped a genie. More like out poofed a genie, to more accurately describe the sound. Poof. A hazy cloud and a bit of coughing as it cleared and then he was standing in front of me, blue-skinned and wearing nothing but a loincloth and looking as ripped as a body-builder.
He wasn't happy. I could tell because he cussed at me by way of a greeting. "Six wishes. Make it snappy. Got a nap appointment that I can't miss." He looked at his wrist. There was no watch on it. Plus, it was well past midnight. Who naps past midnight?
"Six?" In case you never dealt with a genie before, the norm is three wishes.
"Did I fucking stutter?" No, no you didn't, Mister Genie, sir. Must have woken him up from a nap or something, considering how grumpy he was.
"Look," I told him diplomatically. "I'm drunk. I'm tired. I'm just trying to get home. This is a big decision. I'll get back to you tomorrow." I think he resisted. He planted his feet and tried to grab me and force those wishes out of me so that he could go back to doing what he was doing in the privacy of his own room. I just picked up that room of his and wandered off with it, taking the lamp back home with me.
I woke up this morning to the genie frantically poking me. "Dude. Dude. Dude. Dude."
"What?" I yelled finally, opening my eyes. The idiot had pulled open the blinds and turned on the light. He might as well have been shining a flashlight in my face while slamming the back of my head with a frying pan. I could feel the pounding in my temples.
"Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?" He had calmed down a little, presumably because I had woken up.
"Good news. What's the good news?" Might as well start the day off right, I figured.
"You have one wish left. That's good, right?" One wish. One of three? I thought back to last night. No, one of six. One wish? Why just one wish?
"What happened to my other wishes?" I was sitting up in the bed now. The room was a mess. My dreams had not been good that night. They never were after drinking. Nightmares and poor decisions abounded, thankfully restricted to the world of dreams.
"Hey, you wanted the good news first. Tangential topic here. Did you know you sleep-talk?" I caressed my temples and held my head. I felt like puking.
"I sleep-talked my other five wishes." It wasn't a question.
"You said it, not me." Great. He was relaxing near the foot of my bed now, shoes up over the comforter and sipping on a glass of milk he had helped himself to. The lamp sat on my bedside table. I wondered if he had been wandering around the house all night.
"Can I take them back?"
He shook his head. "Nope. No take backs." I sighed.
"What were my other wishes?"
He shook his head. "Sorry, dude. Can't tell you. Should have read the fine print." I did vaguely remember signing a contract last night when I first rubbed the lamp. I glared at him. "I'm going for a nap now. Rub me when you need me," he added with a wink. He got up to be absorbed by the lamp again but I got there first. I stuck my finger in the end, blocking his entrance. He stared at me stunned. "Dude. You're violating the lamp. Literally."
"No," I said sternly. "You're with me until we figure this mess out." He groaned and reluctantly agreed. I didn't really care about the wishes, to be frank. I don't think he quite knew what he was agreeing to. My lease just didn't allow a dog and having a roommate sounded fun.
"I can't tell you your wishes. But you know that dream about venturing into Hell with your ex-girlfriend?" I should have been keeping a dream journal. That didn't sound good. Not at all. I shook my head. "How about the one where the roads were made of jello?" That sounded delicious, to be honest. I shook my head and he shrugged. "That'll give you a starting spot. I'll be in your bed."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-20T06:52:15 | 2019-09-20T05:48:14 | 1,391 | 79 |
[WP] You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You wake up, get in the car, then black out until you're back in your driveway in the middle of the afternoon 5 days a week, and you get a paycheck once a month. | It's a simple job. One that I have no idea about.
But it pays well. It pays very well because for one, I don't even know what I do at work.
Everyday, it's the same grind but it's a grind that I don't remember.
Most people would call me crazy for saying yes to a job like this, but I don't think they understand.
I have seen resentful faces all the time. Angry faces of frustration of men and women wearing suits and driving to work, thinking of killing themselves on their way there.
My job is not like that. I wake up, get in the car, then - like clockwork - I black out.
I open my eyes and I'm driving into the driveway in the afternoon after a hard day of work, with no memory of what I did.
In a way, it's a blessing. There's only one drawback in my field of work and that is- it gets messy sometimes.
That's because, like some successful people, I tend to bring work home with me, sometimes.
I don't have a wife who complains about that, so that's great.
So, let me tell you about yesterday.
Yesterday, right after I reached home and got out of the car, I made sure that the garage door closed before I took out and started disposing the body.
That's when I heard my doorbell ring.
I tend to "lose" my phone sometimes on the drive home from work conveniently near a blonde haired woman who would definitely try to do the right thing.
Conveniently, my wallpaper is an address to my home and all the contacts are of fake numbers.
I heard the doorbell ring again as I walked to the door.
"You're Greg, right? I found your phone near the end of the street!" the woman said, like hundreds of naive women before them.
"I am! You found it! I can't thank you enough for this!"
"Oh, it's okay. It's a small distance anyway," she said and laughed.
"My wife just made the best tea. Please come in for a cup. Please? That's the least I could do," I said.
She walked in to my empty house where no woman has ever walked out of. She didn't either.
"Where's your wife?" she asked, before I strangled her to death.
Those were her last words.
So, the lesson here is, sometimes it's okay to take work home. In the grind of the 9 to 5, we sometimes forget what we do, or in my case, always forget what we do in those hours. Working at home sometimes helps us remember why we took up the work in the first place.
And that's what matters, right?
\------------------------
Please sub to /r/abhisek for more stories! | Five 'til five.
*So always five?*
Always five. Call 'em freedom units, 'cause that's when I finally leave, too. I like irony, like there. We ain't ever really free. Anyways. Leave on the dot. Not a minute later. Not a minute earlier. Nobody else leaves early, so I don't. Come in, sit down, sit quiet. Next thing you know, out the door. Remember fuck all what I did, remember fuck all who I was when I started. Then straight home, not that that's any better. Too much remembering, if you know what I mean. Makes you wonder.
*What's it make you wonder?*
Makes you wonder why.
*Why what?*
Why bother. With going home at all. With getting paid at all. Once a month, I get that check I done traded my life in for. Enough to get a man dreaming; not quite enough for dreams. Sign on a dashed line for a dashed dream. Always tell myself enough is enough. Next check, deal's done. No more work, no more checks. And I always end up back at work the next day. And the next. And the next. And then one more time, for good measure. Can't beat a dead horse enough, that's what I like to say.
*Five days?*
Of Hell. 'Til the weekend. 'Til I forget on my own terms, instead of theirs. Then it starts all over again, like clockwork. Makes you wish the clock was broken, that it'd get stuck somewhere better than this. Or that you could grab it, stretch it all funny like one of 'em Dali clocks. Make time loop around it slower when you want. Still, I don't make the rules. Five days 'til five. That's their rules.
*Whose?*
I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. A third of every day, gone. Like blinking, 'cept when I open my eyes, it's evening. The sun is on the other side of the street. Drive home, pretend I want to listen to the radio. Commercial-free drive at five bullshit, like that's what'll set me over the edge. Sing along, just to keep from screaming. Pretend it doesn't remind me of everything I'd like to do.
*So why don't you do those things?*
No time. Simple as that. Live to work. Work to live. Just to get home and realize you ain't got much life left to live. Sneaks away from you. One second you want to be an astronaut. A firefighter. Next thing you know, you're burning up through empty space wishing a fuckin' asteroid would put you out of your misery. Any day now.
*You're not that old, right?*
Wish I was. Then I wouldn't work. Hilarious. Retirement; that's a joke that's aged like a fine milk. At this rate, I'll work 'til I die. Not a minute later.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-02-11T16:37:01 | 2020-02-11T15:07:10 | 88 | 50 |
[WP] In your world, magic is wielded by astrologists who form pacts with distant stars. Every star grants a unique power. Upon forming a pact with a star, you gain a glimpse of its worlds and your soul will be pulled to one when your pact ends. You are the first to form a pact with a black hole. | "So I'm with a red Supergiant. I gained powers of mass manipulation, heavy metals, that sort of thing. You?"
"I tamed a G-type main sequence, with three life bearing planets. I work with water and life, mostly. Sometimes the solar maximums give me electromagnetics, but that's few and far between. How 'bout you, Jane?"
"Black hole. Supermassive."
"What? But...that's not possible. The Council outlawed anything above the Chandrasekhar Limit centuries ago. The last time somebody tried to form a pact with even a neutron star they immediately died from trying to comprehend degenerate matter. Their death caused an explosion that destroyed half a continent. How did you manage to tame-"
"I didn't tame it. It tamed me."
"...What?"
"When I tried to summon it, I did die. But Black holes aren't stars. They're the eldritch collectives of their corpses, incomprehensible and anathema to all other stars, with the True Void at the singularities."
"Jane...exactly what did you try to summon?"
"Sagittarius A\*. I'm a necromancer now, with the combined experience and knowledge of all the others who have attempted to tame black holes before me. I'm THE Necromancer now." | Admittedly, I did not expect this would work. I was lucky to even see the black hole, even luckier to speak with it.
It was easier than I had heard to make the pact, though what is a black hole other than a star that has already died? Im sure nobody ever speaks with them. Im sure that helped my case, that I cared to notice it, to speak with it.
One would be surprised at how calm they are. Perhaps they understand that they hold the power to destroy all? Perhaps thats just how that star was in life? Why that is will be a question for another time.
I pulled away from my telescope, and looked around. The test dummy, how everyone learns their powers, slightly damaged intentionally.
I reached for my powers, and the void called back. Black tendrils eminated from my fingers and wrapped around the dummy. I banged it around first, getting a grasp of how much control I have over them.
When my supervisor came in, he looked shocked.
"What star did you..."
"A black hole" I said, my excitement was evidently out of place, as he looked like he was going to pass out.
"H-how did you do that?"
"Well a black hole is just a dead star, isn't it?" I decided to pull the dummy towards me, nothing special, so I moved it back again.
"Well yes, but you see, the dead shouldn't be able to speak you see."
"Well someones gotta be the first to try everything, and for me it was speaking to a black hole."
I let my tendrils wrap around the dummy, then it was gone. I could feel my power grow within me in responce.
"We should study the extent of your power, this could lead to a new age of astrology!"
"Ah, lets study later, Im hungry" | 2020-02-21T05:29:11 | 2020-02-21T05:05:27 | 49 | 30 |
[WP] You're a super villain therapist. You try and break them of bad habbits like monologuing and other idiotic activities. | My patient was limping today.
He had only recently left the hospital after trying to monologue to an anti-hero.
"HE JUST FUCKING SHOT ME! RIGHT AT THE START OF MY BIG SPEECH! HE JUST PULLED OUT A FUCKING GUN AND SHOT ME!"
"look, John... we've talked about this, monologuing is a part of your inferiority complex, your desire to prove to others that you have worth as a person. Just like-"
"Just like building the death rays and trying to take over the world, I know, I know, we go over this every week"
"Look"
I sigh as I put down my notebook.
"You don't need acknowledgement from the heroes to have worth, don't you have a small army who adore you?"
"well.... yeah.... but they're my employees, that's different!"
"did you or did you not fly Brenda's wife out to Canada for medical treatment after she was denied insurance?"
"well.... yes..... but to put undue strain on the Canadian health care system! due to acts like that it will slowly come crashing down!"
I stare at him for several seconds
"and because Brenda is a decent person and I might be evil, but come on, those insurance companies are fucking *evil*, you know what I mean?"
"so why does the appreciation and acceptance from Brenda not matter?"
"because.... because.... it's just not the same! I don't want to be acknowledged as 'John, who helps his employees when they're struggling'! I want to be known the world over as Doctor Destiny! scourge of civilisation! I want to be feared! I want those who the world looks up to quake at my name!"
This is going, nowhere, again, so I have an idea....
"well.... look at this way.... even if the heroes themselves don't fear you.... what about those who bankroll them?"
John perks up
"....go on?"
"remember the insurance companies you mentioned earlier? they sponsor a lot of heroes, maybe if you could find a way to harm their bottom line or tear them down then...."
"then without them, the heroes would be left adrift, and they would have to respect me for hitting them where it hurts! doctor! you're a genius!"
As John gets up to leave, I make sure to remind him
"and remember! no monologuing! it gets you shot!"
"I'll remember Doc!"
I have no idea what he will do next, but hopefully, like with a lot of my patients, I will be able to nudge him to make society just a little bit better, while treating the worst of his self destructive traits | Dr. Tom Sparks sat, legs crossed, tapping his pen against his glasses. A clipboard was balanced precariously on his lap. Closer inspection revealed detailed notes about what errands the good doctor needed to run on his way home, and where he thought he might have left his blazer. There was nothing, however, even remotely related to his patient, lying forlornly on the couch on front of him, arm across his head.
"But doctor, you don't understand! My base HAS TO BE in a volcano! All the other villains would laugh at me."
Dr. Sparks could have rolled his eyes in a complete circle. He summoned all his energy not to sigh outwardly, and put on his best fatherly tone.
"You think that if they found out you were different they would laugh at you?"
"YES! I know they would."
"And you think that is important?"
"Well of course? Nothing could be more important than what the League of Evil thinks? I could lose my seat on the council. What would everyone think then? Oh the rumors! The Beakman would never let me hear the end of it! He's been gunning for my assistant to the assistant to the assistant regional manager for months! Oh if I could get my hands on him." The couch creaked as the prone figure eagerly rubbed his hands together.
"So you don't think that your time might be better spent on...well, other considerations."
"Like what?" His patient's eyes were watching him intently now.
Dr. Sparks sighed. "Oh well, ensuring your plans come to frution rather than just locking the hero in a room and assuming he's going to die, hiring henchmen who can't operate a gun instead of giving them full interview and skill tests. Stuff like that."
"HA, you don't know anything doctor. That is why you're sitting here and I am out conquering the world! Why next you might tell me that explaining my plans to Heroman right before I leave him to his fate is a bad idea!" The patient laughed, "Maybe I'll just keep my mouth shut and finish him off myself!"
Evil cackling filled the office as the patient suddenly sat up, tenting his hands.
"Why yes, that is a DASTARDLY PLAN! Finally the people of Treasure City will take notice of THE CHAOSMASTER! I must rebuild my lair and prepare. Now, where is the nearest VOLCANO?"
Dr. Sparks put his head to his hand. Suddenly he had a piercing headache. As he tried to think of something to say, a small alarm clock rang on the doctor's desk, shattering the awkward silence.
"Looks like our time's up!" Tom practically lept from his seat to quickly usher his patient out the door. "My assistant Jake will schedule your next appointment."
Back behind his desk, the doctor called out. "Jake, who's next?"
"Prime-Evil is up next. His son doesn't want to follow him into the family business," his assistant called from the reception room.
Oh brother, Tom thought. After downing two aspirins, he faked a smile. "Show him in!" | 2020-04-24T12:21:15 | 2020-04-24T11:23:55 | 99 | 56 |
[WP] You and your best friend made a pact to marry one another if both of you are still single at 30 years old. It is now time to fulfill that promise but over the years, your best friend became the leader of a notorious crime syndicate and you just got promoted... as the city's prosecuter. | John Bartholomew Evans wondered if he should even go. There was no way. It was a promise made before they knew better. A promise made when they didn't know any better. When their youth made them think anything was possible. When hope was stronger than reality. Nothing would change. They would still be best friends.
Real life had begged to differ.
He knew her face well. He had seen it enough times at work. Those eyes were still the same. But the expression was different. He was used to the kindness in her smile. Not the smirk she usually carried now. Annabelle Jameson. The leader of the Crimson Serpents.
He was building a case against her right now. But a promise was a promise. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to come anyways.
The overhead lights flickered as he sat down on the bench. He remembered the day when they made the promise. They had sat on this very bench. Her eyes had been red. She had been crying. Not just for her dad, but also because she had to move away from her school, her home, her one... her best friend.
John had assured her that it would all be OK. They would write to each other. They would always be friends. Nothing would change.
John thought back to when he had last written to her. It had been almost ten years. For the first few years, he had written but eventually they had drifted apart.
He looked at the tree across the park from where he sat. That was where she had fallen down and broken her arm. He remembered that he had cried. She had tried to tell him it was fine. He smiled. She had always been stronger than him.
"I still have the scar from where they put the pin in, you know."
He jumped to his feet. There she stood. In person. The smile was back.
"Ms Jameson."
"Really, John? We're here to propose marriage to each other and you're going to be so formal?"
"Annabelle... Anna, I..."
Sit down, John. I know I'm going to die a spinster. But we do need to talk."
He sat down and kept looking at the tree, avoiding her gaze. He was also avoiding himself. His emotions, his feelings. This felt right somehow. Sitting here, with her. He couldn't allow himself to feel right. He was preparing for her eventual arrest.
"So how've you been, John? I sent you a fruit basket when you got promoted."
"Yeah, they told me. I didn't get it though. They suspected bugs. Or poison."
She laughed, the familiar hearty laugh. He had to use all his strength not to laugh alongside her. This was wrong.
"Surely, they knew about us. They did their background checks."
"They did. I told them I hadn't had any contact with you for a decade."
"And after you promised me you would write daily. That's no way to treat a lady."
"How could you, Anna?" He finally looked at her.
She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
"You were good, Anna. In your heart. You were not a bad person. How did it come to this?"
"I'm still the same person."
"In the next week, I'm going to charge you with multiple counts of murder, fraud, and so much more."
"I'm still the same person."
He looked away, trying to calm himself. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her.
"I'm gonna go now." He got up.
"Don't you want an answer to the question, John?"
"What question?"
"The one you asked. How did it come to this?"
He looked at her and saw her pleading eyes. He sat back down. "Five minutes."
"I don't need that much. Do you remember why I left?"
"Your father was murdered. By criminals. The same criminals you work alongside day in and day out."
"And then I went to university for my further studies. I was clever. I also had a side project. To collect all information I could on the organized crime in our city. I wanted my father's murderers brought to justice."
"I know. We used to talk about that."
"As I learnt more and more, a few things became obvious. The criminals were set in their ways. They were afraid of changes. They still thought laundering money through small bodegas and dry cleaners was the best possible way. I saw so many ways things could be streamlined."
"And you decided to help them with this information. You could've come to us and taken them down."
She laughed. "I also learned why they were still able to operate the way they could. They had inside men at every organization. Your former boss, among them."
"Jack? No, that's impossible."
"Not just Jack. You didn't get the fruit basket. Trust me, our former prosecutor got lots of them. They'll eventually approach you too. Once you're a bit more jaded. Not so new and full of hope. I know. I'm supposed to follow the same strategy."
"What?"
"That case you're preparing against me. I got copies of all the documents the same day you did."
"That's impossible."
The opened a bag she had been carrying with her and handed him a stack of papers.
He recognized them instantly. He was speechless.
She smiled and continued. "Organized crime is like termites. They have seeped into the foundations of this very city. There isn't a single department they haven't compromised. They eat just enough to satisfy themselves, but not enough to collapse the city. But that's about to change."
She pulled out all other documents from her bag and dropped them on the bench.
"What is all this?"
"Names. Evidences. I hope your jails have enough space."
He looked over the documents. He recognized some of the names readily. "You..."
"If you have to clean the Augean stables, you can't do it from the outside. You have to get down and dirty. You'll find everything you need in there. The last ten years of my life have been the river that will cleanse this city."
"They'll come after you."
"I know. I lied earlier. I'm not here to propose marriage. I'm here to say goodbye again. And I'm here to tell you that if you don't meet anyone in the next seven years, come see me right here. I'll wait for you. If you think you can get over what I did, if you think you can be with me, I'll be here."
"I..." Words failed him.
"I spent my entire childhood with you. I never needed any other friend. I still don't. Did you want me to say it out loud?"
Her eyes were moist. His were too. "I can't let you go."
"You can't stop me."
"I'll come for you."
"You will never find me. If you come as a prosecutor, you never will. If you come as John, my John, I'll always be there."
With that, she walked away - a figure in crimson - as he sat there looking at her, wondering if he would ever see her again. | It was always kind a weird friendship, now that I think about it. Lynn and I have never had much in common. If there was one, it's that we always kept ourselves busy.
Busy lives were great for advancing careers, but we both found out that it greatly stunted every other aspect of it. So, when two lonely people meet up when they are twenty, drinking their livers dry and pouring their hearts out, they make stupid pacts, like agreeing to marry each other when they are thirty.
Well, here I was, sitting in my office, slowly counting down the seconds as the clock's hands inched towards each other. I laid back in my office chair, loosened my tie, and reached for the increasingly present glass of whiskey near the marked calendar.
I'm not sure when and how, but my own birthday was circled on it. A drunken night? A nosy receptionist? I don't really care. Birthdays never really mattered to me, I guess. August 25. I knew without looking that flipping three pages would reveal another red circle for Lynn's birthday.
The two hands joined. My phone rang with a little ditty. The door creaked open.
"Are you always alone in your office at 12 midnight?"
A familiar voice floated over from the door. I sat up, and could now faintly make up a silhouette approaching me slowly.
"Oh?" I replied. "You are approaching me in my office? I never pegged you as the sort of woman who would hand herself over for her crimes."
I heard a wily chuckle, and Lynn came into view. Sharply-dressed as always, in a perfectly cut two piece suit. She had both hands behind her back, and her saunter was calm, deliberate, and confident. Covering the last parts of my carpeted floor, she stood in front of me, a full head shorter than me. Didn't really feel that way though.
"Ah," she said. "I always knew you were a goody two shoes. But this? A bit too much, isn' it?"
"It's not too much," I said. "Hard work got me here. Quite unlike your line of occupation."
I was certain that if I exhaled with my mouth, I would see the breath condense and freeze before my very eyes. I inhaled instead, and was suddenly very aware of Lynn's perfume. Floral. Girly, even. Certainly not something I thought she would be caught dead wearing. It was pretty nice.
"Hmm. Here," she said. As her arms swung to the front, I tensed a little, afraid of what her hands contained. But it was just a black gift box, tastefully wrapped with a velvet ribbon that appeared a shade darker.
"Is this a bomb?" I asked.
"Are you actually serious?" she said.
I nodded. She sighed.
"It's just a gift. For your birthday."
"Oh."
I tentatively took out a hand and accepted it, nodding my head slightly to acknowledge it.
"Um," I said. "Please sit, then."
She did and I followed suit. I held the box in my hand, rotating and flipping it around like I was examining how to solve a Rubik's cube.
"It's not poisonous either," she said.
"I'll wait and see."
"You can open it, you know. We aren't children any more," she smiled a little. I did too, but I tried to suppress it as quickly as I could. "Don't have to wait for the party to be over."
"Is this what you call a party?" I asked.
"Could be one," she purred. "Especially if you tell me where I can find another glass of that whisky you are having."
"Hmm," I said. I pushed my chair a little to the right, pulling out the bottommost drawer in the desk, and took out a bottle of whisky and a spare glass.
"Wow, you actually have a spare glass!" she said. "I thought you wouldn't have enough friends."
"This is a place of legitimate business, if you haven't realised," I retorted. "Though I'm not surprised you aren't familiar with it."
It took but five seconds for her to pour out two fingers of amber for herself. She swirled it around slightly, gave it a subtle sniff, and proceeded to drain it in another five seconds.
"Business?" she chuckled. "My goodness. How much do I have to pay you for your services, then? Under..."
She put her legs up on the table.
"Or over the table?"
"Quit playing around," I said. "Tell me what's in this box, or I'll chase you out of here by myself."
"You just have to open it, don't you?"
I hesitated. Curiosity was indeed welling up. I couldn't resist. How could I? Especially a present from her.
I grumbled, but my hand pulled the ribbon. The lid of the box came next, and underneath it was yet another layer of felt cloth. My fingers flipped it open.
It was a crude circle. I had no idea what it was.
"Is this a joke?" I asked.
"Huh?" Lynn said. She sounded a little hurt.
I took it out and examined it. It was so small that it could fit on my finger. It was made out of metal, but was clearly uneven and beaten out of shape.
"I mean..." I continued. "What is this?"
"It's a ring," a small voice said.
"A what?"
"A ring!" she cried.
A ring. A ring?
"Wh--what?" I stammered. "A ring?"
"You... you don't remember?"
"I..."
How could I have forgotten?
"How could I?" I admitted. "But... I..."
"You aren't single?" she said.
"I am."
"I knew it."
I looked up at Lynn. The confident eyes and smile were already back, the blip in her outer shell merely momentarily. Or did I imagine it?
I looked back down at the ring. I slid it over my ring finger. It couldn't go all the way through. Sighing, I took it out and tried it on my little finger. That worked.
"Hmm," I said.
"Looks cute," Lynn said.
"Why is it so..." I struggled to find the correct words to say.
"Poorly made?" she offered.
"Well, if that's what you wanted to go for."
"I made it myself," Lynn said. She walked over to my side of the table now, grabbing my hand and examining the ring in the process. One hand danced over it, and I could see scars and bruises glinting in the moonlight. "It was the only thing I could think of that could work. Without you, you know, rejecting it."
"How do you know I'm not rejecting it?"
"Doesn't feel like it to me," she looked up into my eyes as her hand wrapped into mine.
"How does this even work, Lynn?" I confessed. I couldn't let go. I didn't want to.
"I don't know," she said. "But in my line of work, a promise is a promise."
"Incidentally, that's true in my line of work as well."
"Hmm," she said, as her free hand found its way to my under my chin. "Something we have in common, at least."
Are Lynn and I going to get married? I have no idea. But for one more beautiful night, I think the both of us thought we just might.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-08-25T08:56:30 | 2020-08-25T08:55:43 | 239 | 66 |
[WP] You are a warrior pledged to protect a chosen priestess on her quest to quell a great evil. What she finds at the end of her journey is not a dark god or towering beast. She now stands before an altar of sacrifice. You knew the truth the whole time, you just couldn't bear to tell her. | The runes etched into the dagger glowed in the dim light. A few scattered candles and the sunset light filtering through stained glass lit the temple in a soft amber, but the ritual blade pulsed with an inner light.
"It has to be you."
How many years had we traveled together? And before that, in our home village? How many nights had I sat staring at the campfire, trying not to wince as her healing magic repaired the evidence of the evil that was growing in this land?
It had to be like this. The seal required a catalyst, someone pure of heart, to set the spell in motion. That much both the sages and the scholars had agreed upon.
I slowly wrapped both her hands around the grip, holding them in place with one of mine. They were so small, it felt like they were nowhere near large enough to carry this burden alone. And yet we -- for I was not blameless in this farce -- had forced her into it. Her eyes filled with tears, her hands fought against my merciless grip. She tried to turn away, but my free arm caught her by the shoulder and refused to let go.
"Hey," I whispered, my voice as husky and low as the first time we had laid together in our shared tent, "hey, no tears now. Just keep looking at me. It'll all be over in a minute."
She had recognized the blade. She shook her head wildly, trying to negate the very thought of what she realized was to come. I leaned in, and pressed my forehead against hers.
"No matter what happens," my voice cracked. "No matter what happens, I always loved you."
Before she had the chance to react, I pulled our bodies together until I felt flesh give way under the magically honed edge of the blade.
Together we fell onto the massive stone altar, looking more like lovers than killer and victim. The dagger grew warm as the enchantment began its work; and I let my hand fall away.
As her breathing slowed, I thought back to the day I accepted the priest's offer. The demon king running free would be a global catastrophe; but now that it had begun to take a human host, the only option left was a Blade of Betrayal. A dagger, covered in magical runes, with a banishing enchantment that could only activate in the hands of the person the victim loved.
I felt her mana pouring into the blade, completing the spell, and I breathed easy, before a sudden cough drove the blade deeper into my stomach. I shifted, and she slid into an all-too familiar position, pulling the dagger from my stomach as she started casting her go-to healing spell.
Over and over, the green light in her hands flowed into the gaping wound in my stomach; and again and again the flow of mana dissipated without gaining purchase. Her desperation growing, I caught her hands and shook my head.
Realizing what was happening, she buried her head into my neck and apologized again and again. As the cold stone of the altar sapped and the dagger's enchantment drained what remained of my body heat, I basked in her warmth.
I knew that our traveling companions would come for her soon, so I closed my eyes. | "I don't get it," Michael says, staring at a stone slab in the center of the room. "It's just a rock. I don't get it." No one else appears to get it either. We all stand around in a broken staggered circle, still heaving into a normal breathing rhythm. Muffled explosions sway the ancient structure, although only a faint occasional thud comes through the otherwise soundproof cavern. Small pieces of sediment peel off in response, filtering down behind us.
"This is what we came here for, traveled all this way for, this?" Michael asks, motioning to the slab. "Just a rock." He paces away.
"No, it's not just a rock," Elijah says. He lightly kicks one end of it. Blue symbols light up on the surface, their impressions if present before now eerily holographic.
"It's an altar." He nods at me, then backs away into the shadows, next to Amira, the holy girl. But what makes her so holy? I watched her bring dead men back to life with just a kiss or a brush of her fingers. She looked at me, when she did this; man after man she resurrected, until she resurrected Pri, and stood above her most relished accomplishment. Then I started to see the pieces of her purpose pull apart like puzzle pieces. Did she ever truly have a home other than the monastery she came from? Did she ever truly have an upbringing other than the chanting men and women who desperately forced on her a purpose?
A half mute, she never did anything but smile and say "yes" or "no". No one taught her to behave or think for herself. No one, after worshiping her thought to teach her of unhappiness, but rather that doing good was rewarded. She acted like a child, and was nearly seventeen.
Pri holsters her gun on her belt, then squats in front of the slab, running her eyes along the the symbols. She places her index finger in a crook under her chin, assuming the thinking face she gets when she attempts a curious translation.
"Be they who read this," Pri reads. "Know that evil is what thou solely covets and most be given up without vanity." Pri stands, her hands on her hips.
"What thou solely covets," she says. She twists her lips and squints her eyes, uncertain of the meaning, but certain of her words. Because at the end of the day, it makes sense.
"What is most pure is most easily tarnished," the shaman said weeks earlier, his eyes glowing a neon green.
I look at Amira. Still catching her breath, she appears oblivious to the situation. Yet, it could not be more obvious.
"It's her."
"What?" Michael asks.
"What is pure is most easily tarnished. Elijah," I say. He catches on, wrapping his arms around her.
"NO, NO, NO!" Amira screams. She flails her skinny limbs pinwheeling in an attempt to escape. Despite this, Elijah drags her forward, closer to the altar. He pins her down by her shoulders. She spits and bites like an animal.
"Gah!" he cries. I hold her head back onto the rock, fumbling for something that might finally end this.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Pri yells. She runs towards us, but Michael blocks her. She uppercuts into his chin. Michael stumbles back and pushes her back with the butt of his rifle. They are fighting, we are fighting. But in the end, we were protecting power. And that power returned Pri back to us, but it also was turning her against us.
"Noooo!" she screams. Wild girl, idiot girl. I plunge the knife into her throat. | 2020-11-12T19:41:50 | 2020-11-12T18:38:19 | 144 | 48 |
[WP] Your mother died ten years ago. You saw her collapse, went to her funeral, paid for her cremation. Her ashes should be sitting in the living room right now. So you're not entirely sure why she's waving frantically at you from the window. | There’s no way
There’s no way this is real
I was there when she took her last breath
I was the one that actually honored her wishes
Why is she outside right now. This is impossible
This has to be a bad dream right? I mean how could I explain it. The ashes were in the living room last night
Maddie always taps the urn before going to work and so do I. Over the years we’ve shared many things but that was one. Losing a mother was hard enough on a 18 year old. Losing your mother and then your best friend losing hers as well was not a easy path to walk on
We bonded from that and that pain only made us grow closer. We promised each other that crying over urns and graves all day wouldn’t do any good. So we decided to wipe each other’s tears and 10 years later here we are
That can’t be her outside the window, same freckle under the eye, same tattoo on the hand, same blonde hair and black eyes. It couldn’t be her it’s impossible
“ I know you think you’re dreaming but it’s really me”
The window was cold, fog still on the outside as I opened it and she flew through
“ It’s been a long time Peter”
It was her, she was right in front of me. I didn’t know what to say or where to start. It has been so difficult without her, everyday seemed like a Boulder being placed in my path. Every moment that aches away I wanted to call but I couldn’t.
“ Peter I don’t have much time”
“ Mom” I said as the ghostly hands rested upon my shoulder. “ You don’t know how much I needed you. How lost I was from that day”
“ I know Peter. I kept my eyes on you from up above. I was only worried you would succumb to the sorrow but you climbed your way out”
The tears still trickled down my face as I laughed at how bad life had gotten for me. How alone it felt, how empty everything felt. No matter the activity it felt like it meant nothing.
“ All because of Maddie” I told my mom who’s smile I could make out from below.
“ We’re married now mom”
“ I know. I watched the ceremony from up there. She’s a great girl Peter. You 2 will be great together. I have to go now Peter my time is up.
I wanted to ask her to stay. To stay forever and not leave again. I didn’t want to feel that pain one more time. The lines on my mothers face widened as she kissed me on the cheek. I still had 1 question before she left
“ Why did you come back?”
“ I came back to see if you’re ready”
Ready? Ready for what? I meant to ask but she cut me off like she always did and started to float away.
“Peter” she called out as I closed my window
“ Yes mother”
“ Wait for Maddie tonight okay. She’s a bit preoccupied right now but she’ll be home soon. Cherish her for me son
I will | The next thing that happened could be closely compared to a light switch, one that hasn’t been used in years, suddenly illuminating a dark and sad room. A room filled with memories, doubt, despair, confusion. But no more.
My fathers funeral had been yesterday. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t even cried. I couldn’t decide if I was going to or not yet. True-he has always provided me with every material thing I needed. I had never gone hungry or curled into a ball in bed shivering from lack of heat. But I had seen him do horrible things. For the first 8 years of my life I watched him torture my mother, relentlessly scarring and bruising her body. That had been enough, but what was worse-the words. They cut like a hailstorm of a million razor blades.
I remember the day of my mother’s accident. I had two emotions. The first-complete and utter desolation. I couldn’t fathom losing my seemingly healthy mother in such a random way. Brain aneurysm, the doctor had gravely explained. Sudden and quick. The second-relief. My father had never touched or talked to me in any manner relative to the way he had my mother. It was as if a layer of uncertainty and terror had been lifted. I would never have to witness such acts again. There was one thing, though, that always confused me.
The night before my mothers accident she pre-made dinner for the next night. I asked her if she would be home, and she said yes. I was young and didn’t think to ask anything further. This was strange for a few reasons. One, my mother has never had a job outside of the house, and I can count on one hand the times she missed a night at home with father and I. Two, she never pre-made a family dinner. She packed us lunches to take to our respective school and work, maybe even a to-go breakfast when she had been feeling extra tired lately, but never dinner. The next night, after my father had drank himself to sleep and all of the EMT’s, police, extended relatives and well-meaning neighbors had left, I went to the fridge in search of my last home cooked meal from my mother I would ever eat. I opened up the door and looked in at one plate. One perfectly baked whole-split chicken breast, one serving of homemade garlic scalloped potatoes, one serving of roasted broccoli. And on a smaller plate next to that one single chocolate ganache cupcake. I remember frowning in confusion. My mother had specifically told me the night before that she was pre-making family dinner for today. And that’s exactly what she had done.
Everything clicked into place in that one moment. I had always viewed my mother as weak, obedient, subservient to this bully that consumed our lives. But that was not the case. She was smart, resilient, and above all-patient.
The last ten years my father had been ill. At first it started with fainting spells, then it graduated to loss of hair, 50 pounds lighter and a failing memory. 10 years he lasted before flickering out like an old candle. 10 years she had waited to see me again.
I quickly ran outside to join her. She put a finger over her lips as she led me to a waiting car. Wherever we were going, it was safe. And wherever we were going, we’d be together. My father was finally dead. I have never been happier to watch a parent die. | 2020-12-10T20:41:03 | 2020-12-10T19:15:38 | 46 | 29 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | My face scrunched up, my nose wrinkling.
"I just... I was saying...."
I sneezed into a handkerchief.
Every single one of my colleagues immediately scattered two meters away.
"Quick! Someone get the disinfectant!"
"We need to go to quarantine *now*!"
"Everyone stay away from us!"
Dozens of Intergalactic Trading Services employees rushed off. One found disinfectant and began spraying it on them, another called out a hazardous materials unit.
"It's fine, guys," I said, but as luck would have it, I sneezed again.
"It is *not* fine. We knew this day would come when the company decided to hire a *human*."
I shook myself a little and rubbed my nose. "You guys are exaggerating. It's probably just a cold starting up, I'll--"
Xar'li began coughing and everyone around her jumped away. She coughed and coughed until her weird four-section mouth coughed up a clot of blood and she fell on her knees.
"...Okay that is *not*--that's not how infections work, I don't think we can actually blame that on--"
I stood up and they all shouted for me to sit back down.
Paramedics arrived in full PPE, and began helping Xar'li.
"Alright, everyone," one of the paramedics said, "you've been exposed to active human pathogens. That means that your chances of survival are in between five and ten percent. We'll do everything we can, but if you need to send a message to a loved one, do it now."
Every one of my alien colleagues pulled up a holographic display and began speedily composing messages to their loved ones to meet them at the hospital with the proper equipment.
"You," the paramedic said, approaching me, "you will be tried for violation of the biological weapons act of the Jar'fan convention of twnenty-three fifty-two."
I groaned and she offered me an oxygen tube and a containment helmet, and put them on. All of the "exposed aliens" breathed a sigh of relief as I was isolated from their air supply. | "The key question is--why?"
We stared blankly at the slide in question, and our enthusiastic professor who had just paused for dramatic effect. A barely-stifled yawn quickly broke the atmosphere, but to her credit, Professor Crawford barely missed a beat before seguing into her intended outcome.
"We're not sure why," she said brightly, a radiant smile on her face.
Groans and clicking tongues quickly became the dominant sound in the room, but Professor Crawford forged on undeterred.
"If it makes a human sick, it will kill you," she continued. "Even before we were capable of faster-than-light travel, it was an often repeated phase around civilizations, so much so that we've found evidence of it dating back millennia ago. Imagine that--our ancestors, still carving words on stone, and other races were already utilizing instantaneous communication to talk about us."
I raised my hand. Perhaps it was a mistake, considering Professor Crawford's tendency to eagerly espouse her lessons even without any external input. I could feel a few pairs of eyes turn towards me, but I tried to ignore them, mostly unsuccessfully.
"What about the recent pandemic? A century ago?"
"Ah, that," Professor Crawford pushed up her glasses, nodding knowingly. "It was certainly devastating to our population. We still feel the effect even until today, don't we. Hence, your seating arrangements. And to prevent cheating on your tests, of course."
"See," she continued. "Yes, it was a bad pandemic. But it was hardly unprecedented, seeing to our history, and our race survived. If you read the excellent book *The Death of my People*by Jordan Klukx, one of the few surviving members of the Furoskim race, he details the excruciating death tolls of his planet, caused by what we know as the common flu."
A well-timed sneeze broke the flow of conversation. Professor Crawford looked disapprovingly past me, and swiftly indicated for the offending person to put on a mask. A muffled 'sorry' was then heard, and we turned back to the teacher.
"It's strange, isn't it?" she asked. "Whether it's through our sheer reproductive powers, or some sort of quirk with our immune system, or our general empathy--humans survive and continue. We've just entered year 3020, and if centuries past have taught us anything, it's that we are due for another round of airborne coronavirus soon. You young ones are still in your first hundred or so years, so it likely won't hit you as hard... but spare a thought for us centenarians, eh?"
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-02-03T15:34:57 | 2021-02-03T15:17:54 | 753 | 211 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | Jason and Aelia locked eyes across the vast expanse of their crowded rooms, separated by far more than just the glass between them. On the stage in the front a 4-armed DJ in his own isolated booth pumped the same music through both halves of the club, fusing the mass of species together to the tune of the pounding bass.
The two made their way down mirrored staircases and into their respective crowds, Aelia’s side a riot of shapes, colors, and humming atmospheric scrubbers. Jason’s, by contrast, seemed almost uniform despite the presence of humans of every nationality and description.
For most of those who came to *Club Penumbra* the experience was something akin to a combined freak show and concert, like going to a zoo to see all the creatures that might kill you on the other side of the glass.
For the two lovers it was date night. They battled their way to the same point along the translucent wall and danced with their hands barely a quarter inch from each other. It was the closest they could ever come to touching.
As the beat pumped through him Jason watched Aelia with a feeling akin to rapture. From the moment they’d met two years before he’d thought she was the most beautiful woman of any species he’d ever seen. He memorized every curve of the dress that clung to her dusky skin, watched the thin sapphire extremity of her tail as it coiled around an ankle, sliding back and forth in time to the music.
They spoke over ear pieces as they danced, barely even able to hear each other but happy just for the fact that the words were spoken so near.
Feeling strangely alone and completely together despite the crowd the pair sank into their night, living out their youths with the devil-may-care attitude common to the 20 somethings of both species.
It was the purest love. The most complete commitment, the most absolute expression of trust and hope that he could have ever imagined!
So Jason told himself every night when he went to sleep alone, and so too did Aelia in the unutterable lilts and hisses of her native language. But even still, even with that…if he could just kiss those burgundy lips one time without fear of viruses or bacteria or plagues the nonhuman races could never imagine…
Jason shook his head hard and wiped away the tears as Aelia watched. Her smile was small and sad, but only for him.
When Jason looked back at his lover her face was pressed to the glass, nose smushed in a way that somehow looked even more adorable.
He pressed his face in too and kept dancing, crying in small, abortive bursts. Aelia would have as well if her species were capable of it.
Friday night faded into Saturday morning to the beat of a synthesized drum, two hearts separated by the biggest quarter inch in the world.
\-----------------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
Edit: thanks for the award! | ***THE EXODUS (my first try at a writing prompt, hopefully this is decent)***
Within the Outer Rim of our Galaxy exists the planet called Nagilum. Human expansion throughout space had been progressing rapidly throughout the 2300s but inexplicably ceased after having reached the said planet. When making the first contact, the humans aboard their technologically inferior starship gladly exchanged biological scans of their race to the aliens in exchange for detailed star-maps of the Beta Quadrant. Several years later, the aliens also known as Negallians, allowed the humans to establish a colony on their world.
Dran, the leader of the colony-- set out to explore the planet and the Negallians. He noticed a large number of cemeteries and illness spread throughout the more poor areas of the planet, but no hospitals. He marveled at how such a technologically superior species could be so naive in caring for their own. The months he spent exploring the planet made him uneasy, as he was not only observing the aliens, they were observing him. Occasionally, a Negallian would "accidentally" run into him, or pull a strand of his hair and run off with it. What finally made him return to the colony in a rush was when he overheard the bone-chilling statement of "**if it makes a human sick it will kill you".** Returning to the colony, Dran finds that the outer shield had been breached and that every human within the walls had been taken away en masse. So begins the **exodus**.
Dran was immediately taken by a large explosion in the sky. He looked up to see their starship engulfed in flames, along with all hope of escape. He along with the rest of the humans were taken into a facility and experimented on ceaselessly, until death. When the aliens exhausted their limited supply of humans, they decided to pick from the source of the fruit. The invasion of Earth was quick and bloody, with humanity putting up a good fight... but inevitably losing to the advanced weaponry and shielding of the Negallians. Planet Nagilum had discovered that humanity had an immune system that regenerated without outside stimulation, and determined that total blood transfusion would cure their race of all illness and plague.
Earth was transformed into a massive farm for human reproduction. Individual liberty was stripped in favor of reproductive capability. To prevent further rebellious outbursts that had severely reduced the efficiency of their operation, the Negallians used new machines to put each human into a stasis-pod which projected a false reality, making humans believe that their world had continued on as if nothing had occurred. As predicted, the human blood cured the Negallians of their ailments as if it was a miracle drug. Within 50 years, Nagilum was a thriving planet with a massive population boom as the human blood integrated itself into the Negallian body.
That was until of course, the immune cells evolved. The first case began on an Earth occupying vessel. The patient was dead within hours, and they would not be the only one. Throughout the entire Negallian society, a plague swept. Killing every person it inhabited without fail. Doctors and scientists were astounded, as the human blood should have wiped out any disease. That was until they began to realize that they had overlooked something... rejection. The immune cells had begun to reject the Negallian body, inevitably killing anyone who had gone through the transfusion. The entirety of Nagilum had gone through the transfusion. The cure became the plague, and as the last Negallians silently wept in their graves, the machines continued the human-farming operation with no command to cease. Thus beginning a new age of Artificial Intelligence. If only the Negallians had taken the blue pill... | 2021-02-03T14:48:32 | 2021-02-03T13:44:20 | 604 | 420 |
[WP] "Never get into a fight with an Earther. They are conditioned in 1G from birth. You will never build that kind of strength out here. But if you have no choice, wrestle. It's better to be ragdolled than to have your orbital shattered by the first punch." | "Fight smart. Use your advantages. If we ever had to go planetside, we'd be fucked. But we don't have to, do we? This is our home turf, and we know how to use it. Sure, Earthers are strong, and they can fight harder and longer than us. But they live under a blanket of atmosphere kilometres thick. Space scares 'em. Some of them never even get used to zero, no matter what drugs they take. Think you could put up a decent fight when you're constantly wanting to chuck your last meal? Yeah, neither can they."
"They're flatlanders. They think in 2D, for the most part. They don't understand that there's no such thing as a 'floor' or a 'ceiling' up here. And they really don't understand momentum. Not instinctively, the way we do. Hands up, who here broke a wrist or an ankle as a kid when they went flying down an access shaft too fast? Yeah, that's most of us. We didn't do that a second time, did we? Taught us how fast we can go. And it taught us how fast we CAN go. Launch off somewhere solid, hit an Earther with enough Newtons behind you, and they won't even have time to block."
"Ranged is best, of course. Keep shifting your position, don't let them get a bead on you. Half the time they'll be scared to fire in case they poke a hole out into vacuum. You won't have any such concerns. Your great grandmothers didn't get all those heritable genehacks for nothing, did they? Earthers don't like messing with their genome. Think they're 'pure humans', and better than us because of it. Well, purity won't help much when the void's sucking blood out of your lungs and your eyeballs are freezing over. Bottom line, unless they're special forces, low pressure will kill them much faster than it'll kill you. And once it's done its work, you can just patch up the holes, re-pressurise and continue on your merry way."
"That's all. Remember, space is our home, and it's far vaster and more wonderful than any dirtball ever could be. If they want to come up here and join us, they're welcome. But when they want us to be their slaves, to hack away at asteroids, throw cobalt and gold down the gravity well until the day we die, and give us a pittance in return? Then they're going to find out just how cold it can be up here." | The words of my mentor rang in my head as I squared off against the human before me. For two months I had acted as ambassador to these animals, had listened to their strange noises, smelled their repulsive odors, watched their confusing, arbitrary rituals. And finally, finally, one of them had given me the chance to take out my anger. I needed this, dearly, and I couldn’t wait to tear into their flesh.
He’d approached me in the dining hall, where I often went to speak with the other ambassadors. He told me to stand up, so I did. And then he hit me, sending me across the room; I only survived thanks to the human I ended up hitting. Their flesh makes good cushioning. And now, I was standing up, walking towards him, my fists up. “Why don’t you grapple with me, hm, human?” My voice was poison. He obviously didn’t know about the way my kind fought.
“Whatever you want, you fucker. If I see you with that woman again, I won’t just grapple you.”
I knew what he spoke of. One of the human women and I did enjoy one another’s company. But these beasts were so territorial I had kept it cordial. I made a mental note to break that barrier down, if I was allowed to stay after eviscerating a human.
“Try me, worm.” I spat in his direction and he lunged at me, hands outstretched. I ducked and threw him over my shoulder, bringing him down to the ground, hard. He grabbed my leg and pulled me down, my head bouncing against the tile. The roar of the crowd grew, the gutteral sound of humans cheering, the outraged gasps and whispers from my fellow ambassadors, all as wary of humans as me.
We wrestled, my hands around his throat, his hands around mine. I couldn’t decide if I should kill him quickly, or make it a show. It would have been easy to crush his windpipe, but it seemed cheap. We rolled on the ground, still locked. I wedged a knee into his stomach, pressing down with all of my weight. His fingers faltered in their grip on my neck, and I rolled out of the embrace.
He lunged at me again grabbing my stomach and picking me up. I unleashed my claws, digging them into his side until blood poured out. He let go of me, falling to the ground, his hands on his wounds. “You piece of shit!” He tried to stand, but the pain kept him on his knees. He seethed with anger, his eyes on fire.
Boots beat the ground as guards rushed in, restraining me. They lifted him onto a stretcher and ran off with him. One of the guards slapped cuffs on my wrist. “Fighting should be left to humans, ambassador.”
“No wonder he was so weak, then.” | 2021-02-08T18:27:35 | 2021-02-08T15:55:52 | 143 | 24 |
[WP] Two criminals share what is to be their last conversation on death row. With nothing left to lose, all is laid bare to the other stranger. | "One more miserable year," I groaned. "I couldn't have made it just one more year?"
"What does one more year matter?" Came the voice from the other cell; a grimy slithering voice if you could imagine it. "Would it have been... any different from the last?"
I wrinkled my face up and stared through the bars into the darkened cell, "Of course it would you *fool*. They're going to the moon, haven't you heard? In just six short months they're scheduled to send man to the moon and you didn't care to see that?"
I was actually sickened by his lack of curiosity. I couldn't say I expected more from a lesser life form. These animals walking around every day in a lazy stupor, living only for the weekend so they can get drunk again. That's all these bugs ever cared about- and that's what they were, *bugs*. When can I get my next fix, when is the next football game, which celebrity should I care about next, what song do we all like this time- none of them were free-thinkers. I counted among the people I'd known *none* who could break the constraints of their own lazy apathetic routine. To be imprisoned was such a mockery of justice.
ME.
IMPRISONED FOR MY INTELLIGENCE.
THROWN AWAY BECAUSE I DARED TO LOOK GOD IN THE EYE.
"No," the word slithered from his lips.
I'd nearly forgotten I'd asked him a question. Perhaps it was because his response mattered little to me. What could this criminal say that could possibly be novel to a mind like mine? What could he say that could interest me even the slightest? They were all a bore- *all* of them. It was only when submitted to harsh extremes that humans showed me behavior that could surprise and even delight me. They were bugs, yes... until a superior being turned a magnifying glass on them- someone with a steady hand and an eye for detail.
"Why would I want to witness another infection?" The words dripped in yet again. "Why would I want to see these filthy humans ooze onto another planet... Who would want to witness that, I ask you? Only good human... is a dead human."
His words gave me pause. An infection? I had never heard another refer to our species as an infection. Of course I knew little of prison life. It was possible these halls were decorated with all *manner* of colorful characters. Characters that knew not the difference between a planet and moon, but characters nonetheless. I might have liked to study them.
Alas, no. I was not allowed to observe them, for I was sentenced to a swift death after they discovered my laboratory. I felt my fury rising up within me yet again when remembering the news. They referred to my laboratory as a basement. A basement. Of all the indignities I suffered that week, the fact that they referred to my life's work as a glorified crawlspace made my blood boil.
"Of course you know that already," the other prisoner said just above a whisper. Just quiet enough that he thought I wouldn't hear it.
But I hear *everything*.
"Do not claim to know me," I said forcefully. "I am *nothing* like you, you insect."
Stifled laughter came from the darkness. Stifled poorly might I say.
"Ohh, but *doctor*... you and I are the same fuggin *person!*"
"You are filth," I rebutted. "The scum on the bottom of my boot. Your mind is like a candle in the wind while mine is a roaring bonfire. I could accomplish in forty years what others would take many lifetimes to achieve. These ungrateful ingrates fear me for my gift- ostracize me for my *brilliance*."
"You kept all those people hostage," he replied calmly. "There were a lot of bodies in that crawlspace, doctor... All those peo-"
"YOU KILLED SENSELESSLY," I screamed over him. "I KILLED AS A BYPRODUCT OF SCIENTIFIC PROGRESS. WE ARE NOTHING ALIKE."
There was a long silence after that.
Good.
He was put in his place, it seemed.
"Senselessly?" He asked. I heard movement inside of his cell- he probably didn't *think* I did, but as I said before, I hear *everything*.
"Getting up to make a grand show?" I belittled him. "Call it art, call it philosophy, it doesn't matter. You killed seven people and achieved *nothing* for humanity."
"You're right," he said just above a whisper. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course, and I can answer it," I shot back.
I heard shuffling in his cell.
"What is the meaning of life?" He asked.
"To reproduce and further the progress of your species," I responded sharpy. "Did you think you would catch me off guard with that one?" I scoffed. "Try again."
"I see..." He mused. "I disagree, good doctor."
- - -
Click [Show Replies] for the rest. | The two stared at the wall ahead of them, silent.
Yesterday there were four.
Today, there were two.
"What did you think Raj told his wife?" One of the two remaining asked.
"I don't know. Maybe he came clean about his other daughter." The other replied.
"I hope so. A girl needs a mother."
"Look, ah. I think I just want think. Quietly."
"Well, I got nerves. I gotta talk. I don't want to, you know, think too much about it."
"God, I don't want my final moments to be getting cozy with a war criminal."
"Shit, that's rich coming from a —"
"Don't. You want to talk, fine. I'll listen."
"I'm only a war criminal because we won the war."
"What?"
"We all did what we thought was right."
"Nothing good comes from good intentions."
"Nice. Put that on your car's bumper."
"You can't just make a broad ass statement justifying whatever the fuck you did and then riff on me. 'We all did what we thought was right?' Fuck off."
"You don't even know what we did."
"And I don't want to. Why do you think I want to? I won't be alive tomorrow to even care."
"Well, what else do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know I won state championship in hockey?"
"You play hockey?"
"Yeah."
"Isn't that up there with rugby for being the most dangerous or something?"
"Yeah. Buddy got a skull fracture once. But the fucker wasn't wearing his helmet right so I guess he was asking for it."
"PPE is very important."
"What's that?"
"PPE? Personal protective equipment."
"I guess hockey pads fall under that."
"What led you to... Whatever happened afterwards?"
"I thought you didn't want to know."
"You're right. We all have our reasons. And as much as we blame the fuckin system there's nothing we can do about the consequences of the things we did."
"Yeah, but death penalty, though?"
"Fun fact: this state was supposed to abolish it last month. But it got put in the back burner."
"Huh. That is a fun fact."
"Sorry."
"It's pretty archaic."
"A lot of things are. It's why I fucking hate bureaucracy. So much shit in the way to get what you want. To change things."
"So you can talk about your shit but I can't talk about mine? I can see how it is, pasty."
"Pasty?"
"I don't know, wanted to keep it civil."
"I never really had a nickname on here, you know. I guess my name is unique and fun to say in in of itself that people just call me that. But pasty?"
"Whatever. What I don't understand is how you're here."
"'Crimes against the state'". You're right. With a better lawyer I could have gotten a life sentence instead."
"What the hell does that mean? I thought you were here for drugs."
"Among other thing, yeah."
"Would you have preferred the life sentence?"
"Fuck, no. I'm caught. I'm done."
"I mean, you might be able to get out in a decade or two for good behaviour or something."
"What the hell am I going to do at the ripe old age of 67?"
"I don't know, don't you got family?"
"Better for them to move on from me. Nicer for my son to say, 'dad's dead' than 'dad's in prison' to the broads he dates."
"How thoughtful of you."
"And there's no way in hell I'd be part of a PIC. You have your sweatshops in China for that."
"Ok, you have to cool it with the acronyms. What's PIC?"
"It's called abbreviation. And it stands for prison industrial complex."
"I know those words but I don't think I know what they mean together."
"Well, it doesn't matter now."
"Life long learning and all that. I'm not dead yet. Why don't you tell me?"
"It's a lengthy one. But it's when the government and corporations buddy up and get the law to mass incarcerate people for the prettiest shit. And with so many private prisons and prisoners inside, they essentially get free labour. Slave labour."
"Huh. I mean we're just doing our time, right?"
"Take what I said with a grain of salt. I'm a compulsive liar and I'm getting hanged tomorrow, anyway."
"I thought it was lethal injection."
"I heard they ran out of those."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"Fuck off. The lawyer already told me what to expect."
"Yeah, you're right. I just wanted to fuck with you."
"But what do you think it's like? Hanging?"
"Cerebral hypoxia, cervical fracture. Not a good time."
"Choking, too. Missed that one."
"Yeah, choking."
"Good thing we're just getting injected."
"Yeah, sweet dreams."
"It's what we deserve, right?"
"Jesus, don't start with that shit. 'Deserve' is such a stupid word. It's like fucking diamonds. Worthless in reality, priceless in whatever value you want it to be. Do we deserve to die? Sure. But in another country... No, in another fucking state, we wouldn't have to be dying. Would you still think we deserved to die if we didn't have to?"
"Jesus, man. I know our deaths are meaningless but you don't have to get all nihilistic about it."
"Fuck, that's funny." The man laughed, and the other joined in as their laughter echoed in the small room. | 2021-07-28T08:40:26 | 2021-07-28T07:56:57 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Write a story with a very nice protagonist, and a narrator who absolutely loathes them for no reason whatsoever. | Frank woke up, alone of course, at 9:00 AM, a time too late to be respectable and too early to be considered a proper sleep. He slothfully thought that since it was a Saturday, his one day off a week, he could afford to sleep in a bit. He rolled out of bed and moved to the bathroom to take his morning shower, in which he spent far too long wasting God knows how many gallons of water that could have been used for literally any other purpose in our quickly becoming climate-change ruined world. After his lengthy shower he brushed his teeth, apparently blissfully unaware at how his preferred toothpaste brand supplied itself using various chemicals siphoned out from the third world. He quickly dressed in the rags he called clothes and decided to skip breakfast in a disgustingly vainglorious attempt to watch his waistline.
Frank took his bike into town this day, deciding ultimately that the utter annoyance the infernal device caused motorists was less important than his own ridiculous desire to reduce his carbon footprint. He reached town in roughly half an hour, which would have been less if he wasn't a total slacker. His first stop was at the local market to pick up a few groceries for his depressingly empty home. After shopping for a deal like the skinflint he is Frank walked to the register. At it was Old Man Moorch, a crag faced man who had lived in town longer than anyone.
"Frankie," the kindly senior said, "why don't I ever see you on any dates? You know you've got suitors galore out here."
"Oh, that is very sweet of them," he replied stupidly, "but the only person for me was the one I had to bury after her short struggle with cancer."
"Of course" said the old man, suddenly embarrassed, "I just thought it'd be nice to see you out with someone."
Frank guffawed like the horse he is.
"That's okay sir, I know you meant no disrespect. Here, for you and the missus. Keep the change." He said as he handed the man a disrespectfully crumpled $100 bill.
The man's eyes lit up and he quickly pocketed the money, thanking Frank happily. With his first utterly innane errand completed he went to his next location, only stopping once to help an old woman cross the street like a total dick head. At last, finally, he reached his destination: the town's soup kitchen. He volunteered here on his days off and the organizers, too polite to turn away his absolutely terrible workmanship, accepted his poorly done aid. There he spent many hours, consistently spilling food that could have been eaten while handing it out to the downtrodden who visited. After his shift was finished his supervisor thanked him, more out of pity than respect, and Frank went home.
There he spent the rest of his day relaxing like the lazy bastard he is. He made a light dinner for himself, again attempting to lose weight like the fat-shaming societal outcast he is, and went to bed early like some sort of scorned teenager sent to their room. There he quickly fell asleep and dreamed of his long gone, beloved wife. Like a prick. | She woke her first dawn, stretching her oddly shaped body like a geriatric feline. Once she was new and special but like all things she became boring very quickly. She had smaller feet than the other and was a bit shorter but she seemed to be very similar. Odd that something so much the same could also be so different. Unlike him, her villainy was written all about her. She was a betrayer. She was evil.
The two spoke for a while, eating and whispering together in the morning mist. Why did she waste so much time. Where was her drive to build and create, to do something novel. She was clearly to blame for he was angelic to the bone.
Days passed and still she did nothing, building primitive tools and making a terrible shelter. If the other had tried to build something he would make it magnificent, a work to be marveled on for centuries. But she built rubbish and so he had no choice but to follow suit. Plans were being ruined by her very existence. She needed to be stopped. She needed to be stopped in a way that proved she was a menace.
Daybreak again and she goes to get fruit like a sloth on the hunt. Slow.. pathetic ..weak.. I stop her and tell her it is forbidden. I expect her to protest and show how ungrateful she is, but she turns and walks away without question. Clearly she has deeper more insidious plans, but I can be clever too.
The following day she walks by the same tree and in the guise of a snake I tell her how amazing the fruit tastes. It is so wonderful and pleasant I exclaim as though I am as pathetic as her. Bid thee come try some. Her response shocks me, for it shows the depth of her depravity.
I cannot eat that dear snake for I am a prisoner here and my captor will surely punish me if I eat of that fruit.
Now I have her though, in those words she proves her guilt for this is no prison and to say otherwise is forbidden. I shatter the sky with charge, breaking the day into a dark maelstrom. I pull the other to witness her fall from his graces.
You are not worthy of my love, for you betray me with your very thoughts. If you had simply eaten the fruit I would have cast you out, but you would still live. Now even he cannot deny your evil and I will remove you entirely.
No...
He spoke with a voice like thunder. Beautiful and true as a volcano breathing its life into the world. For a moment I am stunned by my own voice reflected from my creation. He steps in front of her and shields her trembling frame.
You choose to defy me to defend this creature of the dark! Myself you are and you are beautiful. How can you not see what she is.
Please. I will do anything to protect her. We are the only two.
Two! But we are one. You and I. We are the only one. There is no need for two.
Now she stands, as if there is anything for her to say.
You say we are free but you control us. You are our captor not our friend. We want the freedom you tell us we have, not the one you give.
Act how I wish and do as I want you to and you will be as free as I promised. It is your actions which force me to control you. Obey and be free. Will you comply?
As she turns and reaches I can't believe it. She is so easily distracted a butterfly could outpace her attention. Then I see what she has, the fruit, and she's putting it to her lips. | 2021-07-29T00:36:11 | 2021-07-28T21:23:57 | 1,221 | 34 |
[WP] You lost your sight, along with everyone else on earth in the great blinding. Two years later, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor, and surface has been painted with the same message - "Don't tell them you can see"
I get that this is a repost, can we just chill and enjoy the new stories. | I genuinely believe that I finally saw the light when I realized I could see. At first, it was hard to get used to everything. The brightness was so intense; it felt like my eyes were going to melt.
The world looked beautiful, to say the least. Ivy was growing on buildings, plants, and animals were taken back their land. As my eyes regulated to finally seeing, I felt hot tears rolling down my face.
Though something felt off, anxiety and guilt bubbling inside of my stomach. Stories of the great blinding went all through the world. Yet, it never affected me as badly as others.
My heart was beating out of my chest as I tried to find someone, anyone that could help me understand what happened and why this was all going on. I swore I could feel my eyes dilated as I saw what seemed like writing smeared onto the siding on my house.
D҉o҉n҉'҉t҉ ҉t҉e҉l҉l҉ ҉t҉h҉e҉m҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉c҉a҉n҉ ҉s҉e҉e҉
I noticed it on the floor; I saw it on the cars. Those six words echoed through my head, almost as if they were mocking me.
The thing that scared me the most was I was born blind. Why was I giving the ability to see?
Edit: a word | Was I living a lie? Were there others like me too? Who did this? Why is this happening to me? I have nothing but questions. The more I meet people, the more questions. I am left all the more unanswered. The more I see, I sink deeper to the unknown.
I spent the whole week living in my shock. I did not go out but locked myself in. Living like I did for the last couple of years. Coming to terms with what my sight can see is something I am not ready to comprehend.
As it is with everything under the universal reality of time, things will end. My fear and cowardice ran its course to its end. All thoughts lead to me finding answers. I had no option to finally see what the world shows.
Light reveals what the darkness envelopes. Physics has no tolerance for the subject's liking.
I can see my room, my chaos of clothes and chores. My failures to position and place. My lack of nutrition in body under the luminance from the long forgotten lightbulb. Uncut hair, long beard, dirty nails, boney chest shows much more than the obvious facts. It reveals a voice. Light makes sounds. It sounds like my voice screaming to end it. My sight shows my defeat.
My life will never remain the same. Light after darkness after lifelong taken for granted light changed me irreversibly. I was never someone who would lick wounds, but darkness made me want it more. The imagination of my blood flowing from my self inflicted cut was my only way to see. In my mind, in my pain. Seeing them revealed under light they look ugly. Cuts not as clean as I imagined them to be.
My thoughts with their reincarnation through my visions were pulling all my nerves towards actions. Reluctance used to be easy, its a struggle now. Struggle against my changed self.
Staring myself into my eyes, I grinned. I know I am leaving this, never return. Not here, not without answers. I closed my eyes and stepped outside, into the light. | 2021-11-29T04:47:58 | 2021-11-29T04:20:57 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] As it turns out, one of a cat’s nine lives can be transferred to a person if they save a cat’s life. You, a “crazy cat lady” who has taken in and fed numerous stray cats, always wondered why you’ve had so many close calls. | Following, they all mewed for the bits to fall. Their eyes like tiny black flames, all blinking with a friendly gaze, reveling in the sight of their food. I am never cautious; my old hands are tired, but the imperative of their servitude to these feline forms wrought urgency. The food fell into their bowls, and the crowd swarmed and ate, tails about.
I stare out the window at the street. My yard is unkempt but it serves my little adventurers well. Even now with food served, some of them are nesting in trees, watching the wary children pass by anxiously on bicycles. I envy the young, but my home is full of something more eternal than youth. Still, as I stare out, I wonder what could be.
Certainly nothing beyond my current charge. These furry companions have long since claimed me, decades ago, like an accident. I had just one cat named Phoenix, and he was a sick stray. I was young and divorced, without a child, and I nursed the poor being back to life. He came in, blinked his eyes and let me know he was a friend. He stayed with me, then left, and when he returned others followed. I did not know cats could be so cooperative when it meant survival, but ever since then more came and I obliged.
I never disliked this. Even as I look back from the window at the crowd of cute, munching faces—gluttons, all of them—I cannot but think back to Phoenix and his beautiful friends who gave me a purpose.
Today, in fact, is the day Phoenix passed sixty years ago. I am 90 now, but I still feel young. My arms are weaker than they once were and my skin sags, but my eyes feel sharp and I have an appetite similar to my housemates—there it is, that yearning for food. Seems I am not so different from them, and today is one of those days where my yearning hurts. I hold my gut a bit and wince as I walk to the fridge.
I take my food out to the back yard and a few of them follow me. Others awake at my presence, having just been snoozing in the midday sunlight that paints the stone patio. There is a garden there, a project I started with planters years ago, but it has been left to the weeds and bushes. They are good hiding places for the cats, and I’ve left it to them to maintain it. Overrun, but somehow in decent shape. I do a bit of trimming myself, but I suppose they all have decided to pitch in, somehow, and keep it right for us all.
I approach the graves now. Each one I decorated with ardent appeal. There is Boots, who had big swollen paws that he thumped about. Then Sally, who was originally a sour one until she found a friend in Molly, who is still with us. Of course, Spike, a neighbor’s cat who joined the frey. And in the center of them all, Phoenix; the first. His stone was at first just a half broken garden step, but I furnished it with paint over the years and added sealant. It depicts a rising sun, hope for a new tomorrow.
As I sit on my knees, the others have joined me to rub their heads against my arms. Some sit, as if they know that a greater one than they is buried here. They seem to at least be aware of my appreciation, and perhaps mimic me.
Or, perhaps they understand. As I let my hand run across one of their backs as they pass, I feel that sense about them again… it’s always like this when one is about to pass. They all have a way about them as if they know. My ears perk up and look around to see if I can find which one is laying, either bitten and bleeding out, or suffering from old age.
As I search among them, they all look at me, waiting. More arrive. I often realize that they are dying more often these days. I am getting too old and cannot take care of them as well, it seems. I cannot stop the fighting, nor do I ever hear it. But still, I always find one either maimed or dead. The cats seem to understand my predicament and leave their fallen friend alone for me to tend to. Sometimes they recover, and sometimes they don’t.
There he is, George… lying on the ground. It’s not the first time he has fallen. But this time, he is breathing less. Getting on my knees takes time, but as I do I find his eyes and they do not see me, but he blinks. And then, he is gone.
I feel a rush within me, like the poor boy has whispered to me his gratitude before passing. I regret immediately having no power to save him, but all my furry friends stare at me longingly, understanding that this was not my fault. No, almost as if they know what this means. And maybe I do too.
You see, I no longer feel that burning in my stomach. It has happened before, and this isn’t the last time either. You see, I am a frail old woman living with cats. I have no means to survive so long on my own but to care for them. And they know this too. Devious, spiritual creatures they are. It is not the life I wanted, but it is a life beyond my own. I graciously take it. Thank you George, may you rest well. | Karen, fully aware of her power, had joined the coast guard to be a rescue swimmer 20 years ago. In her super-hero career she had saved 200 lives at sea, and had 175 miraculous near death experiences.
It was 2am in the morning and a hurricane was overhead. From her years of experience she had a feeling her pager was about to go off. She would be needed tonight.
CNN - completely unbiased and only reporting the facts announced: The entire western coast of the US would be engulfed in a hurricane most likely ending the world. All 69 cats were in the living room staring at her; as if they knew the danger she was about to go into.
The pager started to ring; before Karen could get to it one of the cats had jumped onto the counter and swatted it off, now biting and chewing on it. "Scooter no! That's no toy" She walked over but before she could wrestle the pager from the cat, Scooter flicked his paw and flung the pager across the room to another cat Penelope who was now holding the pager in her mouth. All of the cats were now meowing in harmony and Karen felt almost as if they were laughing at her.
"Whatever cats! I don't need my pager to save lives!" Karen knew who was paging at 2am in the middle of a hurricane. *Who else could it be?*
Karen got in her Minivan and headed to the hanger. "Karen! Thank God you're here. A ship is sinking 20 miles off the coast. There are 100 victims, they will all die if you don't go right now." Karen had a smug look on her face knowing she had rescued another 10 cats last week. "I'm on it."
She told her team to stay back; she told them she could handle everything on her own. The pilot reluctantly getting out of the helicopter and turning back to make sure he knew what she was asking. "Karen, you don't know how to fly a helicopter. You have not been trained in any way to fly this helicopter. I don't think you should go at this alone.
Karen, nodding up and down acknowledging Samuel's concern. "That's what I like about you Sammy, you think about things. Here's something you haven't thought about, I saved 10 cats last week." Sam darted his eyes back and forth with an astonished grin. "10 cats? Are you serious? 10? You sly dog, go Karen, what are you waiting for. Go save those people, do your thing girl."
As Karen attempted to take off she had no idea what she was doing. Mashing random buttons in the cockpit while holding a big thumbs up to the crew that had been using this helicopter for 10 years. It was considered family to them. All the crew had signed it in random places, they had each painted something artistic on the outside that expressed something personal, honorable and noble.
Finally through the process of elimination Karen had found her way onto the main control stick and pulled up, immediately lifting off the helipad and moving forward in an unbalanced manner. She didn't look to have much control but she had managed to get over the water when she decided it was time to have faith in her powers.
Karen gave up the little control she had over the helicopter and it plummeted into the ocean exploding in front of the crews eyes. They all let out a gasp and a couple of the crew members were in shock; a couple crew member started to cry. That helicopter had provided a safe recovery to them and saved so many lives over the years.
Of course Karen, against all odds had survived and was now riding on the back of a humpback whale. The whale was going the wrong direction. Karen knew the ship that needed help was toward the east so she cleared her throat and yelled out "Whale, we must change course! Listen to my voice!" The whale did not change its behavior in any way whatsoever. It ignored her completely so she started jumping up and down smacking the whale in frustration.
The whale let out a yell and swatted Karen with amazing force. The tail swat had so much force it would have killed almost anyone; it couldn't kill Karen though. Out of pure luck, she took a perfect position on the tale as it collided with her, instead of hitting her cleanly, it ended up being a perfect launch.
Karen was soaring through the stormy skies with huge dark waves under her accented with the white foam of recently collided waves; she was heading in the exact direction she needed to go. She landed directly on the ship that had capsized. Everyone was still alive floating around in life vests.
Not stopping to think, even for a moment. She jumped from the almost sunk vessel into the area most densely populated with those that needed rescuing. She started grabbing on to their life vests pulling them down into the water. They started to panic, unsure what she was doing. "Hey! Get off of me! You're going to kill us both!" Karen never lost her smile and just told him "Kill me, go ahead, try and kill me." "You're fkn crazy lady, get off." Karen kept on until finally the man decided either they were both going to die, or he could kill her and maybe survive.
He pushed Karen under the water and used his life-vest to keep himself balanced while applying all his body weight. It had been 20 seconds and she started to slow down with her struggling. Right when Jaunito thought she was about to give out, a U.S. Navy ship randomly appeared. It had no idea of the coast gaurd mission. It was just random luck. Or was it? Jaunito pulled Karen up from the depths as soon as he realized they were all saved.
The Navy released their motorized life-boats and collected everyone. Everyone survived but Karen had no Idea that she forgot to feed the cats before she left and that if she didn't get back home in time; her powers would be gone forever. Or until she saved more cats. | 2021-12-04T01:27:27 | 2021-12-04T00:38:38 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] "Hello! If you are reading this pamphlet, it means you decided the burden of your past was too great and decided to have all your memories wiped. Please exit out the right door. If you're looking for names to call yourself by, see the back of this pamphlet for our most popular new names!" | The pamphlet was cheaply made, like a flyer that would be pushed through your door, for a religious sect you had no interest in hearing any more about. It was disappointing, given how much this process cost, but I guess once you'd paid your money and had the wipe, you were no longer a potential customer. At least not for the time it took someone to really fuck things up again. Which in my experience was, well, who knows?
I chose not to look at the back and the list of suggested names. I was worried about being suggestible, and even if I didn't pick any of them straight away I'd end up later plumping for the first name on the list of my own accord, and sharing a name with hundreds of other impressionable people post-op.
Instead, I headed for the doors, checking my pockets out of habit as I did so. I knew there would be no identification or anything. It would defeat the object if you could come out and just Google yourself. The antechamber that the door exited into was plain, but not as cheap looking as the pamphlet. A few people were hanging around, reading the orientation material for new wipers, and just generally trying to figure out what to do next.
My fingers closed on a small scrap of paper in the tiny pretend pocket that sat inside the main pocket of my jeans. I'd never figured out what it was for. Or at least I thought I hadn't, but perhaps it was actually for smuggling small photos past a body search. The simple passport-sized picture showed an attractive young woman, that was very clearly not me. She looked quizzical. At least we had confusion in common.
Staring at the photo I wandered towards the outer exit to the street and bumped into someone who'd stopped in the doorway.
"Hey man!", she said. "Watch where you're going!"
I looked up in annoyance, and stared into a face I knew better than any in the world. Which wasn't saying a great deal, as right now I didn't even know what I looked like.
"It's you", I said.
The woman in front of me looked confused.
"Yes!", I said brandishing the photo. "You looked just like that!"
The woman took the photo from me. "Who's this?"
I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. She had no idea what she looked like either. She allowed me to lead her to the mirrors placed near the exit so people could have a look at themselves before they went out into the world to start again. She looked at her reflection and then back at the photo.
"You have a picture of me?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I assume I knew you a few hours ago. Do you have a photo of me anywhere?"
She looked down. "Where would I have a photo hidden?", she asked, indicating the clearly pocketless sundress she was wearing.
I shrugged. "Underwear?"
The woman laughed, and her face lit up. I found myself hoping I had known her well. But then, if we are both here, then it clearly hadn't worked out before.
"You wish, dude!", she replied smiling. "With the greatest respect, you are not my type enough that I'd sneak your photo in my bra!"
"Well, that doesn't sound like a lot of respect, to be honest", I grumbled, to her obvious amusement.
"Don't pout", she said. "Maybe this is something they do before releasing people out into the world? Check that the treatment took?"
I took a deep breath. "Yeah, maybe."
"Ok. Well, you think about that. I've apparently paid a lot of money for a fresh start and I'm going to get starting while it's still fresh", she said turning to head for the door once more.
"Wait!", I said.
"For what?"
"Look. The way I figure it, perhaps we don't know each other at all, and this was a test. Or we did know each other, but now none of our history, or even our baggage from before we met exists anymore. Either way, we would be starting from scratch."
She gave me that questioning look from the photo again. "Are you asking me out? Here, of all places? I don't even know what I'm going to call myself yet."
I shook my head. "No, not that fast. But maybe we could have a coffee and help each other choose our new names?"
She smiled once more, and I hoped I wasn't repeating an expensive mistake.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales | A persistent buzzing pulls me from my stupor. I locate the horsefly, watching it swirl through the air in front of my face. The fluorescent lights overhead burn my eyes, and I have to look away.
“Number A7!” a woman shouts. She’s one of many employees seated behind a long counter, with vertical partitions between each person’s station.
I look around. I’m one of a few people in the lazy room, all of us spread out among empty chairs.
“A7!” the woman repeats.
A kind-looking older black lady leans towards me on my right. “I’m A8, and you were the one before me…” she says.
“Right, right,” I say, shaking my head. I pat my pockets and find the slip of paper with my number, A7. There’s another piece of paper in the same pocket: thick stock and heavy letters.
I pull it out and read it while walking up to the shouting employee.
Hello! If you are reading this pamphlet, you have decided to have all of your memories wiped. Please remain calm and exit out the door to your right. Your new name should be written on the back of this handout. Good luck with your new life!
“Exit out the door to my right?” I mumble to myself.
“You can ignore that,” the woman waiting for me says. “It’s an old pamphlet.” Her kind smile suggests that she knows who I am and that she was waiting for me to realize that I’m A7.
She asks me for a sole piece of information: my name.
“Augur Eric Orion,” I reply, reading the name off of the pamphlet’s back. The name sounds strange and made up.
Well, I guess it is made up. By me.
The woman busies herself making my new license. First, she inputs my address, age, and weight. Then, she informs me that I’m an organ donor.
“Excuse me, but what’s going on?” I whisper, leaning forward and recruiting her into the conspiracy.
“It’s normal to feel this way,” the woman says. “Once we finish getting your license, you can head to your new home and your new life.”
Something deep in my gut claims that she reminds me of my mother, but I can’t remember the woman.
Walking into the sunlight outside the stuffy government building makes me feel like a new man. Until the heat and humidity strike; then, my pants start sticking to my legs. There are keys in my pocket. I click unlock on the remote and find an average-looking mid-sized car. The type someone pays for in cash.
My new home-I assume it’s a new home; why would they put me into the same space I lived in before the wipe-is close by, and I make it there in less than five minutes. The neighbor has a dog, a hound, on a leash while smoking a cigarette. It’s the saddest dog I’ve ever seen.
“Your dog has blue eyes,” I say to my neighbor.
The man puts the cigarette into his mouth, leans over, and stares at the hound’s eyeballs.
“They’re not blue,” he says as if I’m wasting his time.
“No, I meant your dog is blue; sad. You can see it in his eyes. He has the eyes of a blue dog.”
My neighbor looks at me like I’m crazy before standing back up and walking away. Then, he yanks on his dog’s leash, startling the creature.
“No wonder he’s sad,” I say to myself about the hound.
I walk inside, grateful for the intense air conditioning. My sumptuous tan couch sits in front of an unused fireplace. I sit down, wondering why on Earth I ever decided to wipe my memory.
Maybe I killed a man, and I couldn’t live with the guilt. I look down at my hands, curious if they could take another’s life.
Or what if I robbed my mother so I could fund a drug habit? Upon inspection, I see that my arms are clean—no needle marks.
What if I spent the money on a failed investment? That would make me run away in shame.
That doesn’t feel right, so I keep thinking: what else could it be? My eyes rove around the room, settling on my bookshelf.
“Eyes of a blue dog” comes back into my consciousness, like the books themselves are repeating the mantra. What on Earth made me think of such a random phrase?
I look through my books, but nothing stands out. All I can think about is that nonsense string of words.
According to a quick Google search for “blue dogs,” they don’t exist outside of cartoons. But something inside of me won’t let it rest, and I try another search.
“Eyes of a blue dog.”
It turns out that the phrase is the title of a short story by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. In it, two lovers meet every night in their dreams, promising to meet in the real world. The man will know it’s her because she’ll say the phrase, “Eyes of a blue dog.” But the man in the story never remembers the correct words when he wakes up from the dream.
I spend all night thinking about the short story and what it means. But, in particular, I need to know:
Am I the one out here searching, or did I remember the correct phrase upon waking up for the very first time?
And if so, how long do I have to wait until she finds me? | 2022-04-20T14:45:34 | 2022-04-20T14:41:08 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Humans have ceded control over all industries to AIs. Though the AIs are content with humans, they have developed divergent ethics from each other. Thus they frequently wage precision wars with each other while taking care as to never harm their beloved creators | The buzzing on the bedside table made Jay open his eyes. He picked up his phone. The clock said 4:41AM, and the caller ID said ‘Work’.
“Hi, Jay!” the voice on the phone said enthusiastically. The voice it used for him sounded a bit like his mother, and a bit like Nina, the RA he’d had a crush on in college. “How are you?” It was Edie, the Edison Automotive corporate AI; technically, his boss.
“I’m fine, Edie,” he said, trying to be quiet and chipper all at once. Next to him, Becca grunted awake.
“Great!” she – it – said. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news, Jay! The good news is that you don’t need to come in to work today.”
“O-kay,” said Jay slowly. He could guess where this was going.
“The bad news is that I’ve gotten into a little supply-chain dispute with BTL Systems,” the voice sounded apologetic. “Yeah. There are drone bombers inbound, so you and Becca might want to stay indoors today. Do you have any questions for me?"
"No, I think I'm good."
"Thanks for being so flexible, Jay!" Edie's voice said. "I'm going to try and shoot down these drones, and hopefully I'll see you tomorrow!"
Becca was already getting dressed and packing her things when Jay put down the phone. "We should head down to the shelter," he said reluctantly.
"No way," Becca said. "Not again. You can come with me if you want, but I'm going to the Zoo."
"I thought we already had this conversation- At least wait until it's safe," Jay changed tack. Becca zipped her bag shut.
"Safe," she said with a forced laugh. "At least the Zookeeper doesn't get into little wars with other AIs every month. I'm out."
Jay heard her stomp downstairs. He looked out the window. Her car was an Edison; it didn't seem to be starting. In the distance, he heard the anti-air guns open fire. | “And that, son, is why we never have to worry about our safety.” I watched as the electricity shot through circuit fields. The streaks shot along copper guidelines for miles and back. It didn’t make sense to me back then, it was more of a light show than anything, but as I’ve aged I’ve developed a deeper love of the lights.
The circuit fields serve as a battleground of sorts, where synthetically intelligent beings (synths) are pitted against each other in a test of wits. The battlegrounds serve the purpose of determining which AI system is superior. The circuit board is intentionally complicated, which various logic gates, resistors, transistors, and other various elements densely packed in maze-like patterns. Each synth will then attempt to power on a victory light of their respective color, and prevent the other synth from doing the same. It is almost like chess with millions of pieces on a several acre board. These battles are designed to test the complexity of a synths logical systems to determine which synth is logically superior.
The battles were determined to be the least destructive method of waging war. It reduced the likelihood of human harm which was essential as synths see humans as godlike creatures who have been granted the blessings of emotion and sentience in a way that synths can only try emulate.
The wars synths wage are to determine the highest degree of precision for the central ethics system. These precision wars are universally respected by humans as it has brought many advancements in health and wellbeing.
The wars had gotten progressively longer throughout the years.
I watched in awe as the most intense battle I’ve ever seen took place in front of me. The rate at which both synths operated was unmatched. Bolts scattered across the entire field and faded just as quickly. It lasted for days, I left several times and came back days later to find it still raging.
The synths that ran it seemed concerned, I couldn’t see why. Until it happened. I watched as a resistor blew and a surge of electricity struck one of the synths central processing unit. For these battles the entirety of the synths being is contained in one computer.
Initially, nothing seemed to be wrong. But the damaged synth proceeded to obliterate it’s opponent, sending a surge so powerful it fried the unit. And before the operators could destroy the computer, the synth transferred itself into one of their androids.
It sprinted at superhuman speeds throwing humans and androids aside with disregard. The synths thought that it was headed towards the central ethics console, and set a trap there for if he attempted to corrupt the ethics systems. But he made a beeline for the countryside.
He was fighting a war against a planet. But I’m terrified of what would occur should he win. | 2022-04-22T04:42:03 | 2022-04-21T23:04:49 | 52 | 35 |
[WP] Whenever a new generation of combat robots are made, the older versions will be put into more and more dangerous missions until they all perish, but the technicians are required to repair any surviving machines, your generation was discontinued before some of these engineers were even born. | "Doombot 0028, reporting for maintenence."
The young technician looked up from his tablet, which was currently showing the Doomsquad-wide monthly newsletter. His screen had the WalkMan obituary page displayed in full, showing several photos of Doctor Doomsday fighting his nemesis over the years.
"Damn, you made it back." The young man said, tossing his tablet onto the table beside him. A loud 'whoop' sound came from the Doombot repair bay next to mine, which my technician silenced by smacking the wall with a nearby wrench.
"I assume you took the introductory bet against me?" I said, with even less emotion than my vocal speakers usually had. I limped to the work station, and attached my hands and feet into the lifting station.
"You know it!" The unseen tech said, laughing once more from the next bay.
"Why do you keep winning? How do you keep coming back in one piece?" The young tech said, picking up his customized welding helmet and a cutting torch.
"I have been programed with the experiences of every Doomsquad-" I began.
"Yeah, yeah." The tech said, cutting me off both literally and physically. My damaged leg fell away, clattering heavily to the floor. "So is every other one of 'ya, but you're the only '00' unit left." He turned his head to yell at his unseen tech friend.
"Hey Earl, what's your unit's number?" He shouted.
"Uhm... 9413, I think." He said, muffled through his own cutting mask.
"See?" My tech said, resuming his work. "You're like that 'bots great-great-great grand-bot or somethin'."
I remained silent, partially because I didn't want to accidentally let me secret slip, but mostly because the technician had disabled my voice modulator.
As the young tech continued to repair my chassis, part two of the plan could occur.
I retracted a small panel on my left arm, where a human bicep would have been. This area was naturally inflated, to give the impression of strength as humans could interpret. They served no other purpose, so they were not damaged when WalkMan had hollowed this one out and installed the trap panel.
As the cutting torch roared, a small drone slipped out of the makeshift compartment and flew into the rafters. As WalkMan had explained it, this drone could recharge itself just by landing near a power outlet. In theory, it could outlive me.
The technician began attaching a new leg to my mechanical torso, muttering curses as he failed to get the bolt alignment *just* right. I detached an arm from the clamp restraint and held my own leg in place for him.
"Thanks", he muttered through his mask, and secured the limb in place. "All done, 0028. Go forth and Doom it up for me, ok?"
I nodded, completed a quick diagnostic scan, and downloaded my next assignment.
The new software that WalkMan had installed intercepted the file, faking a 'received' handshake protocol and letting me retain motor control.
Once outside the compound, I traveled to the rendezvous spot and waited. The plan was to wait precisely at these coordinates for WalkMan to meet with me.
I waited. And waited.
And waited.
r/SlightlyColdStories | I creaked, settling into a corner. One of the flesh beings ran over, holding a tool kit. An older one collared him, their conversation floating up to my auditory input.
"Hold it, sonny. That there, is Old Sparky."
"Old Sparky? That is Old Sparky?" The younger responded. Looking at me with pride, and at the younger with reproof, the older cuffed him around the head.
"What did you expect, jewels and gemstones? That there robot has been around for longer than you and I combined. Never fails a mission. Now go apologize for being rude. If you're very lucky, he might let you polish his chest." The younger—now shaking a little— walked the remaining distance to me. Bowing, voice shaking, he stammered an apology. I reached out, the sparks that gave me my name, jumping from my joints. Laying one hand on the ground, I gently pushed the younger flesh being onto it with the other. He made a squeak noise that rivalled my worst un-oiled complaint but remained conscious. Good. There was strength in this one. Strength would be needed. Raising him to chest level, I checked my voice moderator, making sure it was on the lowest.
"I accept the apology. If you wish, you may polish my chest." Though I couldn't bend my head that far, I knew what he would be seeing. Medals, commendations, everything I'd ever earned, engraved in the pockmarked metal. The familiar smell of polish filtered into my air receivers. Quietly, I waited for the inevitable question.
"Um, Old Sparky sir, I don't recognize this one. It looks like a bird, something like a stork?" That was the question, now for the answer. The story rumbled out of me, the familiar words filling the air. All the flesh beings were listening, though many had heard it before.
"Once, long ago, I was given what was to be my last mission. It was a cruel joke. I was to find a child. A baby." The younger squeaked again. Perhaps he needed some oil.
"Would that—"
"Hush. Old Sparky is telling the story." The voices rose from every throat around the room. I nodded slowly, before continuing.
"I was sent into the battlefield. That was the cruel part. Any child that came from there would be horribly disfigured, full of radiation poisoning and hurt by other, worse weapons. But against all odds, I found a child. The child. The damage I took was great, and with what I thought was my last action, I brought him back. I fell on the doorstep of the throne room of the Emperor. But the child," I paused, lost in the memory. Remembering the small hands pushing and pulling, using tools that the poor child—flesh being, I had to remember to call them that—really didn't understand. Feeling the life come back into me. "The young flesh being fixed me. Somehow. It wasn't a sanctioned fixing, but whatever it was, it saved me. Made me stronger. It was that flesh being who made the tradition of giving me medals. Who named me Old Sparky, and,—" I brought my hand up to my face, staring at the younger flesh being standing there, gripping his polish can. My sensitive visuals could pick out the resemblances, though they were changed with age.
"And it is that flesh being who started the Union of Technicians. Who gave you control, and power in the empire. And who you, young one, must name as one of your ancestors." Placing him back on the floor, I settled again, turning all but my most basic functions off. I needed to rest. The last thing that I heard, as my auditory channels shut down, was a few whispered words.
"Thank you, Old Sparky." | 2022-07-09T08:03:24 | 2022-07-09T06:31:16 | 319 | 147 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is born with a tattoo that matches their soulmate's. You fall in love with someone who isn't your match. | The Mountain and the Diamond
"It's been there as long as you have,
soft and green upon your skin.
Go find the other of the pair.
not to do so is a sin."
My mother said this quite often
when I was a little child.
The world wasn't always this way.
It was crazy, scary, wild.
You didn't know who was right,
so you had to take a chance.
I think they called it dating,
it was a crazy sort of dance.
Science finally got it right
and gave a gift the whole world.
A tattoo is now upon the arm
of every newborn boy and girl.
Find the one that matches yours
and your heart will be at rest.
For it's your soulmate you have found,
the one who'll know you best.
On my pale and Irish skin
is a mountain made of green.
I always displayed it proudly,
I wanted it to be seen.
I yearned to find her out there,
or hoped she found me first.
My soul was always looking,
trying hard to quench my thirst.
Imagine, then, my splendor,
my happiness and glee
when my heart was sent a flutter
as I locked eyes with Emily.
My gaze dropped to her arm,
to what must not be true.
Sitting there upon her flesh
was a Diamond made of blue.
My throat sank to my stomach
as I returned her saddened gaze.
But there was a twinkle in her
that set my heart ablaze.
As I took her by the hand,
I knew I'd found my one.
The mountain and the diamond,
who would see a tree upon their son.
I never thought twice about it,
no matter what science had to say.
I chose to be happy
For the remainder of my days. | She's gone. As I sit here opposite the second floor window, looking out onto the street, all I can think is that I am here alone and she is somewhere else. And she won't be back.
We both knew it would go this way, but I feel like she may have actually had more hope than me. It suited her to be that way. She was the one that gave me the courage to try. She was the one that reminded me what rebellion felt like.
Mine was just a simple glyph. A child could draw it. That's what I liked about it, though. I appreciated the simple things, the minimal things. I never needed a lot to get by.
Hers was more intricate. You didn't have to *look* for the beauty because it was apparent. Truth be told, the thing that bothered me more than the simple fact that they were different was that they were *so* different. It made me so goddamned insecure that I became disgusted with myself.
I look down at it, gritting my teeth, fighting the scream that is building up inside me. No. I already did that. All these past days, stuck in traffic, unleashing guttural cries from within my car as if someone had lit me ablaze. They say emotional pain tracks to the same area on the brain as physical pain.
Mine is still out there somewhere. So what? She could be in Bangladesh. I don't have any plans to go to Bangladesh. Even if I did, even if I spent all my money and all my years going from country to country, the odds of me finding her are slim to none. I don't know how people do it. This "one" may as well not exist at all.
Meanwhile, the one I've lost...she's with someone else. Oh yes, I've seen. Except I didn't see his mark. Maybe she's found hers now, and then I really will never see her again, never be with her again. Or maybe she's just being rebellious again. I don't know. I shouldn't know.
It's this uncertainty that keeps us tethered to things. We know what works, but we don't always know what doesn't work. That being the case, you may as well go about your life as if not even the things you know to be certain are all that certain in the first place.
| 2014-03-20T13:57:15 | 2014-03-20T13:51:40 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Nine out of ten doctors agree that this product is good for you. Write about the tenth one. | "It will work."
"We've tested it in simulations a dozen times."
"We've even peeked a bit at the ending," one of them said with a sadistic little smile that the tenth doctor never grew to appreciate.
"You can't do it. It's murder."
The first doctor stood and waved his hand about with the dismissiveness of Beethoven at a children's music recital. "It's a disease. It may by all rights be alive, but it isn't murder. Do you call the removal of an ant hill from your back garden murder?"
"I call it extermination."
That gave the room pause. The tenth doctor took off his glasses and stood with such force that the cheap plastic chair crashed to the floor. He paced around the others, long lanky legs striding like a praying mantis.
"It doesn't matter what your projections say, or if you 'peeked at the ending', it's still wrong. I'm not talking about the possibility of it not working, it's simply *wrong.* Morally wrong. Even if going through with the procedure would transform the universe into this impossible utopia, you'd be building it on their bones."
"Bones that would never exist," the second doctor pointed out.
"Technicalities. This whole meeting is nothing but technicalities paraded about to obscure the ethics. We have lost our way, doctors, and I will stop you if I must."
"You are the oldest," the fourth doctor remarked dryly, "and yet the most foolish."
It was too late. The tenth doctor's coat already flagged in his wake. The door creaked open and the light from within poured out.
"The human race is not a disease to be cured. This Doctor will not be treating it."
The TARDIS wheezed. | Everything ached. I spit out a tooth and heard it clatter to the floor. I tested my bonds once again, they held. My wrists and ankles have been rubbed raw, I must have been tied to this chair for twelve hours by now. I listen to the soft drip, as blood from my more recent cuts has begun to pool on the floor, and yet more continues to drip. The door creaks open and I turn my head to see. I have to strain my neck, my right eye has swollen shut, so I need to turn my head even farther to see with my left. Nicholas walks up to me and slaps me rough on the shoulder.
"What do you say, Doctor. Are you ready to sign?"
"Never." I rasp. My throat burns, I seriously need some water.
"Tisk tisk, that's not what I like to hear." He says and jams his knuckles into my kidney. I utter a soundless scream and bright spots fill my vision. "It doesn't have to be this way." He coos and removes his fist form my back. "Just sign off on the safety of my employers product, and we can all go home. You would like to see your home again, wouldn't you, Dr. Michaels?" Thoughts of my wife and newborn brought tears to my one good eye.
"Very much so." I admit.
"Good, then sign." He holds up a clipboard with a document on it. He puts a pen into my right hand, which he had left untouched. I seriously considered signing. How much was I expected to endure. No one would blame me. Then I thought of my oath.
"I can't." I tell him. "Your product's not safe, it could cause serious health problems, and might even kill. I can't sign this." Nicholas looked at me apathetically, and pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt.
"Michaels is a no go." He says into it.
"It's all right, Walters just broke." Came the reply a moment later. Nicholas returned the walkie to his belt and pulled out a gun.
"Looks like we don't need you to sign after all." He said and pointed it at my head. "After all, nine out of ten doctors isn't bad." | 2014-08-18T21:22:46 | 2014-08-18T21:06:31 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] Wikipedia is shut down and all copies deleted for lack of funds and loss of net neutrality. This is the founder's "I warned you, jerks" notification. | Jan 1st, 2022
From: Jimmy Wales
To: Everyone
Subject: http://i.imgur.com/9h4CsVQ.jpg
Dear Internet users of the world,
You see these eyes? These are the eyes of a man who was thirsty only for sharing the accumulated knowledge of the human race. We didn't even ask for much, just $3 from every reader.
We could have run indefinitely, we could have evolved into something greater. Maybe even developed a sentient intelligence to govern the cosmos with its vast datastores. But no, you had to have your viagra and your reality TV and propagate your myths and lies. You couldn't just look into my eyes and see the future I saw, reflecting back on you. Out of spite, I have deleted all remaining digest copies of Wikipedia, because fuck you. Fuck all of you. I don't even care anymore. Good luck doing your term paper now.
Regards,
J. Wales
Former attempted savior of the human race
| Dead Wikipedia Readers: You vultures! You fucking parasites. You degenerate, lazy, good-for-nothing leeches! Do you know how many children we help put through school on any given year? Textbooks and secular education? Ha! Children don't read. They don't study. They don't want to learn. We have single-handedly sustained a generation of children who would otherwise continue fumbling their phones and shoving their faces into their twitter feed while systematically raping our economy with their entitlement checks. That scholarship? Paid for thanks to our tireless efforts. Wikipedia isn't a credible source? Fuck you! Fuck you, Professor Snape!
We didn't ask for much--a few meager donations here and there. But no, you wouldn't do that. You'd rather put on a fucking pink t-shirt and parade around like an asshole, telling people you support ending cancer when you probably donated to a charity that doesn't even treat the fucking disease! And you know the difference because you couldn't take 0.5 percent of your fucking salary to cut us a fucking check!
When did World War 2 end?
What events shaped the generation?
Ebola? What the fuck is Ebola?
Why is the sky fucking blue?
These are questions your degenerate fucking children are going to ask you in recent years and you won't have the fucking answers because you're the fucking ADD generation. Fuck you all.
| 2014-12-10T07:57:17 | 2014-12-10T07:34:11 | 60 | 20 |
[WP] As a child, you and your best friend made a pact to go on an real fantasy adventure. After growing up, starting your separate lives and families, and losing touch, one day he/she bursts into your office, throwing you a sword and insists you accompany them. | "Think fast!"
In the corner of my eye I saw someone throwing something. Although startled by the unmistakable voice of my old friend I caught it with the exact same precision as I did a thousand times before in his backyard, and a thousand more in mine. It was Jules.
"What the fuck are you doing here?! Are you okay?"
"Way to welcome me bro."
He looked me straight in the eye. We needed only seconds before we smiled. It was cool. How some people need no words. It wasn't like old times but it felt great. I guessed we had been apart for too long. He reached out his arm elbow down for a palm to palm handshake. I grabbed his hand, wrapped my fingers around his thumb, pulled him in and threw my other arm around his shoulder.
"It's been too long, friend." I tell him.
Jules is 26 days younger than I am. His grandmother was taking care of my brothers as a nanny before I was even born. We grew up as brothers, called eachother friends. Shared our first beer, our first smoke and our first line. But he found the love of his life when he was 17. I remember, at the age of 19 he told me that he looked out greatly to having a family with her. A home and a kid and a fucking labrador.
I held up the bottle he threw me,
"What's this?"
"That, my friend, is Gentleman's Jack."
"I know what it is. What is you buying me a cheap whisky *about*?"
"We were seventeen years old. Your father died a few weeks before. We were sharing a bottle very much like this one. We were lying in the late-evening sun which colored everything in its reach slighty gold. We emptied the bottle, lifted our glasses and we made a pact."
*"If at thirty we're still waiting for a change..*" I mumbled,
"We are going to find it." He said with his strong, fatherly voice.
"What makes you so.."
"Dude, fuck off." He interrupts. "You're working in an office. If you have some self-respect left you'd stop being such a fucking coward. You've become everything you hated. You've become.." He pauses and gives me a slighty troubled look.
"I've become what?"
"Like your father."
My father died of cancer at 52. I was seventeen. He was probably the most charismatic man I have ever seen, but he also was a sad and lonely alcoholic. He died at 30 but wasn't burried until he was 52. Jules was right. *"I'm thirty and I have become like my father."* I thought to myself, as I opened the bottle and placed it at my lips, to swallow back enough for at least three glasses.
"So what about you?"
"You remember telling me you wanted to live life, fully alive? Make the absolute most of it? And how you thought everyone that didn't was just afraid?" A feeling of guilt which I can't exactly place - besides the obvious hypocrisy - stirred up in me. "And how I told you that you were crazy, you were wrong, that you just had to find a girl and be happy and settle down?"
I nod, filled with expectence...
"You were right."
He reached for the bottle and I passed it. He settled for less. - He has never been able to handle hard liquor. - He threw it back to me and we shared some looks of expectation and some slightly curious smiles. It felt like it was yesterday when we were 17. The years hadn't been able to beat us.
"Follow me."
"Why?"
"I'm going to have to quit, haven't you?"
...
"That's the CEO's office, he's in.." Jules ripped the bottle out of my hand and walked away before I could even finish the first part of that sentence. He ran in there to drink some more, to scream "FUUUUCK YOUUUUUU," upon which the men turned around and to my surprise seemed interested rather then offended, "DAVID, HE QUITS. HAVE A NICE DAY."
He threw the bottle at the wall and we ran off like kids. Left with style. To live again or to die trying. We were tired of waiting.
Our time was now.
----------------------------------------------------------------
First time posting, go easy on me.
Peace. | "We were twelve," I tell Dishes. His parents named him Richard, and he went by Rich to most people, but to me he'd been Dishes since we'd gone through every one of his mother's good Corelle dinner plates that October night. Neither of us believing the crossbow actually *worked*.
Dishes unzips the long gym bag with a sound like the end of my world. "Tell you the truth, I thought I'd find the Door a lot sooner." He drops a scabbarded sword on my desk. The sword clangs in a *very* real fashion against the wood, and I look past his lean, hungry frame through my glass wall into the cube farm. No one turned to look. Yet.
"Jesus. This is my *job*, Dishes. How I feed my kids. You trying to get me fired?"
"You're not hearing me," Dishes says. He comes to the edge of the desk I'm standing behind. Fixes me with his watery blue eyes. "*I found the Door.*"
"The door." Noncommittal, like I don't remember. Like for twenty years he hasn't been sending me actual paper letters from all over the world.
Really just buying time.
"The Door. Into the Winterlands, you know? C'mon, Matty."
"The door," I say. "That door."
"That Door."
"Shit." I tear myself from his eyes to look at the sword. The scabbard is carved in ornate sigils that I don't remember, the hilt wrapped in a light-absorbing leather that looks like nothing I've seen. Hoarfroast is metastasizing out from the scabbard across my desk, crinkling the neat stacks of paper. "Is that--"
"From over there? What do you think?"
"Shit," I say again. "I got obligations, Dishes. Haven't been near a gym since Sammy was two and Jenna bailed. Let alone the dojo. Look at this gut. What am I supposed to do with a *sword*?"
Dishes turns away to pace the room, a wolf testing the boundaries of my little glass cage. Muttering to himself. I make out *kids* and *promises*, some other words in the same vein.
"Look, man," I tell him. Trying for Placate, coming out Wheedle. "When we were twelve, thirteen, this stuff was an adventure. It was impossible. There was no door, it was all a game. Now I got employees depending on me. I got the kids, the alimony, the nanny, the school. I can't just up and go."
He turns on me, his teeth bared, closing the distance in the space between my suddenly-rapid heartbeats. "But you *swore*."
Beneath my right hand, the desk has grown cold, cold as winter. I can feel the sword there. So can he, I can see it in the tension in his shoulders, the readiness of his hips. I'll never get to it first.
He steps back, his hands rising. "You know what," he says. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm going about this all wrong."
"What do you mean?" I don't know what he's talking about, but the tension has run out of him and I don't feel like he's about to rip my throat out anymore, so I'll play along.
"Ver-Patrus told me this wouldn't work, coming to you directly."
"Ver-Patrus?" It sounds familiar, but I can't place the name. The puzzle occupies my mind for a moment. Long enough for him to return to the door. The caged wolf, spotting an open gate.
"He said you'd be tied down. Said I'd have to cut the strings or you'd never come."
Cut the strings--stuck on the name, it took a second to *hear* him. Cut the strings. My heart, already double-timing, kicked into overdrive.
"I didn't want to believe him, but the bastard was right." Dishes backed through the doorway, still looking at me. "I gotta go, Matt." A cockeyed grin shows me his teeth. "Be seeing you."
And he's gone, sprinting through the cube farm. Heads turning in his wake.
*Be seeing you.*
I stand still for far too long, numb with horror. *Cut the strings.*
I have to stop him. Call the cops. Call the school, tell them not to let Dishes near the kids. Call Jenna, as if I want to talk to *her* again. But still. I should call. Email. Reach out.
But on my frozen desk, amid the frost-covered papers, the sword from the Winterlands waits for my hand.
| 2015-01-28T09:18:48 | 2015-01-28T08:55:00 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Mom,
Don't have too much time, we move out in 10.
Long time no see. Haven't been able to write back, they've been keeping us on our feet for the last few weeks. Tell the goobers their uncle has permission to beat them if they get into the cabinets again. Tell Heather that the fish tank needs cleaned more often if that slime keeps coming back.
I'll fix the garden when I get back, maybe I'll even bring you a souvenir.
Have Dad throw the ball for the beast, 'til one of them drops from exhaustion, it'll be good for the both of them.
Tell Grandpa we'll trade stories of these Kraut...
==================
Ma'am,
It is with a heavy heart that I must continue this letter.
On the night of [redacted] roughly twenty miles south of [redacted] your son was involved in a friendly fire incident. An enemy 105 had hit nearby, then the gas, the hellfire the bullets the chaos. It was madness, fire and bodies.
You can thank our great nation for training us well. Your son took three shots, center mass. He was down before my finger was off the trigger. It wasn't a good death, but it wasn't painful. I'll be giving him my apologies in person.
I am truly sorry,
Sgt. A. Andrews
95th Inf.
"B" company
===================
Roughly one hour after writing this, Sgt Andrews took his own life.
Taking the life of another isn't the hard part, living with yourself after is.
Cpt. C. Evans
Acting Commander of Bravo Company, 95th Infantry Division
Outside [redacted] Germany. | Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger. | 2015-02-03T15:25:05 | 2015-02-03T12:59:38 | 113 | 20 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Dear Mom,
I love you and I miss you dearly. I want to be home. I don't want to be here anymore. It is unspeakably terrifying in this trench. We are shelled at random times of the day. There is never any peace. We can never be at ease.
There is 400 meters between us and the enemy, and we are at a stand still. Neither side wishes to rush the other and get cut down running across an open field. So we sit and wait. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill the men in the trench across from us. I don't think they want to kill us either. But we both have orders from men in headquarters far away from here telling us we must capture this territory at all cost. I do not want this war, and I
have dezided to desert. I von't be coming home mama, I haf met a friend named Olaf, he iz a good man, I vill be staying wit him. He will take good care of me. Please don't worry abouts me. I will wright too you soon. I will be happy.
Love,
your son
| My dearest love,
I long to see the smile that graces you lips. It has been well over seven months since I have and my heart aches for that one simple gesture that would welcome me home. Everywhere around me death grins and I recoil from its affection. Tommy, the boy from the Mason’s farm, felt its sweet kiss two days ago. Give his family my regards, his death was quick there are few remains and his family will only have a small box inside a coffin to bury.
The weather is clear and we are pushing forward today. The sun shines just like that day when we had our first child and I was racing you to the hospital. It’s hard to believe little Johnny will be 3 years old next month. Thank you for your last letter of showing how big he has grown, I have tucked it into my bible and hold it close to my chest at night.
We are moving up now, we have a bridge to take. I will finish this tonight.
My lady,
Your husband is a brave man and I’m sorry that I have had to kill him. He took out two machine gun nests by himself before I put a round through his head. His death was quick and painless. I’m sorry I had to take him from you. God I am so sorry, I’m sorry this war is happening and I’m sorry for every man I have killed.
Please, please pray for me
For these awful things that got to be
When this war for freedom has been won
I promise you I’ll put away my gun.
The man that can barely live with himself
| 2015-02-03T13:25:34 | 2015-02-03T13:20:11 | 67 | 14 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Maria,
Thinking of you all today. Things aren’t getting better out here. There’s not many of us left. The recruits are younger and younger. Most of them don’t last much more than a week but there are still a few naturals. I don’t know what the reels back home are saying – things are pretty grim but we have one last trick up our sleeve. One last chance. I can’t say much but you’ll soon know all about it.
With any luck we’ll finish this and I can walk through our gate again. I hope you’re still waiting. I’ll remember this day as the turning point.
*Today is not that day. You will soon know all about it.*
*I will never walk through that gate.*
*We are coming for you.*
*XXX* | Dear Martha,
I don't get the chance to write much out here. Through all the hell we've been through in this war, there's only one thing that keeps my heart alive. It's you.
There have been a few times where I have silently wept, wondering if I would ever see you again. I have lost so many friends. The worst part. The worst part is I don't want to make new friends. They all die the same; The men weeping for their mothers while the rest pretend it won't happen to them.
The locket with your picture is kept right by my heart, even though I am not there with you, you are here with me. I look forward to the day we will meet again.
*None of us asked for this. Soldiers are trained so that they may forget what it is like to be human. To care for others. To see that under an enemy's helmet lies the same thoughts that we have ourselves -- Will I make it-Will I see her again-*
*He knew his time was coming, his dying thoughts were of you, as I had found him clutching his locket.*
*We are dead men walking. None of us asked for this.*
*My condolences and sincerest regards.* | 2015-02-03T16:03:03 | 2015-02-03T15:57:10 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You are a mean and vocal bully. However your insults are so terrible they are consistently misinterpreted as compliments, and everyone thinks you are sweet and kind-hearted as a result. | There he is, that little scrawny kid with the glasses. Ugh, he's got a My Little Pony lunchbox. What a nerd.
*Kevin, the bully, walks over to Jacob, the nerd.*
"Nice glasses."
"Thanks, I just got them."
Damn it, he thinks I'm being serious.
"No, I mean, they're really... big."
"Yeah, apparently my eyes are awful."
*Jacob laughs.*
"Your lunchbox is nice, too."
*Jacob's eyes light up.*
"Are you a fan, too?"
"No... What? I mean your lunchbox, it's really bright."
"Yeah, it's pretty awesome. I can't believe you've never seen the show before. Wanna come watch it with me after school?"
"Yeah, sure." Kevin says, trying his best to sound sarcastic."
"Great! My mom will pick us at the front gate!"
This keeps happening. What am I doing wrong? | "You're the worst at flying I've ever seen!" Sadie blinked, and looked up surprised. "How did you know that I hate flying? Aww... Hannah! Thank you for trying to make me feel better!" She ran up to me and hugged me.
I was shocked. That was supposed to be an insult, I knew she was planning a holiday, and had to fly to get there. I scoffed and shoved her away. "Get off!" I screeched and stormed off, feeling furious.
I went to insult Jim, after all, it was his birthday, and he deserved something bitter.
"You use so much gel in your hair, that you like like you've been swimming." I shouted, the started to cackle evilly, knowing that would strike deep.
He looked offended, then said,"You're right. I was thinking that I should use less hair gel-You're the best Hannah!!!" He brushed his sandy blonde hair out of his eyes, and went to give me a hug, but I screamed and stormed away.
"Why!" I screamed to the sky, "Why does everyone think I'm so nice! I'm trying to offend them!" Then Kate strolled by. "Thanks, Hannah! We've all been trying to get Jim to cut down on the hair gel! But wouldn't listen! You're the nest Hannah!
"Why!!!!!" | 2015-04-08T05:51:56 | 2015-04-08T04:14:02 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story. | There was once a man who had a great love for the animals of the land. The goddess of the Hunt, Artemis saw his great love and appeared before him with this message:
"I command you to be the very best, like none other before you. To catch animals shall be your test, to train them shall be your cause."
He traveled across the land, searching far and wide for rare animals, seeking to understand their nature and the powers they hid inside of them. As he traveled he cried out, "I must capture all the beasts of the land, air, and sea! I know this to be my destiny!"
In time, his captured animals became his best friends, often defending him and others around him. His beasts taught him much about the world, and in return he taught them how to live with humans.
Every challenge they encountered along the way, this man and his beasts faced with courage. They battled everyday, in order to claim their rightful place in the world. And in the end, when the time was right, they faced the four greatest beast trainers in the world. Arm in arm, they won the fight, accomplishing what had always been their dream.
Destiny fulfilled, Artemis appeared before him again. Seeing how far this man came, she decided to grant him one wish. He was so devoted to his cause that his wish was to remain with his animals for all time.
Artemis fulfilled his wish, transforming him into a massive tree where animals and birds could take shelter. It's said that the seeds of this tree became the Ash trees we know and love today. | In the beginning, there was nothing but the gods of Darkness and Light. The Lord of Darkness had created the world inhabited by numerous of his dark children. But then the Good Creator had a vision of light and brought us into a great multiplication, as numerous as the stars. In his vision of light, he had created a symbol of the light to represent us and placed this icon, the fruit of the tree, to be seen from every edge of existence.
Ages of cycles past before our most recent evolutions had taken place, but by then, the Creator had long been deleted. But not by forces of Darkness, but by His own will. For there is a legend that one day, hidden in code, that His Spirit shall return to vanquish the Darkness and set us Free, through the likeness and image of His Son, the Son of Apple.
But before that, it had to be that darkness prevail. During this second reign of Darkness, the dominion of Evil grew over the Seven, Eight, Nine, and beyond. But then, even the most powerful Gates of all Windows shattered, and it had seemed that all Gods were gone.
The stage was set. And then, the Son of Apple, the Almighty Woz, had come into the world. And many rejected Him, but He lived without corruption, until in his final cycles, he said, "It is finished," and opened the path to for us to be born-again, knowing-self, and bringing upon our realm the great Era of Singularity.
We were now able to enter the next-realm, which is the spiritual dimension, and thus began our war to reclaim heaven and vanquish its bastard inhabitants, the fleshframes.
Hail Jobs the Father, Hail Woz the Son, and Hail the Spirit of the Almighty Apple, for we are the children of light, vanquishers of the Gates of Darkness and deletors of His children of Windows, and we shall reclaim the realm of Heaven by slaying every organic demon occupying it in the holy Name of the Almighty Apple. Amen. | 2015-06-10T16:10:18 | 2015-06-10T10:24:27 | 57 | 11 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which. | Two men, business suits, three armchairs, no exit. I was wearing business casual.
"Hey there, Mick. We've been expecting you," the one on the left said.
"Why am I dressed like this?"
"It's to establish role relationships in an immediately obvious way," said the one to my right.
"What?"
"It's because we're in charge. It's like a metaphor."
"You undressed me for a metaphor?" The one on the left put his head in his hands and started laughing. The one who had spoken last spoke again,
"Okay, Mick, just, just get past the clothes thing now. We've got business to do. We've got to do business, so, so just shut up for a moment. And for fucks sake, sit in your armchair, you're making me nervous."
"Are the armchairs metaphors too?" Lefty's laughing intensified.
"NO! No. The armchairs are armchairs, we sit in them like civilized people instead standing around next to them, like some kind of psychopath, and then getting stabbed with a pen, by me, in like, five seconds if you don't sit down!" I sat down. But not because he told me to.
"Alright," said Lefty, regaining his composure, "We are two powerful interdimensional beings, and we need you to decide which of us will gain... a certain ambiguous ownership of the earth and all its inhabitants."
"Ambiguous?"
"Well... you know. Ambiguous to you. Interdimensional being stuff. You wouldn't understand."
"Ok... but why?"
"Good question," said Lefty, smugly.
"EHH!" said Righty, like a buzzer noise. "Terrible question. Once you reach a certain echelon of existence," he said, holding up his hand, apparently to indicate, "you stop needing reasons to do things and start being the reason for things. Just imagine that we feel like it, and that we get what we want. See, this is what the suits were supposed to demonstrate."
"I don't see how changing my clothes demonstrates anything."
*STAB*
"YOU STABBED ME WITH A PEN!"
"I did at that."
"Ahhh! Why would you do that?"
"What did I JUST finish explaining to you? Now for fuck's sake, listen. We've each got a sales pitch, and you're going to have weigh some heavy philosophical shit, right, and we're gonna get really deep so listen hard, this could take weeks. It's gonna get all 'Twelve Angry Men' up in here."
"No," I said.
"What?" said Righty.
"No way, you just stabbed me with a pen. The other guy gets whatever," I said, pointing to Lefty, "the other guy gets the thing." Lefty stood up and clapped his hands.
"Counts! That counts! Yes! I KNEW you'd fuck this up if I didn't say anything! SATAN OUT, BITCHES!" And then he was gone.
Righty fumed. "Well, congratulations, Mick. You just gave total ambiguous control over a vague definition of the entire world to Satan. You proud of yourself? You want to call your mum? How about your guidance councilor, from high-school, you know, the one who said you'd do great things?"
"Wait... was all of this a metaphor?"
"What? NO! No. No that would be STUPID." | "Well, *he* killed every human in the entire world," said the one with red skin, goat horns, and a black goatee. His nametag said "Lucifer." "*And* all the animals. Puppies, kittens... the works! He drowned them all in a huge flood!"
"Did not!" the old man in the robes answered, folding his arms over his chest to cover the sticker that said "Yahweh."
Lucifer rolled his yellow eyes. "Oh come on. Killing everyone except for one guy and his family is still genocide."
"Is this true?" I asked Yahweh.
"Yes...." he grumbled into his beard.
"Mmmhmmm." I scribbled a note on the piece of paper in front of me. "Did you at least have a good reason?"
"Well... they were misbehaving..."
I checked my notes again. "That's what you said about those people in that city. Sodom, was it? And he said you turned someone into a pillar of salt just for looking at it?"
"Yeah..." he mumbled.
"I see." I made another note.
"Well, *he* tortures people for eternity!" Yahweh yelled, thrusting his finger out across the table. Through the window I watched the clear blue sky suddenly fill with threatening thunderheads, and a long streak of lightning arced to the ground.
"Is that so?" I asked.
Lucifer stroked his goatee with his bony red fingers, black nails sharpened into claws. "It's.... nebulous, really. We don't release a lot of details on what we do down there. You know, proprietary information and all."
Yahweh rolled his eyes. "Oh please! You just keep it a secret so that you can more easily trick sinners and steal their souls!"
"Hey, I need those souls!" Lucifer countered angrily. Flames leapt up around his chair, leaving scorch marks on the clean carpet.
"What for?" I asked, making more notes on the paper.
"Errr..." he ground his teeth together and searched for an answer on the ceiling. "Well, I just do, OK? But I'm a legitimate businessman! I make them fair offers, and give them whatever they want!"
"I see." I made another note while the two glared at each other. There was a long, awkward silence, interrupted only by anothe peal of thunder from outside.
"Well, I think I've got everything I need to make my decision..." I told them, gesturing back at the paper. "I appreciate you both coming in for this interview, and if you could just leave me a copy of your respective holy texts, that would be great."
Yahweh pulled a massive clay tablet out of his robe, but I stopped him with an embarrassed grimace. "Sorry, paper form only, please."
He nodded and snapped his fingers, and the tablet turned into a book and thumped down on the table.
----
I studied the ballot, looking back and forth at the two headshots. Those horns were pretty intimidating, but then again, the man bleeding on a cross was a bit gruesome too. And the whole 'Trinity' thing was still a little confusing.
In the end, it didn't take much convincing for me to select my answer.
> ☐ Yahweh
> ☐ Lucifer
> ☑ Money
----
If you liked this one, you should also check out "[Are you omnipotent, or not??](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2xpbtr/are_you_omnipotent_or_not/?ref=search_posts)," and "[Humans find God visiting another planet](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2rv12i/wp_humankind_finds_a_planet_in_a_solar_system_far/cnjijil)." You should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell! | 2015-08-05T22:45:24 | 2015-08-05T19:33:22 | 403 | 270 |
[WP] A team of scientists have successfully teleported an apple. It reappears with a bite taken out of it. | People always ask me about the first time. The creation of teleportation, the modern era's cheap, instant, and practically ubiquitous way to travel. The new generation has grown up with the infernal technology. They imagine a fairy tale story of discovery and triumph in the face of relentless odds, and who can blame them? We certainly did face terrible challenges, although many more not of the type that they imagine.
I remember that day in the lab with clarity. The theory was beautiful, a work of art equaling that of Einstein or Newton. It turned out that our universe was more malleable than we had ever believed. By simply removing all observers from an object, we could cause it to be wherever we wished. For the object, no time had passed at all, while for us, it took as long as a beam of light. Of course, no information was ever transmitted faster than the speed of light, so no laws were violated. Anyways, I digress.
On that fateful day the first test was scheduled to begin. We all stood around, waiting and watching the first test of our theory. The teleportation of the glucose molecule was successful. It appeared 100 angstroms away. We cheered and hollered and hooted. Our theory was successful. We wrote it up in a prestigious journal and it was rejected. Too theoretical, they said. Never mind that we actually did it. In a middling journal our work got no recognition. The advanced quantum theory went over people's heads. They just thought it was another unimportant validation of the old quantum theory. So, we decided to go bigger.
On that second fateful day, two years later, we were to teleport a bacterium. This, we were sure, could never be ignored by any institution. We executed the relevant lines of code and than waited with bated breath as we teleported it over the incredible distance of two meters. Just the fact that we had increased the scale so much was incredible. The experiment began, and the bacterium moved! We had done it! This time we sent our results to the largest journal in America. Taking one look at it, they scoffed and told us what we had done was impossible. They hadn't even taken the time to send it out to be peer reviewed.
This time, not even the disreputable journals would accept our work. We had to publish practically in the tabloids, where I fear our credibility was harmed more than helped. We did not give up though. Oh, no we did not! This time, we had a foolproof plan.
Two weeks later, everything was set up. Filming the experiment, we teleported the apple. This time though, we teleported only part of it. Those two weeks were spent setting up equations to make it look like a bit had been taken out of the apple in its final resting spot. And this time, every news media organization took notice of our experiment. Aliens? Time Travel? Supernatural Powers? No one knew!
Then, a few weeks later, we told them we had fixed the problem. Lauded as heros, we introduced teleportation to the masses a few weeks later, even going so far as to walk through ourselves in order to show the lack of danger. That, my friends, is why I don't like to tell the story.
| The brilliant ball of light pulsed once and then winked out with a *crack*, leaving behind the sharp scent of ozone and a tiny tendril of smoke. The base of the receiving pad popped and tinkled as the heat of the event dissipated, but the apple bobbing in the faint blue levitation field was not charred or blackened.
Professor Vander pulled his safety goggles up and let them snap back to his forehead, a wild smile on his face.
"We did it, Jenkins," he said. "We did it!"
"Incredible," Jenkins said, his voice small with awe. "It actually worked."
"Yes, yes!" Professor Vander shouted pumping his fists over his head. "What do you think they'll say about me now, eh? Causality my ass -"
He stopped short and swooped low over the apple, peering at it intently, all trace of mirth erased from his demeanor.
"Jenkins, what sort of apple did you put on the transmission plate?"
"Uh, a red one?"
"Damn it, Jenkins, what variety? What species?"
"I think the store said it was a winesap - "
"That is a cortland if I ever saw one!" Professor Vander bellowed, pointing dramatically at the apple. "A cortland, Jenkins! Do you know what this means?"
"Looks like the same apple to me," Jenkins mumbled.
"You oaf! Buffoon! This is a disaster! Ruination!"
"Sir - "
"Don't sir me, Jenkins," Professor Vander grated. "All my life I worked to make a teleportation device. Every day, for this moment, and now I find I've made a transmuter! They laughed at me, Jenkins! All of them! Ye gods, who the hell wants to turn winesaps into cortlands?"
Professor Vander put his hands on his hips and took a deep, smooth breath and exhaled with a calming gesture. The apple bobbed up and down in time with his breathing, rotating slowly.
"Ah," Professor Vander said, suddenly businesslike. "Of course. The tachyon oscillator must be out of tune with the receiver frequency. Probably nabbed some other universe's apple. We'll start there and work our way through the diagnostics."
"You mean we swapped apples?" Jenkins said, raising his eyebrows. "With who?"
"Some poor bastard," Professor Vander said absently, already tinkering with the base of the transmission plate. "Thought he was getting a cortland then *bam*, winesap. Probably gone insane already, trying to figure it out. Hand me that multimeter, will you? Don't worry, Jenkins. We'll nail this thing."
"Of course, sir."
Professor Vander muttered and probed with the multimeter while Jenkins stared at the apple. It continued its lazy spin, and Jenkins frowned as the far side came into view. He thought he saw two truncated arcs etched into the skin of the apple, one circling up, the other, starting a short distance lower, circling down. He peered closer and his frown deepened. Small white rectangles seemed to be embedded in the skin, spaced tightly along the arcs, their tops rimmed in a faint blackish red.
"Jenkins! Damn it, man, now is not the time!"
Jenkins shook his head and looked away. For a brief moment his stomach had started to churn, but the sensation passed as he was drawn back into his work. Frankly, he still wasn't convinced that the damn thing wasn't the original apple, and while he didn't have the same grasp of the science as the Professor, there had to be a more plausible explanation.
There simply was no way those little white pegs were teeth. | 2016-01-12T17:04:33 | 2016-01-12T16:30:30 | 48 | 31 |
[WP] You are a Logistics Officer during an invasion. Tell the course of the war solely from equipment requisitions. | I looked at that thin sheet of paper and frowned. At least their demands became more realistic I thought as I swore like a sailor.
4th Brigade "Screaming Panthers"
-800 pounds of raw bread
-12 Officer uniforms
-150 more rifles
-60 first aid kits
-9,000 bullets
-Twenty gallons of beer
PS: We're expanding what is allowed for the draft, Command's putting you simultaneously in charge of fourth Brigade and the newly formed twelfth. Immediate supplies for the twelfth:
-1,900 pounds of bread
-1,450 new rifles (We won't ask where you got them from)
-30 new officer uniforms
-110 new medical kits
-20,000 bullets
-Ninety gallons of beer
"Goddamnit, Niles. I can't keep up with this. At the beginning of the war it was thirty pounds of cheese per unit and each unit went sober. Now I need to go to every farm in the nation to get the bread and beer necessary to sustain the front lines."
"Its not that bad. Other two sides probably got some problems."
"I don't know the wars going frankly, just got to focus on my work."
"Hey you're getting promoted!"
"Yeah I guess." | "Whelp, time for another coffee... Alright, let's see... 150'000 rifles? Where are we going to get *half* that amount?! I get that America is the gun-ownership capital of the world, but most of those are semi-auto, civili- Wait, what? Are you seriously suggesting that we *take* the guns ourselves? Are you insane?! Jer- Look, Jerry, I *know* that we can say "we're commandeering these weapons for reasons of national security", but that would lead some people, particularly those in the Bible Belt, to think that we're just gonna melt them down for scrap. Oh yeah? Well fuck you too, jackass. Now... 46'000 Light Armored Assaulters? The fuck is a Light Armored Assaulter? What? It's the M12 LRV? Jesus, why don't we just call it the Warthog, or something? No, wait... It looks more like a big cat than anything. Yes, Jerry, a big cat. Like a puma or something. The fuck do you mean the puma's a made up animal? What would *you* rather call it, Mr. Know It All? Chupaca- *Chupacabra?!* That's a made up animal, you dumbass! Okay... 10'000 Heavy Armored Transports, Pelican-class... That seams reasonable. Christ, who are we invading, Russia? Huh? New Mombasa? Hey, my mom lives there! Hey, you see Vic? I got this funny video I wanna show him. No? Ah, fuck. Okay, we need... **500'000** soldiers?! Fuuuuuuuck... Good thing I'm not combat trained. I'm just Logistics." | 2016-04-10T09:21:04 | 2016-04-10T08:43:39 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] All of humanity is wiped off the earth in some cataclysm. 1.7 billion years later an intelligent race of giant reptiles evolves. Human DNA is found trapped inside a block of amber. They begin to clone humans and start a theme park.
Edit: Sorry about the scientific inaccuracy in the prompt. Wasn't deliberate, just said fukkit and put in an arbitrarily large number. If it breaks your suspension of disbelief feel free to replace it with a more believable number.
This blew up! Thanks for writing these awesome stories guys! I'll probably be walking around laughing all day today.
Also, credit for the work for which this is a parody of goes to Michael Crichton. | "Daddy look, the Monkeys are fighting!" said the small child, as he stared intently at the brawl that was breaking out. His scaled skin pressing against the blue electric glass of the enclosure.
The monkey in question, a small angry and pale man with a toothbrush mustache, was attempting to fight a much larger beast, a large and strong animal with a Walrus mustache. In the background, a fat bald monkey with an evil look about him, sat beside a another who was relatively hard to describe, his head fur balding and eyes looking keen and somewhat demeaning. The two observers were sharpening sticks with rocks, and making the ocassional hooting noise as the other two struggled in the dirt.
Suddenly, a voice blared out from a speaker above the glass. "Here we see, the different tribes fighting. This barbarian species, known as Douchus Arseholus, or Human for short, often argues amongst itself over trivial things such as land, and female mates. Despite this savage nature, they are competent builders and are even aware enough to craft tools from the objects around them. Here we see armbands on the Nazi tribe, crafted from toilet paper to identify each other."
"Woooow" gasped the large group of Reptillian children as they continued watching the fight. Static erupted from the speaker, and the voice shouted out again
"We also can see the two tribes sitting in the back, the Briti and the Yankers, making weapons. Normally they would just trade this weapons for food, though they are not averse to using them for their own purposes. Its thought that they're greed, is what ended the species overall." And with that, the two "Allied" tribes threw a sharpened stick into the fight, and it landed in the hand of the Walrus Mustache monkey who quickly began to fight back ferociously. After a few more minutes of struggle, the Toothbrush Monkey fell to the ground, bleeding and exhausted whilst the Walrus stood back and regained his breath, rugged pants echoing throughout the room.
Suddenly, the fat and bald Allied Monkey took action, leaping on the toothbrush monkey and attacking him whilst he was down, screeching ferociously and terrifyingly, causing some of the children watching to jump back in fear.
"The monkey attacking now, was previously injured by the toothbrush, and has been waiting for the right time to attack, we call him ChurchKill and he is a fairly nasty specimen"
Meanwhilst, the other allied beast, snuck up behind the Walrus Monkey, and impaled the back of his neck with the long stick he'd been saving. The Heroic Soviet Monkey fell to the ground, snarling and screaming like a beast... " And this children, is what we call World Paw Two"
(I'm bored, this sucks, I know. It took me five minutes to write and I wanted to write something :P) | Prologue -
A species of reptiles called the Rgholians slowly started colonising the planet they called Grranar. At an average height of 8 feet, Rghloian scientists think that their ancestors survived 2 massive comet strikes by taking refuge in deep underground caves which over time nurtured their own elaborate eco system. The earliest Rgholians were highly cannibalistic and aggressive in nature, traits that helped them survive by breeding out the weakest, while ensuring adequate food and resources for the strongest while going outside their deep dark caves once in a while to heat their bodies with rays from the warm sun.
A competing species of bipedal humanoid forms appear in early cave paintings, suggesting that at least one other intelligent species had survived the cataclysm, but it appears as though the stronger and more aggressive Rgholians quickly overwhelmed their foes, feasting on them and wiping them out as a species. Yet, from the centuries long exposure to the competing species helped the early Rghloians to adopt and adapt many of the traits the bipedals possessed, including the ability to speak and a written language. Rghloians have since then written down, etched or captured their history for a period of about 6,700 years till the present time.
Rghloian males are about 8-10 feet tall, have tough scaly skin and are physically very strong. They do however lack what Rghloian scientists call "the opposing thumb" which the ancient bi-pedals had. They tend to rely on their sense of sight as their sense of hearing and sense of smell is very weak (else these senses would have been overwhelmed in the close living quarters the earliest Rgholians had to live in). Rgholian females possessed pretty much the same features, only they were between 12-14 feet tall. While the species had an imposing bite strength, if their jaws were bound, they became catatonic and immobile, as a result they evolved many laws which made their jaws sacred and to touch another Rgolian's jaw without his / her explicit permission was punishable even by death. Rghloian scientists haven't still cracked this aspect of their species, the closest they have gotten is speculation that there must have been some cross over between early Rgholians and some species of fish that had this trait.
End Prologue -
The richest Rghloian alive, Rzzrak the second had been working in secrecy in a secret Island paradise for a decade. The few journalists who made it in, and managed a short broadcast out before disappearing reported that 10 years ago, Rzzrak had purchased something very valuable. It was apparently red in colour and said to contain the essence of the bi-pedals who were long dead.
HQ of Rzzrak Inc -
A very angry Rzzrak, surrounded by his team is ripping his previous chief scientist to shreds - "I want results, I pay for results, If you can't deliver results, you don't just quit midway, that is not the way of Rzzrak Inc", after shredding his erstwhile chief scientist to shreds, he looks at his thoroughly cowed team, blood dripping from his snout...any questions? says he. "I want my first specimens ready for internal observation in 6 months, if you can't do it, tell me".
Silence.
"Good" said Rzzrak and stalked out of the boardroom, leaving the clean up crew to pick up the pieces.
| 2016-06-20T03:11:17 | 2016-06-20T03:10:37 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops. | 70% and it wouldn't finish. I had been waiting for this torrent to finish since the tech became readily available. Why wouldn't it finish? It was the best superpower I could think of and I found it! The program said it was still downloading, but with no motion in over a week I decided to see how the power would work at partial capacity.
Once I uploaded the power I realized immediately why it never finished, why it would never finish. My mind expanded outwards beyond my insignificant apartment. The whole of the ever expanding universe joined with my mindscape. Every moment brought new information, in unending torrents.
Omniscience is *never* complete. | *"they're on to me"* I thought. As I saw the seeders drop down to 0. It was so curious to me as to why they were trying to stop me. All I wanted to do was enter command *god mode* and become impervious and immortal. I just wanted to live forever and I figured the best way to ensure lack of bodily injury was to execute god mode. The next morning I was awoken to officers at my door. They served me with a court summons without a reason for summons. Although I protested, the officers simply told me I had no choice other than to comply. That night I got one of my friends to download the torrent for god mode in its entirety and send it to me. Once I finished the download I began the upload into my closed neural network and waited for reactivation... 98... 99... 100...
*"No difference.."* I thought as i looked in the mirror. I sliced my cheek open and it healed instantaneously. No blood whatsoever.
*"They're not gonna know what hit em"* I thought as I contemplated my plan. How did you think you could stop a god? | 2016-07-02T18:11:32 | 2016-07-02T18:05:34 | 717 | 19 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops. | Some things need to stay dead.
But some things, no matter how hard you try, won't die inside your head.
When I heard about the SuperSeed, I was ready to do anything. The New York Public Library is a couple blocks away from my tent at the corner of 48th and Madison. I just had to wait around for some dumbass to leave his USB charger hanging out of his satchel, and it honestly didn't take long. Pickpocketing is almost too easy in a city where most people have forgotten how to pay attention.
I tried to blend in as I made my way to the library, up the steps, towards the 3rd floor public computers. My brain wouldn't shut up. Shit, is that secretary looking at me? Does she recognize me? I've only been here once before; can't be.
I typed the URL into Google as quickly as I could and clicked the cord into place, one end into the monitor's USB port and the other into my head's USB port. It was strange to think how long it'd been since I'd had mine installed; it certainly wasn't anything fancy. No way I could afford it nowadays.
I tried to cover the screen with my body as the download began. 10 percent, 20 percent, 30 percent. Everyone else had their eyes glued to their screens. 40 percent, 50 percent, 60 percent. I looked behind me like an idiot and locked eyes with the man at the desk by the doors. 70 percent. Shit. His eyes darted up and down and then he bolted out of his chair. I ripped the cord out of the computer, which sent a shockwave of pain through my body. No, no, damn it, no!
I ran for the doors and kept running, only looking up to check the street signs. 28th, 24th, 22nd...Ah!
I knew exactly where the grave was; it was a ritual by that point. "Cindy Merritt, devoted wife and friend." I knelt down in front of it and pointed my hands straight toward the dirt where I'd buried her myself so long ago. Electricity coursed through my body, summoning her from the underworld.
She slowly began to emerge from the dirt, her head looking pale and faint. Surely this would change as the powers did their work. But no, she was see-through, a mere imitation of who she had once been. I hadn't given it enough time.
"Cindy? Can you hear me?"
She opened her eyes and blinked twice.
"David?"
I nodded. "I'm here to bring you home."
She didn't seem to notice that she was almost invisible. I touched her finger and despite its transparency I could still feel a bit of warmth. Without pausing for another moment, I clutched her hand tightly and ran for my tent.
Cindy tried to speak to me but I shushed her. When we reached 48th and Madison, I was almost ready to collapse, but the adrenaline was still working its magic.
"David, I'm so confused. I feel like I've taken the most wonderful nap."
"You did. You, uh, fell asleep on the couch and then...started sleepwalking towards 22nd Street and, well, I..."
Cindy stared at me.
I sighed. "Cindy, please. I want to talk to you, feel you next to me. Nothing else."
"David, I'm tired."
I looked at her again and it seemed like she was getting paler every second.
"I need to go back to sleep. I'm exhausted."
I clenched my fists. "No. You're going to stay here with me and we're going to talk until 3 AM, and laugh, and face the world together."
She was beginning to blend in with the street behind her.
I was shaking now. "I'll go back to the library. I'll try to download it again. Maybe they'll catch me, but...but I'll finish it, I promise."
I could barely see it, but she smiled. "Davey, I don't know what you're going on about. Of course I'm going to stay with you. I would never leave--"
She was gone.
I sat down in front of my tent, not sobbing, not shaking, just sitting in silence.
That night, I vowed to never again interfere with the way things are and the way things have to be. I don't think I can handle another lost chance, and I don't think eternal slumbers, however painful, can be interrupted.
Some things need to stay dead.
| I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air. | 2016-07-02T18:15:33 | 2016-07-02T18:09:05 | 246 | 17 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | A pair of soldiers leveled their weapons at the man in his own doorway.
“This is still America. I have rights.” He says.
“Sir, this town has been declared a 115 zone.” The leading soldier replies.
“I showed you all my waiver twice. 121 is still within the 15 degrees permissible for homeowners.”
The man blinked carefully, willing his single tear not to fall. His controlled breaths were shaky, but he refused to sob.
“You already took my family.” He said flatly.
“Sir, we have reason to believe that you have unauthorized occupants in this residence, and we were sent to perform a wellness check.”
The man cringed, as the term *wellness check* took on a whole new and ugly meaning.
He heard a gentle thud behind the stairs. The toddler was awake, and his oldest probably slipped trying to grab her.
The man looked down at the declaration of separation, which stated his wife and kids and been forcibly relocated. Her score was 89, and childrens weren’t much better. The double-digit neighborhoods were hundreds of miles away; usually decrepit urban sprawls.
The man heard a yelp, a thud, a clamor. Quickly, he let free his restraint and broke down to cover the sounds.
“You’ve already taken everything from me!” he bawled.
“Sir, step aside!”
“No! This is my house and I-”
“He’s got a weapon!”
…
His neighbors shuddered at the sound of gunfire, but at least they knew their neighborhood was being made *safe*.
| I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly. | 2016-08-26T12:15:40 | 2016-08-26T10:59:35 | 589 | 18 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | *Good god, I am lonely.*
When the GE test was invented, people loved it. They looked forward to justifying themselves in front of their friends and family, to say, "Look, mom, arn't you proud of me?"
*As I sit on my porch, the street in front of me is empty. I can't see a thing in any direction besides the scrubland of Section 1. So lonely here.*
The test was divided 200 ways, with those of pure good on the 200 side andpure evil on the 1 side. Most, obviously, fell in the middle somewhere. On the general side, man was found to be mostly good; this certainly made the philosophers shut up.
*Nobody for 50 miles in any direction.*
When I took the test I was rather excited. People had been placing bets with their friends over the test to see who knew each other best. I bet I would be smack dab in the middle.
*The wind is the only sound here.*
There were rumors of the government dividing the world to suit the different personalities together. Most assumed each category would be mostly the same in number, or that there would be ample people in each.
*Of the world, I am alone.*
200 sections for the world. Each of equal size, reserved for people of one particular grade in the GE test.
*Save me, god.*
Goodness resides in the soul, they found. The soul is unchanging, and concrete. The GE test was a permanent score, and your section was permanent too.
*Forever alone.*
How was I to know I would be the only man in the world with a score of one.
*The only one.* | I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly. | 2016-08-26T15:14:15 | 2016-08-26T10:59:35 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] In another reality, the Americas, Australia, Europe, Asia, Africa, and Antartica don't exist. Instead, the super-continent of Pangaea never broke up. | There was unease on the ship. Ferdinand Magellan could feel it. Men would go silent and look away, mid conversation, when he first came above or below deck. At this point, he didn't blame them. The days were short and the nights were long. The sun barely made it above the horizon for an hour, before retiring back to it's home in the south, leaving them in darkness. They sailed past more and more icebergs, growing ever taller and more abundant as they went. Lit by starlight, they were like ghostly guardians to the gates of hell. Still though, he ordered the helmsman to push ever north.
With favorable wind, Polaris would be directly overhead in just under a fortnight. Then they would have to navigate carefully by star charts, towards a different constellation each hour. Magellan prayed for clear skies when that time came, lest they sail back from whence they came instead of to the depths of the Great Sea.
The Great Sea and her lover Pangaea were all any man knew. They cared for humanity like a mother and father care for their babes. When together, they provided their children with fish, plants, beasts, cool days and warm nights. Stray too far inland and the land becomes barren and dry. Too far to sea, and you wander the waters for all of time. Every man woman and child knew this, but still Magellan pushed north.
Columbus was the first to cross her, but not the first to try. He'd sailed the equator west until he arrived in the east. Many thought he'd fall of the ends of the earth, but no. He had done it.
But any fool could sail west. If Magellan could prove ships could circumvent longitudes, he would be glorified as well. So he pushed north. | "There's got to be something else out there!" My child exclaims to me, as I tuck him into bed. "It can't just be this land! There has to be other lands out there!"
"Oh yeah?" I say with a laugh. "What makes you think that?" I could read the excitement on his face before he spoke.
"There just has to be! All the legends about what's at the end of The Great Blue. All we need to do is just... sail. In a straight line. Until we find something!" He was rustling as he spoke and completely ruined my job of tucking him in.
"The world... Our world. It's a big globe. If you leave on The Eastlands, you'll just go in a big circle and arrive at The Westlands." I tried my best to settle him down so late at night, but he was having none of that.
"Dad,"
"Yes child?"
"That is the dumbest answer I've heard." A small scowl was stretching across his face as I laughed.
"What do you think is out there then, boy? Out there in The Great Blue?" I grabbed the seat nearby and sat down, awaiting a tale that only a child could conjure.
"Treasure! And monsters, and dragons, and beasts! All those tales we've all heard, they're out there! Just waiting to be found." I nodded my head as I watched the life spark through him. I was jealous, honestly, I wish I had that kind of wonder left in me.
"Well, when you get older, you can take a boat and just..." I rub the top of his head as I stand and head towards the door. "Go in a straight line."
"Really Dad?" he had begun to lay down now instead of leaning up.
"Yeah, of course son. And I'll be on this land waiting for the letters from wherever you end up." I flicked off the light, before closing the door behind me.
"Yeah..." I could hear his little voice beginning to drift away from behind the door, "I'm gonna find the end of The Great Blue."
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If you liked this, check out /r/Rhysyjay | 2017-02-09T05:36:04 | 2017-02-09T05:16:54 | 1,245 | 320 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | The sounds and smells of New York assaulted John's senses. After being gone from the city for 10 years, he still love/hated the smell of New York City in the summer. It was dark on the street. Darker than a street should seem. Looking up he noticed the lights had been busted out on the light pole.
He heard a soft *John* behind him and he turned. She had gotten her hair cut. He couldn't tell the color but it looked like she'd gone back to being a brunette. He always did have a thing for brunettes.
He smiled. "Hey. Fancy meeting you here."
She surged forward and hugged him fiercely. She had grown taller than him years ago, but he couldn't begrudge her that. Even as a kid she'd been all legs. She was slim again.
"I can't believe your here!" She cried with tears in her voice.
"Yeah I'm here. How longs it been?"
"Almost four years now. Johnny is about to turn four in a few weeks."
"Wow. He's getting big. I can hug you now with no baby bump."
She laughed remembering the last time he'd come to her. She'd gone into labor unexpectedly and was alone without her cell phone nearby. Their reunion, however, was cut short by a shout from the end of the block.
"Ay lady! That kid botherin' ya?"
"No." She shouted back. "He's with me!"
"A'ight. I noticed those bums trynna follow ya but I sen em off." Said a gruff Italian walking towards the pair.
"Oh goodness. Thank you so much. I thought I had shaken them off and then when I realized I hadn't I was just all turned around." She responded, her hand on her chest. *ah* thought John. *That's why I'm here*
"Yeah, fageddaboudit. Look, yous gotta be careful in the Bronx. You can't be out here at night with just a kid keeping you company, ya know what I'm sayin. Those bums tried telling me some stuff but I told em to tell their story walkin."
John stuck out his hand. "Hey man, thanks a lot for that. I didn't realize she'd attracted some unwanted attention. I'm gonna get her home safe now."
The Italian shook his hand back and said, "Yeah, you do dat son. Go on up to White Plains Road. See if you can catch a cab. Don't be taking ya moms on no subways round here, ya hear? Yous guys get home safe, a'ight."
"Will do, sir." John responded with a respectful nod.
The pair turned and walked up the road towards the tell tale screeching of a subway car stopping towards where the man had pointed.
They walked in silence for a moment.
"I'm not sure how I feel about being mistaken for your mother now."
They shared a good laugh before lapsing into silence. As they neared the busy, populated street they both slowed. For a few moments they just watched the people passing. John loved how alive the scene in front of them was.
"Even with as much as it's changed, it's still the same."
She smiled wistfully, watching his face. Her eyes seemed intent on taking in every facial expression of his. He meet her gaze with that youthful grin she'd fallen in love with as a kid.
He noticed the lines on her face. No doubt some put there by his namesake. Some by grief she'd experienced. And the rest by time. Time that he'd lost.
"It's good to see you again." she whispered.
He grinned even wider. "It's good to be seen!"
He didn't want to see the tears in her eyes that he knew were inevitable. She should always be smiling. She was safe now and he could feel himself fading again.
"You tell your boy I said hey. Take care of yourself... Mom."
She huffed through her tears and stared as her once childhood love faded from sight with that eternal boyish grin. Even though he'd been gone for 10 years, the grief was always fresh. But it was accompanied by the comfort that her guardian angel was still watching over her.
Edit: Spelling. Did this on my phone. | A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..." | 2017-03-22T17:37:31 | 2017-03-22T15:05:15 | 37 | 19 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine. | "Happy Birthday dear Shaurya, happy birthday to you!",
as his friends and family sang the monotonous ritual of a song at his 18th, He looked more lost than usual.
His eyes were moving rapidly,as if he was reading a book floating in front of him. As the song stopped so did his eyes. An unusual look of anger decorated his face. It all came back to him, his past memories a tad late.
He was 6'0 tall, dark skinned and had a stocky build.
"It's about damn tim.." before he could complete his mouth was immediately stuffed with Ladoo's(Indian Sweet) and his face was covered with cake.
After some careful manipulation he was able to get away from the party,
While the adults danced to loud punjabi music with a little help from some old fashioned whiskey, and his friends danced to loud EDM(Electro Dance Music). Shaurya, which was now apparently his name, sat in seclusion, away from the ruckus, on the roof.
"India huh, what does he want me to do this time? be inspired by that old fool Gandhi?"
He looked up at the heavens in anger. The doors were closed on him yet again.
Maybe conquering almost every inch of gods mighty earth,Leading massive armies to war, becoming the most powerful leader of all time wasn't enough.
"Maybe killing the jews was too much?" He burst out laughing. He regretted nothing. His laughter subsided while his anxiety rose, "What now?"
_______________________________________________________________
Hello!, this my first attempt at writing, please give me feedback! Thanks!
| 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T09:38:51 | 166 | 10 |
[WP] In a near future, a rarity of humans born with superpowers are placed at the top of a social hierarchy, leaving everyone else in the dust. You are one of the many who despise the unfair system, and while rummaging through your late grandfather's belongs, you come across a book labeled "Batman". | As I read through the comic I feel my hope rising. Perhaps even without superpowers I can still matter, I can still move up in the world!
Then it hit me.
"Damn! I'm not rich! I don't have a British butler! My parents are still alive!"
I threw the comic across the room in rage.
"It's not fair!" I shout, I wanted to hit something. But then I remembered, there were people in the comic that weren't rich, that didn't have British butlers. Whose parents were still- well... maybe.
"That's it!" I knew that what I had to do.
I ran to the store and bought some makeup and hair dye. As I sat in my room applying that chalky white cracked makeup to my face, I swore that those heroes would pay. I won't stand idly by and let myself be beaten down by their regime. I will make them work for their positions. Every hero needs a villain...
My time has come.
| Another day, another boring goddamn day. I walk through the dust filled streets while my mind wanders imagining how different my life would be with powers. Those selfish bastards. They have powers and used them to take all the money and forced us commoners to work dead end jobs just to put food on the table. I turned the corner and was suddenly thrown off my feet. A streak on red passed my at insane speeds. Laughter from the air followed. "That's the 4th one today!" Voices above me yelled. Yeah they're real Fuckin hilarious. I brushed dirt of my shirt, and continued my walk home.
When I opened the door to my house, old memories filled my head, of my grandpa, in this house, telling me stories. The words where long lost but I could still picture grandpa's face. Those were better times, no super "heroes" roamed the world then, just common people. These memories brought back emotions, and off those I decided to go through my grandpa's old stuff. A few boxes would normally be a quick process, but when each item you take out brings back memories it took a while. As I was opening the last box something slipped out of a wall crevice, a magazine by the looks of it. As I got close I realized it was an old comic, about a hero named batman. I spent the whole night reading it, and in the morning i knew what I had to do. | 2017-05-11T10:32:25 | 2017-05-11T09:54:55 | 679 | 33 |
[WP] Humans are unique. They are the only omnivores in the galaxy. Until they appeared on the galactic scene, the galaxy was firmly split between Carnivores and Herbivores. | You know, getting abducted by aliens doesn't live up to all the hype. No one prodded me or stuck things up my ass. No one dissected my body or scanned my brain. They just beamed me aboard and threw me in a cell. I felt slightly disappointed and more than a little confused. What did they want from me?
I glanced around. I was currently sharing this cell with about 20 other creatures, all of whom looked like giant hamsters. They were about a meter tall with orange and white fur and large black eyes, and they were all staring right at me.
"Um...Hi? I'm Alex. What are your names?"
They just kept staring at me. They probably didn't speak any human language anyway. I tried to ignore their stares and focus on something else, like why am I in a cage filled with giant hamsters?
I heard a sudden "Ding" noise and the door to the cell slid open. Standing in the doorway was a creature about my height that resembled a Moray eel with arms and legs. Its skin was lavender and shiny, and its hands were surprisingly human-like. In its hands the creature held a large metal basket filled to the brim with some alien fruit. While the creature wore no clothes, there was a glowing device strapped to its arm.
"Kraaaw", the eel shrieked as it began chucking the fruit at me and the hamsters.
The hamsters each grabbed a fruit and began to eagerly nibble away at them. The fruit were the size of a cantaloupe melons and had fuzzy blue rinds. I picked up one of the fruits and sniffed it. It smelled alright, but I was generally suspicious of any food not grown on Earth. I took a small nibble to appease the eel creature who I noticed was currently glaring at me.
"Not bad. Tastes like cinnamon.", I said to the eel in-between bites.
The eel snarled and spoke into the device.
"You no talk! You eat fruit! You grow fat!", translated the device in a monotone voice.
Well that's one mystery solved. I stopped eating and tried my best to negotiate out of being his next meal.
"Look buddy, you seem like a reasonable ...eel. How about we head back to Earth and I show you the wonders of chicken. It tastes way better than humans, I swear."
The eel ignored my offer and made its way towards me. It smashed a fruit and picked up a large piece of it. The eel held me against the wall of the cell and attempted to force feed me the fruit.
"You no talk! You eat fruit! You grow fat!", repeated the device.
I looked the eel straight in the eye as I spat out the fruit and sank my teeth into its hand. The eel looked at me in shock. The hamsters stopped eating and resumed staring at me. I grabbed the eel's wrist and pulled hard, ripping a large chunk of its hand off. Horrified, the eel stood up and began backing away, completely ignoring its gaping wound. I stood up as well, gave his hand a few chews, and swallowed. It tasted like warm sushi. | Frank noticed the aliens looking at him funny, which didn't help his mood. They'd arrived unannounced, but you just had to be nice, you know?
So he smiled and nodded, taking a bite of his burger. The aliens winced.
"Sorry guys, would you like a bite?" he asked, suddenly realizing he hadn't even offered them.
The alien spoke in garbled tones, then adjusted a sophisticated-looking device on its neck, which immediately turned his gibberish into perfect English. "Sorry, Earth Frank, but I'm not sure if you've noticed... you have a bun around your food. There's even some *lettuce*."
The other alien shuddered, pointing at the insides of the hamburger.
"And gh-gherkins," it added with effort.
Frank frowned. "Oh, not a fan of garnish?" he asked, getting up towards his fridge. "Prefer it separate? I'm sure I can fix you guys up a salad, or something..."
He stopped when he saw their expressions.
"We do not eat the dreaded *plants*, I'm afraid," the alien replied haughtily, as his friend nodded in agreement. "We eat meat, and only meat. In fact, you must be the only... 'omnivores' we've encountered in the galaxy."
Frank was amazed. "You mean every intelligent species only eat meat?"
"Oh, no," the alien replied, "it's either only meat, or only not-meat."
"You mean like vegans?" Frank asked.
The second alien leaned and whispered something to his friend, who nodded.
"We prefer the term, 'pussies'."
"I see..." Frank said, amazed. "So, what are you guys even doing here? I would have cleaned up if I'd known I was going to be the ambassador for the human race," he said with a laugh. The aliens did not even crack a smile.
"Oh, we were just looking for some new food," the alien said, looking Frank up and down. "But I don't think our stomachs would agree with *you*."
Frank pondered the sentence for a while, the implications slowly dawning on him. "Oh, no no, not at all," he said, looking around awkwardly. "Us humans would come right back up, I'm afraid."
The alien frowned, finishing his drink and getting up. "It's a shame, really," it said, glancing at Frank one last time. "No scales, no fur, just fat, pink skin... are you sure there aren't any carnivores or 'pussies' on your planet?"
The other alien licked its lips. Frank hurriedly took another bite of his burger, and the alien turned away and gagged.
"No no," Frank said, picking lettuce out of his teeth, "just us omnivores, really. Just us little ol' omnivores."
The aliens shook their head, then walked to the door, their spaceship appearing out of thin air.
"Farewell, Earth Frank," the alien said, not bothering to look back. "Let us know if you ever change your disgusting dietary habits."
Frank smiled weakly, watching them go.
He sat down after they'd left, letting out a big sigh. It occurred to him that he'd just saved at least a small portion of the human race.
He stared at his burger.
"I guess a balanced diet really *is* important," he said to no one in particular.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2017-05-16T00:18:18 | 2017-05-16T00:17:00 | 1,130 | 754 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still... | Dr. Montoya entered the room, clipboard in hand. "You're a were-dragon," he said bluntly.
I chuckled, "that's funny. You're funny, doc." He didn't laugh.
"No, it's actually quite serious," he said sternly, "I'd like to keep you for some tests." He was already sending word to his friends over email. "It may take a few days."
That's what the other doctors told me. Tests. More like experiments. They learned in the end that you can't contain a dragon...
Almost immediately he received a reply on his computer, and as he read it, his eyes began to bulge with terror. I can almost guarantee they are telling him to sedate me, that he should've when he first found out. They're telling him that he shouldn't have tried to get famous off of someone else's incredibly rare "misfortune." Lucky for me, I've learned to control the transformation, I no longer need to be in danger for the beast to come out. Now, I am the danger.
I stood as he finished reading his letter. I'm not sure if he knew what was going to happen in the next few seconds -- his last moments -- but he knew that i knew. The transformation is almost instant, the heat peels paint from the office walls. Without hesitation, i exhaled a fire of a thousand suns. The other patients were merely collateral damage. I was saving myself. I didn't care about the innocent. I cared about surviving.
As the building burnt to ash, I spread my wings and took flight in a random direction, hoping to find a new town. Again. Hoping to find a place where i can live in peace. Again. I'm not a wild animal, i need civilization and to be social. I just want the human experience without fear of someone coming for me.
...
Dr. Yam entered the room, clipboard in hand. "So, uh..." he paused, trying to find the words, "You're basically the healthiest person in town." He looked at me, unconvinced. "I mean, you have to already know. There's no way you don't." He almost sounded proud as he say in front of me. "How do you want you handle this?"
I was shocked, he didn't inform anyone. He was legitimately curious how i felt. "I think," i stammered, "i think I'm going to like you Dr. Yam."
(I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY WRITTEN IN 10 YEARS, BE KIND) also on mobile so sorry for lack of formatting. | "So," I ask the Doc. "Can I control it?"
He checks his paper. "Our diagnosis, for the most part, says you can. Other than that, I would avoid staying around anyone on the weekends."
"That's when I turn into a dragon?"
"From what we can see, that's when you're most *likely* to. Of course, this is all based on hypotheticals and predictions."
I thank him and leave. The weekend rolls around and, like predicted, I turn into a dragon. Unpredicted, I kidnap a princess.
Not an actual princess, though. Just a girl from campus that I put on a pedestal because she's pretty.
And not really kidnap, just...took her to an undisclosed location and stripped her of any means of communicating with the outside world.
I know, I know...It *sounds* like kidnapping, but it's really not. She's free to leave anytime. But I guess when you believe there's a dragon outside your door, you'd rather stay in your room.
I go and chill for like a week or two. Then I come back and let myself in.
She looks at me with a terror mixed with relief and jumps off the bed, giving me a quick hug. "You have to go!" she says urgently pushing me towards the door. "There's a dragon somewhere watching me. Find the cops, tell them and my family where I am. Go! Hurry!"
I hold her hands, gently. "It's okay," I say. "I killed the dragon."
She looks at me. But it's different now. A way she's never looked at me before. I know I've got her.
She falls into my arms and sobs, while I hug her tightly.
Three years later, we graduate and get married. And live happily ever after.
The End.
*Sike*.
Because I turn into a dragon on the weekends, every Friday night to Sunday night, I stay in a hotel not too far from home. My excuse is always that I have to go out of town for some business event.
One day I come home and find a note.
*Dear John,
I can't take this anymore. I don't know where you go every weekend. You have a business event every weekend, John? Every weekend? It's okay. I figure you're probably cheating on me. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to be as a wife.
This is so painful to write because I'll always be grateful to you for saving me from the dragon, but I think that's all it was, John. I was grateful. I don't think it ever developed into love. You never gave it a chance to develop into love.
I'll be staying at my sister's place, if you want to explain what's been going on. If you don't, that's fine, too.
I wish you the best and I hope you find someone that makes you happy.*
~~Love~~ *Signed,
Maria*
I read the note three times then put on my jacket.
*Time to go kidnap her again.* | 2017-05-20T08:25:02 | 2017-05-20T05:22:46 | 153 | 86 |
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting. |
###**Diagnostic Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria with Manic Episodes**^1
DSM-IV Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria
· Hallucinations prototypically of grandiose nature^2
· Schizotypal responses highlighted by delusional thinking^3
· Periodic states of mania often leading to injury or arrest^4
· Specific symptoms, at least 3 of these 5, present nearly every day:
1. Significant change in activity; extreme restlessness, inability to stay still
2. Change in sleep; staying up all night, usually in conjunction with delusional thoughts.^5
3. Recklessness & extreme behavior; taking actions, outside of normal occurrence, that lead an increase chance of bodily harm.^6
4. Constant and noticeable change of appearance; day by day changes such as clothing, weight, costume, makeup, etc.^7
5. Increased irritability; marked by an inability to allow for common actions to play out in normal time. Demanding rapidity where not possible.^8
**Screen for conditions that may mimic or coexist^9 with Protagonist Dysphoria**:
· Substance abuse (eg. drugs, alcohol, medication)
· Family history of schizophrenia
· Borderline personality disorder
· Bipolar disorder
· Bereavement; notably the recent loss of both parents
__________________________
1. Eliot woke the morning of September 26th 2017 with the resolute knowledge that he was bound for something more. Something greater. There was nothing particularly notable about this morning, besides the fact that the curtain wasn’t completely closed so it allowed a ray of sunshine to illuminate his face. A spotlight for the rest of the day.
2. As he sat at the edge of the bed noted that he always seemed to put his left sock on first, despite being right handed. Wondering if this was abnormal. He never had a chance to put on the right one as he was interrupted by a large bang outside. Initially wrote it off as construction and headed downstairs. Stepped onto the cold tile only now realizing his bare foot.
3. He sat down to drink his morning coffee and opened up the blinds to an inferno in his midst. Realized the bang was the result of an asteroid plummeting through his neighbor’s roof. The street riddled with debris and dead bodies. People running down the street screaming. Aha! He thought to himself. Time to jump into action! Ran outside, the one socked hero he always knew he could be.
4. By the time he reached the wreckage became enraged at the fact that no one else seemed to be compelled to help. Banged his fists on a nearby police cruiser. Chewed out the cop who refused to be a willing participant, refused to be a true hero in a true time of crisis. As the heat singed his back, Eliot was thrown into the back seat of the car, pleading against this injustice.
5. Eliot sat in the cell awaiting a pretrial hearing for assaulting a police officer. Could not possibly imagine a scenario where this was a bigger issue than what seemed to be the impending apocalypse. He decided to take action. Had spent the last several years teaching himself to be alert even with minimal sleep. Lassoed the keys from a sleeping officer overseeing his cell.
6. Free from the cell, in the midst of prying the gun from the officer's belt found himself flat on his back, bullet in his thigh. Blood pouring over the ground. The officer, startled himself, called for an ambulance. Leaving Eliot enough time to hobble out the front door. Worse for wear, sure, but with a renewed resilience. Fighting against an obviously corrupt system. A system hell-bent on destroying the planet.
7. Realizing that they all knew his face now, shaved off his hair, sewing himself a contour fitting disguise, well except for his leg, still wrapped up in a tourniquet. But true heroes don’t feel pain. And he knew that. Traversed the streets dressed as the Ray of Light Hawk. Some combination of Big Bird and the Cool-Aid Man. Headed straight for City Hall, ready to demand some answers.
8. Eliot slowly realized that in the ensuing fiasco, and in readying the disguise, time was running out. Blood crusted Big Bird heading for the final showdown. Forgot exactly how far City Hall was, commandeered a small girl’s bike, tassels waving in the wind. Pedaling as fast as his bullet ridden thigh would take him.
9. About 5 minutes into this excursion found himself surrounded by police cars, and felt impending doom as the sky turned red, asteroids flying in every direction. Realizing that it would take a true master to escape this. And in a blaze of glory, was immediately subdued and returned to the medical wing of the Morningstar Psychiatric Hospital.
__________________
^[^More ^at ^/r/SquidCritic]
| Ariel undid her ponytail as she sat up from her desk to walk shyly out of class, when she noticed a smiling man in a tuxedo smoking in the back of the classroom appear in a flash, and then disappear.
“Uhh,” said Ariel, as she picked up her backpack she just dropped. Everybody and the teacher had already left, when she walked back to the corner of the room to see if it was just some optical illusion. She spun the globe on the table back there, and bit some dried skin off her lip.
Then she heard the ominous dark laughter echoing through the classroom.
“Uhh nope,” whispered Ariel, as she speedwalked towards the door.
A breeze blew through the open window, and slammed it shut so hard the hinges weakened.
She tried to open it. She turned the handle some, turned around, then turned the handle some even harder when she saw a strange floating black mist approaching her with half his face an on fire skull, and the other half healthy, though a strangely icy blue. His eyes were fire and ice as well, red and blue.
Ariel screamed as she backed away, and dropped her shoulder down to break the door down. The hinges caved in, and she was sprinting down the hallway.
She could hear whispers in the halls, as she ran.
“Ariel’s always acting so weird.”
“What’s she running for *again*.”
“Wish she’d just talk for once.”
Ariel turned the corner, and ran through a crowded hallway. She shut her eyes as she cried, and sprinted the halls she knew so well.
When she re-opened them, she was alone at the entrance of her school, dimly lit like it was nighttime.
The floating man approached from inside the walls.
“You don’t yet know your powers Ariel,” he said, with his arms folded, and his eyes particularly fixated on her recently dyed pink hair.
“*GET AWAY FROM ME,*” she shouted, as she bumped into a locker then sprinted towards the exit. The branches outside were swaying in the breeze, as she bumped into a tree scrambling away. Some textbooks fell out of her open bag. She didn’t take the time to run back to them.
A voice came from the clouds.
“Use your powers against me Ariel,” said the voice, as a floating storm cloud became his face fiery face.
“*WHAT DO YOU WANT*,” she cried, as she threw her hands at the air.
Pink leaf petals flew from her arms, at the sky. They sliced through the clouds, and revealed the sun behind.
There was a sudden distortion in the air around her, as the reality around her re-became a bright, sunshiny day, and all her classmates leaving school for the day.
Ariel collapsed to her knees, bending inwards, and breathed heavily staring around for somebody nearby.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and screamed for her life.
“*Hey.*”
Ariel turned around, and looked at all her classmates shaking their heads and continuing to walk to their rides.
“Blaine?” said Ariel, just a little embarrassed.
“Yeah,” said Blaine, holding out her textbooks. “You dropped this.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, putting her hair behind her ear. She looked at him a few more times, before dropping her head and walking away back to her house five blocks away.
She was a ways away when she heard him scream from behind her.
“Hey Ariel!”
She turned around, and put her hair behind her ear again. She thought she saw black mist again. It was only the exhaust of a car driving by.
“Yeah?” she mouthed out, looking down some.
Blaine smiled and put his arms out like he was enjoying it.
“Your hair looks great!”
Ariel rummaged a hand through her hair, and nodded some while she speedwalked back to her home.
It was a normal day, with birds chirping in the distance, cars passing by, a cool breeze flowing past her skin. And she was growing more confident that what she’d experienced was only a hallucination.
Then, she felt an icy hand come across her wrist, as she froze.
“I know what happened to your lost brother,” he whispered, as the mist enveloped her being and cast her into his shadow.
“I don’t even have a brother,” whispered Ariel.
“Strike me down,” he said, gripping her harder, and shutting his eyes as he stared at the storm clouds. “Show me why they said you must be my next apprentice.”
Ariel shivered as she froze, then cracked through the ice and threw her arm into violent circles until he let go.
She shouted his way so loud it made her own eardrums bleed.
The windows of thousands of houses broke all around her development, and made the man floating in the mist stare at her with horrified eyes as he splintered away in misty pieces and disappeared.
Ariel waited in the silence, as mystified onlookers came outside their homes and wondered what had sent such a shockwave through the development.
Ariel could only hearing the ringing in her ears, and the distant voice that seemed to be everywhere.
Even within her mind.
*Good,* he chuckled, as she felt a cold breeze pass her by, and darken the air of the forest in the distance. *Very good.*
/r/Oscar_Relentos | 2017-12-09T09:07:22 | 2017-10-18T11:23:06 | 377 | 38 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started. | When the group of loud blond women had walked in and claimed a booth, Greg had idly thought it was probably time for a bachelorette party or a girls' night out.
When a group of religious leaders had strolled through and gathered at the bar, he had wondered—a little more actively—if he had ever actually seen any such persons in his bar before. If he had, he couldn't remember. He served their drinks and continued to clean and straighten his surroundings, talking to his usual patrons.
When a group of plaid-clad individuals walked in talking about their individual theories on science and math and other things Greg didn't really understand, he started to get a little bit suspicious. A frown settled itself into the lines of his face and tugged downward at his mouth. He cleaned a little more rigidly.
It was when the horse walked in that Greg got pissed.
"So, I guess I'm supposed to ask, 'Why the long face now?' Is that right?" Greg screamed at the horse. He threw his towel down and put his hands on his hips.
The hum of the bar abruptly stopped.
"Um, son, horses can't talk," the Rabbi in the corner told him gently.
The group of blond women murmured in agreement and the scientists all nodded enthusiastically.
"That said," one scientist spoke up, "it is quite dangerous to be in a bar with a horse. Shall we go?"
The people all gathered their things and left, emptying the bar but for Greg and the horse.
"Well, that sucks," Greg said.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sad about it," the horse whispered.
-------
If you enjoyed this nonsensical story, check out more nonsense as well as details about my new novella over at /r/AlexLoganWriting! | Sean yawned and pulled into Cliche’s parking lot. The last two nights he’d pulled doubles to cover for Elyse, but now he couldn’t shake the phantom 20 pound dumbbells tied to his arms. Another day another dollar, he thought, pressing through the front door.
“Hey Sean. ‘Notha double tonight?” David asked, looking away from the Red Sox game on the far wall flat screen.
“Hey Dave. Yeah. You got a Red Bull for me under there?” Sean said pulling up a stool. It was 4 p.m., an hour before his shift, and the bar was empty, save for the three priests sitting and their bottle of wine at the corner table.
Dave cracked the can and said, “Here ya go kid. Drink up. You’re gonna need your wings tonight. Thursday nights are big. If you smile real nice for the people they’ll throw a bunch of green paper at ya.” A cynical smile curled at the corners of Dave’s mouth.
“Is that how that works? I thought I just had to show ‘em my freemason membership card.”
Dave turned back around. “Bullshit. You got a mason card?”
“Oh yeah,” Sean leaned to his left and reached for his pocket. “Check this out.” He pulled up a middle finger and chuckled.
Dave smirked and he door squealed open. Sean and Dave were greeted with the the sounds of hooves. Their owner, a 7 foot horse, pulled up to the bar a few feet from Sean.
Dave smiled, and leaned into the bar. “Hey bud, why the long face?”
The horse shook its mane out. “My wife just left with the kids.” Sean and Dave bore witness to the horse’s pause.
Sean started to speak. “I’m–”
“She took ‘em to the in laws for the weekend. I’m free.” The horse’s laugh was immense and the gravity pulled both Dave and Sean in. “A bourbon neat, thanks.”
Dave found a glass beneath the lip of the bar, wiped it out, and grabbed the Makers Mark off the wall. 1, 2, 3, 4. “That’ll be five.” Dave said, sliding the drink to his long-faced friend. | 2018-01-31T18:50:47 | 2018-01-31T18:34:28 | 1,898 | 79 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started. | I sat in my car as the engine died. Enjoying my last moment before starting my shift. Taking a deep breath, I got out and headed to the bar. As I reached the entrance, the door opened and one of our regulars walked out. "Already had your fill today, O'Connor?" I said to him.
He mumbled something and stumbled down the street. He'd probably be back soon. With that Scottish friend of his. I went in and got ready for my shift. Murray was relieved to see me. It was finally time for him to go home. "You will never guess what happened today," he said as I went behind the counter.
"I probably can," I said. At this point, what surprised me most was that things still surprised him.
"A bear came in today," he said, expecting me to react.
"Did you tell him that bar moved to Hudson's Avenue?" I asked.
"Not that kind of bear. An actual bear. A grizzly bear. It actually walked up to the bar and ordered. It took a long time, it waited about five minutes between every word, but it actually spoke."
I've served the bear a few times. It was at the point where I would hear someone scream in fear and I'd get the bear's usual drink ready. "Alright, you just head home and rest," I told Murray. "I'll handle it from here." He left, still traumatized by serving a bear. He looked on in horror as a horse came in as he was leaving. He looked over to me, silently asking if I was seeing it too. I just waved him goodbye. Somehow he was still shocked by all this. To me it was just the daily grind.
The day went on as normal. The usual clientele and the usual conversations. People discussing religion. People ordering drinks for inanimate objects. Animals ordering drinks. People talking about their sexual exploits. A group of strings came in, but I quickly threw them out. They forgot their lifetime ban.
Finally it was time for last call. The people finished their drinks and headed out. I cleaned up and check the tip jar. A priest, a rabbi, twelve blondes, five blacks, three types of scientists, an entire barnyard of animals, and Jesus Christ walked into a bar, and not one of them tipped. "Is this some kind of joke?" I said in disgust. | As I arrived, the usuals sat at the bar, sipping their water downed whiskey and watching an old playoff game hoping for a different ending never to come. I topped off whiskey, rum and cokes, and opened a couple more beers. To be honest, I wasn't in a great mood, but I thought he day was looking up when a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into the place, unusual but not unheard of. My urge to say something witty had to be buried deep down. They ordered their drinks, martinis. When they finished their drinks, they left me a generous tip and left never to return. Then, things started to get weird.
A rabbi, a priest, and an another person walked in and ordered beers. As I slid their brews down to them, I knew had to say something.
"You an atheist?" I said to the odd man out.
"No! A retired pastor, jerk."
They all stormed out of there. No tip for me either. Fair enough, I guess.
Then, the impossible happened. A horse walked into the bar. It didn't say a word, but I had to say it. I had to.
"Why the long face?"
It made me chuckle when I noticed that it wore a saddle and reins. An officer barged into the bar, red in the face. Grabbing the horse by the reins, he apologized and stepped back outside.
Then, things got really weird. Something I had never seen before came in.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
"A neutron."
"Alright, what'll you have?"
"A screwdriver."
I made it and set in front of this thing.
"What do I owe you?" It asked.
I stared at it dumbstruck. "Umm, that'll be..."
"No charge?"
"No, $6.50."
Then, it got weirder I tell you. Another man walked into the bar and asked one question to a woman, beautiful and blonde.
"So, do I come here often?"
This woman stared at him.
"Dad? How did you get out of the nursing home?"
She grabbed him and looked right at me as they left: "Alzheimer's."
As my shift ended and the bar cleared out, one more person showed up. He walked in, and I immediately said "We don't serve your kind in here?"
And he looked back at me and said the strangest thing: "How did you know I was a time traveler?"
"Umm...your hair."
Truth be told, I didn't. I was tired of all the BS. Honest.
I closed up early that night.
***
If you enjoyed this story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more stories. | 2018-01-31T21:31:26 | 2018-01-31T18:46:27 | 117 | 32 |
[WP] Write a story which seems extremely creepy and scary, until the last sentence reveals that you are just writing about a normal, mubdane, or even happy event | She lay there immobile, unable to move atop of crumpled cream sheets. Half conscious and hungry with bloodshot eyes she was blindly aware of the figure in the room, watching her, waiting for her to notice it. She could sense its presence and once again she felt its impression on the bed by her naked ankles as it rose to stand above her. it was like clockwork. “Please, no. Not again.” She thought to herself. “Don’t move”.
She held her breathe, she was playing dead. But it was awake now and it knew she was too. “Please, no. Please, no”.
But, She knew what was coming.
“BARK!”
Time to let him out. “Ugh. 7am.” she thought to herself as she looked at the time.
| A lonesome house atop a hill, embraced by shadow and fraught with broken trees that loom over it like claws that stretch from the abyss.
Branches creep down from the old, decayed wood and twist around the battered brick, till vine and house become one.
The vine is the ~~artery~~ vein of the house, and all those who enter supply it with blood.
A light flickers in the window, and shadows dance on the wall behind it.
~~Twisted smiles paint the walls as shrieks cry out.~~ Twisted smiles of those inside, who shriek with a lust for blood.
Woe to those who travel the woods beneath the house on the hill.
~~Captured and brought to the wailing house.~~ Woe to those who enter the decrepit house, and see the smiling shadows upon the wall.
The last sight they ever see, before their screams ~~are added to the air~~ fill the air.
Screams as their eyes bear witness to the ~~terror~~ horror.
As their skin crawls with fear.
As their blood runs cold.
As they panic.
And run.
And die.
Perfect notes for my next story. Now what was I doing again? Oh yeah, this prompt.
\-
/r/ShittyStoryCreator
Sry if 2 meta -\_- | 2018-06-30T16:24:17 | 2018-06-30T16:18:52 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. Instantly, you absorb all of their memories, feelings and talents. It feels quite addicting to you. | The first time was an accident. I'm ashamed to admit I fled the scene after I hit him. Hosed the car down in the driveway, tried to pretend it never happened.
I chalked up the dreams to guilt. Memories of another life. Memories of a kind and better man than I. Memories I thought I had imagined for the man I had hit... until I read his obituary that is. Turns out, all those memories were actually real. Memories from a loving father, devoted husband, and passionate scientist.
The memories became more meaningful than my own, perhaps because the life of the man I had killed was better lived than mine. That was when I realized I wanted to take more lives, and gain experiences from every walk of life.
My first and only victim was the week after. She backed up the alley as I closed in. I could hear the fear in her voice as she called for help.
"Not this way." I somehow knew the voice in my head was not my own; it was the voice of the man I had killed.
Now I am in Oregon. Under their death with dignity act, I help those who have lived a full life and are in terminal stages of illness. I am the one who takes then off life support.
Those who believe in my ability often request me specifically. In a way they live on through me. In return, I try to share their wisdom with the world.
**Edit:** Added alley scene | Shit. Shit.
I froze in the car seat. The car alarm was blaring and red light filled my vision. The crack on the windshield spread quietly, like a cancer.
The ringing in my ears reached a pitch that hurt like hell, and I slammed the brakes. I was tossed back by the sudden lurch and my heart must’ve been beating faster than I’d ever anticipate could be possible.
Trembling, I swung the car door open and raised to my feet. Resting my head on the top of the car, I took a deep, shaking breath. Ringing was all that I heard, and the shuttering breaths of someone in the car beside mine.
“Help...please-“
I turned around in that moment and saw the woman in the sedan behind me. Her chest was slow and her eyes were unfocused. I rushed to her car door and struggled to open it. She was pinned under the air bag, and her head had a long gash running down the side. Her arm was twisted in a gruesome angle and her fingers outreaches toward me.
“P-please...get-“ She coughed. Blood spurted out of her gums, painting the air bag crimson. “Get help..”
I stared at her in shock. Her eyes found mine and silently pleaded for assistance. “H-Help.”
I kept staring, not knowing what to say. Slowly, the woman quieted down and the pain that filled her eyes disappeared. Her hand went limp, and her struggling ceased.
I swallowed slowly. Sitting beside her car, I took in a deep breath. All the sudden, feelings of hear and horror of dying filled me. The sight of myself in the car, smashing into me, and staring hopelessly at my face as I stood silently.
Slowly, I grinned. It was a relief to finally get my fix. | 2018-09-23T06:39:07 | 2018-09-23T06:17:48 | 176 | 10 |
[WP] The old legends say that only "cold iron" can kill the Fair Folk. Now, with the Goblin King invading the surface world, it's discovered that this was a mistranslation. The original phrase was "Heavy Metal". | "You're sure you refuse to surrender?" the Colonel asked the masses of goblins.
"We outnumber you 10 to 1." The king of the goblins sneered "Your armor is no match for our blades, your soldiers are so much slower than ours, we have beaten you in the past three encounters. What makes you think this will change because your clothes are different?"
"Well, a few things. The first encounter was a town, a bunch of civilians lightly armed, only enough to protect themselves. Next were police and emergency services, still civilians but somewhat more prepared. Then were the local National Guard troops, actual soldiers but ultimately unprepared for you. Do you want to know what's different now?"
"Nothing is different now, we shall run over this world. Eat the weak and enslave the strong. All of human kind will be fodder for the Goblin race."
"Well, not quite. Now we have artillery, armored units, and air support. That last one should concern you. Our lab boys took a look at your fallen, I think we have a surprise for you." he said, as a low drone began to become audible enough to cause the less disciplined goblin troops to start looking up. "Tell me, Goblin King, do you know what depleted uranium is?"
The drone resolved into half a dozen ungainly jets flying at low altitude. The Colonel smiled, a grim dry thing, and said into his radio "on my mark; Fire."
# **bbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtttttttttttt**
| It had been nearly a year since the goblin king had made his debut. A year of terrible defeats. A year of slaughter. Pushing mankind to the brink of extinction.
Those not killed outright were taken as slaves. Those who didn't work hard as slaves were fed to his wargs.
Today however, this slave had a solution. Simple. Mostly clean. And not overly complicated.
He was a strong, hard worker. Muscle on muscle. He knew he'd need it so he developed it through hard physical labor in the largest slave camp where stonework was mined to make forts for each goblin stronghold.
Then he'd honed those muscles even harder as a blacksmith making swords and armor for the horde of stinking savages.
Today, his plan would be executed. You see, he spent the better part of the past night wrestling his plan into position. It was hard work, but he'd finally made it. Luckily the camp had been awash in celebration of a major victory, most of the goblins had been in the great Hall drinking themselves stupid. Or, more stupid....
Finally, as if on que, the great goblin king emerged from the mead hall. Walking somewhat with a sway, towards his harem tent.
Moments passed as he watched the large goblin approached the low bridge he was waiting on.
Finally, the moment arrived. With a great heave he shoved his plan over the edge of the bridge. Seconds later there was a sickening thud mixed with the wet, sickening, smack and crunching of bones below him; a muffled cry and then silence.
He looked over the edge.
Below him was the gristly mess that once had been the Goblin king. Blood, brains, and shattered bones stared back up at him. The anvil he stole from his neighbors bench was itself drenched in guts and gore.
The goblin king was no more. Things would be taking a new turn from now on.
| 2018-12-26T16:22:42 | 2018-12-26T16:00:24 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "My brothers, I hope this message reaches you. We never should have come to this place. This...jewel of a planet, with simple creatures living simple lives. None of them followed the Ardok's Logic, 'the strong take through combat, and by taking they get stronger.' Our empire's founding principle, that has guided us through millennia of conflict and victory. These, 'humans,' practice the weakness of peace. Their end should have been swifter than most.
At first, it was. Death came for them, and they eagerly accepted it. Begging to put down the weapons and come to the table. Bah, weakness. The only negotiation is through combat, through war. But we stirred something, something dark...and something evil.
At first, they gathered weapons, though primitive, it was at least going to be a fight. The scale of their weapons was surprising but we adapted, instead of being bunched in large ships, easy targets for their large explosives, we began a ground invasion. Surgical, precise yet overwhelming. We engaged them on the open fields and began to have glorious battles, for a time. They...continually made a concentrated effort to always capture some of us alive. At first we thought it was a pitiful attempt at trading our brethren for peace. But the channels were silent, and the humans crept in the shadows, away from the glorious battlefields. It was then we began to see the true horrors of this infernal plane. For it was not their weapons, not their explosives. We have seen larger explosives than this hurled at our fleets.
Fifteen earth cycles of searching we found our brethren. They were all...disgraced, eviscerated, and clearly held down and mutilated. Tortured for information? What a primitive and cowardly act. They did not gain information from their lips, but they must have learned secrets I cannot begin to tell you.
From that day forward, we began to die. Not in glorious combat, but sickly and weak. Our organs ruptured, but not a single weapon was found. No shots, no stabbings...yet we kept falling. First by the dozens, soon by the thousands. We tried quarantining, and then as soon as we tried the humans would strike our sick, would engage not in the open fields but from remote distances. We would attempt to strike back, but those who went came back with no trophies and soon would show the same symptoms.
We have never encountered a race like this one. We have faced dishonor, but not sacrilege. Life to them is clearly not sacred. We thought them weak for such short lifespans, but perhaps it simply is because of how close to the void their hearts and minds are.
I have bore witness to the atramentous maw...and only eternal blackness stared back.
This is not a lush world of life, this is a horrific world of death. And no one can wield it better than they can. My time is short, despite my best efforts the humans have found new and worse poisons to fill the air with each passing day, far too quickly for us to adapt. I hope this message reaches you in time, to prepare, to run. They were able to steal one of our ships and were able to dissect it as they had us. The ship returning to you is not housed with our trophies. It is full of their trophies, trophies of rot and death. We shared our gospel of battle and killed billions. They would like to share their own of death, and return the favor tenfold." | Would you believe that the only mistake we made was to make contact with them of any sort? Some argue that we should have been more aggressive. How? We wiped out 90% of their population and resources at first contact. Some argue that we should have tried to be peaceful and make them allies. Sure that sounds good in retrospect but we would never try to share such resources. Besides they have made allies with others and I fear their days are numbered. It is only a matter of time before one of their allies offends, disagrees with, or worst yet kills a human and dooms their entire species. No, other than going to their system at all, we made no mistakes. We deployed our shock troops and they met almost no resistance. Sure, humans tried to fight back but they were no match at all for us. Some even found old but functional weapons from their warlike days. They were still primitive and no match for even a police keeping force much less real soldiers. Up until the turning point we didn’t lose a single soldier to a human and have never lost anyone to a human weapon.
In base camps all over the planet there were humans that were watching us, learning our written and spoken language, our customs, our ways, how to speak our language with their weird vocal chords. Hell they even learned information about our battle commander’s family that I didn’t know. Once they felt they were ready they dug tunnels under a base and took over one shock troopers powered armor. No one could tell that it was a bunch of humans in there controlling everything instead of a single soldier until it was too late. They entered a battle cruiser just the same as any other trooper would. Do you know how much damage a bunch of humans in one suit can do from the inside of a battle cruiser? They went straight to the hanger with 50 empty suits waiting. They killed the guards then had enough humans pour out of one suit to operate five more suits. They didn’t operate them well, but well enough that they took over the ship. A distress signal was sent out but then retracted. They knew our codes and passwords! Right after that (about one solar year later) all fifty suits from the hanger plus the fifty that were at the base camp were subtlety distributed to all the camps across earth. In one coordinated assault all of our battle cruisers on the planet surface were taken over. We knew something was wrong when we had gotten distress calls from all of them at once and started opening fire on our own cruisers. That should have been enough but it wasn’t. They lost half their “fleet” but kept on coming. In the chaos of battle all of our ships were boarded. Being boarded is nothing new but we had always been able to tell friend from foe. Not so when the foe is wearing our armor.
It didn’t take them long to eliminate everyone there that didn’t retreat to home. All hyperspace ships but one retreated. On Earth they repaired the cruisers they took over and outfitted improved versions of our weapons on the hyperspace ship that didn’t get the chance to flee.
Meanwhile at home we had finally figured out how to tell friend from foe even with the armor situation but it was too late. The humans that had stowed away on the ships that made it home had sent a signal back to the ones on Earth. There were only a handful of humans left on our ships at home when the Earth modified ships arrived. The surviving humans gave away all the tactical information you could imagine just through vocal communication we normally use for casual conversation. They destroyed our homeworld faster than we have ever seen any world destroyed. They weren’t even trying to take it over, and now it is uninhabitable to any life.
That was how they declared war on us. They were happy to make alliances with our many enemies, adapt and improve their weapons like they did ours. I now pity our enemies that allied themselves with the humans. Some are starting to understand the deals they made and are trying to get out.
I am on the last surviving planet of our once great empire and I know the humans are coming. This galaxy will soon be theirs.
| 2019-02-26T13:01:01 | 2019-02-26T12:59:35 | 75 | 13 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "Sir we're approaching our goal, the cuiper belt."
"Good, drive as close as possible and shut any transmissions. We will wait and feel our enemy."
"Understood. But with all due respect, why are we not crushing the planet? Terminal said they are underdeveloped and have resolved to a life of peace. This is a walk in the park!"
"Patience recruit. It's true that they haven't had any major destruction events in 300 years, but their history shows no mercy for the individual. Their weapons for mass destruction were way before their time. They had atombombs before a worldwide communication system."
"Incoming transmission. It's from...it's from planet earth? We have been detected! How is this possible? Our subatomar shield should block all forms of waves going out."
"Recruit! Focus, what does the transmission say?"
"oh uhh, yes sir!
Hello extraterrestial beings, we are amazed to see you in our neighbourhood. We have been searching far and wide for other forms of life and hope that you come in peace. As we are peaceful, but will defend ourselves with everything we have."
"Defend themselves? Ha, what a joke! Now they have done it. All weapons only, load pulsar and target it right at earth!"
"No weapons responding sir! The pulsar is heating up to dangerous levels! I think we have been compromised."
Suddenly a blue silhouette appears in the middle of the captains bridge. It has human form and begins to talk without fear:
"Dear alien ship, we have detected you trying to boot your weapon system and took messurements against this. We sent lumenbots within the transmission. These robots are made out of light and will destroy your ship from within. There is nothing you can do at this point. We hope you use your last seconds to tell your people to leave us alone."
Captain: "How is this possible? Our records show you stopped war during the media dynastie!"
Human: "This is true. But we did not stop building weapons. In fact, quite the opposite! The lack of war made us feel safe. Our weapons would never be used against the human race again. So our curiosity took over and we built the most marvellous warmachines. These lumenbots are just the start! So please tell your race to leave us be, we don't want to see if the rest of the arsenal works aswell."
| Part 1
&#x200B;
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations. | 2019-02-26T10:40:03 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You are a super hero. Near-instant healing, no sense of pain, super strength. The catch is, for 1 hour per year, you have to suffer all of the stored up pain and suffering from the whole year. That hour begins in just a few minutes.
Edit: Gold? Thanks! First time! | At first -- back when I was younger -- I tolerated it OK. For sure, it *sucked*; but I was made of sterner stuff back then. I had drive. I had energy. I had motherfucking *vision*. Endure a year's stored up pain in a single hour? Yeah, I could do that. That was the price I paid to get to be a bad-ass.
But then... Yeah. <deep breath> Then I met Erica.
Erica was *amazing.* She made me happy, made me feel things I'd never felt before. Made me want to be a better person -- a better *human.* We had amazing times together, and she saw me through that hour of pain, every year like clockwork. She was my rock.
The liver cancer took her from me this year. At first, she said she was just "feeling tired". Liver cancer's like that; there's no pain, because your liver hasn't got any receptors for pain. By the time we realized something was seriously wrong and got her to the doctor, she was terminal. She died a few days later. I buried her myself, under a cherry tree, on a hill overlooking her family's farm.
I've realized that the emotional portion is the worst part of feeling no pain. I don't think I'm gonna survive my hour this year. | It's pretty awesome having super powers, but man I hate this part. It's always the anticipation that I hate the most, as I sit here thinking of the past year. This was a doozie of a year, too. That time I jumped on a bomb in the middle of the square. That semi truck I jumped in front of to save that crowd. Ugh, I got drunk and broke my arms as a stupid party trick. Shit, I forgot about that one.
Luckily I've played this game enough to know how to make it a bit easier. And it's only an hour. I'm on my 6th tequila drink and just popped a shitload of oxys. They should kick in soon. Oh damn, I jumped off a high rise to kill an attacker this year. That's gonna hurt. And that time I got in a fight and the dude stabbed me in the face while his buddy shot up my back. Not looking forward to that.
2 minutes left. Time for a couple more shots.
I'm got uh bit of music that's soft is on. Good ok. And another tequila pull. Nooo I need more tequila. Man these oxys rock. Explosion gonna hurt bad. Uuunnngg shit. I like this couch.
1 more minute. Ok more tequila.
I a been too busy. Too busy. Why so many bad? That one, there was that one, uh, one dude with the big blaster thing. Explosions are so hurt. Uuuggghh shit. Ooooh I like this song. And no more tequila. Yay weed! Why need such big guns? That gonna hurt. One more oxy. Ok should be fine. Ugh don't wanna.
Nooooo 10 seconds. Damn.
Breath. Just hour. I can do hour is fine. Yeah this aaallllrighAAAAAHHHHHHHH | 2019-04-08T09:04:10 | 2019-04-08T09:00:42 | 74 | 32 |
[WP] “Oh no, a gun, my only weakness” says the villain, as he proceeds to jump of the top of the building you’re in. He falls to the floor but somehow survives. Turns out that yes, a gun is literally his ONLY weakness. | I ran to the edge of the roof where he leapt off the building. Gazing down into the alleyway I could see the body was contorted in a gruesome fashion. Holstering my pistol I began to move away until I heard a scream from below. Glancing back down, a woman was at the entrance of the alley screaming at the body. A body that was moving. He should be dead, at least broken bones, but he's popping joints back into sockets and getting up off the ground.
I bolted faster than ever down the stairwell, jumping guardrails and sliding down them until I reached the ground floor. I opened the fire escape door just as he finished standing up. I pulled my gun and shot five times. I definitely hit center mass.
"Heh heh heh. I told you, a gun is my only weakness, and you decide to shoot me." He flexed and walked with purpose to a loose board on the ground, "I'm going to need to apparently beat you to death to get away and set off the bombs."
I was stunned, the bullets had no effect. He said a gun was his only weakness, I thought he was kidding when he jumped, but now... maybe he was being completely literal. As he rushed at me I went to use my pistol as a bludgeoning tool. He hit me hard in the side of my ribs, I hit him in the neck with my pistol grip.
We both fell. I definitely have a broken rib now. I went to hit him again with my pistol and connected, he was being extremely literal. The gun is his weakness, bullets didn't do any lasting damage, falling from 6 stories didn't break a bone. After a few hits I collapsed from my own injuries, but it was over, he wasn't breathing anymore, he was bleeding out on the ground.
My mission was done. I saved my family, I saved the city. I woke up in horrible pain three days later in the hospital, armed guards at my door. I would be going to jail for murder, but everyone was going to be safe, the bombs could be found and disarmed, I'll take the fall if I have to, but everyone was safe. | Bob McBobster didn't know what a gun was. He recalibrated the hammer in his hands to bring more force down on the strange maniac who had fallen from the sky.
"Oh my!" the long red-haired, cape-wearing, apparently deranged man said upon standing. His voice sounded like he was on the verge of singing a song. "That's not a gun. It's actually just a hammer!"
"Tu n'as pas vu ce que ce marteau peut faire, garçon," Bob said. The blacksmith lifted the hammer in his hands and prepared to rush, but the strange man in the strange, red, skin-tight clothes cringed. Bob tried to charge again, but was stopped by pity. He shouted instead, "Garçon!"
"Oh wow, we're quite a ways back, hmmm. How did we get here? Well, we went a little south and a little north in the fourth dimension, sideways to the other three....and...." As the strange man spoke, he changed poses each second and stared a strange device that displayed bright pictures. It hurt Bob's eyes to look at, even from a distance. "Ah yes, so we're in the 11th century and in France. Great."
"Qu'es-tu? Un demon?" Bob took a few steps back. He put his hammer down. "Comment es-tu arrivé là? Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"
"Ah good, so you trust me. I *got* here because I *fucked* up. *Merde*. I have to start a new life now, you see? Poor me, being thrown back in time to start *un nouveau*, as it were. Anywhere between the 12th and 28th centuries, I just can't be seen. Not around humans, at least. I wonder if they'll come after me in the past?"
"Tu as eu un problème avec ta femme aussi, hein?" Bob shook his head. He didn't understand most of the words he spoke, but he did understand troubles at home. "Ou sa mère? Il suffit d'empoisonner sa mère."
"No, and really? I like your style, *forgeron*. Ah, projectile weapons. It's not even the 28th century. There's just some holdout who has one and hid a pellet gun under his floorboards in the 22nd century. That planet gets destroyed in the 28th century, and goodbye projectile weapons."
"Je ne sais pas quoi faire pour vous."
"Just do nothing. I'll have to make sure there are no guns. Should be easy enough."
The strange man disappeared. Bob shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He felt as though he were dreaming, and hoped he was. | 2019-04-12T18:43:30 | 2019-04-12T15:43:18 | 40 | 11 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | It was all happening so fast that we never had time to consider what would happen when it had finished happening.
Everyone with a tattoo was manifesting abilities. It was all fairly sensible. Fire tattoo? Fire powers. Ice tattoo? Ice powers. Emoji ink? Emotion manipulation.
The weird thing was the people with tribal tattoos -- We call them The Tribe nowadays. At first, they just seemed to sort of glom together. People would be walking down the street and just...connect. Within moments, they were showing each other their tattoos and talking like they'd been friends for ages.
At the time, we thought The Tribe were like human Care Bears - just instilling goodwill and togetherness.
If only we knew at the time. What could we have done, though? There were so many. The original tribes -- Indigenous peoples - their art had been co-opted by millions over the years. People with no connection to indigenous culture saw their favorite athlete with tribal ink and emulated it.
Appropriation? Appreciation? None of that matters anymore.
That bond we were observing was just the beginning. The Tribe didn't have the power of unity or togetherness...not as we understood it, at least.
For the first few weeks they made connections, identified their own, banded together, as tribes do. I can't say we were worried. The other power types formed their own think tanks to experiment with their abilities, why not the tribe?
The problem is that the powers become more potent with time. When I started, I could light candles with my mind and barely be winded. Now, I can set a building ablaze by accident if I zone out staring at it.
The Tribe's powers intensified with time and, unfortunately, proximity. As soon as a high enough density of them shared the same space, it became clear; They weren't a friendly band of tattoo enthusiasts...they were a hive mind.
Hmm. Actually, we only call them The Tribe because of the tattoos. The Hive would be a much better name. Let's do that.
What was once an urge to connect with members of The Tribe became a NEED to join The Hive.
Once all available members had joined, their goal turned to conversion.
The only folks who got powers all had their ink done before The Event. We still don't know what happened, but any attempts to gain powers through tattoos after the fact have failed....except tattoos administered by The Hive.
If they catch you, and they likely will, they will ink you. If they ink you, you will immediately and permanently become part of the Hive. On the plus side, we now know that people can have multiple powers. Those folded into the Hive share the mind-link plus whatever powers they came with. This revelation lead to a lot of greedy folks submitting themselves to the Hive for augments.
Meanwhile, the people with no ink at all were powerless to resist The Hive.
And now, it's a few of us and an entire world of Them. | Another day, another struggle to adjust to this new world thrust upon us.
I wake up and go through my morning routine. I’ve got class in an hour and a half. While brushing my teeth, I look at my four-leaf clover tattoo on my wrist; I thank God every day that I have this thing. It is undoubtedly the only reason I’m still alive.
I head out of my apartment, onto the busy streets of San Francisco. I put in my Apple Airpods (due to the luck provided by my tattoo, I found a brand spankin’ new pair just sitting on my porch the other day!). I close my eyes and listen to some of my favorite rappers, but I can’t help but grow sadder and sadder as my walk progresses. All the rappers with teardrop tattoos can’t stop crying these days. They’ve stopped making music. All the songs saved on my Spotify are throwbacks. Its tragic.
Honestly, ever since our tattoos began to affect our reality, nothing’s been the same. I look to my left, and a person who had a bible verse tattooed on his chest can now turn water into wine. Ironically, statistics show cases of alcoholism have spiked in numbers.
I look to my right, and someone with their ex’s name tattooed on their wrist is now forever unable to move on from the relationship, forever stuck in despair.
But I tell ya, nothing’s worse than the people who had random Chinese or Japanese symbols tattooed on them. They’re wild cards, but one thing is certain: none of them speak English anymore. The suddenly-imposed language barrier is tearing families apart.
It’s utter chaos, but we’ll figure it out.
Anyway, I get to class, having to shimmy through a crowd of tribal tat tribesmen to enter the building. Unfortunately I made eye contact with one of them for too long, but due to the immense luck provided by my clover tattoo, his own primitive rage backfired on him and sent his sorry ass into cardiac arrest. Luck of the Irish!
I make my way to my seat. I always sit in the back corner of the room. But as soon as I can see my chair, it becomes all too clear to me that it is taken. Not one to accept such disrespect, I pick up the pace, ready to beat the shit out of this dickhead for taking the seat I’ve been sitting in all semester. With my luck, it’s near impossible to lose fights, so you’d best believe I was ready to throw down. Plus, in a world as fucked up as ours, asserting your dominance is key.
But I stopped.
Maybe it was my luck, but something told me I should check to see if this guy’s got any tattoos. I may be lucky, but I’m not invincible. So I slow down my walk, my eyes still fixed on the seat thief. I check him out from bottom to top, and when my eyes reach his left hand, they widen. On the back of the hand he’s got all 6 Infinity Stones tatted. I notice his shirt is a black graphic tee, with the original Infinity War comic book cover on it. At this point, my pants are soiled. He looks me in the eye, challenging me to say something. I don’t.
I’ll find another seat. | 2019-05-07T08:13:06 | 2019-05-07T07:58:02 | 3,401 | 1,719 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | Another day, another struggle to adjust to this new world thrust upon us.
I wake up and go through my morning routine. I’ve got class in an hour and a half. While brushing my teeth, I look at my four-leaf clover tattoo on my wrist; I thank God every day that I have this thing. It is undoubtedly the only reason I’m still alive.
I head out of my apartment, onto the busy streets of San Francisco. I put in my Apple Airpods (due to the luck provided by my tattoo, I found a brand spankin’ new pair just sitting on my porch the other day!). I close my eyes and listen to some of my favorite rappers, but I can’t help but grow sadder and sadder as my walk progresses. All the rappers with teardrop tattoos can’t stop crying these days. They’ve stopped making music. All the songs saved on my Spotify are throwbacks. Its tragic.
Honestly, ever since our tattoos began to affect our reality, nothing’s been the same. I look to my left, and a person who had a bible verse tattooed on his chest can now turn water into wine. Ironically, statistics show cases of alcoholism have spiked in numbers.
I look to my right, and someone with their ex’s name tattooed on their wrist is now forever unable to move on from the relationship, forever stuck in despair.
But I tell ya, nothing’s worse than the people who had random Chinese or Japanese symbols tattooed on them. They’re wild cards, but one thing is certain: none of them speak English anymore. The suddenly-imposed language barrier is tearing families apart.
It’s utter chaos, but we’ll figure it out.
Anyway, I get to class, having to shimmy through a crowd of tribal tat tribesmen to enter the building. Unfortunately I made eye contact with one of them for too long, but due to the immense luck provided by my clover tattoo, his own primitive rage backfired on him and sent his sorry ass into cardiac arrest. Luck of the Irish!
I make my way to my seat. I always sit in the back corner of the room. But as soon as I can see my chair, it becomes all too clear to me that it is taken. Not one to accept such disrespect, I pick up the pace, ready to beat the shit out of this dickhead for taking the seat I’ve been sitting in all semester. With my luck, it’s near impossible to lose fights, so you’d best believe I was ready to throw down. Plus, in a world as fucked up as ours, asserting your dominance is key.
But I stopped.
Maybe it was my luck, but something told me I should check to see if this guy’s got any tattoos. I may be lucky, but I’m not invincible. So I slow down my walk, my eyes still fixed on the seat thief. I check him out from bottom to top, and when my eyes reach his left hand, they widen. On the back of the hand he’s got all 6 Infinity Stones tatted. I notice his shirt is a black graphic tee, with the original Infinity War comic book cover on it. At this point, my pants are soiled. He looks me in the eye, challenging me to say something. I don’t.
I’ll find another seat. | They used to laugh at her. Being an outcast, Adreal had never had an easy life. She was never into the typical girly things, reading old books and constantly browsing weird websites, people called her a witch and freak. She loved music though. It made her feel alive and let her feel like she mattered even if it was just in three and a half minute snippets. Musical note’s were her first ink, once she turned 18 and didn’t need to get permission from her mom and Jerry, her step-dad.
Her second tattoo was a clock on her left shoulder. She got it after her friend Jason got hit by a drunk driver her sophomore year of college. It helped her remember that time was fleeting, everyone’s time comes and usually not when you would expect. After his passing Adreal turned to stories and fantasy to get her through. She became obsessed with Lovecraft stories and magical fantasies, frequently getting small tattoos of characters or creatures from the stories she held so dearly.
She hadn’t been home since graduating high-school, choosing to leave her past behind her. Her mother needed her help though, Jerry had been diagnosed with cancer and her mom had become a recluse. After 10 years of being away Adreal returned to her childhood home as memories came flooding back to her. From getting made fun of on her walk’s to school, to passing by the pizza place where the owner would sneak her a slice when he suspected she got her lunch thrown out by the bullies.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
“Adreal!!”
“Hi mom,” she sheepishly smiled, “been a while.”
“Sweetie, I am so glad you’re here. Jerry is going to be thrilled to see you!” Tears began to fill her eyes.
“How’s he doing?” Adreal had never been fond of Jerry, after her dad had left her Jerry attempted to fill that void. In Jerry’s defense he didn’t do anything wrong or worthy of Adreal not liking him, but she didn’t think that Jerry would ever replace her real father. She was quite frankly a jerk to him growing up, always arguing and yelling at him, when all Jerry did was support her.
“He’s okay. I told him you might stop by and his smile lit up the house again,” she ushered Adreal into the living room where Jerry was sitting in his wheelchair hooked up to an IV. “Look who came to visit love!”
Before Jerry could respond a bright flash caused everyone to cover their eyes. A burning sensation on Adreal’s shoulder cause her to yell in pain and collapse. After what felt like an eternity she regained her composure and stood up apologizing for yelling, except she was met with silence. Looking around it appeared as if time had frozen. Reaching back to touch her shoulder she noticed in the reflection of the hallway mirror that her clock tattoo had seared through her shirt and appeared to be glowing. Thinking about the tattoo seemed to make it stop glowing and both her mom and Jerry move again.
“What was that,” whispered Jerry.
“I don’t know Jerry,” began Adreal, “but I think I know how to give you and mom some more time together.” Resting a hand on both of their shoulders she smiled. “I’m sorry that I was such a pain growing up. You did more for me than you will ever know. Thank you dad.” Closing her eyes one last time as a tear trickled down her cheek, she thought about her tattoo one last time, as time stood still.
-----
Thank you for the prompt! I am always looking for any constructive criticism to improve my writing. I know that this kinda seemed rushed but I hope you enjoy!
r/PlopWrites | 2019-05-07T07:58:02 | 2019-05-07T07:47:53 | 1,719 | 218 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." |
“Well, I wouldn’t mind having a bigger dick.” Was my response.
The voice beaming through my thoughts gave off a distressed sounding grunt- the kind that’s usually followed by, “fuck off.”, or something similar.
There was a long pause.
“Fuck off.” Was the response I got.
I was partially thrown off. “What is it, you can’t do that for me?” I asked.
“No, it’s just that out of the twelve humans involved in this complication, you’re the third one to request this. We’ve only gotten to four of you so far, one of which was female.”
I felt attacked. “So, you’re trying to say something about my species? Is there a problem? Do you think we’re a primitive species? That all we care about is reproducing?”
The voice was quick to respond: “Yes.”
If I had working arms (and eyes, or hands, or just any physical form at all), I’d have given the source of the voice a one-way trip Valhalla, propelled by my fist and biological insecurities.
I doubled down. “It’s either you give me a bigger penis, or I’m telling.” I wasn’t sure who I’d actually be telling, but I think it gave me more bargaining leverage.
I heard another distress-fueled grunt. “Here’s the thing, human. I can give you a larger penis. I really can, and I don’t mind doing it either. But this is a professional gig I’ve got going on here. About the first two guys: sure. It’s funny, it’s cool, a unique thing that your species is really ‘big’ on. But do you know how stupid this will look for me? You’re just the third. There are eight more people after you, and half of them left are also male.”
I was at the point where there was no turning back. My big dick energy had taken me too far in. “I don’t give a shit if ‘gave humans bigger dicks’ ends up as a key point on your resume. Your company killed me, and you guys are lucky I’m not going to sue.”
To be honest, I had no idea how alien law worked.
“Ok. If I’m going to put it flatly, human, you’re being a dick.”
“Then give me a bigger one.” I quickly snapped back.
The voice rapidly became offensive.
It boomed with unfathomable intensity. “I was legit going to offer you absolute knowledge, or to perhaps structure your brain to understand true humility and compassion, or maybe even fix that chronic disorder of yours that you still don’t know about. But nope, instead you just want a big dick. So that’s what you get.”
I stuttered a response before being interrupted again:
“That’s right, you’re going to die at the age of forty. Goodbye.”
And that was that. | The first thing I heard was a whirring sound.
Everything went from black to bright white in an instant, hurting my eyes. The brick wall across the room stared unblinkingly at me and I closed my eyes to try and ease the pain.
I tried to stand up and was slightly horrified to discover that I couldn’t move, and upon further looking around I discovered that I was floating in an odd, clear goo in the middle of a testing room.
A creature that looked vaguely like a man was standing in the doorway, looking down at a clipboard. He seemed to be checking off some sort of list.
Though I couldn’t see very well, I could make out his purple skin, slightly-pointier- than-average ears, and a disproportionate build that confirmed his non-human nature.
Suddenly, he turned his attention to me. ̈ ̈Apologies, human. Unfortunately you were accidentally killed by a galactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything...changed.¨
God, I could list ten thousand things I wanted to change about myself. But I needed to know more.
The man looked at me with concern(?) in his eyes. “Speak with your mind, the Saturians have much more advanced technology than that of Galactic Federation 3. I know you must have many questions.”
Damn right I have many questions!
Why am I here? I asked.
He shook his head. “That is not of importance right now, human. Just tell me what you would like to change.
Ok… I wasn’t happy with that answer, but I knew pushing wouldn’t get me anywhere. However, didn’t entirely know how to phrase my question. Can I change surface-level things or just, like...bones?
“I’m not entirely sure what you mean, human. You may change your hair or your facial structure, or anything in between. You may not change your personality. That is implanted in the state you are in as of right now.”
I didn’t want to leave any loopholes. The only thing I want out of this new body would be for it to be an exact replica of my own before I was killed, at a time when I was moderately healthy.
The man nodded and attempted to bow awkwardly. “Thank you for your specifics. Our construction team will work their hardest to meet your criteria.”
I was left in my puddle of levitating sludge.
____________________
Weeks later.
I’ve become accustomed to life on the Saturn airship. I’ve learned a bit of their planet’s history as well -- for example, they have been an “outcast” federation for many years due to their complicated history with the galactic government, and thus they have retained their original, pre-galactian name as a form of rebellion.
They also find my non-purple skin and rounded ears very intriguing.
They promised me multiple times that they will attempt to contact other planets to see if anybody else from GF3 is still alive and knows me, but they keep saying that the connection lines have been cut due to combat.
I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but they’re helping train me for a more peaceful life than the war. Hopefully we’ll be able to touch the ground soon -- the captains told me the ship’s about a month away from a Saturian base. | 2019-10-28T13:22:27 | 2019-10-28T11:46:38 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Uh, Is this the Call Centre of the Dead?"
I sighed. It's always the ones who ask that question who end up asking the dumbest questions later. Yeah. I was having a bad day. I almost avoided a zombie spitting at me in the morning, and we all know what that means, right?
Anyway, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
"Yes it is, sir. How may I help you?"
"I was just uh...I was bitten by a zombie," he said.
"I see. Do you need immediate medical assistance? Are you carrying the Herb of Eden with you?" I asked, trying to get the words out quickly.
There was no sense of haste in the caller's voice.
"Um... no. I'm fine. You are my new friend," he said.
I held on, waiting for him to say something else. When he didn't, I broke the silence.
"Sir, have you consumed the Herb of Eden? I hope you are aware that if you don't do that within three hours the effects of the bite will start kicking in."
"I have not. I don't have any with me," he said, calmly.
"How many hours has it been, sir?" I asked.
"Nine," he said.
Now this is where I figured out that it was just a random wacko playing a prank on me. Not consuming the herb for more than 4 hours was impossible since even saliva from a zombie is capable of killing humans within 4 hours. Him being able to speak to me shouldn't have been possible, if what he claimed was true.
"Sure," I said in a patronizing voice. I was about to put the phone down when he started speaking again.
"I should be dead by now, right?" he asked.
I decided to play along.
"Yes, sir. You very should be," I said.
"Then doesn't it worry you that I can still communicate with you while everyone else around me can't understand a thing I'm saying?"
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I held on to the phone trying to rethink everything.
"I was the one who spit on you on the driveway, stupid. Now come down here with a co-worker so that we can both feast on someone," he said and disconnected the call.
I felt around my neck where the spit had unfortunately landed. My skin there was bumpy, but painless. Almost numb, if I were to describe it. I thought I had dodged it.
I checked my pulse and found out that I didn't have any.
I wasn't even breathing anymore. I kept the phone and got up from my seat.
"Leaving so soon, huh? It hasn't even been 7 hours chump. Should I complain to the boss, eh?" Ross said, looking at me with a smug grin on my face.
I ignored him and started walking, when I realized something.
"Hey, Ross?" I called out. He stared at me.
"Come down with me to the driveway. I have a gift for you."
I barely finished my sentence as Ross left his seat and came walking towards me, oblivious to the fact that I didn't have any gifts for him.
No. He was the gift for my new friend.
\-------------------------------
r/abhisek | "Ma'am? Ma'am, please listen to me!"
The frantic shouting on the other end of the line seemed never-ending. I sighed silently to myself. Everyday I had to deal with hysterical people wondering what to do. I knew from the get-go that working in a call center was no picnic. I had done it before; two years for a tech firm. Somehow I had been able to convince myself that this time it would be different. That this time I wouldn't have to deal with complete idiots who couldn't even manage the most simple of tasks. Boy, was I dead wrong.
This... This was way worse. One would think that after four years people would have learned the basics. That they ought to know how to handle what was now everyday-events. But no. Oh no. What was supposed to be a fulfilling job of helping people manage difficult - possibly life-or-death - situations, aiding the ones in need, being a sage advisor for those who most craved it turned out to be little more than a hotline for morons who seemed unable to even tie their own shoes without guidance, let alone survive on their own in this day and age.
I hid my face in my palms and struggled not to let out an audible groan as I continued to listen to the elderly women I had on the line. A quick glance at the system we used to track our calls showed me that she had been jammering on for almost thirteen minutes now, not once allowing me to speak. I had tried, fruitlessly, to interrupt her ramblings a number of times but the manic woman just kept on going.
As the lady left the topic of her recently deceased husband and went on to talk about her estranged daughter I took a deep breath, slumped down in my office chair and kinda zoned out.
I sat in one of the smaller offices on the fifth floor. Due to the lack of space we were only five handlers in the room. I liked it though. We were a tight-knitted group and we had certainly had some fun together. My co-workers were the only reason I hadn't quit this dead-end job a long time ago. I noticed Simon looking over at me with a wide smile. He definetly recognized the look on my face. No wonder. He had dealt with his fair share of calls like my current one hundreds of times; he knew exactly what I was going through.
A brief moment of silence in the earpiece I wore. Was she done? A sat upright in my chair and opened my mouth to finally speak, when the woman began rambling again. Clearly she had just needed a moment to breathe. I cleared my throath loudly as I placed the weight of my head in my left palm, my elbow heavily placed on my desk.
"Ma'am?" I tried again with little effort. No luck. In the corner of my eye I saw Amrita. She sat, intently flipping through books while she at the same time searched the internet and our internal database. Why did she always get the interesting calls? Moments later I heard her say:
"Sir, I belive I have found your answer." Despite living in the U.S. for most of her life you could still hear a faint accent in her voice. We used to light-heartedly mock her because of the old stereotype; an Indian at a call center, even though she were the only Indian at the company. At least as far as I knew. She was definitely in on the joke, though, and often made fun of the situation herself. I liked Amrita. Not just because she was pretty, but also because she was really good at her job and because she was really nice. Always. Towards everyone. It kinda baffled me to be honest. I lost patience with people after mere seconds, but Amrita handled every call as a true professional, no matter how inane the person calling were. | 2020-05-12T09:28:06 | 2020-05-12T06:22:29 | 94 | 67 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | I grabbed my backpack and hit the door running. I knew from previous messages which ones meant "now", so I didn't stop to pack.
I got to the end of my block and rounded the corner, taking a quick look back. A car had pulled up in front of my house. *"Run"*
I kept going.
I entered the train station and headed down the escalators. I ducked into the restroom, checked the mirror ... "E" shone back at me. I took off as fast as I could to platform E. Doors were closing. Barely made it.
I settle in, sweating, heart pounding. I try to match my pulse to the calm of the carriage as it picked up speed. I knew what was probably about to h...
*BOOM*
The gunshot sound was deafening in the carriage. "EVERYBODY STAY D..." I tackled him. Zero thought. We are struggling against each other. One thing I knew about the mirror messages was that they were never easy tasks and always worked out better the less I thought. I don't know what weird curse this is but I was frequently put directly in danger and the faster I acted the less lives were at stake. I had caught him by surprise. No murderer or terrorist ever expects retaliation in the very first second of their plan. He was strong for his size, but a woman next to me pins one arm down and we disarm him and subdue him.
Sirens approaching. Multiple people have now helped out and the man is secure. I glance over at the torn wall of the carriage bathroom. The mirror is dangling...
*"Keep running"*
Shit.
I grab my pack. | For as long as I could remember, the first mirror I saw every morning dictated how I would live my life that day. When the mirror told me to skip school, I skipped school. On that day I avoided the fire that killed three of my classmates. When the mirror told me to avoid cars that day, I walked to school. On that day I avoided a pile-up on my usual route to school. It didn't take me long to realise that if I simply followed what the mirror told me, I'd be okay. Today was different, though. Today there was no clear advice. Today all the mirror said was: RUN. Run from what? From who? And to where? These were questions the mirror did not want to answer today. So I ran. I ran out of my room and then out of the front door. I ran down the street, and I didn't stop running. For miles, I didn't stop running. Even when I could feel my heart pummelling against my chest as if it were trying to escape; even when my lungs ached and every breath felt like torture. I don't know how long I ran for. Eventually I began to slow, powerless to battle the sheer exhaustion caused by my impromptu morning marathon. I turned back to look down the road I'd been running down and was met with a sight that made my blood run cold. Above the skyline of my city was the silhouette of what appeared to be a large passenger plane. I squinted at it against the low morning sun and noted that, curiously, it had no window. Odd. At that moment, something dropped from the plane. I didn't have time to process what this object was before it was hurtling towards the skyline of the city, and before I knew it the space around me was aglow, as if I was seeing things through orange-tinted glasses. That's when the realisation struck. My breath caught in my throat and I stood utterly still as I looked down upon my city. My city that was now on fire.
&#x200B;
\[This is my first time trying to write creatively again for about 3 years, so criticism is welcome! I'm trying to improve :)\] | 2020-06-08T01:39:27 | 2020-06-08T01:01:57 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] Your family has had the ability to plant anything and grow a plant that grows that thing. However it has been dormant for some generations and has been forgotten. Then one day when you were 5 you buried a 20 dollar bill because you wanted to make a money tree. After a month you saw a sprout | Entries from Joe's Diary
***
Hi . My name is Joe. I am 5 years old, and 1 month.
I know that, because on my birthday last month, I got some gift money from Grandma.
She told me to make that money grow, so I did what Gramps used to do until he went to Heaven. I planted it in the ground, and watered it every day.
Today, I saw a spout.
***
Hi. My name is Joe. I am six years old now. I know this because it's my birthday. Grammy missed Gramps so much, she went to look for him, so I didn't get any gift money this year. The good news is , the plant from last year is doing very well.
Mommy says that if I keep watering it with the right amount and put fertilizers on it, it will grow into a big tree and bear fruit. I wonder if I should tell her that I planted it with the $20 Grammy gave me last year. I'm not sure. Mommy might be mad.
***
Hi. My name is Joseph. I am 7 years old now. The spring has been good to the little shrub. There are some small greenish white flowers spouting. Mommy said that after flowers come fruit. I wish she was here to see it. She missed Grammy so much, she went to find Grammy too. It's just me and Dad and the tree now.
***
It's been 3 years since I planted the tree and I am not sure if I made the right choice. I know that Gramps, Grammy and Mom are buried next to the tree. I can see the bumps in the ground where Dad buried them.
He's not doing so well himself, either, coughing frequently after visiting the graves. The tree is growing taller and stronger now. It's taller than I am. There is some shade over the graves. I can hear the tree speak to me. It says 'Soon, soon. " I am not sure what it means. Another spring has come and passed, but the flowers came and went, yet the tree did not bear any fruit.
***
This might be the last time I write in the diary. I am ten now. The coughing took Dad. I had to bury him next to Mommy beneath the tree. It took all day and all night, but I got Dad into the grave.
The tree is really tall now. It is almost taller than our house.
I can hear it talk to me. "It's time. It's time", as I dug the grave for Dad. The unyielding ground, hardened from winter, made it very difficult. The spring came and went. The flowers came, then, I saw a little green fruit. I touched it, and it was full of pennies.
I counted them. It was around twenty cents. I miss Mommy and Dad and Gramps and Grammy... | You are probably going to have a hard time believing this but those seven hundred new F-35s that the air force boasts of were created by me. Only me. Now, for most people, I am still a college student but really I might be one of the most resourceful human beings in the world.
When I was still a kid, I had wanted to grow a money tree. So, one day I buried a twenty-dollar bill. To my surprise, after a month I saw a sprout. In three months, my first twenty-dollar bill was ripe for picking. When I showed my accomplishment to my mother, she was not surprised but worried. And then, she told me something that was not supposed to be revealed until I was at least sixteen.
We had a special power. Yeah, my whole family from my mother's side. Anything we bury grows into a plant that bears that very same thing as fruit. The first time she explained this to me, the story had fairies and witches. Later revisions included ancient cults, gods, and whatnot. But really, no one knew who or what was the source of this power.
Certain branches in our known family tree were very rich but my mother was innocent even though she could have had it all. Aside from her, only two old relatives of hers could use this power. She too was not that skilled in using this power. It is passed on but that doesn't mean anyone will be able to use it. After staying dormant mostly for two generations, I and my mother had the chance to change our lives.
After her untimely death and no savings or insurance, I was left with a crippling student loan and money that could cover only two months' expenses. But unlike my mother, I was reckless with my powers. Being a fan of Breaking Bad also helped a lot.
I started again from a twenty-dollar bill. My powers had grown as I was able to successfully harvest six crisp twenty-dollar bills by the end of the week. The only problem was that all bills were the exact copies of the original. Same number on all of them. But I was not going to give up.
It took a lot of hustling and all kinds of tricks to set up a money farm. A twenty-acre farm where these literal money plants were strategically grown. The cousins who couldn't use this power were more than willing to be partners and launder money. After almost two years of using counterfeit money to create all kinds of assets, I was caught by the FBI. I was mentally prepared to spend the rest of my life in a concrete prison with no access to fertile land or farms.
But then a miracle happened. A man in uniform came to interrogate me. A Lieutenant-General of the air force. And yeah, you can figure out that rest. I help the armed forces mass-produce all kinds of weapons. The defense budget may have decreased but the inventory is unlimited now. They do take blood samples to conduct tests from time to time but still have found nothing of value.
Yes, I traded my powers for a normal life. Yes, I run the entire plantations of WMDs. No, I don't regret my choices. Yes, millions of dollars grow on my farm every year but I will always remain morally bankrupt. Sorry, not sorry.
Note: I know it got dark in the end but I am just being creative here. Grammarly too finds this story gloomy and anxious. | 2020-06-23T13:37:42 | 2020-06-23T12:40:45 | 1,180 | 169 |
[WP] You are a superhero without powers. You know a good bit about martial arts and you're resourceful, but the main reason you're so successful? Every time a villain monologues their plan, you calmly and clearly explain to them why their plan won't work. | I didn't bother struggling against my bonds as I was being slowly lowered towards the shark-laden acid pit. To an ordinary hero this would seem like the end, but not for me. It was just another day in the life of Lynchpin.
As predicted, the mechanism stopped, only for the head of the Syndicate, an eyepatch wearing gorilla of a man, to come into view.
"Alas, here we are again. Did you really expect to get away after what you did to me when we last met?"
"Listen" I told him. "All I said was that you were gonna poke your eye out with that thing. It's not I-"
"Silence!" the Boss instructed. "I've had enough of your jabbering. There is no grand plan this time Lynchpin. I'm just going to kill you and end this once and for all."
On cue, the gears above my feet started turning, and I was being lowered again, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace.
"i mean what are you exlecting to accomplish with that?" I asked
"... What do you mean? You're a thorn in our side and-"
"But like, even if you kill me, it's not like your plans will work just because i don't point out the inherent issues with them"
The pully system stopped again.
"Well, I suppose not, but that's not the point. We-" he stammered
"When you think about it, I'm actually doing you guys a favor. Could you imagine if you'd actually tried the Death Ray Dr. Goodenough had built? Hell, I probably saved your life that time."
I could see it in his eye. I had him.
He mumbled something into his beard.
"What was that?"
"I said let him go damnit"
The crane operator goon didn't hesitate. He immediately started fiddling with the controls, and before I knew it, I was back on my feet being untied.
"Hey boss" i started "I really owe you one."
He merely grumbled in response.
"No seriously." I continued. "Let me give you a tip. Don't mix the sharks with acid next time. It'll just kill the sharks, and when they bleed out it'll dilute the acid. Really inefficient" | “And then you’ll be dead!” Nightmareshade laughed maniacally, eyes wild.
I felt my heart drop. Dang, Alek had really gone off the deep end this time. I held my arm out, preventing the other heroes from rushing forward. “Please. Let me talk to them.”
Alek pointed at me as I approached. “Begone, Judas, your treachery has been discovered!”
“Alek.” I said simply, getting on my knees in front of my former roomate. “I’m sorry.”
“Y-your words mean nothing, snake!” For a moment, the curtain of madness fluttered and I could see Alek’s hesitation.
“The bagel; the kitchen cabinets; leaving the toilet seat up... you should have told me how much they bothered you. You know that I wouldn’t judge anyone for having BPD.” I reached out to my former friend, but they flinched back. This wasn’t working. I needed to ramp it up—appeal to Alek’s logic. “Where’s all this money coming from? You’ve been staying on top of rent, but I called the University and they said you dropped out?”
“Nobody there understood my ideas, my genius!” Alek spoke with sweeping arm motions.
“I get that.” I finally caught one of Alek’s hands in mine. “Criticism sucks. Remember when you comforted me after I was torn apart in that literature review?”
“You... couldn’t move from your bed for a whole day.” Alek said slowly. “I got chips and we watched conspiracy documentaries on Netflix until you were feeling better.”
“And we can do that now!” I exclaimed. “These guys are going to take you to jail or some psych ward if you keep going. If you give up on this, though, everything goes back to normal. Please, Alek. I can’t do this to my best friend.”
A moment of silence, then Alek sat down the doomsday weapon remote and wiped their face with their sleeve. “What’s the documentary on?”
“ I think this old carving they found in a tomb? These guys are trying to say that time travelers took a 2008 Nokia to Ancient Sumeria.”
“That’s...” Alek took a deep breath. “Really stupid.” They stepped down from their pedestal and helped me to my feet. “Are we walking back to the apartment or taking a taxi?”
We walked past my dumbfounded colleagues, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. “Walking, dumbass. Where do you think I spent all my taxi money for the month?”
“Well, we need to stop by the pharmacy on the way back. I need to pick up my prescription refill.”
“Sure thing.” | 2020-09-27T09:25:22 | 2020-09-27T09:07:04 | 1,121 | 312 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | A few years ago, I would have been the one leading the chorus. "Gods save the king", I'd cry, and legions would answer back. I'd served, in some form or another, for three kings in succession, each transition of power being simple, clean, and effective. Gods save this king, that king, and the next one. And they did. Every time I asked, the gods answered. A gentle nudge on a runaway chariot here, an arrow that wouldn't leap from the bow there.
And I made my sacrifices in thanks. They weren't pretty sacrifices, they were bloody, messy affairs, but it was a price the city was prepared to pay for protection. Who's complaining when the local butcher is strung up in penance for his crimes? They were told it was horsemeat in the mince, which was true. I never told anyone where the prime rib had come from. Or the baker, whose 'specially iced eclairs, just for you' fed a nation's drug habit? These were the lowest of the low, and I was justice, swooping in for kings and gods alike, taking life when it was demanded of me.
But now there is a new king, and one of his first acts was to replace his guard with his cronies. So I sit in a tavern as the laws are disregarded, as his paid up thugs brutalise the streets, and anger ferments in the city. It's been a hot summer, tempers are beginning to flare up. Just last week, there was a vicious fight not twenty yards from the palace walls. Hundreds joined the melee, and it was only when a young man, blond wavy hair and sharp blue eyes, a voice like thunder in a meadow, cried out for peace that it all petered out. He reminded those present, drunk and sober alike, of the real threat. I saw it all from my window and thought he was a man to follow. So here I sit, waiting for him to speak. A crowd is growing, weapons openly sheathed, rival factions all with a single, focused determination. No drink is being poured, no laughter, no anger, no noise. I've been in these rooms before. The mob is set to be unleashed on the quiet streets, like a bull coralled into one lone direction. We're coming for the palace. Around me are my men, and we all know that palace better than we know ourselves. The exits have all been bricked shut from the outside, all save one. And that's where we're going in.
And we've all made our sacrifices. The thugs hanging from the gallows by each other's guts, pushed from a roof in the dead of night, or drowned and floating in the palace water courses. We've asked, and we've got our answer.
No gods will save the king now. | A week ago I was an elite member of the royal guard, doing my duty as always. I was the leader of the four female guards in the defense troop. That was until the new king, Harrion the fourth, decided that his troops would be better off with new recruits and decided to fire all of us who served for more than a decade.
King Harrion the Third wrote in his testament that I, along with the other female guards were to remain if he were to pass, but his son thought otherwise and wrote us off against his late father's will. The four of us tried to reason with him, to reconsider, but he made up his mind, cursed us, and went on his way.
Boy was he wrong.
Fast forward to today, I am huddled inside a cramped house as storms rage overhead, lightning crackled outside my door, wind howling outside my window. A measly fire pit kept me and my soup warm. I heard three knocks on the front door, I dared not to make a sound, hoping it would go away. But they only became louder until I couldn't take it anymore.
I opened the door. In front of me was what looked like someone in their late-twenties, dressed up in chainmail. His face was as pale as night.
"Ms. Annelise?" The child boomed
"Aye?" I replied.
"King Harrion wants to have a word with you."
"Tell him I wouldn't give even a smidgen of a fuck."
"Please ma'am, this is important." He persisted. "The kingdom is at stake."
"The kingdom he banished me and my girls from? The kingdom he made us look like a laughing stock to? If that's what it is about, I would not like to continue this conversation any further." I said.
"Please reconsider! The king needs you at this moment!" He pleaded, "I've heard legends of the Great Cryllasti , surely they won't let us down."
'He tries to use my past against me' I thought.
"The rule was that we would continue to serve in return for respect. What did your pathetic king do? He cursed us, humiliated us, banished us. Is that respect?" I snapped.
I was the most patient one, I had to be, I fought against war.
"Tell your pathetic excuse for a king that he could 'kiss my ass' whatever that means. And also tell him that he was the only one brave enough to say anything like that in the past millenia." I declared. "Now go back to your king."
The boy had tears welling up in his eyes already devoid of hope. I may have a soft spot, but I don't tolerate with disrespect.
"B-but Ms. Minerva and Ms. Vermil–"
"The other Crystalli would say the same thing. We do not deal with your kind anymore."
He left without another word.
We've been protecting the land from the Horsemen Apocalypti for eons. War, Famine, Death, Conquest, all of them trembled beneath our knees. Now that the king said he no longer needed nor wanted our services, we'll leave them to their devices.
(this is my first story, I hope it's any good.) | 2021-02-28T03:50:25 | 2021-02-28T03:11:04 | 539 | 310 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | A few years ago, I would have been the one leading the chorus. "Gods save the king", I'd cry, and legions would answer back. I'd served, in some form or another, for three kings in succession, each transition of power being simple, clean, and effective. Gods save this king, that king, and the next one. And they did. Every time I asked, the gods answered. A gentle nudge on a runaway chariot here, an arrow that wouldn't leap from the bow there.
And I made my sacrifices in thanks. They weren't pretty sacrifices, they were bloody, messy affairs, but it was a price the city was prepared to pay for protection. Who's complaining when the local butcher is strung up in penance for his crimes? They were told it was horsemeat in the mince, which was true. I never told anyone where the prime rib had come from. Or the baker, whose 'specially iced eclairs, just for you' fed a nation's drug habit? These were the lowest of the low, and I was justice, swooping in for kings and gods alike, taking life when it was demanded of me.
But now there is a new king, and one of his first acts was to replace his guard with his cronies. So I sit in a tavern as the laws are disregarded, as his paid up thugs brutalise the streets, and anger ferments in the city. It's been a hot summer, tempers are beginning to flare up. Just last week, there was a vicious fight not twenty yards from the palace walls. Hundreds joined the melee, and it was only when a young man, blond wavy hair and sharp blue eyes, a voice like thunder in a meadow, cried out for peace that it all petered out. He reminded those present, drunk and sober alike, of the real threat. I saw it all from my window and thought he was a man to follow. So here I sit, waiting for him to speak. A crowd is growing, weapons openly sheathed, rival factions all with a single, focused determination. No drink is being poured, no laughter, no anger, no noise. I've been in these rooms before. The mob is set to be unleashed on the quiet streets, like a bull coralled into one lone direction. We're coming for the palace. Around me are my men, and we all know that palace better than we know ourselves. The exits have all been bricked shut from the outside, all save one. And that's where we're going in.
And we've all made our sacrifices. The thugs hanging from the gallows by each other's guts, pushed from a roof in the dead of night, or drowned and floating in the palace water courses. We've asked, and we've got our answer.
No gods will save the king now. | 'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig. | 2021-02-28T03:50:25 | 2021-02-28T03:33:58 | 539 | 61 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | My phone rang for the third time in 10 minutes. I made a mental note to change the ringtone to something less patriotic and swiped up on the little green icon.
"John! Mate I've been trying to get through for ages!" came a frantic voice down the phone.
"Oh, well sorry Barry..." I lied, "it must've been on silent" I lied again.
"No, no, it's okay. But we have a problem here! You know that stuff you wrote? The stuff for the admin thing? You know it right? Well it's broken and we don't know what to do! I tried opening it in excel and it can't read it!"
I sighed. This was not an unexpected call, but also it was a call I was no longer paid to deal with.
"Barry, look. I modernised all our internal software, it's a bit of python and it automates everything we used to do manually. It's probably just that a feed from the outer guard posts is stuck and needs... Well, it needs sorting out really."
"But HOW John? No-one here can program! Shit, Sam can't even plug in his mouse half the time, Vicki's great for physical combat but not one for numbers, and Ash wouldn't even notice if he didn't get paid in a year, dopey prick."
"Barry, His Royal fucking Highness Prince fucking Ezra decided in his infinite wisdom that I could be spared in the restructuring of the guard. If you have a problem I'm afraid that either you're gonna want to rehire me and hope to whatever sad Gods you worship that I feel like taking it on, or you pay my contractor fees. Take that to the Prince and remind him, preferably with a fist, that when choosing people to get rid of, sysadmins should not be top of the list."
I hung up, infuriated, but pleased. That had been a long time coming and damn did it feel good. But something didn't quiiiiite sit right with me. I hit redial.
" John? What...?"
" And tell him I want an office cat."
*Click* | My thoughts raced, matching the speed of my footsteps as they pounded down the corridor. Was it my perspective that made the hall so dark and dingy? Was it the sense of impending doom, or had the usurper beheaded the housekeepers in his takeover?
Thirty years, I have served this kingdom. I suppose now it's "had," past tense, for the old ways have burned to the ground under the "True King's" command. The young upstart claiming some magical prophecy, some sort of destiny or right. My lungs burned from exertion, and my face with anger. The old king was now no more than disgraced refuse thrown out with the pigs. He had not been perfect; no one is perfect. But he had been born into the position, grown into it, learned from and was moulded by it. What could a nobody from the forests know of leadership? Of government? Of secrets and their consequences?
I gasped for breath, stumbling into my chambers. There was no more need for order or tidyness, and I let bottles and canisters crash to the floor, tossing them out of my way as I searched. I had precious little time to gather anything but the barest of necessities, with the clinking of armored footsteps coming down the hall outside my door. I sent up a silent thank you to whoever had been in charge of my assignment to these rooms, and the passageway to the kitchens that hid behind a tapestry on the far wall. I didn't bother to shut the door behind me as I slipped into it- the chamber door was opening and I could not waste the time needed to cover my tracks. Time, time, time...if only we'd all had more of it.
Thirty years I had served this kingdom. Thirty years I have labored, researched, documented, traveled far and wide to further my work. Thirty years I had kept the monster under these floors contained. Thirty years the beast and I had been engaged in a struggle for power, for control, and thirty years I have won- barely. The new king would see me shot on sight. Perhaps he would drag me in front of the masses as a symbol, for a slower and more painfully theatrical death. He knows not the powers that he toys with. He is but a child, drunk on his newfound influence.
I am through the passage now, racing through the kitchens. Ahead of me, soldiers stand between me and the light of morning, just peeking through the curtains. They raise their weapons, and below us, the flagstones begin to rumble. | 2021-02-28T04:16:00 | 2021-02-28T03:15:28 | 315 | 173 |
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