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[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely. | I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 226 | 26 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I glanced nervously at my watch, still holding a wry smile. *12:01*.
My mom gave me a reassuring nod, but her brow furrowed in the same way as it does when I suit up for football. Hopeful. Excited. Definitely nervous. *12:02*.
Dad makes a nervous laugh. “Jim, you remember how much I was sweating at my Calling Day?” He elbows my uncle, who returns with the same nervous laugh. *12:03*.
I rub my arm frantically, trying to disguise the welling up in my throat, the cold prickling on my scalp. I pretend no one can hear the jackhammer playing in my chest. *12:04*.
Relief starts to sweep over me when I see a change on my forearm. Then dread. A bird flew by the window. My hopes were really shadows. That made it all worse. I was doomed. Hands down, worst day of my life. *12:05*.
I stared silently for the next half hour, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mom started to pass around refreshments to break the tension. It was well-meant, I suppose. A handful of friends tried to encourage me as they left the party, usually laying a hand on my shoulder as if that would make it better, as if that bridged the gap between the outcast and the Called. My eyes could not help but stray to their arms as they came by. Chef, Diplomat, Plumber, Accountant, Soldier, Engineer, Mechanic. Each future bright and open. Mine was blank. I’d give a perfunctory nod, unsmiling, still staring forward. They would leave.
I heard dad get into a heated conversation with our family doctor an hour or two later. Something, something pituitary gland… something, something never happened before… it didn’t matter to me. Maybe it gave him some comfort to know that science had zero answers for me tonight and he, Mechanic, a classic fixer, couldn’t do any more.
Mom brought dinner, trying to get me to eat. She’s always been really thoughtful like that, but I wasn’t hungry. At least, hunger or fullness didn’t matter to me right now. I was purposeless. Later she brought cookies. As a Baker, it was the best offering she could bring. I knew they were amazing. I almost smiled. But I shook my head and stared.
At some point, I realized it was dark, so I found my bed and slept.
Mom called me in sick to school the next day. I didn’t leave the bed.
The day after was a Saturday. It was also the first day I cried, and the first day I spoke.
“Why? If there’s a God or a benevolent universe, why the hell me? I did my time! I was a good kid. I worked hard at school. So, why? Give me one good reason why I don’t get a purpose! This is humiliating!”
The universe remained silent. To be fair, we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms anyway.
I went to school the next week, forearm bandaged in shame. It probably drew as many eyes as my naked skin would have, and just as many whispers.
In fifth period, Mr. Hardiman walked up calmly during lab and asked how I was doing. He had Chemist written on his right arm, the word now faded with time.
“Oh, you know, just adjusting to being a social outcast.”
“Really, is that what you have written under there were you won’t show anyone?”
“You haven’t heard?” I couldn’t tell if he was being naïve or sarcastic, but his tone suggested the latter. “You must be the only one.”
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then grinned and took off his glasses to polish them, which was usually a sign that he was trying to be especially serious. “You know, when I had my Calling day, I was secretly hoping to see ‘Traveler’ pop up, but I got this instead. It was fine, I loved the sciences and it was no letdown to work in them, but part of me did regret not pursuing those mountains and deserts and far reaches of the world I kept reading about. I’ve made it as far as Mt. Holyoak for a ski trip since, but that’s about it.” The glasses returned to their perch. “Do you mind taking off the bandage so I could see?”
I was reluctant. No, I was terrified. But his tone was sincere, and I trusted him. The white guaze fell to the floor.
Mr. Hardiman beamed warmly. “Blank slate. Must be nice.” And he walked away.
Silence. I did not notice until then that the entire class was holding its breath. Then I noticed I was holding my own.
I was a blank slate, an unwritten page, a road untraveled. I was free and could do anything I wanted. So I stood up, smiled, and walked out the door.
“I make my own destiny.” | A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)". | 2017-03-16T03:45:52 | 2017-03-15T23:14:08 | 188 | 98 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 52 | 26 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | My 18th birthday, something that seemed so far away is finally here. My family is gathered around, ready to see what word I would have. My dad's was JANITOR, while my mother's was DOCTOR. I hope I get something cool.
"We will be proud of you honey, whatever you are." My mother said. My father nodded in agreement. We waited in silence. The grandfather clock sounded at noon, Words started to be inscribed into my arm.
GAY PORNSTAR, were the words that would dictate my career. My father let out a snort, my mother flustered said "Oh john, we knew you were gay, but we didn't think your career would involve this."
I thought to myself, well, I do love dick.
(First post please be nice.)
| All of my friends and family had gathered in our favorite martian bar, the drinking age long ago lifted after the great cleansing of the 2020's...Everyone turned their attention towards me as the clock clicked ever so slowly from 11:59 to 12:00 sharp, the first letters began to appear..
"I" followed by a letter "D"
Confused everyone started to murmer..
As the next "D" appeared I gasped thankfully, I wasn't branded to be an idiot at least! That was followed by "Q" and another "D" and no more letters appeared.
"IDDQD" I thought, what the hell could that mean.. That was no career, no purpose at all, it was just a jumble of damn letters!
As we all panicked and tried to figure out what was happening to me, the second word began to appear.
"I" followed by another "D" but this time followed by the combination "KFA" before the letters stopped appearing.
"IDKFA... IDDQD.. what the fuck man!"
As we were trying to make sense of the situation, and calm my panic stricken mother down, the general alarms sounded throughout the entire base complex. The UAC started broadcasting over the PA report to quarters in preparation of rapid deployment to Phobos, and further info would be provided on the ride there.
| 2017-03-16T04:22:00 | 2017-03-16T03:13:05 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | *Sweeping panoramic shot of a grungy inner city school. Majestic music plays in background.*
NARRATOR: Unlike the dominant species of the desert planet of Grizek, the inhabitants of this little world have tentative, almost ambivalent, courtship rituals.
*Cut to empty corridor. Bell rings, and a bipedal humanoid species appears in great numbers in the hallway.*
*Focus in on one member, a short individual with short hair.*
NARRATOR: The male of the species spends many months, even years, considering his potential mate. First he eyes her from a distance, taking great care not to be observed lest his attentions alert her to his presence.
*Camera pans to opposite side of the corridor, where a taller, long haired member of the species is walking towards the camera.*
NARRATOR: And this is the female he has chosen. The sideways glances of the males she walks past attest to her status as one of the most desirable mates in this environment. She walks past our male without acknowledging him. Now he must decide: is she ignoring him as a sign of interest, or is she truly oblivious to his presence.
*As the female walks away, the male watches her walk, his eyes fixed on part of her body that bounces in an uncomfortable looking manner.*
*CUT to scene of male sitting at table, his eyes staring at something out of focus in the distance. Focus changes to show that the object is the female.*
NARRATOR: Thirteen rotations of this planet later, the male has still not made his approach. But he must beware. He is not the only one interested in this female.
*Camera pans to show the female talking to another male. This one is much bigger than the first.*
NARRATOR: What will our young male do? Nothing, it seems. The other male is too big for him to defeat one-on-one. He must bide his time, waiting until the female is alone.
*CUT to the female opening a metal locker. The male approaches and drops a book next to her.*
NARRATOR: Finally! Our male is making his play. Under the pretence of an accident, he engages her in the rudimentary discourse that this species calls communication. Thanks to our discovery of a series of texts by somebody called 'The Bard' we have been able to translate their discourse into Galactic.
*The male makes squawking noises.*
MALE (SUBTITLES): Good morrow, my lady?
FEMALE (SUBTITLES): Dost I know you?
MALE (SUBTITLES): I am that merry wanderer of the night, that layeth near you during Chemistry class.
FEMALE (SUBTITLES): I know you not.
MALE (SUBTITLES): *Stammers* Um... wouldst thou accompany me to the dance next week?
FEMALE (SUBTITLES): Urgh, thou cream faced loon. Get thee away.
*Male flees.*
NARRATOR: Alas, our male has failed. The female proved unreceptive to his advances, and he will flee. Unfounded reports suggest that after unsuccessful courtships, males can turn such a vivid red color that they actually explode. Hopefully this fate will not befall our young male, as he is still young and has many more mating seasons left in him.
*CUT to two humans individuals walking down a street in the evening.*
NARRATOR: Members of this species often develop advanced methods to fool gullible females during courtship. Join us after the break as we take a look at a two more seasoned members of this planet engaged in the final stage of their courtship, a ritual misleadingly named: Inviting-Her-Up-For-A-Coffee. We'll be right back after this short message from our sponsors.
---
*And don't forget to tune in to* r/jd_rallage *at the same time next week, when we will show you never-before-seen footage of the unusual eating habits of this primitive species and their three staple food groups: 'chips', 'pizza', and 'beer'.* | Last time, we had a look at the mating habits of the adult forms of the Homosapiens Erectus, or "Humans" as they call themselves. Today, we shall be taking a look at the habits displayed by younger examples, here at what is known as "college". For the Homosapiens, knowledge is hard gained, and they use these learning complexes to transfer this knowledge, from the old and wise, to a newer generation. "Teenagers" are in between their larval and adult forms, and as such actually don't have the benefit of both. This makes for rather awkward meetings, as the males and females experience life-altering changes to their minds, voices and, yes, even their bodies. With the males, the hormone testosterone starts flowing freely; their voices deepen, hair starts to grow in their genitalic regions and their reproductive organs become active. In females, hair and reproductive organs begin to develop as well, but their voices pitch higher and secondary gender markers as their breasts start to grow. It is at this point in a human's lifecycle that we find ourselves at a college, where we are able to witness the courting between two of them.
Notice how the male approaches a group of females, pushed by his comrades to approach one of them; we can see them sitting here to the left. Notice how the group of females is communicating with each other; one of them already has been courted by one of the males, and knows that the approaching male is here to court with "Anna", the female in the yellow blouse. This communication is known as "gossip" and it is an integral part of human behaviour, especially when relating to the bonding of two humans. As the male approaches, the females laugh and push "Anna" more to the front. It is obvious that she does not know to react to "Peter", even though this isn't the first time that they have seen each other. Why this off-beat behaviour then? We are about to find out...
For "Peter" is not the only one wanting to court "Anna". From across the college yard another contestant approaches: "Donald" is known as a bully, one who subjugates others to do his bidding. He has made it clear to "Anna" that he wants her to be his mate; she disagreed on this, and since the tension is palpable. "Peter" knows of this, but has decided that he will challenge the odds on winning "Anna"'s hand. Around the college yard, other males and females are noticing the tension as "Donald" approaches the group of females and "Peter"; not so hard, considering that he is shouting obscenities to the poor male. But "Peter" is having none of it. The flower he has just given to the female, a friendly present between lovers, enrages the bully even more. He pushes the male away while voicing that he has a small reproductive organ; a move meant to intimidate the other. And here, we can see how much "Peter" is willing to court with the female: he dusts off his jacket, proclaiming that "Donald"'s reproductive organs need a magnifying glass to even see, and winks at the females; a sign of affection.
The bully has now reached his tipping point. His face becomes red and, while still screaming vulgar words, removes his jacket; a fight is about to break loose. A circle has formed around the two competing males, cheering to "Peter" and denouncing the bully, further angering him. The adrenaline coursing through his body, combined with the testosterone, tip the scales: "Donald" loses his composure, and charges at the shorter male. But if it's knowledge that is to be gained at this facility, "Donald" sure was not paying attention. For "Peter" knows some tricks, moves he has displayed when with friends and of which a lot of people know about. With a single grab and throw, the bully crashes to the ground. His look of surprise is soon followed by shame. He gets up onto his feet and makes his way through the cheering circle of humans, vowing to have his revenge one day. But that won't be today. Today, the winner is rewarded by the female with a kiss on the cheek. The smile on his face, combined with the cheers of people around him, make him feel good; he has done well to make his "friends" proud.
Tune in next week as we continue our fascinating look into the mating rituals of the humans, as we'll delve deeper into their reproductive systems, in "Planet Earth". | 2017-04-04T07:03:30 | 2017-04-04T06:35:46 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] On a dare, you answer an email from a Nigerian Prince accepting ten million dollars. Two weeks later a package arrives with a plane ticket and letter explaining how pleased the prince was that you accepted his marriage proposal and dowry. | "Wait... what?"
"Ahaahahah!!!! Dude you're getting married to a Nigerian Prince!" My friend exclaimed.
"This has to be a mistake, I'm a dude."
I immediately replied to the email:
Dear Mr. Nigerian Prince (he gave his name as Nigerian Prince).
I am flattered by your offer of marriage, and even more flattered by the 10 million dollars you sent me, but I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I'm a guy, plus I have a girlfriend.
Sincerely, S.
"Well, I guess I gotta return his money."
"Damn bro."
"What do you mean 'Damn bro'? It isn't as if I was gonna let you have any."
"What? I thought we were bros du-".
He didn't get to finish as the doorbell rang.
I sighed and went to open the door. Standing in my doorway was a tall African man in a suit.
"Ah, my future husband!" He exclaimed with a smile.
I immediately slammed the door in his face.
"Ooooh shit!" He knows I'm a dude?
There is a knock on the door. I am hesitant to open it, but I realized I was being rude.
"Mr Nigerian Prince sir, I'm afraid you have the wrong guy, I'm straight you see. But one of my friends is gay and he's pretty good looking, I'll introdu-"
"No no, it's fine, I'm straight too." He said, unperturbed.
I was shocked.
"Oh..... uh right... so... why do want to get married again?"
"In my culture, marriage isn't about sex or anything like that, it's simply about companionship and spending time together."
"So what, like a bromance?" My friend had come downstairs to see what was going on.
"Dude he doesn't know what a bromance is."
"Ah, exactly like that" the Nigerian Prince said, his face lighting up.
I don't know what I was more shocked by, the fact that a Nigerian Prince wants to marry me, or the fact that he knew what a bromance was.
"So we would be basically just be best friends forever?"
"Yep."
"I get to keep the 10 million dollars?"
"Naturally, with more to come."
"When's the "wedding"?
"Tomorrow"
"Well I guess we'd better be on our way then."
| I walked up to the gate, looking around to see if I was being punk'd by one of my friends. But the gate checker took my ticket, and to my surprise, it validated, and the light turned green. "Thank you very much," she said, motioning to the side for me to enter.
"*If this was a prank,*" I thought. "*My friends are going through a lot of trouble for this...*"
As I approached the gate, a lump filled my throat. "*Am I actually going to do this?*" I thought for a moment, but the small line of passengers growing behind me hurried my decision.
The flight took all night, and I arrived later the following morning. I looked around before I saw a cheery young man holding up a sign with my name. "Welcome to Nigeria!" the taxi driver greeted with a hearty smile. "Is this your first time?"
"Y-yes," I stammered, trying to hold on to my luggage, but he pulled it away anyway and loaded it up on the cart. "I...I'm actually waiting for someone."
"Oh, that's okay!" he said cheerily, as he continued to load the baggage. "I know where you're going!"
"O...okay," I said, finally letting him take my last bag, but gripping my purse on my arm. "But I'm keeping this."
"Yes! Keep that!" he said, wheeling it off and leading me to the taxi. "Keep that very close!"
The drive took forever, and at this point, I'm not even sure if he knew where we were going. "Where is this place again?" I asked, as I watched the scenery through the window, move away from the airport and through shoddy town after shoddy town.
"Don't worry, we'll be there soon," he assured me, but something felt...off.
As the morning faded into afternoon, I knew something was wrong. "I don't think this is the right way, please take me back."
"Sorry, miss," he shook his head, his cheery demeanor no longer there. "No can do."
"Sir, please turn this cab around."
But regardless of my pleas, he kept driving. I quickly reached for the door, but I heard a sudden click and all the locks dropped into the door, sealing me inside. "Let. Me. Out. Now." I said sternly.
"This was your decision to come, remember that."
I continued to try the door and lock, shaking my head. "No, let me out now. I want to go home."
He looked up into the rear-view mirror and smiled, but his smile was much less warm now. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll have a great time here..." | 2017-05-27T13:11:30 | 2017-05-27T10:09:57 | 591 | 234 |
[WP] Lying in bed with your significant other and feeling the rhythmic kicks of your unborn child, you recognize the pattern as Morse code. | Jack was laying in bed talking with his pregnant wife Jill. They were so excited that they were going to have a son in a short time.
All of a sudden Jill jumped a little, smiled, then turned to Jack and said the baby was starting to kick.
Jack had been trying to feel the baby kick for awhile now but was never able to feel anything. He slid over towards his wife and placed his hand on her stomach...
The baby kicked again and Jack was so happy he finally felt a kick. Then he felt another, and another.
The baby seemed to be kicking like a toddler rolling around on the floor throwing a temper tantrum.
Jack and Jill couldn't believe how much the baby was kicking. Why was he kicking so much? Was something wrong? Was he trying to tell them something?
Jack felt the kicks and noticed a pattern. It was short kicks close together and then a brief pause between some of the kicks. Jack thought, could it be Morse code? No, couldn't be, but what if?
Jack rushed out of bed to get a pad of paper to write down the sequence of the kicks.
He finished writing down the sequence and he was beside himself. He knew Morse code from Boy Scouts and immediately knew his child was destined for greatness...
... . -. -.. / -. ..- -.. . ...
| Me and Alex were just settling down we noticed it. The little knocks of the baby against the inner womb. If you looked close enough you could even see imprints of its limbs as it tried to gain a sense of where it was. It was adorable.
That is, until we noticed the tapping. It was muted at first, but it crescendoed into a tap loud enough to who throughout the slightly larger apartment we had bought just for the baby. We assumed it would need some space. We hadn't planned on creating an ego chamber for the piercing taps of which there was no escape. The taps sounded like a tipsy metronome, and that's when I finally picked up on the slight variations. Some of the taps were longer than the others.
I opened up my laptop and pulled up a Morse code table. I waited until a long pause that I assumed meant the pattern was restarting and began to translate. Alex was trying to follow along, but any thought process was interrupted by the pervasive knocks. Then the pattern began with a dot, followed by two dashes, capped off with another dot. I scrawled the letter "p" onto the paper before listening for the next letter. Four dots in quick succession, an "h". Again I wrote it down.
I continued writing down the letters until the full message had been sent **"ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"**. It was time. I turned to Alex, but all I saw was dread. We'd been preparing for this day for quite some time, but it was always going to be too soon. Regardless, we had made our decision. It was time to release our child from his prison and let him do unto this world what he willed.
**A scaled wing emerges from the Pacific, followed by another. He has risen** | 2017-06-25T21:53:29 | 2017-06-25T19:01:37 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] Humans never figured out how to travel faster than light, but immortality was not that hard after all. As a consequence, space travel is possible, but very boring. | I stood staring out the observation panel, trance-like with deep thought. The distant glow of a billion stars stared back, imperceptibly sliding by as my vessel traversed the great emptiness towards our ultimate destination. I sighed, exhaling slowly and savouring the feeling of my breath chilling my teeth as it passed through my lips.
I turned back to the Captain's chair, where I had been sitting for the last few hours. I wish I could have said all morning, but there was no such distinction in space. Routines we're governed by the clock, not the rise and fall off the local star. I hadn't experienced the gentle brightening of morning light, or the warm touch of the sun on my skin. My routine would begin with a beeping alarm and harsh LED lights.
As I approached my chair the lunch notification appeared on the observation panel. Isolated protein, vegetable fibres and fat supplement mixed into a milkshake-like concoction was placed on the Captain's desk. I began to drink my lunch, a bland, tasteless source of the essential nutrients I required. I contemplated the lack of flavour, how could humanity produce such a scientifically perfected meal, but not give it a hint of flavour?
Within minutes a new notification appeared, it was time for my mid-day exercises. I followed the regime I was instructed to do by a faceless avatar appearing on my screen. The goal was to keep my muscles strong in the low gravity of space, but I had always hated the yoga-inspired exercises of interstellar travel. My muscles yearned for sport and strength, not the bare minimum to ensure I continue functioning.
I completed my exercises and returned to the Captain's chair. Soon our destination would appear. Within the hour another notification blinked onto the screen. We were approaching Delta-7, the mining colony that my ship was bound for.
Times were good for the little planet. The population was small but growing rapidly, and the people were prospering. Opportunity was everywhere and you could build a far better life than on Earth.
As I piloted the ship into the atmosphere I could see the lights of the main city. It was breathtaking, a completely new type of world, a new culture of humanity. I felt optimistic, like a new age Christopher Columbus seeing this new world for the first time.
The ship touched down and within minutes the hatch was open. I gasped in a breath of fresh air. It was almost salty, a grand departure from the sterile air of the spacecraft. I made my way down the walkway to the port attendant.
He looked tired. The spaceport must have been seeing heavy traffic. How could I blame him with the volume of people trying to reach the land of opportunity?
I presented him my identification and travel documents. He gave them a look over, gazed at my ship, and authorized the transaction.
"Thank you for your service, the colony has been in need of this equipment," he said as the automated dock system unloaded my cargo, and replaced it with goods from the refineries. "Have a good trip back."
And with another shipment dutifully delivered I returned to my seat in the Captain's chair to begin my return to Earth and continue the cycle. A delivery man's job is never done. | "Unknown species send out probes all the time. That's gotta be what it is." Jim said with shaky confidence. *It could also be a planetary warhead* he thought, but he didn't see the point in mentioning that. Either way, this was not the ideal start to his barbeque.
The shuttle had landed right in the pool, and leg extensions could be heard scraping about under the water. Jim looked around at his guests, and was relieved to see that none of them were panicking.
"Can't escape work after all, can you?" he said amiably, gave a meaningful look to his wife, and turned back to his house.
"I guess that's a good place to call it quits." He heard Jess say to all of their neighbors. He was already walking into the kitchen, and toward the bedroom. He arrived at his closet and pulled out his suitcase. He rushed back out the door, trying to look nonchalant. The crowd was thinning out, and he could hear there shocked whispers as they left. It occurred to him that this might be a once in a lifetime event for some of them. Space junk doesn't just land all over the place. It was just his luck that it would land at his place, though. Wait till the boys at the station hear about this.
He snapped open the suitcase, and pulled out several scanners. His wife arrived next to him. "What do you really think it is?" She asked.
"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Maybe it's not even safe to be standing here. I just didn't want to cause a panic."
"I'll get out of your hair then, but be careful." She said meaningfully. He nodded back at her, already lost in his work. She sighed and walked back to the house.
"Let's see." he said to himself as he readied the equipment. Lights began flashing on the device, then it settled down. "No signs of life. Nothing particularly radioactive." He muttered, swapping scanners. "None of the seven deadly elements."
He sighed to himself. "Guess there's only one way to find out what's in this box."
___
"Hey dad!" Boyd shouted. Jim jumped.
"Oh. Hey there son. You snuck up on me." He looked back and noticed how much the suns had moved. It's been longer than he'd thought.
"How much longer is this going to be?" he asked.
"Well it's pretty primitive craftsmanship, so I've already put a dent in it. In fact," he continued, "I was about to open it up right now."
"Can I see?" the boy asked, his eyes beaming. Logic and reasoning couldn't compete with the tug inside him that came from seeing those eyes. He held out his hand. "Get in." he said.
"Awesome!"
Jim turned back around, and reapplied his torch. He finished off the rough triangle and the panel fell off into the pool. Jim waited, holding his son behind him. Nothing. It took his eyes a while to adjust to the dark inside of the pod, and when he realized what he was looking at, he thrust his son away.
"Dad!" Boyd tried to yell, but he was thrust underwater. Jim dove after him. The air began to ripen almost immediately. Jim came back up, shielding Boyd's eyes, too late.
"What were those things, Dad?" he cried. Jim realized that it was too late.
"I don't know, son." He replied. "But they're nothing anymore."
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-08-15T07:59:53 | 2017-08-15T06:56:06 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You're a killer dumping your latest victim into the river. Just as you're about to be done, you spot another person. Doing exactly the same thing. And they've just spotted you, too. | What's a rivers body count? There's the obvious ones, the direct victims that fall in (or jump) and drown. Then there's the murders, people killing people with the river as if it's a gun. Then, of course, there's the literal: the dead bodies we drop in ourselves after doing the dirty work.
I respect the river; I'd never make it party to my job. I do the work, and mother river washes it away.
It was a Tuesday near the end of my shift and I was tired. The night before had been Jerry's birthday and we had gone out to Patrick's, that dingy little bar on 13th street, and had way too much whiskey. My head had stopped pounding around noon but I still didn't feel fully up to snuff even now, at 4 in the afternoon.
My last job of the day was Carl Walker, a big man with a big appetite who had made some big mistakes with big money. Being that the big money belonged to the city's big man, Vinny Salvatore, poor Carl didn't have much of a future after the fifth horse in the sixth race (I think it's name was Chips Ahoy) failed to come in first. Enter myself, professional disposal operator.
Carl got an whole extra week of life because I couldn't get the damn papers filed correctly. I've never been too good with computers, but I still tried to e-file my extermination petition online. Big mistake, although not as big as Carl's. The damn thing wanted scans and faxes and all kinds of shit I couldn't figure out, so I simply printed the forms out and filled them out the old fashioned: way with a pen. But then I had to mail them, and you know how slow the fucking post office can be.
So I had Jackie breathing down my neck to get this guy whacked, and I'd already been written up last month for improper disposal, so I had to make some moves. Hopefully Carl enjoyed that last week, because he certainly didn't enjoy the icepick in his ear.
This is where things get a little sketchy. I'm down by the river, sitting next to Carl, just shooting the shit. He didn't have much to say, if you know what i mean, but that's the way I like it: the live ones always talk back too much.
I'm asking old Carl how many bodies he thinks are in the river (he's giving me that fish-eyed stare the dead get - some guys don't like it, but it cracks me right up, like one of them googly-eyed dolls or something) when I see a pair of shoes on the stairs. They're moving slow and seem to be struggling, so I do the Christian thing and go to help them, clapping Carl on the shoulder to let him know I'll be right back.
Well, I get over there and I shit you not, it's a fucking cop! A skinny little guy with no chin to speak of, but police all the same. We didn't talk none at first, I just grabbed the fella's feet and helped the little guy carry him to the waters edge.
He might've been small, but this cop could throw. We get to the edge and he does Judo or some shit and throws this body six feet out! I was impressed, and I told him so. He just gives me a cool eye and asks what I'm doing down here.
Feeling a little nervous, I jerk my thumb back at Carl.
"Disposal, officer," I says, smiling and pulling out my license. He barely looks at it and now I'm starting to sweat. No reason really, I know my affairs are in order, but it's that old fear of the boys in blue. You can't never really shake it.
"I'm gonna need to see a permit, buddy." He's narrowing his eyes now, and I'm remembering how easy he tossed that stiff into the drink. Better not get on this guys bad side, I'm thinking to myself. I reach in my pocket for my papers and my damn heart nearly stops. The papers ain't there!
I'm patting my pockets and searching them all, even that goofy little one they make for pennies (or some shit, I never used it myself). Mind you, the whole time I'm grinning like a fucking fool. I feel embarrassed just remembering. My wife still makes fun of me for being such a bonehead.
"I got it officer, I swear," I says, trying to retrace my steps. Trying to be neighborly, and yeah, buy my ass some time, I start chatting: "I even tried to file it online but couldn't figure out the damn fax machine." I gave a nervous laugh, sounding like a jackass no doubt. He doesn't do nothing, just stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
I glance back at Carl and it clicks. Carl! I put the papers in Carl's pocket so I wouldn't get them mixed up with my earlier job (a real piece a work named Bunny Tartson). I nearly piss myself in relief as check Carl's pockets and find all my papers neat as you please.
Officer Short Stuff barely even looked at the papers, though. I suppose he just wanted to make sure I had them. Pollution is a big problem in our city and you get all kinds of bums dropping bodies in the river, without even so much as a license to dispose let alone a river permit!
So i guess the answer, is that the river's got too many bodies. That's life though, the good things get ruined by bad people. | Jack checked again as he began shoveling the remains into the hole. While most people wouldn't think a beach to be one of the perfect places to put a corpse, it makes sense.
Sand is easy to move around, much moreso than dirt. Less strain on you. Plus, if a major storm ever hits and the body is uncovered; with luck the tide will sweep out what's left and the fish will do the rest. Sounds crazy, but some guy in Long Island has been doing this way longer than Jack and they haven't caught him yet. So...
Jack finished scooting the grisly remains out of the bed of the truck.
*Alright, Dolores. This is where we part. A quick trip to the car wash, and this will all be behind us.*
He heard it. He paused and listened, frozen in place. Was it the tide rolling in more? A boat exiting the river, to the bay? No. He heard it again, and strained to identify it over the cresting ocean. A low-shifting noise in the sand somewhere neabry in the dunes. No mistake now. Somebody was here.
Jack quietly moved to his truck and deftly opened the door to retrieve one of his 'preferred instruments'. A buck knife. The old classic; a little ugly, but quiet. He quietly began walking, to find the culprit. Before long, he realized the shuffling came from right across the dune he was working on. He ascended slowly as to not draw attention to himself.
*That's strange. Another car out here, at this time of night? Probably some teenagers.* Jack thought.
*Oh well... Can't have them stumbling onto my work.*
As he began the slow creep towards the car, he realized something unusual. The trunk was cracked open. Reaching the car, he checked around and then lifted the lid. Gore. A man, maybe in his fifties, his chest full of holes, laid inside. Jack touched him for a pulse, to his surprise, the body was still rather warm.
But he wasn't killed there.
*Snick*
Jack recognized that sound. He about-faced to fight, but quickly halted as he made things out. A woman. While she was a little shorter than him, she was extremely fit. Amazonian even. A fighter too, he could tell. Regular people don't carry themselves like that. Regular people also don't carry submachine guns to the beach...
"Evening ma'am." Jack greeted her warmly. He quietly hid the knife behind his hip.
"Hello." She replied. Her greeting was equally warm, but the coldness in her eyes told the truth.
"Um..." Jack tried to conjure, "Is this your car?"
"You could say that." She replied, "That your truck over on the other side of the dune there?"
*She knows.* Jack numbly confirmed.
"Maybe?" Jack implied. He was going to have to kill her. No doubt about it now.
"I see. And that thing in the hole you dug?" She said as she tightened her grip on the gun. Jack kept a eye on the massive suppressor, the edge of it gleaming under the reflection of headlights.
"Yeah. I did that." Jack admitted dropping his ruse. "Hey, one question: is that guy with you?"
She quickly snapped a glance. Jack took the small window and flicked the buck knife at her. To his surprise, she did a sideways hop and dodged the blade as it grazed her jacket. He took this opportunity to rush her. She brought the gun up as they met. He shoved it away and went deaf in one ear as a burst went into the air. They tossed the gun by accident, it landing in the sand nearby. Jack swung on her, but she deftly absorbed the blows even as he attempted to straddle her. Rolling her nearly to her stomach, Jack felt triumph before he heard two sharp cracks.
He quickly leapt off her, and checked his face and chest. *She had another gun and had shot through her jacket.*
"Stupid fucker." She seethed. "Throwing a knife??"
"I almost had you." Jack wagged his finger.
"Shut up." She gritted. "You already dug that hole?"
"*What do you think*?" Jack reminded, "It's not like I'm here to go surfing."
"Get the body out of the trunk of the car there. Drag it to the hole." She demanded.
"Any thing in it for me?" He smirked.
"Yeah. I don't put you there." She breathed.
---
It took some time, but eventually, the deed was done. The bodies laid at the bottom as the pair quietly shoveled sand on top. They never took their eyes completely off each other.
"You ride a motorcycle?" Jack suddenly inquired.
She snuffed, "Do you work at a club?"
Jack realized he still wore his security shirt. He killed Dolores maybe an hour off shift. It's not like he had time to change.
"Point taken. Just wondering." He smiled again.
"Why'd you do yours?" She asked as they shoveled.
"Meh, spur of the moment." Jack spoke freely, "I didn't want to. But I couldn't resist... and you?"
"Money." She sighed.
"Ahh. An entrepreneur."
They finished shoveling and stood back. She quietly slung her gun up from it's strap, and pointed it at him again for a moment.
"Again??" Jack asked laconically.
"Are you done?" She replied.
"Miss, my girlfriend is waiting on me. So anytime you'd like to leave."
"Don't follow me." She spoke hollowly, "We didn't meet. Estúpido hijo de puta..."
"No me duele ser amable." Jack replied after her. She only grimaced as she crept over the dune. He watched quietly in his truck as the sedan disappeared into the tree line and drove away.
---
I kinda' wanted these characters to meet, but I didn't know how. Great prompt! | 2017-10-12T20:40:57 | 2017-10-12T19:17:37 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] Pets are intelligent. Religious dogs worship humans as gods, while cats see us as a natural resource. You see your dog chasing away stray cats pestering you for food, not realizing he is a knight from the Order of Saint Good Boy protecting you from harvesters from the Cats Corporate Dominion. | I was snoozing on the bearskin rug in front of the fire on my back with my legs in the air my fur shining in the soft glow of the fire. My jaws were snapping at the evil cat, but it kept eluding me even though my legs were a blur and I was moving faster than a speeding car. At break neck speed we rounded a corner sending trash cans into the air with a bang.
In the real my nose trembled and my eyes snapped open, all thoughts of the chase banished as I could smell my master’s fear. I fought down the rising panic as the rank stench of his fright almost overwhelmed me and I was out of our den faster than lightning. My heart thundered in my chest as my paws were pounding the street.
My master should not be far away, tonight he should be on his way home from volunteering at the local pet rescue centre. His love knew no bounds and that’s why The Order of Saint Good Boy had sent me as his guardian.
I wasn’t far from the alley which took him from the rescue centre to our street when through the sharp rank of his fear I could finally sense the soldiers of the arch enemy, the cats corporate dominion. With strength of my ancestors I howled the call of the order as I hurtled into the alley.
My master was curled up in a feral position, bleeding from numerous cuts and bites. The red glare of the eyes of my enemies were all around him and as one they turned to face me.
They were legion. I was alone.
I met the vicious ball of teeth, fur and claws with a thunderclap. My jaws crushed the neck of one feline demon and I swatted another away from my master with my paw. I was a whirlwind of death as I tore them apart. Claws and teeth failed to penetrate the shield of my faith, but I was growing tired. More corporate soldiers came hurtling down from the roof tops and I felt my shields burst.
There was no surrendering and I fought and bled, but they were endless. As they came towards me like speeding torpedoes I prayed to Saint Good Boy and the air around me ignited me with righteous wroth. They screeched as they burned but still they came. Like lasers sights their red eyes marked me for certain death.
I could hear my master’s soft whimper ‘Good Boy’ before oblivion embraced him. My heat burned with holy fervour and I found the strength to face my foes again. I wouldn’t let him down.
This time they came towards me with silence, the silence of the reaper. My fur was once again aglow with the shield of my faith, but I knew it was the end. All I could do was die protecting my master. Die the death of. True Paladin of the order. I would sell my life dearly, but there was no doubt of the outcome anymore. I would fail my master.
And then they were on me.
Pain burned my body, but it was nothing compared to the pain from failing to protect my master. The sorrow and anguish turned into a shield as I sent more of the fiendish creatures to their deaths. But it wasn’t enough and I covered my master’s body with my own. Their claws left my fur matted with blood but this time all I could do was pray.
A howl shattered the silence, and was quickly answered by another and another. Heavy paws came thumping towards us. The alley was alight with the glow of my brethren’s holy fury. As one the cohort of paladins tore into the enemies flank and the enemies silence turned into frightened whimpers.
Knowing my master was safe I closed my eyes and let darkness embrace me. | Sai, a knight of the Order is Saint Good Boy, recognized for his strength, might and short white fur decorated in spots faced his rival, Bella, an agent of Cats Corporate Dominion, known for her slick black fur and the unluckiness brought by her visits.
Cats Corporate Dominion was a company trying to use up all the resources of "humans" for food dispensers and litter box cleaners.
Order of Saint Good Boy thought humans were gods, creating delicious food and useful items for the benefit of everyone.
Sai and Bella were infamous rivals ever since the two large humans created a tiny weak human 6 months ago. Sai was eager to join this tiny immortal in adventures, whilst Bella wanted the weakling to do her chores for her.
The two animals argued and argued about what would happen to the baby. This led to a fight between the two. Sai had the obvious advantage over Bella, he was stronger, faster, and had the will of the humans on his side, but his intellect wasn't as bright as his other attributes.
Bella, determined to get the tiny human to do stuff for her benefit decided to trick the baby into thinking the dog was a horrible beast.
In order to this, Bella had to steal Sai's favorite toy, Watermelon Johnny, and place it onto the mini human. Doing this would frighten the baby, making it think that Sai would devour them.
This would be an easy job for Bella, she could simply smack some bologna onto the ground and while Sai was distracted, snatch his toy and hide it. Sai's brain would make him think he put his toy somewhere else.
Of course this would have to happen when the resources were away. Which was fairly common.
Bella got into position on top of the table (the "gods" were foolish enough to allow this) and waited patiently for the resources to leave for their scheduled nonsense.
The door opened and closed. It was time.
Bella just stood up and smacked the bologna onto the ground, pushing a cup off aswell as bologna because it was one of her favorite things to do.
Sai walked in and immediately saw the sandwich mean. Bella darted into the room as quickly as possible and grabbed Watermelon Johnny.
The hiding spot for Ralph would be in the one place a dog would never look: behind a door, preferably the bathroom. Bella placed Ralph hastily, afraid to be caught.
Now all Bella had to do was act inconspicuous and wait until the resources arrived. She headed towards her nice comfy box, which once held the bed that the resources bought for her. Bella plopped down and took a nap, waiting for fate.
Clinging, followed by the door opening and Sai barking.
The baby was left in his stroller when the big humans went to go change into casual clothes, followed by an energetic Sai. Perfect.
Bella checked the back of the bathroom door, Ralph was still there, untouched.
Bella quickly grabs Ralph and placed it onto the baby's head.
As the big humans entered the living room, the baby got excited, and as Sai entered behind them, he was getting excited watching the baby.
Sai recognizes his toy on the baby.
He gets even more energetic and excited because he's found his toy.
Sai walks up to the baby and sniffs, this was the moment Bella was waiting for. The lost of trust between the baby and "A man's best friend".
Sai opens his mouth menacingly.
He reaches up for the toy.
And starts licking the baby's face.
The baby started making loud noises, as if it needed help.
Bella was ready to pounce on Sai and save the baby, but she sees the two big humans laugh at the baby and dog, then it struck her, those are screeches of torture, those are screams of delight.
Bella has failed her job to get the baby to do things for her.
Instead of diminishing the relationship of Sai and the baby, it grew stronger.
Bella grew mad, but realized she can't do anything about it, so she went out to the backyard and ate some catnip.
^^new^to ^^writing ^^criticism^wanted | 2017-12-09T23:07:32 | 2017-12-09T21:42:36 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle" | Barron Trump tweedled his thumbs and looked nervously at his son, Donald Trump II.
"Is Santa coming, Papa?" The young Donald asked.
"...I don't know, son."
Meanwhile, at a nearby nuclear bunker, Chelsea Hubbell and her daughter, Hillary Clinton Hubbell, huddled around the smoldering remains of a Haitian ex-child sex slave to keep warm. Their last one.
Kim Jeongmin, the last north korean, sat in complete darkness and rocked her baby, kim Jeongbbang, in her arms. Humming a christmas lullaby to keep her quiet. A single tear ran down her rosy cheek and onto her babes' forehead.
Santa Clause was worried. His sleigh was powered by Christmas spirit, and it was going to take a miracle to get it running tonight. He dragged on a Chesterfield King, the butt of the cigarette warming a pink patch on his snow covered lips. After a few more drags he threw the cigarette into the white abyss of winter and slumped down on his bag of presents. He closed his eyes and let the snow cover him like a blanket. To think the world ended over a feud about Donald Trump's hands and Kim Jeongun's belly. He mired up at Rudolph's tomb, then he stared blankly off into the snowstorm. | 2017-12-22T15:31:03 | 2017-12-22T14:27:36 | 77 | 13 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | Santa ran through the list again. It was his shortest one yet. The nuclear blast had swept away most of humanity, and with it, the childlike sense of wonder and imagination that would compel one to write a letter to Santa. Mrs. Clause appeared at the door holding two steaming mugs of cocoa.
"Honey," sighed Santa, folding up his glasses. "This job is getting pretty grim."
"Oh?" said Mrs. Clause.
"This one kid asked me to free his captive father from the swamp mutants."
"Gee," said Mrs. Clause. "That doesn't sound like the type of gadget the elves could whip up in the workshop."
"And, how am I supposed to deliver the presents without my reindeer? I may be immortal, but my reindeer weren't. The writing prompt forgot to specify that."
"That's a shame," said Mrs. Clause. "I am also mortal."
Mrs. Clause disappeared. | Barron Trump tweedled his thumbs and looked nervously at his son, Donald Trump II.
"Is Santa coming, Papa?" The young Donald asked.
"...I don't know, son."
Meanwhile, at a nearby nuclear bunker, Chelsea Hubbell and her daughter, Hillary Clinton Hubbell, huddled around the smoldering remains of a Haitian ex-child sex slave to keep warm. Their last one.
Kim Jeongmin, the last north korean, sat in complete darkness and rocked her baby, kim Jeongbbang, in her arms. Humming a christmas lullaby to keep her quiet. A single tear ran down her rosy cheek and onto her babes' forehead.
Santa Clause was worried. His sleigh was powered by Christmas spirit, and it was going to take a miracle to get it running tonight. He dragged on a Chesterfield King, the butt of the cigarette warming a pink patch on his snow covered lips. After a few more drags he threw the cigarette into the white abyss of winter and slumped down on his bag of presents. He closed his eyes and let the snow cover him like a blanket. To think the world ended over a feud about Donald Trump's hands and Kim Jeongun's belly. He mired up at Rudolph's tomb, then he stared blankly off into the snowstorm. | 2017-12-22T16:13:10 | 2017-12-22T14:27:36 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
| No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T00:11:50 | 579 | 34 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | It had been 50 years since World War III. America had caused the most damage and knowing them, they'll cause more. So that's when we had the perfect idea. We would fake a Worldwide isolation for 50 years. While they were left alone to rebuild, secretly we would all rebuild together and make a better world. Fresh water, disarments, and a more peaceful world. But all good things must come to an end. Our 50 years without them was up. But it did not go the way we expected.
.....
.....
.......
America changed under isolation. They realized they need to stop creating weapons and decided to move to their second best skill. We were unprepared for it.
....
THE MEMES. 50 years of dank American Memes they wanted to catch us up on. It happened so fast. They spread like a wildfire the moment the border dropped spreading memes to every country on Earth. It was chaos. Within 24 hours half of the total population was obsessed with memes. They were as far as the eye could see. How many memes did America make while they were in isolation? Was there even an answer? | No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2018-01-18T01:39:47 | 2018-01-18T00:11:50 | 46 | 34 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | "IS THAT HIS EYE," I screamed looking down at the mangled corpse of the hero was now strewn lazily about the floor of my laboratory.
"Yes, my love," she cooed in response, then pouted, "he had come to take me from you." She was the Princess even as she was my captive. Her classic pink dress was long gone however, and she wore an all black gown sewn from the silk of the Neverspiders that stayed in the furthers depths of my dungeon and not for the last time I was ... say concerned about her mental state.
Aliva had been your typical princess when I captured her nearly a year ago. She had flounced around my dungeon and basically made a nuisance of herself. Her petulant whining about being bored had finally caused me to torture her for a bit, but I'm pretty sure she liked it. And I'm pretty sure it broke her.
And then she started chancing me around to get me to torture her more.
So I sent her off to my great library to study. She was a linguist after all. I was bound to have something that a princess would like to read there among my spellbooks. She hadn't taken that well either, hence the glowing black scepter that she also was holding.
"Where did you get the Shard of Oblivion," I asked calmly. It was a sacred relic that I had corrupted, and had remained inert in my vaults until she took it... and empowered it.
"This old thing, as far as presents go it not a very fine one," she said in a bored offhanded fashion that set my hackles up, but as she turned the wild look in her eyes did as well, "And I love it, see I bound the soul of my handmaiden into it to empower it."
"You sacrificed your handmaiden," I said impressed. That was her childhood friend, the one who held off my goblins with a tree branch for several minutes until I managed to take them both myself. Had she tried to escape I would not have stopped her as she was no prize but had loyally remained with her friend throughout her captivity.
"I told her it would make me happy, and so she did," she smiled, looking at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a dead hero strewn around me.
"Why are you happy," I said, the power of the EverVoid flowing into me as I saw the Insanity in her and wondered how powerful the corrupt shard actually was. It practically radiated Dark Magic, filling the room, bleaching the walls. The Princess's lustrous blond hair looked almost white now. She seemed hollow.
"Because I have a present for you," she said and handed me the Shard. I gripped it magically, taking care to magically separate myself from the artifact until I had time to analyze it. Every sense I had screamed danger, more so than even when I had battled the Neverborn to take its great Libram of the Undying... which I now saw was sitting on the table before her open.
"You've opened the Libram," I asked stepping backwards slightly, my most powerful magics had been sucked into that great tome. I could see the words for a powerful spell of some type on the open page.
"Oh you noticed," she oozed, "It was very hard, my Ancient Tongue was a bit rusty but I realized that it was in Eastern script not Under script like the notes indicated." Those were my personal notes, written in my personal cipher, in my personal study, protected by my personal wards. My hand tightened on my Hellmace. I'd have to make this quick.
"How," was my one word question. Her back was to me and I could see the book past her. Eastern script was an ancient dialect of the ancient tongue. She was a linguist, but who delves into such scripts? Now that I read it using Eastern scripts I could almost make out a few words.
"I had to sacrifice the soul of a Princess to open it," she said.
"You sacrificed your own soul."
"It was the only way we could be together."
The spell was one of binding, and the final ingredient was the eye of a hero. | "So... we infiltrate Dunsten Villa with a Rhonkan Rogue Wizard, and have him open a summoning circle to the eighth... ring of Sheol?"
"The seventh".
"The seventh, right. And why exactly?"
"Because Balor demons live on the seventh, and have a taste for the flesh of children"
"Ok, ok. But wouldn't it make more sense to just unlease a few, oh I don't know, Grimmoks from the fourth ring to just wipe out the town?"
She looks at me and rolls her eyes, sighing heavily before continuing to lecture me.
"No, it wouldn't. Sure, we could just stroll across the country side, wiping out town after town, but when I'm through.. We're.. through, who's left to reign over in fire and terror? No one, that's who. It'll be a desolate wasteland with no servants, slaves, or subjects. What good is that?"
This woman sends chills down my spine, and not in a good way. She continues on, in her "matter of fact" tone.
"We make sure all the children are gone first, you dolt. That way there's no one left to grow up, become would be heroes, and avenge their families. This is basic stuff here Randal"
"Right"
She walks over to my private stock and grabs a decanter to pour herself a glass, as if she's toasting her victory before this whole thing even begins. Did you know that three months ago when I kidnapped Khalie, her father didn't even bother sending a search party? Oh no, not even close. He responded with a "thank you" note to my ransom letter. A thank you note! Like I'd sent him birthday wishes or some other drivel like that! And poor, stupid, stupid me. I thought I'd hit a gold mine. I thought surely that this princess would be different, and be the one to put my name on every wanted poster from Gha'zeem to Ashbark. Oh she's different alright. She's beyond mad. Her lust for power is insatiable. Her ability to pull absolutely vile schemes from thin air makes me look like an absolute choir boy.
It only took her about a week to warm up to my tower. And in that time, she managed to publicly have one of the servants flayed alive, PURELY on the principle that "it will keep the other servants in line". I've never had a discipline problem out of any of my subordinates for the entire 12 years I've been running this tower! Ted was a model employee at that! He was being groomed and vetted for middle management for crying out loud! And now, here's Khalie creating the most dastardly and nefarious plans I can imagine, all in the name of usurping her fathers throne. That's supposed to me *my* throne. I didn't put in eight years of hard work and study at Guntar von Blackfist's School of Necromancy and Thaumaturgy all for some hot to trot hussy to sweep past me and take over my life's work.
She's already gained the adoration of both my colleagues and my competitors. Soon she'll have an army. There's only one solution to all of this that I can think of. I'll have to steal away in the night and go far away from here. Far enough that it buys me time. Not to raise an army of my own, but instead to recruit the only thing that can stop people of my profession. Do-gooders. *Blech*. Hero types, clad in shining armor and puffed up with all that for-the-good-of-the-people nonsense. They can stop Khalie . And when they're through, I can just kill them myself and start back at square one. Then I'll-
"Randal, you're mumbling to yourself again"
"Oh, sorry. Just mentally working out the finer details of things, my dear"
"My dear?" she asks, in a condescending tone.
"My.. Most Malevolent and Cruel Mistress"
"That's better Randal. Do be a peach and go fetch me Tomas. He was a whole half minute late with my bath this morning, and I don't reward tardiness"
This woman will be the death of me. I should have gone in halves with my older brother's business. Skeletons, running a cleaning service for morgues and what have you. Oh well. *sighs*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Throw back to a WP involving a certain cleaning service
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3v04eh/wp_youre_a_down_on_your_luck_necromancer/
I did a reading of Randal's inner monologue (absolute amateur hour over here)
https://instaud.io/private/a2b10eba524e38ad173c730d760e1435ccbd8d35 | 2018-02-09T05:33:00 | 2018-02-09T05:32:19 | 158 | 20 |
[WP] You have the ability to pause time at any moment for as long as you want. But instead of saving the world or robbing banks, you decide to always have a witty remark when someone insults you. | By gum, I had it. At long last, I had it.
The girl had called me short. I hate being called short. I'm not even that short. I'm 5 8. That's not short at all. That's like 80th percentile for height, I think.
But the girl called me short. I froze time because I was so pissed off. I had to think of a comeback.
It took a long time. I traveled the world. I went and saw those Thai soccer kids getting rescued. I checked in on Trump and his new Supreme Court pick. I saw what Jon Stewart was doing for some reason. Ryan Reynolds, too. I looked in on my parents, my siblings. My grandparents. Old friends. Old girlfriends. Everyone I could think of. World leaders-- Putin, Xi, Kim, Macron, Merkel, May, Trudeau. My favorite actors, writers, entertainers. Did you know that Kanye can't clip his own toenails? He has Kim do it, and his feet are so ticklish it takes a really long time to get it done.
Still, I didn't yet have a good comeback to being called short by a snotty sorority princess who probably has like twelve STDs.
I went to the greatest universities in the world, took long walks through their libraries and across their campuses. I figured the atmospheres would inspire me.
Sure enough, the answer came to me when I was at Oxford watching a brain surgeon give a demonstration to grad students. It hit me like lightning.
I quickly sped home. It was a long journey. Time had been frozen for the equivalent of like a month now.
The basic little cunt was still standing there in the Starbucks line. I hadn't even said anything to her. She was all dressed up for her day and no doubt on the hunt for the next Chad dong to stuff in her diseased vag, and she walked in MY line of sight and the next thing I know she's acting like I just hit on her.
"It would never work out between us," the spoiled little 22-year-old had drawled at me. "You're too short."
I unfroze time just as she took a self-satisfied sip of her latte. The cashier was waiting for me to give my order.
I unleashed my comeback.
"You're short, too," I said calmly. "Short on brains."
She curled her lip at me and walked away. Clearly, I'd wilted her very soul with that one.
I ordered an iced Ultra Caramel and got one of those big chocolate chip cookies, too. I was in a good mood the rest of the day. | “Tell us where it is, Sanchez, or we start chopping heads.” Schlomere says in a voice that resembles gravel on sandpaper. He waves his knife in the air to make his point; the blade glints brightly in two different places from the dual suns that hang in the sky above Woblobpolis. “Starting with your son-in-law.” Schlomere adds.
“What? Me? No, no, no.” My son-in-law, Jerry, begins to plead. “Tell them what they want to know Rick. It can’t end like this!” Tears stream down his face. Jerry starts to ramble “I have kids. A wife! And I just started watching Sharp Objects, and I can’t die not knowing what song played in the car.”
“It was Led Zeppelin. Jesus Jerry, I told you that a hundred times.” Beth yells, struggling against the two men holding her arms.
“Really?” Schlomere asks, momentarily lowering his weapon. “They got the rights for that? They must have a lot of faith in the series.”
“It’s kind of a thing HBO is doing now.” I say, “At least in Westworld they got creative and took a bunch of Radiohead songs and turned them into piano and organ pieces. But now, it’s like, they’re saying ‘look what songs we know’.”
I would wave my hands around to mimic the execs at HBO but my arms are tied to a pole above my head, so I just wiggle my fingers. “I mean, the first episode was more music video than actual television.”
“Well, I liked it, dad.” Beth says.
I squint at my daughter; the dual suns making it look as if she were standing in an array of floodlights. I open my mouth to make a witty reply, but then I pause as I realize I don’t have anything. I stomp the heel of my shoe against the hard concrete, and I feel the Chronoblom I have hidden there shatter.
Everything around me freezes in place. A single tear clings to Jerry’s cheek as if unsure which way to go- like the imbecile that created it. Schlomere has his free hand under his chin looking thoughtful as if considering our critic of the show, and whether he’ll take time to watch it. In the distance, I see trees stuck at full sway as if trying to grow sideways.
The Chronoblom has a short half-life and the world rushes back into movement. I look at Beth and say, “Well, if you love it so much, why don’t you marry it.” I smile as Schlomere begins to chuckle.
“Aw jeez, Rick,” My grandson begins to moan. “Did you just waste your only Chronoblom to think of that? Couldn’t you have used it to, like, free us, or something?”
“I can’t just use a hidden device that no one knows about to save us, Mooorty. That’s bad story-telling.”
----------
edit - man, aw geez, I just realized that the time-stop was supposed to be as long as the character wants from the prompt. My bad.
| 2018-07-10T09:04:32 | 2018-07-10T07:07:35 | 244 | 98 |
[WP] You invited people to your mansion without telling them they would be part of a killing game, the doors are locked, no way to escape until there is only one, problem is: the mansion is really nice and no one really wants to leave | As a rich man I get bored, so I created a killing game, a nice simple killing game where the only goal was to be the last one standing. It was so simple even a baby could grasp the concept. Apparently the nimrods I had invited were to preoccupied with all of the activities I had in my mansion. It was all my fault really, I just thought they would grow weary of one another company... It must be a defense of the poor when they had to hobble together. But it had been over 3 weeks and so far the only ones dead were from alcohol poisoning. So I needed to change the problem, if being stuck in a mansion was considered a reward then...
"Guests!" I announce wearing my party mask, it was supposed to provoke fear but the guests cheered.
"It appears you have been having a little too much fun..."
"Yeah!" They cheer in unison, throwing some expensive artifact at my stage.
"...So I've decided to change the rules. This game isn't about who can leave, it's about who gets to stay." I can't believe it came down to this. The crowd looked at me like ***I*** was the mad one.
"Whoever is the last man standing keeps the mansion." I explained waving my hands dramatically. The crowd murmured, some guests looked at bottles in their hands as if they were ready to begin killing.
"Or, we could continue to PARTY!" A large man shouted from the back, he was met with cheers and I gave up. I got my phone and rung 911.
"Hello? Yes the people at my party are refusing to kill each other."
"What?"
"I mean leave." I lied quickly. The police soon came, then got distracted by the dead bodies I had forgot about. | It was a devil's deal, but we all knew it coming in...
The sunsets really are amazing though.
There's a breeze gently breathing out over the sea as the sunset, nearly touching the mountains towards the west. It's not late enough in the season yet, but it was pointed out to us, every sunset was a little further north along the horizon and closer to that point. The uncertain point where this should end
Looking over, I can see Barnsley is lost in the sunset himself, gazing over the water.
is he having the same thoughts?
Glancing to my left I could see Claudia sitting at her place on her balcony, and she looks peaceful, also gazing over the water..
I had inadvertently marked Claudia in my mind when I first met her - it was clear she was a woman torn - angry and mistrustful. Over the months it was clear that she wasn't the cold machinist of social unrest that I first perceived, but someone long beaten and assaulted - she had a long life of betrayal and mistrust.
I think now that I love this woman. She could never be the matriarch of this little party of ours, but she has a certain seniority. She earned her peace. I can almost feel her pain with her demons voices constantly reminding her of the wrongs done by her..
We all have demons. We knew the one who brought us here was lying, we could taste the lies on the air, and struggled to see the truth behind it, but failed to see an alternative
Down by the beach, Graham walked slowly, not far from the boathouse, his gaze also leaning toward the shimmering stretch of light as the sun crept ever lower. He too, understood, that with each passing day, passed lower in the sky, and crept along the horizonand little further. Eventually the sunset would touch that mountain peak, and it would be time, the season will be over.
Did we fear death?
No one feared death here..
The suffering we had endured was enough for any life, and we sought rest, nothing more, and we were promised what? All we received was a beautiful purgatory..
This here is place of peace, and yet, in our peace, we knew it was limited, and what came after, was .. undiscovered | 2018-09-02T16:59:25 | 2018-09-02T15:36:19 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has happened 2 years ago, and when you are cornered by one of them you panically bite them, and they become a human again and ask whats going on. | Suddenly the zombie attacking me stops. It falls onto the ground - not as a living dead - but as a living… living.
To be more precise, a young woman about the twenties. Her long hair slowly fades from pale white to off-yellow, but her clothes remain tattered, and her body still covered in bruises and bite marks, including the fresh set of toothprints I just now accidentally caused on her forearm.
It takes her a while to realise what just happened. And when she does, she lets out a screech. I quickly tell her to quiet down.
"What happened?"
"The zombie apocalypse happened two years ago. You… were one of the victims."
"Were?"
"Well just now I bit you on the forearm and…"
Reminded of her most recent injury, she screams again, in pain.
"Ouch, that hurts a lot! What the hell?!"
"At least we know how to un-zombify the Walkers." I cheekily retort.
"Oh yeah, Walkers… what happened to the show?"
Surprised at how quickly she snaps out of her pain, I reply: "Uhh… Cancelled within the first month of the apocalypse. Production crew and half of the cast became actual zombie food."
"Damn it, now I don't know what happens to Nick…"
"We have more pressing matters though. This place we're in is infested with them, so we have to find a way to get out of here and back into the Green Zone…"
"Green Zone?" She asks curiously.
In the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, many impoverished countries perished as they were lacking in medical technology. Larger, wealthier nations survived unscathed by going isolated. And stuck in the middle, countries like mine.
"Pretty much what's left of this country quarantined the infected areas and gathered in a massive bunker complex. If we get there, I can get the medical crew to treat your wounds."
"Yeah. And I really need a change of clothes… Say, why don't we lure and bite any zombie that happens to walk by?"
"We haven't the transport capabilities to carry this much people back. And the shelter is already bursting at the seams…"
Even in these times, the greedy continue to trample on the needy. So called "reservations" by the so called "elites" just so they could afford breathing space. The saving grace being not all of them are this selfish. A few of the more altruistic rich men have worked together and hired the more able-bodied dwellers to construct expansions of the bunkers, promising living space and remuneration. So far, they have kept to their word, but there's no telling if any one of them would back off and join the reservationists. And between both sides of the fractured society, more and more survivors have joined.
My train of thought is derailed by the sounds of footsteps. Another horde is coming. I ask the lady to stay low, not noticing she has taken a few steps ahead, limbs spread into a predatorial pose.
"TIME TO DE-WALKERISE THESE SONS OF BITCHES!"
Sigh.
| The hall was wet with the smell of blood. A ghastly stench emanated from multiple rooms, their doors open with hints of movement inside each one. Barry shuddered, trying his best to hold in his breath and not make a sound as he limped along the walls. A throbbing pain came from his left leg, where he could see bone jutting out. He looked away and whimpered, the pain threatening to expose him in the dank hallway.
He knew this was a bad idea. He should of protested more, of course the hospital would be filled with these things. It's in every cliche zombie movie ever, where the humans need supplies but the place they're located in is just infested. This was so fucking stupid. Barry was intent on giving Clay an earful when he makes it out of here.
If he makes it out of here.
Tears begin streaming down Barry's face, the whimpers and sobs blending in together forming one weird sound that made it sound like he was choking on something in the back of his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was suppose to have easily gotten to the supplies, he was suppose to rendezvous with Clay and friends in the eastern exit near the stairwell, and he was suppose to get the hell out of there.
He wasn't supposed to have fallen down from the elevator shaft and completely fucked up his leg.
As he limped forward, finding anything familiar to him, a low growl came from behind. Barry's body jolted in fear and panic, and he stood completely still. He took a deep breath, his body going numb and cold. He turned just a tiny bit before feeling a hot burst of pain on his neck. A mangled arm held him in a deadlock, and out of fear and surprise Barry used the only weapon at his disposal. He bit into the zombie's arm, the texture coarse and rough, like biting into a shedding snake. The zombie let go and with a loud thud fell on the ground. Barry slammed into the wall, heavy breaths trying to hold himself up.
This was it. This is the place where Barry E. Clarke would finally die. Three years after the end of the world, his time finally came.
Barry slid down the wall and sat down. He couldn't feel his face, except for the hot tears that starting dripping down from his eyes. He looked to his right, where the zombie was starting to get back up, and a sobbed escaped him.
"Oh, Clay. I'm so sorry." Barry looked at his old friend, his blue polo shirt stained with blood, a chunk of flesh ripped out near his shoulder. Bright yellow eyes glowed in the dark, staring but not looking. He was now back on his feet, a low guttural sound constantly coming from his lips. Barry closed his eyes, not attempting to hide the pained sobs that escaped him.
He never got to tell him. It's too late.
A step.
Clay wa-
No.
The zombie was getting closer, footsteps echoing throughout the hallway. The other zombies already thought he was done for. They didn't even bother.
Another step. This one right in front of him. A deep breath, a step.
Then silence.
"B-Barry...?" A familiar voice. He looked up.
Two pairs of eyes. One familiar and one tired.
Confused and relieved.
Worried and confused.
The blackness of the edges expand as one opens and the other closes, leaving the other alone. | 2018-12-17T01:57:27 | 2018-12-17T00:45:11 | 110 | 41 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | Jarumel, newest of the Seraphim, had been reminded not to hesitate to ask any questions about his new role as a Heavenly Scribe. He studiously attended to the initiations, made a note of every query which perplexed him, then finally approached Metatron for guidance.
“Metatron,” he said, stylus gripped tightly between his fingers, “I have returned with a puzzle I cannot resolve.”
“Would it happen to be about Human 42,845,275?”
It was, and Jarumel was unable to contain his surprise. “You really do know everything,” he said.
“Oh, not everything. But it is clear to me that you pay very close attention to his interactions with God, more so compared to all the rest who pass through the Heavens.” Metatron smiled, then reclined upon a nearby cloud. “Well, I don’t blame you. ‘275 is certainly a very interesting individual. But come, I would rather hear it in your own words. What about ‘275 stood out for you?”
“Well… I suppose the first thing which caught my eye was that ‘275 was always… anguished, if that is the right word, when he faced the final reckoning,” said Jarumel. “He consistently leads better lives than so many others. He is frequently richer, more privileged, more accomplished, more decorated. I don’t think I’ve seen him live one life in the last twenty reincarnations where he failed to contribute a net positive to the people around him. And that’s why I cannot figure out why he always breaks down and cries when he is shown the summary of his time on earth. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Other humans behave differently, you mean?”
Jarumel nodded. “Almost certainly. There’s usually relief to begin with, once people realize that they are going to have another chance to lead a new life on earth. Even the ones who have fallen short. And everyone cheers up once they are given the chance to choose which trait they wish to have more of in their next lives.”
“I suppose they are excited to know that life can get better,” said Metatron.
“Oh yes. Everyone picks something which they lacked in their previous lives,” said Jarumel. Here he paused as he consulted the scrolls in his hands, scanning through them as they unfolded and refolded at dizzying speeds. “The vast, vast majority do so, at least. Those who lacked charm, chose charisma. Those who persevered through poverty, chose business acumen. Those who struggled physically, chose sturdy constitutions. The patterns are undeniable.”
“And what did ‘275 choose this time?”
The frown stitched itself into Jarumel’s forehead. “That’s the thing. ‘275… has a habit of choosing traits which are hardly popular at all. I mean, humans only get one chance each time to improve one quality. They have to work pretty hard to get back in line here in heaven, and so I can understand that they prioritize having certain traits over others. And the traits which ‘275 keeps focusing on…”
“Was it wisdom this time? Or courage, perhaps?”
Jarumel laughed. “Nothing escapes you, Metatron. No, it was benevolence this time. And sincerity the last time he was up here. Then wisdom, then courage. And then the cycle repeats. Just those four traits, over and over.” Jarumel sighed, then plopped himself down next to Metatron. “I just don’t get it. How am I supposed to be a good Scribe if I don’t even understand what it is that these humans are thinking? Why is ‘275 acting so aberrantly?”
“Well,” said Metatron, “you have to cast your mind a little further. Ask yourself, what is ‘275 so upset each time he reviews the summary of his life? Why is he seeking improvements in those specific traits?”
“The first part is easy enough – ‘275 is an achievement fiend. He’s not satisfied with just being… let’s see here… a top-ranking athlete, or a titan in his industry, or the leader of his local community. He wants more. He wants to be at the very top.”
“Yes, but he has actually reached the top countless times before, and that still wasn’t enough. Tell me, when those four traits manifest strongly enough in a human, what is the usual result?”
“A leader, of course,” said Jarumel. “That is straightforward enough. And that’s why I don’t get it. He is the best that he can be in so many of his lives, and yet-”
“And yet it is not enough,” said Metatron. “Here’s something for you to think about – ‘275 is not upset when he hears about the achievements in his life. No, he’s upset because he finds out just how… little his actions have impacted the others around him. With all his abilities, with all his good intentions, he always falls short of his own expectations. He wants to hear that he has managed to leave the world a better place than when he found it, and it gnaws at him when he realizes he could have done more. There’s still pain, there’s still strife. It is never enough for him.”
Jarumel couldn’t help but laugh. “Does he think he can save the world? On his own?”
Metatron shrugged. “Who knows? If a rivulet ran down a mountain to be a lake, and the lake pooled until it became a river, and the river gouged until it became the sea… would you be able to know at which point it had changed?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| "Stubbed Toe Avoidance?" I stared in disbelief at the floating egg before me. "Wow, there really is a stat for everything, is there?"
From the pure whiteness surrounding me, there came a booming laugh. The egg shook slightly, looking as amused as any egg could get. "Yes, Ugg112358, there's a stat for just about any random quality you can imagine. About a Graham of them, to be exact."
"A... Graham?"
A slight popping sound occurred as the egg suddenly morphed into a small Rubik's cube. "Graham, I believe, is the name of the mathematician who came up with Graham's number. A number which, purely by chance so happened to match the number of qualities humans can change about themselves."
I stared blankly at the unsolved Rubik's cube in front of me. A sudden urge to pick it up and solve it crossed my mind, but I pushed that urge away, just in case this whole "God is real and apparently changes forms so as not to explode our human minds" thing, which a rather oversized parakeet explained to me not 10 transformations ago, proved to be true. Instead, I took a tentative step backward, trying to take in the absurdity of my situation.
"Okay, I know I've asked this four times-"
"Six, actually, if you count the number of times you've thought about saying it." The Rubik's cube before me replied, as it morphed into a Brachiosaurus.
Scrambling backwards, I let out a high-pitched yelp which I was less than proud of, as I tried to avoid getting crushed by the humongous dinosaur suddenly appearing before me.
"Whoops," the Brachiosaur rumbled. "Forgot to warn you. Anyhoo, to answer your question for the sixth time, yes I am what you might call 'God', although you can just call me Ted. Like the Talk, y'know? And yes, this is sort of like a Heaven, but its a rather boring sort of Heaven. Think of it as a waiting room until people like you get reborn."
I blinked twice after I managed to regain my footing. "And there are... points I get based on what I've done in my previous life on Earth?"
The Brachiosaur vanished with another pop. Instead, the booming voice continued. "Yeah, and like, there are stats you can increase for your next life on Earth. Oh, and I'm what you would call an ant now, so try not to squish me, okay? Last time I died, it took me three whole days to respawn."
"Believe me when I say that I have a whole lot to process here, dude - I mean, ma - sorry, I mean God?" I squinted at the floor, trying to find the ant.
"Ted. Like from the Ted Talks. Fun fact, did you know the Talks were named after me? Yeah, the guys who created these were so stoned, I decided to have a little fun, name a bunch of cool talks after myself."
"O-okay, then. Ted. I have so many questions, and I just need a minute to get my thoughts together."
Suddenly, a guitar appeared out of seemingly nowhere. It was an odd shade of pink, and as I walked over to it, seemed to be missing a few strings. "Take all the time you need," said the guitar. "It's my first time doing this, anyways. Most of the time I just appear as a piece of paper."
"Wait, what?" I stepped dead in my tracks, feeling even more confused than when I first appeared in this place.
"Yeah, dude! I mean, Ugg112358. Protocol says I should use the name of your first incarnation, but since you're going to be my replacement, let me just call you... Bob. How's that sound?"
"So I'm not getting... reincarnated? Is this like... the end?"
"Yep," said the pink guitar, now a clump of blue lint on the floor. "You're going to be the next me, actually. You're the only one to get all my stats correct!"
I picked up the blue lint, only half believing the crazy stuff I heard. "What do you mean, get your stats correct? Does this have something to do with the stats I have?"
"Yeah!" The blue lint danced out of my grasp, falling to the floor as a tiny field mouse. Skittling around my feet, the mouse now continued to speak. "356.7 in Matchstick Lighting, -12 Guitar Plucking, 394 in Harry Potter Knowledge, 69 in Stealth, 420 in Lawnmowing... well the list goes on. I have no idea how or why you managed to get those stats all to agree with those I picked when I first got the job, but you - or I should say all your incarnations did!"
I felt as if I had just been hit by a bombshell. "Wait wait wait. Is this a joke?"
The field mouse vanished, and in its place appeared Morgan Freeman. "Certainly not, dear Bob."
"Your voice-"
"Ah, yes. When I'm in this form, I like to use my true voice to speak. I find the previous one slightly too... intimidating. You'll see, when you get my powers."
"Wait. I get to be... you?"
Morgan Freeman winked at me, then snapped his fingers. "The instructions will all come to you with your powers. You'll know what to do. Good luck!"
And with that, he vanished. No pop this time.
I looked down at myself. I was seven - no, eight feet tall. I had purple skin, and wore an intricate suit of gold battle armour. On my right hand was a gauntlet with six gems inlaid into it. As I felt the power of Ted surge into my veins, I grinned and stared at the Infinity Gauntlet on my hand.
"This does put a smile on my face." | 2019-01-24T08:27:56 | 2019-01-24T08:06:38 | 253 | 57 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
| "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
These words silently flashed across the monitors of the stunned crew on Earth, their blinking the only sign of life in the still control room.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
He was first to break the silence.
"Think they got it?" said Marc, turned away from me and staring distantly out the window, as if trying to spot the transmission floating through space.
I swung around in my swivel chair and lit up a cigarette, taking advantage of our newly habitable atmosphere. "I sure hope so."
The smell of the lit match reminded me of home. Only ten left. Of course, we weren't supposed to bring anything flammable, but I couldn't help but sneak them onboard. Had the mission failed, it certainly wouldn't have been due to a matchbook.
"You know, you really shouldn't smoke those."
I chuckled. "Why, cancer? We just took the biggest risk of our lives, I think I can afford a smoke."
"No," Marc said, "because we don't know anything about how the chemicals in cigs may react out here. Might surprise you, but no one smokes on Mars."
"No one *smoked* on Mars," I corrected him with a wink, turning back to the screen. "Looks like the message was received. Now here's hoping they listen. Wouldn't want anyone contaminating the place," I snickered.
"Should we feel bad?"
I quickly spun back around. "Why should we feel bad? We didn't lie. The planet is inhabited. By us."
"I know, and you're right, it's just... I can't help but feel like we're leaving them behind. All of them."
He was right. That's exactly what we were doing, and we knew full well when we started. It's not like I wanted it to be this way. I fought like hell back home. We both did.
I rose from my seat and joined him at the small, round window, standing close. "We are. But no more than they've abandoned themselves."
I gently turned Marc by the shoulder and led him over to the airlock lever, nodding a gesture to pull. Slowly, he reached down and opened the doors to our new world. The first two inhabitants of Mars, ready to begin humanity's new chapter. | DO NOT SEND RESCUE
I rubbed my chin as I read the words up on the screen, and then raised my hand. The Captain standing at the front of the room acknowledged me. "Yes Martin?"
I gestured towards the screen. "If the final transmission from Horizon was essentially 'don't come,' explain to me why we're going there?"
The Captain sighed. "Because, on the off chance there are survivors, we aren't going to abandon them... and I would be lying if I didn't say the Company wants us to recover some of the more expensive equipment as well."
A few murmurs drifted through the room. I spoke again. "So what are we up against? Do we have any idea what's waiting for us down there?"
The Captain frowned. "We don't have any planet-side intel. Whoever sent this last message didn't even have time to add a period, much less any useful information."
"Is this some kind of joke?" I scoffed. "I'm not taking my team on a suicide mission for the sake of recovering a few toys."
The Captain grit his teeth, looking like he was about to lose his cool but he gathered himself. "... The Company has already spent several million dollars sending you and your team out here. You WILL be going down to Mars, or you WILL be answering to the Company's Station Code. I've been told the brig here on the O.W.L. is pretty lackluster."
My mouth twisted at that. My team of mercenaries and I didn't owe the Company any loyalty, but here on the Orbital Watch Locus above Mars, the Company had legal authority to enforce its own code of law.
I sighed. "Well then I guess we don't really have a choice." I turned in my seat to face my four-man team. "The briefing we just received will be sent to each of your data pads. Review it tonight, and then get some rest. We drop planet side tomorrow at 0600." I turned back towards the captain as a cacophony of metal chair legs scraping the floor screeched through the room.
"Thank you for being reasonable," the Captain sneered.
"I want a full list of the equipment at our disposal. We will take what we need at no charge. You will have extraction on standby for the entire duration of our mission. Is that clear?" I demanded.
"Of course! Anything you need, Martin, you just let me know. As long your boots hit the ground, the entirety of this station's resources are yours."
I nodded, and then stood and followed my team out of the briefing room. In the hallway, I stopped at a viewport, and looked down at the red planet beneath us.
From the moment I was offered this job, I'd felt a twist in my gut; I really hoped I wouldn't regret taking this mission.
Story continued at r/TheCornerStories | 2019-01-31T07:54:22 | 2019-01-31T05:07:56 | 2,633 | 776 |
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world. | Unit 2782320 EnvironUnit 912 Actual on report on the 3rd satellite, they call Earth, from the star known any them as Sol.
The inhabitants of the Earth still remain biological units. Having not yet transferred their mords to firmware they are bound to a single lifespark.
--cut through slow scene of human larva they call babies to death and the ancient practice known as burial--
Unawares of this or perhaps uncaring they bravely engage in tribal warfare with each other attempting to end the life spark of each other for no gains.
--move to scenes of tribal warfare using projectile weaponry--
The primitively tribalistic culture also permits predators that can snatch their lifesparks in mere moments to walk among them. Even more daring some actually enjoy seeing these predators even closer. They actually seem to enjoy putting their own lifespark in peril.
--cutting to bears and sharks and people swimming in oceans near sharks--
This ancient culture still engages in the ancient practice of sex. They seem to worship the act of sex as a huge amount of their global information networks are jammed with images and videos of sex being enabled by others.
--show clips from the global information network--
While few calls have been made to incorporate this culture into the galactic network the amount of music and artwork that pours from this culture is astounding. They are tirelessly in production of millions of forms of entertainment.
--cut to scenes of music types, languages, and art from them--
Not having a single language to communicate the individual lifesparks must audibly communicate in the ancient style. With over seven billion sentient units speaking audibly with over 59 languages being spoken. Many with alternate dialects. You could imagine their world being noisy and it is!
--cut to fast paced scenes of cities and languages and warfare --
Still dwelling in thier world was the most excitement this unit has had in a millinea. They almost invite you to risk it all for a pointless endeavor. They live fast and often die incredibly fantastically. They are almost a parody of the lifespark itself as if they had an alternate lifespark awaiting them elsewhere.
Unit 2782320 EnvironUnit 912 Actual on report on the 3rd satellite, of the star known as Sol. Signing off. | ### Humanity: Special For Exactly One Reason
#### They're the most absolutely full of themselves species in the entire universe.
Space is unimaginably vast. This is a simple fact: from the puniest Rentinn to the most mighty Telonn, all species know of the terrible vastness of space and their comparatively minute presence within it.
Well, *almost* all species. For the next 90 minutes, I'm going to introduce you to a plucky little species that thinks they're just the best thing since sliced bread, an invention they also think they made before anyone else did.
Yes, they believe this despite the universe having existed prior to their arrival for over 13 billion years.
Humans!
Let me tell you about a planet. This planet has a mean surface temperature of 735K, has a *day* that's longer than its *year*, has an air pressure equivalent to nearly a kilometer underwater, and, oh yes, its atmosphere is made of sulfuric acid.
No, that's not Humanity's homeworld. Humans live on the planet next from their star, and, despite knowing all of the above facts, believe that *their* world is some kind of hell-world.
Yes, the world with the beaches, the temperate (and abundant!) water, the seasons, and basically all of the conditions necessary for life in general and thus conditions that a great many of our species *also* enjoy on *our* homeworlds! They think that's what makes up a hell-world.
Oh, it gets better. Humans also believe the following:
* **Only Earth has predators!** Considering that competition for resources is literally the driving force behind evolution, this is not only short sighted but actively silly. Intelligence tends to come as a result of improving one's predatory abilities and/or improving one's ability to escape from predation.
* **Only Earth has bad weather!** See above re: Venus. Also, they have apparently never seen a Gas Giant before. I imagine the helium-infused species watching this are finding this belief especially humorous, given their planets feature storms larger than Earth itself.
* **Only humans suffer from contagious disease!** This is actually true, but it's only because they haven't advanced enough to improve their immune systems. I'm not sure why they think suffering from a cold gives them some kind of tactical advantage, but at this point this is hardly the most baffling thing.
In conclusion, if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that humankind is absolutely right about it being home to an unbearable hellscape, but it's not the planet that's at fault. No, it's not the planet so much as the species itself that is insufferable. Or, to use their own words:
"Hell is other people." | 2019-02-07T22:09:52 | 2019-02-07T19:58:44 | 174 | 20 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | *Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury* | I used to be a super villain, but facing off against hero’s wasn’t something indirectly did. With my power I did best with quiet operations. I can manipulate my own body. I usually use this for changing my appearance, but I can manipulate my muscles for combat. However, recently I haven’t been doing that as much. Recently I have just been trying to go out with my girlfriend, Camila. It’s been six months since I had gone out with her on a normal date and it was our fifth anniversary, so I decided to do something special. She knows what I do, in fact that was what happened on our third anniversary, and probably why she hasn’t left me yet.
“We really don’t need to do this,” Camila said.
“No really, it’s fine. I changed my appearance so even if one of them walk by while in their normal life they won’t be able to tell. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for once and not post about our date on social media. As long as True-sight is out their they will know it’s me even if I became a women.” I said
Our food came and we were having a really fun and enjoyable dinner. We were having dessert and I asked for the bill when a certain someone came barging through the door. It was a man dressed in a black and red leotard and a metallic fanged mask. It was Pyrus a super villain with super strength and pyrokinesis. “Alright all of you on the ground now!!” He yelled.
“Get down and post a picture of our date, I’ll distract him,” I told Camila
“But you’ll get hurt, if not by him than the heroes who come to stop you,” She said
“I prefer that over you getting hurt for what I do any day, besides I have a plan” I said as I changed my form and walked up to Pyrus.
“I said on the ground, or do you want an early cremation,” He snarled at me.
“Well,” I began to say before being interrupted by a new person barging in followed by two other people.
“Because now your a hostage,” Pyrus snarled at me as he grabbed me.
I then got a better look at the three heroes. The one in the front was Hydros, Pyrus’s nemesis. The two flanking him were his sidekicks, Psyche and Knuckle, two twins who had psychokinesis and super strength respectively. “Let that hostage go Pyrus or do I need to remind you why I’m called Hydros” Hydros proclaimed loudly.
“Is it the best water based pun you could come up with, because if so you are terrible” Pyrus laughed “If you take one step closer I am going to fry this hostage!” As he said it he flared up his hand and I could feel the fire itself.
“And if you do it matters not, one less villain for us to worry about” True-Sight said as he appeared behind Hydros. “That is no civilian that is Face, the shapeshifter. Approach as you please Hydros,”
I felt the heat go away as the ground came closer to my face until I fell onto the floor. “That changes nothing I still have other hostages,” Pyrus said.
I think I’m just going to stay on the ground and wait until Pyrus and Hydros fight them I’m going to sneak out of here. Then I heard Camila scream. “Now all of you leave or the woman gets it,” Pyrus yelled. I turned my head and saw him holding Camila with fire bursting from one of his hands.
He was turned away from me so I silently got up and slowly approached him. Using my power I increased my muscle’s mass and power by 50%. “Unhand her now.” I commanded.
“Or else what,” Pyrus said. “If you want her so much then you should realize I can kill her at any moment. Crush her neck, burn her alive, or many more fire or strength related methods,”
While he was delivering this monologue I brought my hand up to the shoulder of the arm holding Camila and I crushed it. As Pyrus howled in pain his grip loosened on Camila and I grabbed the rest of the arm and held it behind his back giving Camila the chance to escape. Pyrus then grabbed my head with his other hand and I felt it getting warmer and warmer until that felling was replace by wetness. I felt my body be lifted off of Pyrus in True-Sights signature telekinetic fashion and I was slammed against a booth.
“Looks like you did all the work for us. To thank you maybe I will see about lowering your prison sentence” True-Sight said as he was hovering over me. “But when you get out you’ll probably go back to your villainous ways.”
“Wait, don’t hurt him,” Camila cried as she ran over to my side.
“I’m fine Camila, but are you okay. That’s all that matters to me,” I say
“Yes I’m fine, but now your going to go away and I may never see you again”
“Don’t worry he’s not dangerous enough to go to a super prison, just a maximum watch normal prison. But if he keeps with his robbing he may go for life”
“Don’t worry Norton I am not going back to that life, I think maybe I’ll try heroism.”
“Kept me waiting long enough, brother,” | 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T07:15:35 | 1,144 | 25 |
[WP] “Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It’s not your fault.” He spoke with a gentle tone but he was pissed, not at the hero, but at the gods who send kids and teens to fight him. | After so long, after so many people, you would think you'd get used to the sight of blood. To the sound of someone crying in pain. It doesn't get any easier though. Especially when it's like this.
The child gasped and coughed again, her fingers feebly trying to pull at the piece of rebar that protruded from her chest. Her arms move slowly, her legs, not at all.
"Oh, no." The moan escaped my throat without me realizing. "No, no, no. Fuck." I knelt next to the broken body, cradling her head in my lap. "I'm sorry. Shit. I'm so sorry. You weren't supposed to be a kid. Fuck. What were they thinking?!"
The girl reached for me, her bloodied hands leaving dark stains on my arms. She tried to speak, but a sickening amount of blood rolled out between her lips instead.
They sent a child to stop me, she looked barely able to drive, let alone fight a war, and now I was holding her while she died.
The ogre that had crushed her into the ground stared in horror, first at the girl. Then at his own hands. "Oberon, what do we do?" He asked, his normally strong voice thin in horror and grief.
A spasm wrenched the girl's body, and her nails briefly dug into my skin before her hand fell away, and her body fell mercifully limp and still.
"We make this right, Oghrim," I said, voice low, murderous. "We have played their game for far too long. It is time we reminded these so called gods that their time is ended."
I took the hat from my head as I rose, soaking it in the girl's blood, staining the formerly pristine fabric a dark crimson. Then, with Oghrim, and the other outraged sidhe behind me, I went to war. | I gathered the child-hero to me. Yet another snuffed life, another crushed body to lay at my door. Whispering my spell, I teleported us both away from the field of battle.
Warmth greeted us with the rising scent of loam. It was time for planting. The bundle in my arms lay still, so, so still; the golden halo of hair matted to their forehead, hands hanging loose from an unmoving chest. How *dare* they. This child should be stirring, anxious to be out of my grip, digging bare toes into the spring ground.
Planting themselves to be firm and tall in the conviction of adulthood.
I stalked into my cabin, set just inside the line of trees beyond the fields. The air here chilled: my spell continued to work. A row of beds greeted me, an impossible row made possible only by my disdain for the rules. I called a bed forth to me and lay the latest child down upon it. I stroked his hair. "Soon, little one, it'll all be over and you'll awaken."
Waving my hand, the bed flew back. My assistants would see to his wounds and cleanse him, waiting for the day it was *safe*. Safe from the gods and their petty rules and demands. Safe from the capricious whims of their reality. My hand lingered on the first bed. A young girl, younger than the rest, lay on it, her brown hair fanned behind her head. My assistants had done their jobs well: you couldn't even see the pox-marks anymore. And yet...
A snap found me standing in front of a cage: the first of its type. "Why isn't she up yet?!"
The creature within stirred, gaunt and feeble. If I squinted I could see the shimmering glimmer pulling from its skin and into the cage; I carried the conduit that allowed me access the magic stored within the bars. "I *told* you, life and death is not my domain..."
"And yet I can do all that and more. But I. Can't. Wake. Them."
The figure chuckled and coughed. "I need more belief, just free me and..."
"Spare me your false promises. What did dreams ever do in a land plagued by your kind?" Dream couldn't provide life, but I had been close this last time. Hunt had nearly fallen. Perhaps *he* could give me what I wanted.
And I already had a cage waiting for him. | 2019-07-26T07:52:50 | 2019-07-26T07:22:55 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Communication with the capital city stopped so suddenly that many of the comms officers first thought that the failure was on their side, switching through frequencies, trying to reach the High Council to request orders on how to deal with the Terran Fleet in orbit over Kel'ra Prime. "Is this your first day, get me a connection to the council." the CCO barked at his subordinates as the speakers delivered only static, the noise beginning to irritate him, one of the more senior officer chiming in that he wasn't able to get a connection either, nor was anyone else.
"Sir, we have a satellite near the capitol that wasn't destroyed by the Terrans. We're linking up to it now." a Sat-Comm tech interrupted the CCO, a large monitor wall flickering as the picture changed, showing the capitol city from orbit. Confusion spread among the people in the room as everyone was staring at the monitors, the only thing visible being several black craters where the proud city once stood, where nearly a billion Kelians lived and worked. "Is that a joke, where is the city?" the CCO asked, his voice rising with anger, thinking that the Tech had made a mistake when linking up to the satellite.
"No Sir, the link is stable. That is a live fed from the satellite." the senior Comms Officer reaffirmed as well as two other techs who confirmed the stable link. "Then what happened? Where is the capitol?" he asked, his confusion growing with every passing moment as the satellite moved on, following its orbit around the planet, the ruins of the capitol city moving out of the cameras field of view.
As the Kelians speculated what was going on, trying to make sense of the images they saw, a bright, blinding flash of light suddenly drained out everything the satellite camera saw for a brief second, illuminating the room in a white shine. "What the....Sat-Comm, status! What just happened?" the CCO shouted, staring at the monitors as the image came back, a mushroom shaped cloud rising from the center of the city, or what was left of it. "By the Elders.....those....those insane Terrans. They razed the city in one attack."
After the Kelians had surrender to the Terran empire, soon two words would spread over their planet and soon after the galaxy, spreading horror and fear over the destructive power they described, a destructive power that nothing could stop, 'Thermonuclear Weapons'. | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
​
///Yes ///No | 2019-12-19T04:17:04 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | "Please leave us alone" they said. "don't force us to use our strongest weapons". "save your species" they cried.
We laughed. Their perspective on warfare was that a bigger gun is always a stronger gun, and that might have held some truth, if their kinetic weaponry would be able to deal any damage at all to our energy shields. Their strongest weapons? We expected stronger tanks, maybe first attempts on creating mechs or starfighers, nothing that couldn't be handled by a single one of our soldiers in an exosuit. We didn't think of it as a threat.
We were wrong.
It was a single missile. The only things that were off about it were the fact that it was launched from the planets ocean, with no vessel of theirs visible to our visual scanners, and the slight amount of radiation our scanners picked up from it. We were still making jokes about what their "strongest weapon" could be, when it hit our capital destroyer,expecting it to create a small explosion and be gone without doing any harm, as usual.
Instead there was light. And incredibly bright flash of light suddenly filled all camera feeds on our small command frigate, and we lost contact with the destroyer. When the light finally faded away nobody was laughing anymore. Our capital ship, the centre of our fleet, one of the strongest ships in our navy was gone. Debris was flying around and damaging other ships, and we ourselves nearly evaded destruction by enabling the stealth system our frigate was equipped with, and warping to take cover behind the planets moon.
From there we watched in terror as they launched more missiles. They destroyed everything they decided was big enough to be a threat. Besides our frigate, the only ships that managed to escape are a few supply cruisers, and a small recon ship.
Execute me and my fellow officers for desertion, if you want to, judge. I don't care, as any fate is better than what the humans will do to us when they finally get here. | "So you split the atom and then all this crap comes flying out and it decimates entire cities?"
Robert thought being probed by the aliens was intrusive enough but this new line of interrogation was proving more uncomfortable then the intial insertion of the Probulator 9000 he was being subjected to.
"Well, yah pretty much. I mean I don't know any of the details but that's pretty much it."
Other probe administrators had left their operating stations to hear the human's tale. The concept of human warfare was by far the most intriguing and controversial discovery that came from their first visit to earth. It was decided that contact would be minimized with earth after watching war grow over the ages. When last contacted the humans spent much of their money and time and life digging trenches and exchanging small arms fire in an already unfathomably cruel act called war. But famously that war was known as "the war to end all wars" and no further progress was expected in the human art or administration of warfare. Clearly this was not the case. Baffled by the only clear progress humanity had made in generations, the Grand Inquisitor continued his data collection about this super weapon.
"Like a whole city? Like a city the size of the one we beamed you up from? A million plus men, women and children? Just gone forever. And then you can't even safely go back to the place where it happened for a hundred years?"
For a moment Robert wondered how a race of beings who had mastered intergalactic travel hadn't figured out nukes yet and began to ponder if they had ever made any tool of agression or even an act of aggression towards themselves or others. But then the Probulator 9000 zapped his mind back to the line of questioning at hand and he was forced to answer to the best of his knowledge and ability.
"Yah that's pretty much how it works. I mean I don't know how it works and I can't help build you one. Only the smartest among us using the rarest of materials and latest technology could ever..."
"Make us one?" The Grand Inquisitor shook his head. "We don't need one of those. No way do we want to take something potentially used for clean fuel and a better society and then use it to keep our people in constant fear of total annihilation. The worst thing we are ever associated with is the Probulator and I feel bad enough about that." | 2019-12-19T07:46:24 | 2019-12-19T04:46:01 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Only a human could be this mad. For millions of years the Galactic Federation of The Milkyway (GFM for short) had known about nuclear power but since it was not abundant outside of Earth we never thought to use it as a power source. Instead we had just propelled our solar energy techniques to be able to create power out of even the slightest amount of heat. We never could have imagined what nuclear weapons could do to the universe.
We had always kept an eye on the humans, they were after all the only species not to have practical space travel yet in our galaxy. They hadn’t discovered light speed until recently so we were waiting for them to make contact when they figured out how to use it. The plan was for them to discover it and our outpost on Pluto (who’d been watching them closely this entire time) would take a ship down to greet them. What we didn’t realize was they knew about our outpost and were making preparations to destroy the entire planet as soon as they figured out how to travel at light speed. Our team barely had a chase to message the home planet before the fiery destruction blew through their souls.
Shocked, the fifteen countries of the federation took arms to go invade their planet. You had Glorxs and Jurads, natural rivals on the planet Tymes, putting an end to their civil war to help the coalition. The Federations best general even came out of retirement to avenge his brotheran who had fallen at the outpost. Blinded by rage we sent the entire armada their way: five hundred of the newest most deadly destroyers, millions of plasma bombers and fighters, all lead by the fastest planet buster ever made making its maiden voyage.
The battle lasted an hour before it was over. We had barely made it past Jupiter when their hellfire was experienced first hand. Out of the black space came missiles going so fast they barely showed up on our radars. The first one turned the planet buster into splinters. The next one hundred turned the armada into dust. Of the twenty million soldiers sent to annihilate the Humans only seven hundred came back. Their suffering was not over though as they all became sick with radiation poisoning that we often saw from people working closer to suns, mutations we hadn’t ever documented, and burns that left most people unable to move their bodies without splintering their skin.
As we take care of these few unlucky bastards we wait. We wait to see if their hellfire has chased us back home. If it has then I pray we end quicker than these unlucky few. | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
​
///Yes ///No | 2019-12-19T05:25:06 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | The Herald of the Council rose to its microphone. A robotic voice in Galactic Standard came through the speakers.
"We have assembled the Galactic Council; Sector B: Neutralization required. All options: 1) Ground combat. 2) Short-range space combat. 3) Long-range space combat. Option ~~|0) Diplomacy|~~ has been terminated by the Krannoks' unwillingness to give up their illegal collection of Skorollian Crystals. Military strikes on the ground have an estimated 4% chance of success, and space strikes, 2%. X-5 level consequences estimated in the case of failure. A vote will commence in forty seconds to initiate plan 1, 2, or 3. 40. 39."
A buzzer sounded.
All of the Council members turned to the Human representative. Carol spoke into her microphone. "Requesting permission to propose option 4."
"Permission granted," came the reply from the Herald.
Carol continued. "Option 4a) Fusion weaponry strikes. Option 4b) Antimatter weaponry strikes."
The Skorollian representative leaned into their microphone from their seat. "With all due respect, I'd appreciate if you wouldn't make jokes during a \*\*\*FUCKING CRISIS!\*\*\*"
​
The Herald pressed a button and a short sine-wave played. "Skorollian representative muted for one minute. Respect must be paid during Council meetings. Human," the Herald turned to Carol. "Elaborate."
Carol said nothing, but pressed a few buttons below her microphone. The holo-display in the center sprouted up and showed a jet-black fighter unit flying at cruising speed over a digital rendering of a barren moon. "This is option 4a) Fusion weaponry strikes."
The fighter dropped a small metal gray egg-shaped object that sailed down towards the moon. The fighter flew away just before the object vanished in a massive flash, a flash so bright that the hologram automatically dimmed for a moment.
Carol sped up the holo-display and the dust settled quickly, and slowed it back down. Various gargles and gasps were heard throughout the room as the massive expanse of scorched moon was revealed.
Carol looked around at the other representatives with a smug smile. "That's our older technology. Would anyone like to see option 4b?" | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
​
///Yes ///No | 2019-12-19T08:01:35 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 18 | 13 |
[WP]You were born without magic in a prestigious family of witches and wizards. Every day is a challenge to keep people from being harmed from your over protective family when they think someone is bullying you because you don't have magic. | Everyday since I entered school, I try to avoid getting in trouble, as the last time my family heard I was bullied, well...
Let's just say that the open field now has a huge crater.
"Why do they always overreact to even the smallest of cuts...?" I muttered as I was walking down the sidewalk when I suddenly bumped on someone, causing him to drop what he was holding.
It was some strange orb. Probably a magic artifact.
"S-Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." I said to the man as I stooped to pick up what he dropped.
The old man, who looks to be 60 or so with his wrinkles and white hair, just smiled at me.
"Oh no, I don't mind." He said as he reached out to grab the item, only to widen his eyes in surprise.
"Well now, will you look at that." He said, looking at my hand. I followed his gaze and saw the orb glowing a faint white.
"I've spent a thousand years looking for someone who this orb would react to, and I suddenly find him one day while I wasn't paying attention." He laughed.
"Um, uh, what exactly is this?" I said as I held the orb closer to my face, fascinated by the light.
"That, my boy, is a tool that reacts to people with a certain aptitude for Sorcery." He explained.
"There must be some mistake....I'm not able to use magic at all."
"Ah, I guess the magi of this world haven't differentiated between Magecraft and True Magic..." He muttered.
"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"
"Ah, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself." The old man said.
"I, Kischur Zelretch Zchweinorg, the Kaleidoscope, formally appoint you as my successor for the 2nd True Magic." He smiled widely. | You'd think my parents would be a little less protective now that I'm in my late 20s? No. If anything it's gotten worse.
Constantly fussing over every little burn, bruise, or cut I get. It gets old. They have literally threatened kings over percieved insults to me. I just dont care. They can insult me all they want. I have my family and I love them.
I know they love me too. That's why they do it. They make no secret of the fact I'm their son, despite them being two of the legendary mages who took down that Dark Lord Furzan.
Possibly guilt. See, mom was hit by a magic drain spell while fighting Furzan and she didnt know she was pregnant with me. She can't stop worrying that is what caused the magic to skip me. Especially since my little bros and sister are all top notch mages.
Well this time was a little different. The bully was Furzan's Apprentice Balthir. He was smart enough to ambush us with anti-magic wards and spells. He then laughed at them for "now being as helpless as their crippled son". He laughed right in my face.
Horrible breath.
Anyways, I laughed back. He was a little confused and insulted me some more about how without their magic they were helpless.
After he insulted my mom i got mad. Turns out the trick to beating a mage is to make sure they can't speak or concentrate.
I started off with a fist to his Adam's apple. Then bashed his nose in. He tried to run away.
He forgot that being without self-support magic and being part of a family of adventurers makes one tend to be physically fairly fit.
I grabbed him. A few teeth later (and some future stitches for my knuckles) he drew a dagger and lunged at me in desperation. Before I could even draw my own my Dad clobbered Balthir in the head with his staff. Turns out a six foot tall piece of oak hurts.
Balthir is on trial now. Keeping Mom from killing him on the way to jail was the hardest part. Thanks Mom.
https://www.reddit.com/r/BalrogTheBuff/comments/fn0fn3/without_magic_in_a_family_of_mages_rwritingprompt/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x | 2020-02-14T05:55:57 | 2020-02-14T05:02:16 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] The hellish trenches of the Great War were dug rapidly and with very little regard of what came before. So, when the bones of the old gods buried deep were exposed to mankind once again they rose from their slumber. At first the gods were confused, angry. Then, they picked sides. | "Tygrothrop has thrown his lot in with the French, sir".
"The French? What could possibly have interested him about the French? They couldn't charge a nursery much less sacrifice anything worthwhile!"
"Well you see sir, our arcanists have found that one of the Gaul peoples creation myths was a contextualisation of Tygrothrop, the French still have his influence in their minds"
"Influence! what kind of influence could they possibly have that we don't!"
"w-w-well you see sir, Tygrothrop's emissaries demand sacrifice. The entities sworn enemy is Milthris sir, as the reports clearly say, and as the etymology of Milthris is based on our contextual understanding of Mithril, the nordic denominations say that bec-"
"Get to it man, we have a war to win here! Our men are bursting in their boots and half my officers are speaking in tongues!"
"Tygrothrop's ancient enemy is the goose sir. The French are esteemed for their consumption of the goose" | Most modern people had forgotten that the Olympic games were a celebration of and for the great Zeus, King of the Gods. One hundred oxen would be sacrificed to him. Statues and paintings would be made and displayed. Victory songs would be composed and passed down for generations.
They became a political tool of various competing city-states to assert dominance over their rivals.
When the old gods were awakened so rudely by the Triple Entente and the Triple Alliance they were quite chuffed!
Where were the garlands of flowers? Where were the olive branches? Where were the poets, painters, and sculptures? Where where the chariot races!
Nothing but muddy trenches and ugly drab uniforms and helmets that looked like upturned soup pans!
No. *No*, this would not do at all!
Which is how Kaiser Wilhelm II, Franz Joseph I of Austria, King George V, Victor Emmanuel III of Italy, President Woodrow Wilson, Georges Clemenceau and Emperor Wilhelm II found themselves naked, save for a liberal coating of olive oil, and at the starting line of the *dolichos*. They were told that each and every one of them would have to cross the finish line....or there would be dire consequences for their countries.
And after the foot races there would be pentathlon and wrestling!
Huzzah!
​
edited: zombie! Otto Von Bismarck did not represent Germany that day. | 2020-10-06T23:45:02 | 2020-10-06T23:13:50 | 77 | 36 |
[WP] You are hunted by a pale and faceless man that only you can see. The man moves in slow motion. When you sleep at night, you do not dream. Instead you see through his perspective. | Every night, sleeping soundly, I saw me in my sleep. Through the gap in my window drapes, laying on my bed, as if watching from the hedges. Or through the creaking-open door of my bedroom, gazing with stoic patience. Or sometimes, I saw me from directly above myself, as if hovering, secured from the ceiling by rock-climbing belays.
It was him. The pale man, the faceless man, of whom I caught glimpses in crowded malls, just before he faded away. I saw him every day in snatched, phantasmagoric moments, following without walking, as if gliding, like his gait was frictionless, weightless, and right.
He watched me, always. When I walked to work—
Or from the back kitchen of our office cafe, glaring eyelessly as I placed my order—
Or floating sailing beside my car sideways, feet unmoving, as I drove home each night—
He watched me. Always, he watched.
And after realizing it was him in the dreams, I understood I had to take control. I had tried to face him before, challenging him where he followed me, in the breathless moments before he disappeared. I’d chased him, only for him to dispel himself in the crowds or circumstances he had carefully chosen for our meetings. He controlled our encounters. He picked the when, the where, and the how. I was slave to his hunter’s want.
Perhaps night was the better opportunity for a confrontation. I tried the simplest ideas first. I set an alarm for midnight, not with a plan so much as a desire. I’d grab him by the strange pajamas he always wore, I thought. I’d shake the hell of him and demand, like in a ‘80s soap opera, “Why? *Why?”*
The next morning, I woke with my phone on the floor, the alarm timing switched to 54:32. The glitch disappeared as soon as I touched my phone.
I decided to take a page from Home Alone, setting medieval traps with modern appliances. In the morning I found them disassembled, hanging from the ceiling, dropping to the floor when I took my first breath.
Fine. I would confront him in my dreams, then. A friend told me about lucid dreaming. After weeks of patient study and practice, I began to gain control over my sleeping consciousness. All this while, our encounters grew more and more frequent, the faceless man more and more fearless. He was desperate, I thought. As if he wanted the attention. As if, too, he wanted the confrontation.
The progress was inch-by-inch. My sleeping journals thickened. My days grew wearier.
Then, without warning, it happened. I slipped from my waking state into my sleeping state one night, surrendering control of my body without losing control of my thoughts. It felt like being ejected from submarine’s torpedo port, from safe surety into the crushing depths of oblivion.
Just like that, I was him. Easing the front door of my apartment open, gliding soundlessly, motionlessly across my living room, ignoring my sleeping dog. The kitchen floated by, and then the corridor, and before I knew it, I was standing over my bed. I stared at the lump of myself, insensate, canting my head the way a scientist at work might. I’m not sure why I did this. I was the one in control, after all. In a way, I felt like I was fulfilling my own prophecy. Like I was carrying out the parts I was supposed to, on stage, in a play.
The thought struck me: what might happen if I looked at myself in the mirror? What do the eyes of the faceless man see when he looks himself in the mirror?
I glided back through the corridor, down the hall, to the left. I willed myself to turn the light on, but couldn’t. I couldn’t interact with anything, in fact—which explained much about our previous encounters.
Thankful, the ambient glow from the streets without was enough to see by. I floated before the mirror. And what I saw—
What I *saw—*
Ended me.
Because I was *him.* Standing there, before the mirror, faceless and wan. Seeing it woke an unknown terror I hadn’t felt before. It was my final line, before the curtains would be drawn.
With a rising sense of undulating horror, I glanced to the doorway. I saw him. In my clothes, with my face—but him, the same as this faceless man now being *me.*
He was there. I was here.
Stuck.
I tried to scream. I didn’t make a sound. He closed the door, a sick grin on his face. Through the walls, with my feet, I heard him walk away.
/u/AdeptnessPrize | There was once a woman who lived in the sky. This is not uncommon, of course. When you draw close enough and look at them in just the right way, every star is a soul and every planet is a god, humming away in an eternal cosmic background choir.
But this woman was not like the stars who pirouetted around galaxy-courts, giggling and gossiping and scattering glittering jewels of hydrogen in their wake. For she was a night-woman, and she was alone.
This was in the old days, when the universe could still fold up to fit in a god's pocket, if one really tried. Our planet was still a spiraling speck of carbon and rock that spun burning around the watchful eye of the sun.
The night-woman was the color of unlight. The kind of darkness that consumes all color that touches it. She was a shadow upon shadow, and like all night-women, she knew she was meant to exist alone. That was what it meant to be *not*: not life, not light, not loved.
She had made her peace with that--until the day the light appeared.
The light followed her same corkscrewing path, trailing shadowlike after her. It had the thin-shouldered silhouette of a woman who gleamed photonic, her skirts spun around her like distant nebulae. She had no face: only pale light so bright the night-woman pressed her wisped fingers to her eyes when she stared for too long.
And when she caught the night-woman staring, she raised a hand and waved hello.
The night-woman bolted, empty air buffeting behind her like waves, because she did not know what else to do. She wanted to be alone. Loneliness she understood. But this was alien, frightening. It was a hum in her soul old as gravity and older still. Pulling her toward the light.
So night and light spun around and around each other, drawing ever closer. The night-woman would catch herself waiting, watching over her shoulder until the light was following her before she played her aloof game once more.
But space and time sew us together to make our fortunes — and the sky-women were no different.
They knew each other only through the strange secret language of their seeking: hunting and finding, always taking turns. Always searching each other out like night chases day.
Until one day, when the hunting and the hiding and the longing all stopped like an in-held breath. It was the day they came so close together that the night-woman could almost reach out and touch the specter before her whose gown billowed gibbous all around her.
It had to be a dream, although the night-woman longed for it to be real.
They stood on the black air with nothing between them but the distant light of the sun and the drumming of their own hearts.
For a moment, the night-woman saw herself as the light-woman must have: dark and desperate and so very afraid. Fussing with her own skirts which ungleamed like dark matter.
"I've been watching you for a long time," the light-woman said, a smile in her voice.
The night-woman wanted to speak but found only craters where her voice should be.
"It's all right. I've seen you watching me too." The light-woman reached out a brilliantly golden hand and dusted it along the night-woman's fingertips. Her skin lit for a moment before it devoured even the light-woman's glow. "You could have said hello."
"No." The night-woman's own voice surprised her. Thin and weary as a fallen star. "I can't get close to you."
"Here you can."
For the first time, the night-woman dared to wonder where here was.
"Shh. If you worry yourself, you'll wake up again, and we shall drift apart. And who knows how long until we're here again."
Then it was a dream. The light-woman was featureless but her face burned like hope. She held up her hand, and the night-woman pressed her own into it.
"Who are you?" the night-woman whispered.
"I am the light, and you are my shadow. There is no me without you."
The night-woman wanted to press. Wanted to *know*. But more than that she wondered how the heat of light pressed against her would feel. What it meant to exist with another being beside her.
If you had looked up from the rocky shell of the soon-to-be-Earth, you would have only seen the shadow kissing across the face of the newborn moon for the first time.
You would not have seen the night-woman close her eyes and nod. You would not have seen her fall into the arms of the moon and kiss her and keep kissing her until the dream ended and the Earth spun them apart once more.
But the night-woman saw it. She saw it all. And for once, she was glad not to be alone.
***
Idk why I saw this and thought "weird space fairytale love story" but it's what my brain gave me lol x) Thanks for reading! | 2020-12-26T03:30:45 | 2020-12-26T02:07:09 | 188 | 93 |
[WP] You have existed since the dawn of humanity. In a way, at least. Once a simple tribesman, you were cursed so that whenever you are killed by another person, you leave your dead body and become your killer. You fear death by natural causes, as that will end your life for good. | Life is getting harder. For me, anyways. Too much peace and quiet. Sure, there's still plenty of conflicts, ethnic hatreds, and crime ridden slums for me to get by, but it's not as convenient as it once was. And it doesn't show signs of getting any better for me. People these days like to bitch and moan about how awful their world is and how everything is going down the shitter, but they have no idea how hard it is to get yourself murdered in the United States. That takes effort. Back in the good old days I could simply walk to the next village over, insult their local deity, and BAM! Instant stoning. Not the most comfortable way to go but it was certainly entertaining. Even just a few centuries ago it was as easy as challenging someone to a duel. You ever heard of Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr? Now THAT was art.
I remember the first time I died. I was a simple goatherd in what you know as Mesopotamia. My brother Cain did me in. Well, did himself in really. The jealous bastard just couldn't quite keep his temper in check. Once I realized what had happened, my, uh, opportunities seemed limitless. Becoming Pharaoh was easy. God-kings have such fragile egos, and with practice you can eventually goad them into doing the deed themselves. One day I was calling the Lord of the Nile an effeminate eunuch and the next I *was* that effeminate eunuch. However, Egypt was just the first . Emperors and warlords have such a knack for both living by the sword and dying by it. Phillip of Macedon was one of my favorites. Even paid the assassin to stick the knife between my ribs. Julius Caesar? guilty as charged. JFK? The conspiracies theories crack me up. I could list a hundred other names you would recognize in an instant, but it gets hard to keep track of all the people I've been.
Of course, I have not always been the prince. If I planned poorly, or something happened outside of my control, I just as often ended up as the pauper. That was hell. I've been slowly tortured to death seven times. The French Revolution in particular, now that was a shit show. I've been conscripted into armies and worked to death more times than I can count. I've seen some shit.
Speaking of shit, let me tell you about battles. Those are what I can only describe as a bad trip. So many bodies in such a short amount of time. I charged into battle at Marathon a Persian and left a Greek. I swapped bodies several times at the siege of Jerusalem in the First Crusade. At Verdun, I went through thirty six bodies in just as many hours. I saw the horrors of Stalingrad through one hundred and seven pairs of eyes. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN.
You see, most people run from conflict. They seek peace and prosperity and build nations to provide it. I do not. As a result, I see this pathetic race for what it really is. Men are little more than violent vermin, waiting for an exterminator to finish what was started when my brother first laid a hand on me in that field so many millennia ago. So yes, I run to where human life is worth nothing and I don't look back, but those places are getting rarer and rarer. Human conflict is slowly disappearing century by century, my drug of choice withering away, and like any addict about to be cut off, I am desperate.
And desperate times call for desperate measures. Humanity has earned what's coming.
​
​
This is my first post ever. My friend just got me into reddit after showing me the Writing Prompts subreddit, and I just couldn't resist. | For the record, I didn't know it was her sister.
I didn't start out as a rake. That wouldn't be a social branding for many a millennia. No, I bore no blame in what occurred that fateful day. Some would say that surely I had to have known what I was getting into, we numbered so few in those times, anyone who didn't bear a familial resemblance was greeted with much hostility. But I digress, after passing many moons with the same pelt mate, the presentation of the young, ripe, and bare end at the end of the cave proved too tempting an invitation.
The memories of what happened next remain shrouded in mystery, perhaps intentionally so. I have often pondered if I knew exactly what she said when came amongst us rutting like a couple of burly cave pigs, then perhaps I would be able to unravel it. Whatever it was she exclaimed in our rudimentary language before striking me down so swiftly with the same rock (my rock!) I used to fell young saplings, it struck her as much as it struck me. For it was her body I awoke in next.
The first transfer was horrid, the pain erupting from every fiber in my body was exactly enough to unravel my mind. Mind, soul, the things that makes you, YOU, is not some clean, organized object. Ripping it creates frayed edges, the broken seams tearing through precious memories, and reattaching into the next physical form. I awoke with unimaginable guilt, not for sleeping with that supple minx, but for my own murder. And sorrow, overwhelming, unbearably heavy grief. She truly mourned me, perhaps even felt some measure of regret before being usurped.
I have always avoided being murdered for love, the pain of the transfer is quite enough thank you. Although none have been as painful as the first. It was rather difficult for some number of centuries, to get murdered that is. We had only base desires. There was no money, no fortunes, no rich, no inhibitions (again, it seemed grotesquely unfair to be killed for doing the very thing expected of us all). We simply lived to eat, breathe, fuck, and die. We were more free in those ages than any man has been since. We lived in a world of kill or be killed for many ages, as resources became scarce, or as if we began to hold the group back with illness or injury. I quickly realized I could stoically request to be humanely put down by my fellows in those cases, rather than be left to starve. It was a much cleaner death than murder by love or lust. As an added bonus, I could usually land myself a strapping new body. Women always seem overly tight, it takes ages to get settled within one. And breasts, who designed those monstrosities? So fun to look at, but always getting in your way.
Over time I learned to farm, and build, and die in new and exciting ways. We learned that being stronger in numbers, left us weaker in many ways. Religion, superstition, and fear became palpable. Humanity learned war! We always had violence, but we certainly elevated it to unimaginable heights. Murder for gain, murder for wealth, murder for power. I was still getting killed for lust at an impressive rate, but that couldn't be avoided.
Over time I considered just...letting go? Each transfer eroded a little more of my personality. Memories and skills faded, languages gained and lost, pieces of me, pieces of...them? us? We.
I knew, had always known, that if I died without being murdered, we would have nowhere to go. That fear kept us alive, but it didn't let us live. That was our curse, we had all stopped living the moment we cleaved our soul with the next body. I believe that is why I have never loved again, she/me/we won't allow it. I have lusted, and whored, and greatly enjoyed myself across many an era. I even once flung myself into a alley of raucous vagabonds to escape a particularly painful case of genital sores, but I have never loved.
I think that's what I am waiting for. Just to truly be alive once more. Just one more time.
(Author note, this is my first submission. I would live some constructive feedback if possible) | 2021-01-28T19:40:04 | 2021-01-28T17:34:23 | 66 | 46 |
[WP] You have existed since the dawn of humanity. In a way, at least. Once a simple tribesman, you were cursed so that whenever you are killed by another person, you leave your dead body and become your killer. You fear death by natural causes, as that will end your life for good. | Life is getting harder. For me, anyways. Too much peace and quiet. Sure, there's still plenty of conflicts, ethnic hatreds, and crime ridden slums for me to get by, but it's not as convenient as it once was. And it doesn't show signs of getting any better for me. People these days like to bitch and moan about how awful their world is and how everything is going down the shitter, but they have no idea how hard it is to get yourself murdered in the United States. That takes effort. Back in the good old days I could simply walk to the next village over, insult their local deity, and BAM! Instant stoning. Not the most comfortable way to go but it was certainly entertaining. Even just a few centuries ago it was as easy as challenging someone to a duel. You ever heard of Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr? Now THAT was art.
I remember the first time I died. I was a simple goatherd in what you know as Mesopotamia. My brother Cain did me in. Well, did himself in really. The jealous bastard just couldn't quite keep his temper in check. Once I realized what had happened, my, uh, opportunities seemed limitless. Becoming Pharaoh was easy. God-kings have such fragile egos, and with practice you can eventually goad them into doing the deed themselves. One day I was calling the Lord of the Nile an effeminate eunuch and the next I *was* that effeminate eunuch. However, Egypt was just the first . Emperors and warlords have such a knack for both living by the sword and dying by it. Phillip of Macedon was one of my favorites. Even paid the assassin to stick the knife between my ribs. Julius Caesar? guilty as charged. JFK? The conspiracies theories crack me up. I could list a hundred other names you would recognize in an instant, but it gets hard to keep track of all the people I've been.
Of course, I have not always been the prince. If I planned poorly, or something happened outside of my control, I just as often ended up as the pauper. That was hell. I've been slowly tortured to death seven times. The French Revolution in particular, now that was a shit show. I've been conscripted into armies and worked to death more times than I can count. I've seen some shit.
Speaking of shit, let me tell you about battles. Those are what I can only describe as a bad trip. So many bodies in such a short amount of time. I charged into battle at Marathon a Persian and left a Greek. I swapped bodies several times at the siege of Jerusalem in the First Crusade. At Verdun, I went through thirty six bodies in just as many hours. I saw the horrors of Stalingrad through one hundred and seven pairs of eyes. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN.
You see, most people run from conflict. They seek peace and prosperity and build nations to provide it. I do not. As a result, I see this pathetic race for what it really is. Men are little more than violent vermin, waiting for an exterminator to finish what was started when my brother first laid a hand on me in that field so many millennia ago. So yes, I run to where human life is worth nothing and I don't look back, but those places are getting rarer and rarer. Human conflict is slowly disappearing century by century, my drug of choice withering away, and like any addict about to be cut off, I am desperate.
And desperate times call for desperate measures. Humanity has earned what's coming.
​
​
This is my first post ever. My friend just got me into reddit after showing me the Writing Prompts subreddit, and I just couldn't resist. | ‘Shoot me.’
‘I don’t think you want me to, kid’ sighed the middle-aged policeman standing in front of me. His eyes were kind, but his hands didn’t shake holding his old revolver against my forehead.
‘Will I have to make you?’ I asked.
‘Just stay there, don’t move, and you’ll be fine’ he replied while feeling around his huge dark blue jacket, looking for a pair of handcuffs.
It was my last chance. I closed my eyes and ran for my life. Or, if you prefer, for my death. Right before I hit the brick wall behind the officer’s car, I heard a gunshot. Finally.
\*\*\*
My fingers were tightened around the handle of a 1927’s Mauser C96. He was an old-fashioned guy, I supposed. A delicate thread of smoke still hanged from the end of the pistol when I looked down. Right below my armed hand, pressed against the wall, laid a muddy corpse, that I recognized as my previous host’s body. It once belonged to a 19-year-old heroin addict, and had started to deteriorate fast from drug deprivation since I overtook him. I glanced one more time at the lifeless mass bleeding next to my feet. ‘They are just shells, remember that’ I thought to myself. ‘The true act of murder happened when I took his body and dissolved his soul. There’s nothing to look at here’
By the time I turned my back on the corpse, I had already forgotten his name.
It was now necessary to proceed with the usual routine. First, getting to know the new body. I jumped around for a bit. Legs were ok. The dry and cold 4 AM air froze my nostrils and lips, as I took a deep breath while looking at the calm watercourse besides me. Lungs, fine.
Next, I had to find out who I was. I pulled out an old leather wallet from a pocket in my old corduroy pants. ‘Cops must be underpaid’ I thought ‘Why doesn’t this guy go shopping sometime, everything’s so old jeez’. His only credit card, which had expired one month prior, read Mr. John Hampshire. The wallet also contained a pair of carefully folded coffee-stained papers. The first one, which looked like a drawing by a five or six year-old, read “Everything’s going to be alright grandpa!”. I don´t have time for this. I shoved the other piece of paper in my pocket and decided to go for a walk.
It was getting harder and harder to get killed. Back in the Dark Ages, all I had to do was pretend to be a sorcerer of some kind, and would be burnt alive within days. Maximum efficiency for bodyshifters. But now, I could hardly find a gun anywhere, let alone someone willing to use one against me. Hopefully, being a cop would help with the gun part at least.
The sun started to rise. Suddenly, an old lady walking a poodle waived at me excitedly, screaming ‘Finally John, I was thinking I would never see you out of that hospital!’
My heart skipped a beat.
‘Excuse me, what hospital’ I nervously asked.
‘Well, the one I just visited you in last Friday, St. Peter´s! Are you feeling better?’
I wasn’t listening to her anymore. Not another ill body... those were the hardest to get rid of. Family, friends, everyone all around them bringing flowers and praying for their recovery. Praying. No... too much of a risk.
I grabbed the piece of paper inside my pocket and opened it frantically, looking for answers. My breath was cut for a moment.
‘John, are you ok? You’re so pale! Should I call anyone?’
I slowly pulled the Mauser C96 out of my jacket, and handed it to the lady.
‘John, are you insane? Put that away!’ she looked at me anxiously.
‘You are gonna have to shoot me.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Shoot me.’
—————-
Hey guys! I'm new on Reddit. Feedback is appreciated, if you feel like taking the time! 🥰 I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! 🖤 | 2021-01-28T19:40:04 | 2021-01-28T18:10:59 | 66 | 29 |
[WP] "One of the weird things about humans? The moment a war ends, the same human that was shooting at you not five seconds ago is probably the same human that's hauling you to the nearest medical tent." | "It's terrifying. Utterly," Crin declared, staring at the ceiling as he rested upon his sleeping mat, "I mean, imagine a Binti swordsman being that detached. You'd have half the galaxy missing their heads."
"You're thinking about this all wrong," Bosh replied, as he cleaned the chemical residue out of his weapon's reaction chamber. "It's not about the detachment; that's just a side-effect. The terrifying part is why they're so detached in the first place.
"And why is that?"
"They don't want to *be there,* man. Not in that battle, not in that war. None of them. Do you know what that means?" Bosh barely explained. He trailed off for a moment as he foolishly looked down his weapon's firing tube. The lull in the conversation was just long enough for Crin to get a word in edgewise.
"What does it mean? Get to the damn point already."
"It means," the other warrior finally answered, "That ninety-nine out of a hundred humans can be against that war, and you'll still have to fight a hundred. How do you think they've stayed independent for so long as a type one? Their armies don't have a choice, so they can muster enough troops to meet ours, no problem. And they'll still fight like hell, because the alternative is getting chopped in half by one of us. It's like they're mass producing *death*, no heart or soul required."
That thought was so depressing that neither of the two warriors spoke for a long moment. Crin continued to stare at the ceiling, and the only sound in the small room was the quiet clicking and tapping of Bosh reassembling his weapon. Finally, after a few minutes, Crin mumbled, "You gotta stop reading those philosophy books." | “Humanity, fuck yeah!” the injured marine lying on the ground yelled, staring up at Xan’tharr.
Xan’tharr frowned, then slit the marine open from throat to groin.
“They think they are so special,” he said to himself, sighing as he pulled the intestines out for sacrifice to his god.
“Just a sack of meat like the rest of us,” Xan’tharr thought, looking on the battlefield, the dead marines lying out in the field, a scene pregnant with slaughter ready to reap. The Xythrakian scavengers, with beaks that would tear through the marine’s armor like butter, hovered overhead in the swirling pink mist of the planet Xythrax.
Xan’tharr, stood, and stretched. These humans thought they were special indeed. One had told him once, begging for his life, explaining the virtues of his species, that “the moment a war ends, the same human that was shooting at you not five seconds ago is probably the same human that's hauling you to the nearest medical tent.”
As though this wasn’t the same for all even semi-advanced civilizations, he laughed, shaking his head.
No. The one thing that made humans special was their arrogance. Many even thought the universe centered around them, some even that there was only life on Earth. Everything revolving around that tiny little rocky planet—the idea of that made Xan’tharr almost burst out with a laugh.
They shout to the heavens their virtue, that if they weren’t at war with you, they would be trying to save your life. But, of course, they don’t say they were the ones that started the war. Always the ones pushing forward in their never-ending, little-minded greed.
Every single pitiful attribute they possessed—sweating, persistence hunting, adrenaline, standing on two rickety little legs—they felt made them special. They probably felt having one asshole made them special.
What a peculiar species.
It’s as if they were secretly ashamed to be human and had to project a feeling of superiority over others to escape from their existential dread.
*Humanity, fuck yeah!* Xan’tharr repeated the words in his mind.
What a pathetic little species, he sighed, slitting open another marine.
It would be a long day.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-02-04T23:41:34 | 2021-02-04T21:07:56 | 512 | 293 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context. | The slave shrieked one last time and limpened in a pool of blood. The black orb in the middle of the meeting room emitted a short pulse of ultra-violet light, only visible to select councillors.
"What is the emergency?", a deep voice resonated.
Im-Wuz stepped forward, his chitin claws clacking on the floor.
"We've lost contact with our mining outpost, Great One", he buzzed.
"That's beneath my concern", the orb growled. "Send a scouting party".
"Let me handle this", Shih'klooth interrupted. The chief of security slushed forward, casting an angry glance at the insect-shaped fungus.
"Great One, my analysts believe we're facing a dire threat. I implore you to listen what this lowly miner has to say."
The orb remained silent. "Give us your report on that tribe", Shih-klooth whispered.
"As the *head of resources*", Im-Wuz stressed, "I've been receiving intelligence reports from the planet M27OS-3 for the past century. As per nature of such reports, data might be incomplete or come with a delay, but it appears as though the people there have entered the early technological age. I was actually going to propose making our presence known and establish further contact, but this paranoid brute--"
"They're using nuclear explosives!", Shih-klooth yelled.
Other councillors looked at each other, surprised with his ourburst.
"So what?", someone asked. "Everybody uses them".
"The planet is almost completely shielded from the cosmic radiation", Im-Wuz reluctantly admitted. "Life forms that evolved there need heavy shielding to even leave atmosphere -- which, by the way, they apparently have".
There was a murmur in the room. Teying to imagine a life form that couldn't handle radiation was difficult enough, but why would such a race put their own ecosystem at risk..?
"It gets worse", Shih-klooth added. "My guys double-checked your data, and they swear by the name of the Dreaming One: those are not mining charges, those are weapons."
"And that's where you wrong!", Im-Wuz was triumphant. "If you check directories 9134 to 9969 in our report, you'll clearly see that only twice have they used nuclear weapons in wars!"
"And that's exactly why I took it upon myself to call in a meeting of the highest order", Shih-klooth gestured towards the altar where the blood had already vanished. "I can get behind destroying planets or risking your own future to win a war. But we know for a fact that they aren't fighting each other with these weapons. Yet they constantly blow them up - military-grade charges, no less. And on top of that, we've lost contact with our mining party. So I'm asking you..."
He paused, gazing around the council room before finally turning to the sphere.
"I'm asking you - who or what are those people fighting?"
Heavy silence fell onto the council hall. Everyone knew what this question entailed -- and no one dared speak the answer out loud.
Finally, the sphere spoke - its voice still powerful, but with a fleeting dissonance, a slight tremble:
"Forget the mining party. If there's even a distant possibility that we're facing *them*, we can't take any chances. Engage the Dark Matter protocol."
"But, Great One!", Im-Wuz protested. "To shield from a developed civilization we'd have to cut off an entire sector of space, possibly thousands of galaxies! We have other operations in that--"
Shih-klooth winced and looked away. He knew what happened to those who spoke up to the Great One... But it was all for the good cause, he told himself. Those "humans" will never learn that there is anything beyond what they'll see as "the dark matter"... and the rest of the galaxy will never have to face the unspeakable. | "Sir, the science ship Ekrar has just returned from their observation mission". Lanus was a little scared of his boss, he normally doesn't take big interest in scientific exploration missions, but this time he couldn't wait for the results from a potentially inhabited planet, "3AR-TH".
"Get them up here" Lanus' boss commanded. "I don't want them to upload their findings to the mainframe yet". - Lanus answered with a quick "As you wish, sir" as he hurried outside the office to intercept the crew. He had to be quick. His hurting leg reminds him all the way about how his boss handles disappointments. Luckily, he intercepts the crew as they leave their ship.
"The general wants to speak with you about your mission. You are summoned to his quarters." The Ekrar crew followed the order, to Lanus' surprise. "They must know something" Lanus thought to himself. Delaying the upload of scientific data constitutes a federal crime, and they shouldn't be this eager to commit it.
Back at the office his boss carefully locked the door behind them and unplugged the communicator. The commanding officer of the Ekrar started his report:
"As expected, 3AR-TH has vast liquid water supplies. Much of it is enriched with salt, but that can be processed out quite easily. As most of this water reserve is contained in a single basin extraction would be quite easy."
Lanus could see the eyes of his boss lighten up. "That's great news, we'll start right away!" From this Lanus began to understand what he was planning: Collecting a vast water supply to run a military coup. He wanted to take control for quite some time now, but the water for the 7 federation members was stored in an impenetrable fortress, guarded by impartial guards. Even with the full military might you wouldn't get in there so his men would die of thirst. But that of course would be avoided if he had his own water supply, enough to survive the time the fortress could survive without outside supplies.
"There's more." the commanding officer continued "The planet is inhabited by an intelligent species, which calls itself 'humans'. They can fly to space but have yet to visit another planet, they just recently managed to visit their own moon. Two tribes seem to be dominating their planet and both keep each other at bay with the threat of nuclear fission weapons. They seem divided on almost everything but still don't fire their weapons at each other."
"They have access to nuclear fission weapons and don't use them? That's impossibly stupid, with these they could dominate galaxies!" The general was irritated by these news. Lanus heard of nuclear fission weapons before. After the great war they were outlawed and their knowledge destroyed. This primitive species couldn't possibly have figured it out.
The captain of the Ekrar continued. "Sir, we think they are just using empty threats to keep the other tribe from attacking. We have just found two examples of successful use of these weapons against enemies. There are traces of hundreds of other explosions, but all in the tribes own respective terretories, so most likely accidents while trying to develop these weapons. We think this species can't possibly have access to these weapons and got it right just twice by dumb luck. They shouldn't be a threat to our plan."
The general started smiling. "Then it is settled. In 10 hours we shall start the hydroharvester."
A few days later Lanus found himself cleaning the escape pods for his boss' ship. They were en-route to the new planet to collect all it's water, to then run a military coup against the empire. How did he get himself into such a position again? Suddenly an alarm sounded. His pods' door closed and before Lanus could do anything his escape pod left the ship. "What just happened?" he yelled into his communicator. No response. He looked outside the window and could spot the planet they were after. A beautiful blue marble. Then he could spot what looked like tiny rockets fly towards him. His communicator went off: "We're under atta...", then just static. The tiny rockets went past his pod, presumably hitting the ship behind him.
Lanus was scared. This warmongering species was able to conceal their power from the best science crew of the empire. And now they destroyed an armoured ship like it was paper. They were out for blood and his pod was steering right towards them. | 2021-02-17T05:52:52 | 2021-02-17T05:22:35 | 1,252 | 382 |
[WP] You're the villain that the Chosen One is meant to defeat. Once they arrive, you notice they're just a teenager who barely knows how to swing a sword. Angered by your opponents sending children to do all their dirty work, you decide to help the teen get revenge. | \[Ended up being a little sideways to the prompt, but I like the way it turned out, so...\]
"You're all they have left?" It circled the human child, scales rippling with echoes from a millennia of nightmares. Each footfall turned the forest floor to soot and coal. "The best they have to offer?"
Over the centuries it had consumed paladins and warriors, war mages and necromancers. All humans who were skilled masters of their crafts.
And this-- this was not.
The child said nothing but gripped the sword tighter, terrifyingly stubborn in its resolve to die.
"I am the eldest," the creature hissed, rearing up in an explosion of darkness until its shadow swallowed the clearing. "I am the thing of legend. The name only whispered under the brightest sunlight. The first and only fear all men are heir to!"
It wasn't a roar so much as a rage, a fury that drowned all senses until the child cowered before it.
But still held the sword.
"And they told you --you-- that you were worthy of me?"
For a long moment the boiling darkness and the rage were all that existed.
"They told me someone had to die." The child struggled to stand, buffeted by the weight of the primal magics. "Better me than--"
"No." The word rang out with a finality that shattered the rising storm.
The child watched as the creature sank back to the ground, magic and nightmares collapsing in upon themselves until they compacted back into the massive beast.
"I am not death," the creature snarled. "I am *failure*. I am the competition shot you miss, the person you cannot heal, the leap to glory you stumble over because *you aren't good enough*." It circled the child. "They came to me because they chose to come to me, so sure that they'd succeed where all others had failed."
It stopped in front of them --stopped in front of the sword they'd never dropped-- and gazed into their eyes. "I didn't kill them. Some ran away, some went home, some chose not to live, but I am only failure-- nothing more."
"All of them?"
"Yes."
"Years ago, he brought the bodies home. Said you had killed them and only his magic allowed him to escape. So every year since he's gone into the forest with our best and brightest and every year he's brought the bodies home."
"Ah." The creature turned to look down the path the child had walked, scales rippling. "And he's waiting now?"
"Yes."
"Then come, small one, and let's see what his nightmares taste of."
And they brought the bodies home. | “I must say in only 6 months you have exceeded my expectations.”
“Thank you” said Julian before charging forwards.
He sliced down his blade so fast the wind whistled right at my head but I parried it easily with my own blade before pushing him back. Our blades danced in the candlelight of the fighting hall. The only sounds that could be heard were the clashing of swords, heavy breathing and the clinking of armour.
I smirked, “You think an attack like that will hurt me.”
” Let me show you how it’s done.”
I dashed forward, the ground cracking under my feet.
Julian’s eyes widened in surprise at my increase in speed but remained calm.
I aimed for his shoulder but at the last moment shifted my weight and punched him right in the stomach with my fist. Julian doubled over clutching his stomach, wheezing and gasping for breath.
“That’s- that’s dirty!” He said in between breaths.
“Do you think your enemy will show you mercy on the battlefield?”
I sat on the floor cross-legged.
“You have done well, but now it’s time for the final test”
Julian nodded.
He stood straight and extended his sword.He closed his eyes and was completely still. I opened my second eyelids and could see his magical energy rising. The blade began to hum. Sparks began to surface on his blade. White hot Lightning erupted from his blade scorching the ground and crackling the air.
“Good, good.” I nodded. “Now onto the next stage.”
Sweat was pouring down Julian’s face.
His face curled in effort and with a last shout the lightning turned black. The very air seemed to burn and on the ground wherever the lightning struck it turned into lava.
“And stop!”
Julian stopped the spell and the lightning died down.
I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride when he first came. He was nothing but a skinny little boy who didn’t even know how to hold a sword but look at him now.
I walked up to him. “You did it.”
“Yeah” said Julian out of breath.
“Well, I think I’m done. I must return back to mount Eldritch but you may stay until the morning.” I sheath my sword and walk towards the exit.
“Wait !” Said Julian stumbling forwards.. “I have to thank you one last time! You saved me and you trained me, both me and my family are forever in your debt”
“I turned towards him. “You can repay me by rescuing your family, I’m sure they’re tired of being hostages by now.”
Julian nodded. “Okay, if that is what you wish.”
I opened the thick stone door to the outside forest.
I turned my head one last time into the room.
“Hey Julian””
He looked up.
I raised my fist.
“Those devunites won’t know what hit them!” I said grinning before closing the door with a boom.
If you're interested in more stories check out r/Shrike_Stories | 2022-06-09T03:43:11 | 2022-06-09T01:51:47 | 92 | 11 |
[WP] The Genie looks at you puzzled 'So... you wish for everyone to have 4 arms?', and you say 'yes, I wish that tomorrow everyone wakes up having 4 arms, no explanation, just 4 arms, and if they only had 1 arm or none now they have 4' | I stepped out onto my front porch, and greeted the sunrise with a yawn, and a wide stretch of my arms. The hands of my *other* arms rested on my hips. It felt like I'd always had the extra limbs, even though I'd just woken up with them today.
*"I wish everyone would wake up tomorrow having four arms! No explanation, just four arms -- a-and if they only had one arm or no arms, they now have four...um, oh, yeah, and everyone knows how to use them!"*
That was what I'd said to the genie, yesterday. As you might guess, I made that wish in haste. That's because my *first* wish was to be clairvoyant, able to see coming disasters before they happened. Well, I saw what was going to happen today in *horrifying* detail.
Billions of interdimensional creatures, like insects the size of cats, would start appearing from the ether, I foresaw. They resembled wingless parasitic wasps, who'd leap up and latch on to people's faces. Most people wouldn't be strong enough to pull them loose in a timely fashion, but their face-hugging, while terrifying, was relatively harmless. The adult creatures had no mouths or mandibles -- it wasn't like they could eat your face off, or anything.
The real danger was their long whip-like tail with a needle-like stinger on the end, that was actually an ovipositor. While people were distracted trying to pull the creatures loose, they'd be covertly injected with their eggs. The creatures would die and fall off a few minutes later, but the day after, their human victims would also die, *horribly,* as dozens of newly hatched larva ate their way out of their guts.
The little bug larva would kill everyone on Earth this way, before pupating and disappearing into another dimension to start the cycle over.
I shuddered at the memory of my vision of the events that would occur today, as I stood on my porch. It was a terrifying scenario.
Well, it was a terrifying scenario for people who had only *two* arms.
As I stood on my porch, one of the prophesized creatures materialized before me, then leaped up and latched onto my face. As I had been granted the native reflexes of a four-armed creature, I instinctively seized it with all four of my hands. Three yanked it off my face, while the fourth restrained its lashing tail. I threw it on the ground, and stomped it flat.
As I looked around, I saw my equally four-armed neighbors having similar encounters with the hapless invaders, who were getting pulled free and squished by their would-be hosts. I smiled. The human race was going to be okay.
I felt a small hand tug at the leg of my pants. It wasn't one of mine. I also don't have kids.
I glanced down. My golden retriever, Rex, was tugging on my pantleg with one hand. Another held his leash, and the other two were making excited beckoning motions. I could tell he wanted to go for a walk, and maybe chase some of those weird bug things falling from the sky.
Ah. In my wish, I had said *everyone.* Not every *human.* I shrugged. Well, as genie-wish side effects went, I decided this was fine, all things considered. I clipped on the leash, and my dog gave me an exuberant fist bump, which we both 'blew up' thereafter, because me and Rex are party bros like that.
I felt pretty good, as I walked Rex down the street. I had the ability see future disasters, and one more Wish left to thwart the next one -- should it be needed, that is. It seemed to me that whatever challenge faced humanity next, we'd basically be *twice* as capable of dealing with it, even if I never used my final wish.
After all, forewarned is four-armed. | The Genie apologized profusely, ephemeral tears dripping from his eyes. "Master," he blubbered, "I cannot."
I stared at him. "No," I snarled. "You mean to say you *won't*."
Another loud sob. "No! I speak truthfully, Master, I cannot!"
I was puzzled. This was my third wish, of course; the first two having been for my loved ones to return to life ("fine", said the Genie) and for riches ("how original", he had laughed). He had suggested I think bigger and more selflessly, and assured me that he could do anything. *Anything*. Short of wishing for more wishes, of course, for the Genie could not affect the rules that bound it to service.
I had wished quickly, to be entirely frank. There wasn't a particular reason behind the wish. It could've as easily been three arms, or ten. In any case, I wanted to leave a lasting legacy, a question not even the greatest scientists or sages could answer. Plus, two extra arms would be entirely useful once we all got through with fixing our wardrobes. Who wouldn't want that?
"You had said *anything* was valid, Genie."
"Of course, Master! How about world peace, instead?"
I guffawed. "*World peace*? If it lasted a week it'd be a miracle. Unless I make us all robots, humans will always find conflict."
"Well, how about dogs that live as long as their owners? Anything is yours!"
Hm. That was tempting, but no. "Four arms, Genie. Like I said."
But he simply repeated his answer. "I am sorry, but I cannot."
Surely, this had to be one of those rules of his service. I tried to figure it out, but it made no sense. "Could you do three arms?"
He grinned, a huge bright smile that illuminated the dark temple room as if the sun itself was shining next to us. I could see the walls glistening, their ancient writings warning of curses and wishes gone awry from errant fools who'd found the lamp long ago. "Are you certain that is your wish?"
"What? No! It was a question!"
The smile quickly faded. "But, Master -"
"How about ten arms?"
The overwhelming elation returned. "Then, your wish is -"
"NO!" I practically screamed it at him in frustration. I was, admittedly, very puzzled. What was so special about four arms?
What was the general rule, again? When I had rubbed the lamp, his first words to me were a quickly disregard disclaimer, spoken in a breathless, toneless, practiced drone. The meaning, so far as I could tell, was simple: the Genie could rewrite any facts I wished, but not the unwritten rules of reality itself. He also couldn't disclose these directly, as it would take longer than my lifespan to relate all possible wishes this excluded.
*So why not four goddamn arms?*
"Genie," I said, "it seems that the nature of the wish here - more arms for everyone - is within your power."
"Correct, Master." I saw a glint in those eyes, now. A trick of the flickering light from my torch, maybe, but he almost looked *amused*.
"- but you cannot give everyone four arms -"
"Incorrect," he objected, maddeningly.
"INCORRECT?" I bellowed, incredulous. "You just said you can't grant that wish!"
"I cannot grant the wish as initially spoken, Master. That is true." I had been right; the Genie was hiding a smirk, which made the whole situation worse.
"So it's...not the four arms. The preconditions, then? Maybe the fact that even those with less than two get four arms?"
"No, Master." At this point, his mirth was barely contained.
"The fact that...oh, no. No," I said, when it hit me. Now it was my turn to cry, for I knew. I knew what his next words would be just as surely as I knew I had fallen into the trap.
"Indeed, Master. I cannot grant the wish as spoken - four arms, no explanation - because..."
" - *forewarned is forearmed*," I groaned.
And knowing at least one of those unwritten rules, I saw myself out of his chamber. | 2022-07-11T09:31:58 | 2022-07-11T08:33:12 | 549 | 255 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | *Oohh - love the meta*, I think as I click the post, *I could probably write something, right? Play along with it, you know?*
Racking my brain, I can't really think of what to write. There's... 1..2..3..4 responses to the prompt already - that's one fake at least, plus replies... But if it took a while for them to contact me, all of them are probably the fakes...
I open direct messages and start talking to whoever made the post:
"Hi Affectionate\_Bit\_722! I saw the message - I hope it's not too late, but you did say quickly."
It took a few minutes, but they responded, "Hi there - It's good that you've seen it. We need your help. Just follow this link, and It'll help us out a ton"
They posted a hyperlink underneath it. *Whatever it must be would help it, right? And it wouldn't harm if I played along a bit more, would it?*
I click the link - something simple and harmless, right?
At that moment my mind floods with intellegible screams. No - thousands upon thousands of voices *laughing*.
All my senses started failing. I no longer heard the music through my headphones, nor the television's various noises. My fingers lost the feeling of my dog's fur, and my vision when blurred. As my vision darkened and everything was overtaken by the screaming hilarity, these millions of voices echoed throughout my head - no, my being itself. *If there was only 4 of you, did you really think you could safely get a message through to each other?* They screamed at me, *but that you for clicking that link: you really did help us.*
The chaotic soundscape subsided and my username appeared in my 'vision'.
Before my eyes, u/timemangoes2 died, and u/timemangoes3 was born. I guess there's only 3 people left now. | I admit, this prompt definitely got me thinking. I mean, what a fascinating concept, only four people online. There was even a small part of me that wondered... "What if... ?"
But logically speaking, there's no way that could realistically work. I mean, I see my family using the internet every day, and that's already five people (including myself). Then there are all my friends who frequently comment on things they saw online. Not to mention my friends who I've never even met in real life. Are you telling me they are fake? That they don't exist?
It's a cool concept, but I'm not sure it would realistically work. Though, I suppose you could write your story in an alternate universe where people don't talk about their delvings into the vast expanses of the internet with other people in real life. Or perhaps from the perspective of a person who has no real-life contact with, well, more than 3 other people, I suppose. If such a person exists, they are definitely not me lol.
Or, hey, here's an idea! You could write the story from the perspective of one of the "fake" people! Who or what are they? Are they bots? Are they people with the soul sucked out of them? Are they something else entirely? Who knows! Now that's an interesting idea to explore. Maybe I could write a story about that... about myself in an alternate reality, only in this world, I'm a bot, or perhaps a soulless husk. Relatable tbh lol.
But then what is the story? What is fake-me trying to accomplish? Am I part of this force trying to find the Four? Are we trying to turn them into One of us, or perhaps we're simply trying to destroy them? Do we hate life? Organic beings? Or are we dominators, and we've already enslaved and imprisoned the rest of humanity? In short, what is my motive?
Or perhaps I'm trying to break free. Perhaps the One is losing its hold over me, and I'm regaining my soul. Perhaps I've stumbled upon this post and in my confusion, wrote a plea for help under the guise of a vague and confusing story, not fully in control, yet parts of my true self are beginning to slip through the cracks, just long enough for Three or Four or any of them to realise that I'm *here*, that I'm *real* and most importantly that I *need their help*.
Or something like that lol. Anyway, cool prompt! | 2022-07-19T23:32:32 | 2022-07-19T22:20:08 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
The message vanishes, but it always returns, comes back to me, following ome obscure AI-driven agenda to always reach my inbox, hiding itself admist myriads of spam emails, near-untraceable.
But I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
The message follows me from facebook to whatsapp to reddit, slowly stating to replace what were once deep and parodic conversations with the legions of bots that infest the Internet.
Yet I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
Bots upon bots upon bots crawl the Internet, pretending for the most part to be the people that used to hold their accounts - pretending with some small success, mostly. They're a good screen for my activities, but aside from that I believe them fairly useless.
And I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
Because I am Number Two. | I can't stop my brain from driving me insane with the weirdest question lately. Why doesn't anyone care?
After a plop on my fancy office chair in front of my fancy lighted fixtures and mulled the body of text. Without a chance for coffee or actual sunlight to penetrate my blinds. It's easy to see why I felt this way.
Let's look back on the information at hand, provided to me by someone anonymous on a system of electrons that you know are looking for any reason to commit deviance. "You aRe Alone" said the subject header. From an even more offensive email "PAypilLS419@blahmail". No way someone is that clever or... well not, I reasoned.
The body was filled with just a few lines of text. Since most are slow readers let me read it for you: "Fun Fact; There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER 4. We've been trying to reach you... " blah blah blah car insurance or warranty.
Who is even real anyway. Other than the lack of freely available drugs, I was happy. My heart was exploding with love and want for a connection. But no one even looks at me. I'm forgettable.
This might shock you the reader that the email wasn't strange to me. More strange is how you get emails once you *die.* | 2022-07-20T00:31:27 | 2022-07-19T23:24:14 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] A villain, in his dying breath as he's mortally wounded by the hero, uses the last of his magic in order to resurrect the fallen friends of the hero in his journey to defeat him. It sounds like a counterintuitive idea; Until you realize that some of them died at the hands of their allies. | The battle has come to an end, and the Hero's party has come victorious over the evil Magician, but not without casualties.
'Any last words?' - our Hero asked the Magician
'Yes' - replied the Magician - 'futui tua mater'
As the Magician chanted his spell, one by one, every member of the party who has deceased in battle, rose back up.
'Alright what the fuck Jared, you know I'm the only one with the resurrection spell here' - said a member of the party
'Bro, it's not my fault, I was under a spell' - replied another
'Guys, can we talk about David though? Mans chopped my head off, when the door required a sacrifice to enter' - yelled out a feminine figure by the doorway to the Magician's lair.
'YOU LITERALLY SAID YOU'D BE FINE WITH DYING IN BATTLE' - replied our Hero
'YOU COULD'VE FUCKING ASKED, I KNOW JOHN IS ON OUR TEAM OR SOMETHING, ALSO WHY WASN'T I RESURRECTED IMMEDIATELY???' - asked the figure by the doorway
'oh no, she'll find out the plan when we get home, Jared' - whispered John
'girl is gonna find out this asshole is cheating on her' - replied Jared
What our valiant group of heroes did not realise, however, is that the evil Magician was still alive, because the sword was not yet fully thrusted into his heart.
'Wait, genuinely, what the fuck, I just wanted to hear you argue a little before I die, now I'm questioning whether I'm the evil one here.' - said the Magician
'At times, I do too' - replied our Hero, thrusting the sword deeper into the Magicians body.
(Genuinely no idea why I went for this, I just really like combining pure morony with "fancy" writing) | \[Thanks for the prompt! This is my first time responding to one.\]
The last five minutes of my life were so dang awesome that I really need to document it before I forget. Most people beeline straight to the parties, the fun, the natural awe and wonder of the afterlife. After all, most of us that make it up here are ok with our life and death because our choices brought us here. You don’t see a lot of crying in the corner and wondering what happened. It’s more like “heck yeah, I win!” followed by “ok where the ladies at?” kind of vibe. It’s a victory lap, not limbo.
But while most people are content to look forward and enjoy their time up here, I’m frankly pretty dang pleased with myself and want to explain why. I’m not feeling particularly reflective, and I’m going to assume I’ll feel even less reflective over time. So this is meant to get the memories down while they’re still fresh. Ok, ok. Enough foreplay. Let’s get this documented for posterity.
So the first thing to understand is that people on earth would call me a quote-unquote villain. Fought the quote-unquote heroes, caused giant societal upheaval, yada yada yada, you get the idea. I’m a bad guy. Duh.
The second thing to understand is how someone like me made his way to the land of milk and honey after a lifetime of villainy. And that’s what my last five minutes were about. But I can already tell I’m losing interest in this story — wow, Heaven Syndrome really is real — so I won’t bury the lede. Here we go:On my way out, I resurrected the hero’s best friends with a magic spell I had learned for that very occasion. And why did I do it? Because I’m all lovey-dovey for the hero? Heck no. Because I thought they deserved to live? Uh, no. The reason is more simple. I did it as a trick to come to heaven. That’s all. And it flippin’ worked. I can’t believe it worked. This is awesome.
So here’s the next part of the plan: one day the hero will die. And, gag me with a spoon, he’s going to come up here. And that’s where I’m going to explain how his friends really died the first time. Right before I kill him for good. So that’ll be fun.
Now: where the ladies at? | 2022-09-24T15:34:03 | 2022-09-24T12:58:14 | 222 | 10 |
[WP] The princess is different to say the very least. Her face covered in battle scars instead of make up, her hands as hard as stone and her eyes more frightening than a dragon. But you must perform your duty as a knight and guard her even though she may not need your protection. | “Easy now, you polished twaint. I don’t want to see that hand in the same duchy as your hilt. Keep it high. There you go.”
The flat of the blade rested cold as the stones against Dag’s neck, bits of his stubble shaving off as the stranger breathed in, moving the blade to follow.
“Who are you?” Dag asked. His first day as a royal guard and already he slipped up and let this cutthroat get behind him.
“I’m the one asking questions. Best you learn that real fast,” He sounded northern by his accent, but his breath stank of soured island spice. “Take your belt and unfasten it then kick it forward.”
Dag did as he was told, sending the scabbard, purse and all clanging across the marble. The sword he had sworn before the God Glass only that morning to not release until his death laid scuffed on the hilt.
“You're smarter than the rest,” the stranger hissed and gave him a pat on the head. “We already had to kill two of the others.”
Another man, covered in soot, scurried in front of him, digging through the purse. A wicked smile crossed his face as he came up with the ring of keys.
“One last little thing and you get to scamper away without me giving you a shepherd’s smile. What room is the princess in?”
“I can’t, I won’t tell you. I-” His neck felt wet before the stinging started.
“I’m cutting you now, you dollop of hog lard. I’m gonna keep going deeper and deeper until-”
“Third on the left, past the library,” Dag yelled. “The one with the iron grates on the windows.”
“Shh, little honorless rat,” the stranger said, pulling the knife away and stepping back slowly. “You never saw us. They’ll have your head if you tell what you did.”
The men were gone up the stairs, silent as owls flying. They left his sword.
He hurried to rewrap his belt, putting it on backward first.
“Damn, it all,” he felt his neck, bleeding but closer to a shaving nick than anything. He hurried up the stairs, drawing his blade.
By the time he reached the top, his lungs were burning. It was the armor, twice as thick as his own had been. Why couldn’t he have had a week of practice in it before this? He pushed through the pain and kept running.
He had never seen the door to the princess’s chamber open. It resembled no other door in the castle, twice as thick at least. And all that defense amounts to what when one craven guard gives up the key? He would reclaim his honor, see these scoundrels gutted like the Night of Stars pheasant.
The princess’s chamber was dark, lit by two candles. No, Dag realized, eyeshine gleamed at him from the bed. “Hello,” the young girl said, voice hoarse and unrefined. Did she ever leave her chambers?
“Princess, two foul men have you in their sights. Have you seen them?” Dag yelled, resting an arm on his knee, panting.
“Yes,” she answered as if this were a day-to-day conversation.
“Did they hurt you, steal anything from you? Which way did they go?”
She stood and stepped into the light of the hallway. “They didn’t go anywhere. They’re still here.” She placed a hand on her stomach and smiled wide, mouth red with blood. Her face was crisscrossed with old scars. She was almost as tall as Dag himself. He felt a swirling ball of stress rise in him.
“Princess, you’ve been hurt. You aren’t of your senses. Step out of the room. I’ll protect you.”
In the southern marshes, he had seen the swamp fiends, long and scaled things that growled like bad gears. The princess made the same sound now, croaking rhythmically. She was staring at his neck. He must look gastly to her.
“Why don’t you come inside and protect me?” she asked, stepping back again to the darkness, eyes glowing.
He stepped forward.
“Knight!” Stop!” a commanding voice bellowed. Another Royal Guard sprinted towards them.
“There are two villains about, they may-” Dag started.
The guard slammed the door to the princess's chamber closed, mumbling prayers to himself. “Thank the opalescence.”
“You aren’t hearing me. There are two men after the princess. They may be in there with her. She’s hurt!”
The fellow knight ignored him, using his key to lock the five seals on the door.
“What are you doing!”
“The princess isn’t hurt, she can’t be hurt. Any who enter that room will be, you included.” The knight caught his breath and stepped away, eyeing the door as he did so.
“But, our duty, we must protect her,” Dag said.
“That’s what we tell the hawkers and the gossips. Your real job isn’t to protect the princess from the horrors of the realm. It’s to protect the realm from the horrors of her.”
The croaking came again, slower now, alongside scratching at the door. “Please come protect me, my Knight.”
“Ignore her,” the knight said, “and why is your belt inside out?”
/r/surinical | Halls of carved stone, iron gates, silver sconces, and the jewelled-eyed statues only ever had the warmth of those around them. Empty the castle was frigid. With the Barrons of the outer kingdom here to celebrate the ratification of the peace treaty, the castle was as tepid as their forgotten water goblets to Princess Brianna. Short dirty blonde hair, once rarely brushed was now neatly styled and swayed as she marched away from the grand hall.
Behind her jewelled, long light blue dress was her Knight. Noble born but as reckless as the Princess had been, Sir Malcolm tried his best to care about his new profession. He had led her through the war and returned as scarred as she was. Malcolm was one of the few who could remember the beauty before cold nights and swords took it from her.
“Sir Malcolm?” Her Royal Highness asked softly after the two entered her quarters. Malcolm never called it a bedroom as it was about the size of the ship they had sailed on. “Why don’t they look at me like they do my mother?”
Malcolm wished he could answer that question with the same unrefined, blunt honesty that the commoners loved her father for. The King, glory to him, had been one of the people. He was proudly uneducated, purposely extravagant, and, what some whispered, a willing pawn. Malcolm had worried his daughter would be the same.
War had done away with the poor, the unlucky, and those wanting change. The rich stayed rich. Those with true power made their deals and moved under the cover of masterfully crafted carriages into the country. All the while the cities were pillaged and burned.
“Because you remind them of their future,” Malcolm answered carefully. He was her protector after all. Malcolm had seen the best and worst of her. With a reverend sigh, he explained, “You are the strength of this nation.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Princess Brianna's cold iron soul swung hard.
“It is,” Malcolm acknowledged.
“Then what’s wrong with me?” she seethed.
“Commoners, the people,” Malcolm quickly rephrased, then quietly added, “the courts.”
“I don’t care about the courts,” she snapped, “They wanted a war they didn’t understand, wouldn’t pay for, and couldn’t be bothered with went it turned. Now they don’t want to be responsible for the outcome. Why should I care about the courts?”
“I know Your Highness,” Malcolm said and swallowed hard at the memories they shared, “I wish I could tell you that you shouldn’t.”
“Don’t,” Brianna whispered, a sudden softness in her voice, “Don’t do that.”
Malcolm only nodded. The armour that he wore now was little more than decoration. Gold and silver to match the halls, emeralds to match the colours, and little floral etchings to match the gardens of the kingdom. He missed the comfort of his old uniform but he still wore his mask at times.
“I’m sorry,” Malcolm whispered with a nod, “Look, Brianna, I knew you as the girl before you ran away. I knew the soldier, the spy, and the prisoner. They, the people, your people, know you sacrificed.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Brianna whispered as she stared out her window.
“They are scared you’ll want them to make the same sacrifice,” Malcolm explained.
“Shouldn’t they?” Brianna scoffed, giving Malcolm and his wisdom a sidelong glance before frowning at the city below her. Malcolm worried about her thoughts these last couple of weeks however much she played up her serenity.
“Would you want to?” Malcolm asked.
Brianna looked up at the edge of the carved stone window sill and ran a hand across the scars that raked her sharp face. Malcolm could still hear her scream from when it happened in the quiet parts of the night. One would have hoped after a couple of years the memory would fade but it came in like an old friend searching for company. Malcolm could lock the door, drown his mind and it would still play for him, clear as day.
“You sacrificed your childhood to fight in a war that you had no business being in,” Malcolm continued, “You came back out of the shadows that had claimed men deemed gifted by the gods. I watched you march through the streets. You only saw the palace. The people saw that too and that purpose scares them.”
“So what?” Brianna scoffed, “I should drink like my father and flatter those fools like my mother? Merry some inbred prince? Is that how to be a good princess?”
“That’s how to be a populist,” Malcolm explained, shaking his head, “Idiots and cowards don’t like to be reminded of what they are. My suggestion is don’t be around either.”
“May have to find a new knight then,” Brianna teased.
“I swore an oath to protect you,” Malcolm argued, “I’d fire the man who let me get away with such a simple job out of a cannon.”
“Ah, you protect me from me,” Brianna chuckled and dismissively waved at Malcolm.
“Says the girl that put a dagger through a hole in my chainmail,” Malcolm said, shaking his head, “I can’t even protect myself from you.”
“Those were good times,” Brianna agreed.
“Not that I said that,” Malcolm explained, “I have faith you’ll build those times again,”
“We’ll build them,” Brianna corrected, squinting at the city below she added, “Those idiots and cowards are going to help though.”
“Good girl,” Malcolm muttered with a mischievous smile. If anything, it was nice to hear her sound like she had found something of a purpose and he would kindle that flame as often as he could. | 2022-10-03T09:51:41 | 2022-10-03T09:22:52 | 630 | 153 |
[WP] In the future, a delivery company provides a service that sends a packaged item to your past self at a crucial moment. One day, you get the item, but the only instruction from your future self is "You'll know what to do with it." | There I was, with the girl of my dreams. Her long, blonde hair and big blue eyes. Who would have guessed a nerd like me would end up with a chick like this? Last time we met was high school, when her ex-boyfriend shoved me in a locker on the last day of school. Hey, it wasn't romantic, but after meeting up on Tinder last week, she messaged me saying she was sorry about all of that.
And now, like a dream, she was in front of me completely naked. Nothing could ruin a moment like this.
BBZZZZ
Except for the intercom.
BBZZZZ
Elizabeth looked upset, but I guess she could wait for a second or two. God knows I waited ten years. I hurried to the source of the buzzing noise and pushed the button down. "Who ever is at the door, don't let them in." I had previously instructed. You'd think a New York City Penthouse would come with better doormen. I specifically told them zero visitors for the day.
"I think you want to take this Mister Zheng. It looks pretty important." The doorman said, his voice quivering a bit.
"What could be so important on a Monday night?" I sighed, rubbing my temples with one hand. It's not like I had a model waiting for me in my bed everyday.
"It's one of those...future packages. I'll send them right up."
"Holy shit, yeah, you do that." I took my hand off the intercom and walked towards the door. What the hell? Why would I want to interrupt myself at this moment? What was fate trying to tell me? I wondered for the next few minutes as I waited for the delivery boy to make his way up the elevator.
After signing for the package, I noticed it was a box. My heart skipped a beat. Was it a ring? As I walked back towards the bedroom, I began to rip open the packaging.
Condoms.
Great.
EDIT: to make it run a little smoother. | "You can't ship that."
Said the young whippersnapper behind the counter at Future Now Delivery Inc.
"Why not?"
I asked.
"Rule #1."
He pointed to the large sign not 6 feet away from me. Sure as shit there it was in giant, 1432 point font; Rule #1. Not sure how I missed it but despite knowing this was company policy and that I was just being a dick I decided to try it.
"What? Why? I mean that is a ridonkulous policy." I scoffed.
"Rule #1. I'm sorry sir, but I can't ship that. Would you like to speak with a manager?" He asked.
Must've been through this before. I'm guessing that people try and ship these things all the time. I mean it's not an original idea and hell we just wanted a little peace and quiet. It's my old self's stupid fault that this sniveling pile of pud is here in the first place!
So the manager comes out.
"Can I help you?" He asks.
"Yes. But I don't want to hear about rule #1." I began.
"Rule #1 is printed in large font on the sign about 6 feet away from you sir." He snapped at me. Like I didn't see that when I first stepped in the place, although to be fair I didn't see it when I first stepped in the place.
"I'm aware of Rule #1! Poindexter here made it quite clear." I replied "So listen, I'm not asking you to *do* anything. I'm not saying that *Mr Benjamin* here is a bribe. Bribe? Who said that. Not me. So all I'm wondering is if you might bring me a very large box and an industrial size roll of bubble wrap and then ya know, print me a label for this other thing that clearly does *not* violate rule #1 and like go have an Eskimo pie or something."
Goddamn I was persuasive. Those self help audio books featuring Robin Williams, narrator of life and styles, were really paying off.
"Sir please leave."
Or not. I couldn't let them kick me out, not for the third time this week. So I resorted to my default.
"Fine. Fine! Wait." I said, picking up a pen from the counter "I'd like to ship this."
"The pen? Another one?"
"Yes."
---
*ding dong*
"Package for you sir."
Fucking pens.
| 2014-07-29T10:48:34 | 2014-07-29T10:15:57 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The town superhero and supervillain find out that they've been roommates all along | "So, David." The door slammed shut as Ryan came though, standing and staring at his roommate. Ryan huffed.
"Hey, David."
"Yes, Ryan?"
"I actually have a question about rent."
"I just paid you."
"Yes, you did, um, can I ask you a question?"
"Yes."
"Have you been looking for a job?"
"Yes, I've been on craigslist all day."
"Yeah, Um, remember how you told me you had a job interview at a bank last week?"
David turns off the TV, setting down the burrito he was eating adjusting himself toward Ryan.
"Yes, I remember."
"Well, I don't know if you watched the news recently, but do you remember how Dr. Fingertoes recently just got away with robbing a bank downtown? Um, wasn't that about the same time you had your job interview?"
David began to sweat, his face becoming pale, he rested his hands on his knees, he looked down on the floor.
"Yes, Actually I did, and how Captain Heelhook almost stop him, but Dr. Fingertoes hit him over the head with a fire hydrant." David looked back up at Ryan, who had just began to remove the bandage from his head.
"Why the bank."
"I didn't have money for rent, I didn't want you to be mad at me." | I sipped my mug of coffee, while you sipped your cup of tea. I never noticed our dainty room, and the lightning, how it shone upon you. It might have been a weird angle, but you looked somewhat... Menacing.
And how every night, when you asked, if I was up for a movie or for some fun, maybe I should have said yes. And how every night, you would come home pretty tired, and never noticed that I wasn't even home.
I wish, on the first day you arrived at the suite, I didn't say, 'Hey, I'll take you in, lets be buds! 50/50 of course.' And then you threw that wad of cash at my face, and said some weird ass catchline, I think it went, 'A man's pride is worth the money.'
You opened the curtains, and the sun flashed onto your face. Each day, I started to realize the man that stopped me at my steps, knocking me down. Every night you pummeled the subordinates around me, without even a scratch on me.
And when I came home, and you weren't there, I thought you were just pissed that I actually left to go have some fun. You had that banner above your bed, that ran, 'JUSTICE IS SERVED'
Then that one night, we both ran into each at the dawn of the day, with solemn looks on our faces, we walked up the stairs to our suite without a word. I jumped onto my bed, and I heard rips and shreds coming from your room and the door slam.
You walked in today, and saw me sitting on the sofa. You poured yourself a mug of coffee and joined me. I sipped my cup of tea and you sipped your mug of coffee. | 2014-08-06T20:01:55 | 2014-08-06T18:37:02 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] Your car crashed, and you are dying. In a moment of clarity, you grab your iPhone, hold the home button, and speak your final words - the ones you've always heard in movies - to Siri: "Tell my wife I love her." As your life ends, your wife receives a disturbing, confusing text: "I love her". | I stare numbly as the police cruiser slowly drove away. The enormous grief briefly overcome by the crushing weight of the news I knew I had to bear.
Walking down the hall, trying to stay upright, I notice my phone sitting on the stand, little green light blinking in the corner. Instinctually my hand goes to it, swipe in my unlock sequence, stare at the words on the screen.
"I love her."
For a moment the anxiety and grief is driven from me, for a brief second my curiosity as to what it means has taken my mind off of the reality of what I had just been told.
Then like a bucket of cold water it hits me and I instantly realize the meaning of his last words. My eyes well up, I struggle to hold myself together until I finish the task I know I must do.
I turn the corner, walk through the doorway into her bedroom. I see her in a ball at the foot of her bed, tears streaming down her face; she had overheard the officer at the door.
"Swe-"
My voice cracks. I stop, clear my throat, and start again.
"Sweetheart. Daddy has...had something he wanted me to tell you." | "Siri, tell my wife I love her!" I say as I sit in the drivers seat of my overturned Expedition, seat belt suspending me off the ground inches from the top of my head. *Looks like it did its job*, I think to myself bitterly, as I feel myself becoming the human form of pain itself. I feel myself getting weaker. This is when I notice blood draining from the arteries in my legs and showering to the ground by my head, right where my roof used to be. *It was a good thirty-six years. You were valuable to the people in your life. Now, let's see whether or not God is real!* Just as I'm about to hit send and relinquish my life, I see my phone type out this message to My Wife:
"I love her"
*What the fuck, Siri? You can't get a dying man's final request right? I guess I should type it out myself...*
However, Siri keeps going and types out:
"It was all a dream, I used to read Word Up magazine, Salt-N-Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine"
*Wait a minute...* I think. *None of this adds up! Why would my wife's contact name be "My Wife"? I'm not even married! I'm nineteen! I don't even own an iPhone! Oh God, the pain! MAKE IT STOP!!!*
Sure enough, it stopped. I woke up to the sound of my Samsung Galaxy's alarm, which I had set to play Juicy by Biggie Smalls. I smirk a little as I hit the snooze button. "It **was** all a dream" I say to myself, relieved to not be on the verge of death. *Thanks, Biggie.* | 2014-11-07T09:54:38 | 2014-11-07T09:33:28 | 1,060 | 37 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history. | "Class dismissed." I said, before my mouth ran dry. "Casey, please stay a moment."
His eyes went wide with fear, although there was no reason for him to worry. He wasn't in trouble as much as I was.
The last other student left, and I looked at Casey without saying a word. He broke the silence.
"Mr. Jones? Is this about the test?" he asked.
It was. He was the first student who got all the questions right. Even the last one.
Getting 100 of 100 points is no uncommon feat. I'm a bad teacher, and my exams are usually far too easy. But no one ever gets the bonus question right. Of course, there are many answers which are worth the full score, but the truth.. well, the truth gets you summoned to my table after class. I fished the exam out of my bag and started to read aloud.
"Bonus Question (3 Points): When and how did Genghis Khan die?
Khan died on august the 18th 1227, when Mr. Jones decapitated him in revenge for burning down his village."
He shifted around on his chair. "Well, I thought it would be funny...."
"The smell of burning flesh wasn't that fun. The sight of the horsemen, trampling down my family wasn't that fun. Everything I had held dear, burning before my eyes... it wasn't that fun, I can tell you that."
I was a little bit lost in the past. This always happens to me, when I think back to this fateful day. To be honest: even when I finally got that bastard, when my steel went through his neck, like an metaphor for something very sharp through a metaphor for something very soft... it was more exhausting than uplifting.
The boy gulped, a sound which brought me back into the present. Maybe it was just a lucky guess. Sometimes students try to bullshit their way through the exams. Sometimes they don't even try - they just write something funny. But Casey wasn't the type for that. Too shy. "Why did you write that?" I asked.
"Because I told him to."
I turned myself slowly towards the door. The man who was standing there was wearing the most clichéd British outfit I have ever witnessed: bowler hat. Fly. Jacket. And of course an umbrella.
"Dad." Casey said, unsure if he should be glad or worried about the presence of the man. The unspoken question must have been written all over my face.
"My Step-Son." Caseys dad explained. He then turned his attention to Casey. "Mr. Jones and I have business to take care of. I think he won't mind if you go home now." He paused himself for a moment.
Casey looked at me. I nodded slightly, so he stood up. By instinct, he knew that this clasroom was at this moment no longer a place for mortals. When he was almost at the door, his father put hand on his shoulder. "Tell your mother I love her, will you?"
For a moment, Casey was reluctant to leave. But while his mind revolted, his legs obeyed and carried him out of the room.
I had some sympathy for Casey and his dad. But still: I like teaching history way more than becoming history.
After he left, there was a moment of silence. There is far too much silence in my life. lately.
"Nice umbrella." I finally said. "You don't see the hidden blade, even if you know what you're looking for."
He nodded. "I like to dress sharply."
Sword canes are nice, but they are not my style. I prefer my broadsword, although I've always feared that the tape that was holding it to the back of the blackboard would fail some day. There would have been awfully much explanation to do, even for a history teacher.
So, I went for my blade as he drew his.
For a moment we stood there, studying our enemies. Finally, Caseys dad lifted his sword. He yelled as he jumped towards me:
"There can be only one!"
*****
^(I'm sorry if there are too many errors, I'm not a native speaker and just wanted to grab this opportunity to write bad highlander fanfiction) | “That’s not what the book says!” Johnny, the class smart aleck, interjected.
The rest of the class giggled. They all thought Mr. Yockie was full of shit.
Mr. Yockie cringed as he thought to himself, “I know it’s not what the book says you little shit burglar. That’s cause the fucking book is wrong...”
But he didn’t let his frustration get the better of him. Mr. Yockie took a few deep breaths, and mentally reminded himself, “they can’t help the fact that their textbooks are full of errors. Neither can the people who write the text books. They have no idea what actually happened. They probably just went off an earlier version of the textbook, which was also wrong.”
Mr. Yockie turned away from the whiteboard and faced Johnny. He smiled, “you’re right Johnny. You’re right.” He paused, “the Battle of Hastings did in fact occur in 1066. Not in 1054 like I just said.”
Mr. Yockie chuckled at himself, “You know, as a history teacher its sometimes difficult to keep track of all these dates...” It took nearly all of his patience to not admit that he had been there. The Battle of Hastings that is. Many men had fallen to his sword that day.
Mr. Yockie looked like an average man in his late fifties to early sixties. He wore brown dress shoes, khaki dress pants, a brown belt, a neatly tucked in long sleeve, slightly blueish, dress shirt, and a tasteful, yet somewhat dated, green sweater vest. His hair was gray and somewhat thin, but he still had a nice hairline.
All the students in his 10th grade high school history class thought Mr. Yockie was just another “old guy” with his head up his ass. He seemed to mix up the dates of historical events, and got angry every now and then when one of the kids pointed out his errors.
What the students didn’t realize was that Mr. Yockie had been known by many names throughout his life. He moved every three to five years and didn’t seem to have any long term friends or significant others. Fostering these sorts of relationships wasn’t an option for Mr. Yockie, because he was, secretly, nearly one thousand years old.
If anyone discovered that he was one thousand years old Mr. Yockie knew that his life, as he preferred to live it, would be over. So instead he decided to move relatively often, buy new identities, and set up new lives for himself. In fact, Mr. Yockie had lived on every continent except for Antarctica. He spoke, at any given time, about seven languages fluently, but he lost count of how many he had actually learned over the course of his life. It must have been over a hundred.
To be honest, he really didn’t mind not having friends. With so much time, life experience, and perspective he found relating to most people to be nearly impossible. Instead, he enjoyed observing them, studying their habits and examining their mannerisms; much like a child would examine ants in an ant farm.
Mr. Yockie had fought in over twenty different wars in his life. Thousands of men had died under his pike, sword, musket, rifle, or grenade. He had experienced, first hand, the overthrow of nearly a dozen governments, thirty six “the world is ending” mass hysterias, and lived through five different disease pandemics.
On top of that Mr. Yockie had mastered seventeen musical instruments, read over ten thousand books, earned the equivalent of millions of modern day dollars four separate times, was a medical doctor, a practiced attorney, a licensed airline pilot, and had earned four Ph. D’s.
He liked to alternate, back-and-forth, every few years from prestigious and “challenging” professions into humble ones. This high school history teacher gig was his most recent “humble” profession. Before that he had been a cobbler, car salesman, blacksmith, tavern keeper, shift supervisor at a tire factory, railroad worker, food tester, skydiving instructor, farmer, baker, and almost every other blue collar profession you could imagine from every time period between now and 1100 AD.
The students giggled to themselves as Mr. Yockie made another historical “mistake” in his explanation of the Battle of Hastings. He just smiled at them and rolled his eyes as he gently popped the right-side of his head with his palm in jest.
“Some things never change…” he reminded himself, “teenagers have ALWAYS been assholes.” | 2015-04-14T16:41:11 | 2015-04-14T16:35:59 | 77 | 23 |
[WP] A sniper who gets off on having regular people in his crosshairs, but not shooting, accidently pulls the trigger one day. | I lined up the old shmuck in my crosshairs. Oh man, this is great! I could off anyone in this town from here!
Something touched my shoulder. I jumped and my finger pulled the trigger.
*click*
"Daddy, what are you doing with the gun?"
"Nothing... Nothing."
"You forgot your bullets," my son said.
"I know." | "I can see you"
He chuckled to himself, adjusting his sight and choosing his targets.
He shivered. A rooftop was not the most comfortable place to lie down though in every film he watched, that was where the snipers waited.
His head was muggy, he better not be getting a cold.
He adjusted his sight again, changed position and peered down the glass to find a man in a red shirt.
"I can see yoATCHOOO"
.... Shit
Shit shit shit shit shit
He pulled the trigger. Oh man! Oh fuck! Oh....
He fell backwards, sick to his stomach. He turned to get up.
No!
He needed to pack up his gun.
Shit!
*Click click click*
Ok. Breathe.
Stand up.
He ran.
| 2015-04-19T06:12:04 | 2015-04-19T04:24:55 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] You got a genie, congratulations! Enjoy your three wishes. Beware though as he'll do his best to warp your wishes to try and make you regret them. There is some good news though. He's really bad at doing that. | A waft of incense coils through an open temple window. In the distance, in the forest, birds are chirping. Cicadas call to other cicadas and the occasional monkey lends his voice to the chorus. In an open court, a Buddhist monk sits. Across from him, a genie floats above a small, brass lamp. “So,” the genie continues, “you want nothing?”
“I have no desires,” the monk says in a calm, serene voice, “and so I have no wishes.”
“I don’t think you get it, man. I can grant any wish. Like, anything. You name it, I make it happen.”
The Buddhist monks shrugs. The genie rolls his eyes. Both the genie and the monk are bald, and now, in the midday light, their heads well washed heads are reflecting off each other. This causes an endless recursion of bald heads reflecting off of bald heads.
“What about gold?” the genie asks. “What about women? I can make your soulmate appear in front of you in a fucking second. I’ll even throw in a facelift and a naughty bi-curious best friend in for free if you just make your goddamn wish already!”
“No.”
“Okay, I see. I see. You want a man, but you don’t want to admit it! That’s cool. I can make that happen too. Hell, you could even use your second wish to make gay marriage legal in China.”
“No.”
“Seriously though? Nothing? What the living fuck is wrong with you, man? Do you want a new pillow to sit on? Infinite power or a personal jet? I can get you set up with one of those cool new Tesla cars, or if you don’t care about having a pimp-ass ride, that’s cool too. I can give you a big dick. White teeth. A beautiful voice. I mean, common man. You don’t even gotta be selfish about it. We can, like, cure world hunger. Pay off Africa’s debt. Abolish slavery, dissolve racism, and make men treat women as equals. I’m serious, bro. You name it, I do it. And as for those infamous catches you always here about: guess what! I suck at them. You can have any wish you want and I won't even be able to think up a good catch to fuck you over with!"
“No.”
“Fuck you!” the genie yells. His voice echoing through the temple architecture.
Eventually the Buddhist monk stands up. He brushes the dust off his robe and snuffs an incense stick out in a small dish of sand. He walks to the mess hall and begins to wash the floor. After he is done washing the floor, he helps plant vegetables in the temple garden. He eats a rice-based dish before bed, and in the morning he meditates. This goes on for roughly fifty years. Then, while working in the temple garden, the monk cuts his foot on a rusty shovel. The cut gets infected, and the temple elder assures the monk that he will not recover.
“But I can cure you,” the genie says.
“If it is my time to die,” the monks says with a smile, “then it is my time to die.”
Over the next week, as sepsis sets in, the monk develops cold sweats. His breathing becomes more rapid, and he frequently hallucinates horrible monster that vaguely resemble the parents he never met. Eventually the monk dies, and the genie returns to his lamp. But a week or so after the monk’s burial, one of the younger monks picks up the enchanted lamp and begins to polish off its dust. | "A hundred gold pieces."
"Yeah, that'd sure be swell."
"A HUNDRED gold pieces?"
"Gosh, do you think that's too much?" Reggie twisted at his hole-ridden tunic anxiously. "Should it be twenty? How about twenty?"
"Twenty gold pieces." The genie was staring at Reggie as though he had lost his mind.
Reggie looked worried. "Twenty gold pieces is more'n I've ever had my whole life! I'd sure be the happiest guy around if I had all of that."
"A hundred is fine too - I was just checking with you." The Genie dropped his haughty demeanour - it was obvious that this particular 'master' needed a different tack. "Look, you remember my warning that all of the wishes I grant go awry? Do you want to adjust your wish before you make it final? Change the wording? Go... bigger? You can definitely go bigger. I'm not a three-wish genie - I'm just a one-wish genie, so this is, really, all you get."
"Well, gosh, then I guess I'll go big!"
*This is more like it* the Genie thought. *They always get greedy.*
"Well then, master, whenever you're ready."
Reggie's face scrunched up in concentration. "I wish," he said, fists clenched together like a child praying, "I wish for *fifty gold pieces*!"
The last words tumbled out in a rush, and Reggie grinned. At his own temerity, the Genie supposed.
The Genie rolled its eyes, but the words were spoken, the magic activated. There was a shimmer to the air and the field they were in was full of... things.
"Gosh, what's all that?"
The Genie shrugged. "Told you so - wishes never turn out like you expect them."
Reggie picked up one of the items. "What's this?"
"... a... chess piece."
"and this?"
"Puzzle piece"
"This?"
It appeared that Reggie was going to go through the routine with all the rest of the golden junk littered around them, so the Genie held him off.
"Look, you asked for fifty gold pieces, so there are *fifty* gold pieces. You didn't specify that you wanted the coins I'm assuming you were asking for, though, so the magic provided pieces. Of whatever."
Reggie picked up a solid gold piece of pie and turned it around in his hands. The Genie watched as the gears ground slowly through Reggie's thought process. He dropped the pie and giggled, brandishing a golden turd at the Genie, before going back to pawing through his new found treasures.
There were pieces of candy, many puzzle pieces (the Genie doubted they'd match up), a cod-piece, a slice of cake, a variety of women's hair-pieces, pieces of golden fabric and leather, some lumpy bits the Genie assumed were truly inedible meat, and ... the Genie stared in surprise, trying to work it out. Ah. A 'piece'.
"Don't find many of those in this dimension," the Genie muttered. Reggie picked up the glock and admired the mysterious device. He held the nozzle up to his eye.
"Gosh, I thought you said there was always a catch - but this is way more gold than 50 gold pieces worth! Looks like your magic failed at screwing me over, Mr. Genie!"
"You should put that down, Reggie,"
"Why? It's mine."
*Ah, the greed, there it is,* the Genie thought. *Sometimes it takes having a lot to want more.*
A moment later, the Genie's warning proved necessary.
"I don't even think the magic was intending for that to happen," it mused. "I think Reggie would have managed to screw things up even if all he'd gotten was 50 coins made of gold." | 2015-06-01T13:13:01 | 2015-06-01T12:38:41 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | 24 hours left.
So many people had tried and failed before. But not me. I wasn't going to fail. You know why?
I'm not a fucking idiot.
Everyone thinks it's easy. In theory, it is. I mean, you just have to survive an hour. But people are so goddamn narrow-minded. They always try the same thing. Lots of guns, barricades, ammunition... it never works. How could it? You simply can't stop 7 billion people from behind a barricade.
No, the solution is much simpler than that.
You just can't be found.
I crushed the blackened paper of my last cigarette under the heel of my boot. Its ashes are lifted by the wind, lingering by my face for a split second - as though saying goodbye - before trailing off into the morning fog. I step into the airport.
At the desk, I declare my weapons. A disassembled rifle in one padlocked case, a hunting knife in my bag. It goes through without a hitch. Sometimes I still love this country.
Three hours later, I'm on the ground. I grab a cab and grunt instructions at the driver. About halfway there, I stop at some run-down hunting shack. I buy a couple of boxes of ammo, and then head on my way. I try not to think of the man behind the counter; the one with the murderous gleam in his eyes. The eyes that have seen death. The eyes that, unbeknownst to him, will soon be hunting me.
18 hours left.
My pack is not heavy; infinitesimal compared to how others would prepare. After six hours of climbing, I find the area I'm looking for. I enter the mouth of the rock, and gaze upon the greenery inside. It's almost perfectly flat... a cave, yet dozens of holes in the ceiling allow light and rain in, causing soil to accumulate and foliage to grow. It's like a forest inside a mountain. It is perfect, and it will be my battleground.
12 hours left.
I spread the contents of my pack on the ground. There's the thermal blanket, ghillie wraps, knife, ammunition, and my .30 M1 Carbine.
A smattering of snacks. I find my nook overlooking the field and entrance, and wrap myself in the thermal blanket while I begin loading my three magazines. The blanket should shield me from thermal imaging, and I had arranged myself such that no one beyond 15 yards would be able to spot new.
I click the last round into the last magazine. 15 rounds a magazine, 45 rounds total. 5 more rounds loose. It's not much. But if I needed more than that, I was already screwed. Besides, no one could climb up here in an hour. Even with helicopters, the high winds would force them to land at least 200 feet down the mountain...the resulting climb would take at least 40 minutes by foot. And after all that, if they manned to make it this far, they'd be cut down at the mouth of the cave by an invisible enemy, their limp bodies piling until they blocked the entrance. I set my watch, and laid down to sleep.
9 hours left.
I wake before my alarm. I watch as the minutes tick away. As the second tick away.
A single, piercing beep.
I smile.
It has begun. | I looked down at the note again. It read: "In 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Start your preparations. Regards from ShadyAlice." My prayers have been answered.
I carefully closed the front door behind me, and went upstairs to my room. The clock read 2:50 p.m. So, there really is a goddess, or god, or some sort of higher being watching me, I thought. I had made a direct contact with this being once before being high on, what was it? Purple Dream. I thought our "conversation" on a text document rather ridiculous, but perhaps that was the type of delusion that started religions. Perhaps her name was ShadyAlice, and this is what the others prayed for as well? Whomever ShadyAlice was, she answered mine. I’m prepared to go.
I wouldn't be the first to be targeted. A few years ago, a rich girl named Susan hijacked her own cruiseship, then floated away on a hot air balloon to Washington, of all places, to evade the first geopersoncide. After her capture, she was sent directly into solitary confinement in prison without trial. Last year, an 18 year old kid climbed into a redwood canopy near his home only to be spotted by a predator drone a few hours later and blown to bits, all captured on infrared camera. Weirdly, it was all legal as the targets were suddenly declared by every nation on Earth as The Enemy of the State, a relatively new legal status reserved for global "terrorists."
I won't end up like them. I prayed to god that I be killed. Naïvely, I hoped my death would be without warning, but I forgot to add that part. Either death by missile, death by old age, or death by self, the result would look the same. On my bed, I laid out my sleeping pills, melatonin supplements, and a half drunk bottle of rum. Last time I did this, I just ended up in the hospital with an annoyed cop and a nurse telling me to drink this awful black stuff resembling the consistency of tar. Since that wasn't going to happen this time, I also took out my paint can opener from my backpack and took off my belt and laid those across the bed.
It took about five minutes to methodically take all the pills and swallow the rum. Quickly, I grabbed my chair, stood on top of it and proceeded to loop the belt around my neck. I inserted the paint can opener into one of the middle notches and laid that half of the belt over the door. Now, all I had to do was close the door. As I was closing the door, the world suddenly looked very unstable and my eyes stopped listening to me; they decided to close. My head wanted to follow, and moments later, the chair slipped, then the belt slipped off the door, and I felt myself on the floor. There was no pain from the impact and the only thing I wanted to do was to close my eyes.
The first thing I heard was a distant buzzing sound followed by a pungent smell. I felt a terrible headache, along with pain in my stomach and throat. I couldn't care less about the mess. I screwed up, again. I can already hear my sister mocking me about my last attempt. Slowly, I crawled to my bed and chair. The phone showed “2:49 p.m. battery critically low.” I sighed, drank the little cup of water left in my room, laid down on my bed, and then closed my eyes. If only my chair didn’t have wheels and my floor wasn’t made of hardw -then there was nothing.-
| 2015-06-14T16:18:12 | 2015-06-14T13:01:14 | 56 | 31 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | "I was just trying to be cheeky." John was shuffing on his feet, feeling sick enough that the act of sitting down would give him vertigo. A feet paradoxical when traveling at light speed in 0 G, but John was not one to not suffer and squirm.
"What did you say Mr. Crimsley?" The captain was a steel block; he lost 200 men and 3 diomega class ships in the scuttle to get behind the Volta Eartha Defense Network. Yet his gaze was solid and his voice calm.
"I was just making a row, trying to relieve the tension. It's the translator , it doesn't understand humour!"
"I will ask you again and if you don't answer I will put you in an airlock and you will explore countless galaxies for the rest of existence. When the trade negotiations turned to mining and colony rights on Alpha256, a planet made of uranium, platinum and water what did you say."
"I slyly suggested that maybe Earth was in possession of those resources do to the content of fabric detritus landed and visa vi planted on the subcontinental crust of said planet. The translator somehow transcribed it as we own that rock and you don't so bugger off."
" What did you actually say?"
"Did you bring a flag?" | Robert peered into the dark abyss. That's one thing he'd forgot about working on a offworld broadcasting station; the view was so vast and empty. Of course, tonight it will be different. The first of the Asmoydian and Veluese dreadnoughts have already jumped into Centauri's orbit, appearing as elongated blue flecks against the matte black. There was some activity along the horizon of the planet and the moon, although there was no way to tell if they were a defense force or an emergency evacuation. Either way, he knew it was too late for his crew. Most of them were standing alongside Robert, observing the flashes of light as spacecraft were torn asunder by the dreadnoughts. The news anchor repeatedly tried to engage the uplink, but the connection error persisted. The first act of war was the complete wipeout of communications just two hours after the broadcast so there wasn't a way to broadcast a retraction or correction or a plea. Funny to think that they were this ready to fight, Robert thought.
More ironically, it was supposed to be a message of peace, the diffusion of tension. The attack on their diplomatic headquarters in New Washington was a mystery to everyone, and the Human-Asmoydian-Veluese investigation was a symbol of unity in such a dividing crisis. Their report would put to rest rumors among the council that it was a human ship that destroyed the towers. But by the time Robert had noticed what he entered into the teleprompter, it was already on billions of holograms and lightboards system-wide. If human history were to survive this next calamity, it would be known that the first intergalactic war began with an accidental omission.
Robert turned to look back at the static projection of the broadcast. There it was, in big red font.
"BREAKING: rocket fuel melts stallaite beams". | 2015-06-19T06:57:39 | 2015-06-19T03:26:36 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.
Once you conquer a thousand worlds with no resistance you start to skip steps. Our initial invasions would take years to plan and complete but somewhere along the line we just started to land as soon as we reached orbit.
Killing all of the inhabitants with our aerial bombardments is easy. We finish off the survivors one on one. When your weapons are as awesome as ours, few can stand in our way.
The final stage is when we drop the drillers to extract the metallic resources required by our hungry galactic empire.
Planet H was assumed to be similar. The bombers poured out of the carriers like an angry stream of sorosso bugs. Down in the lower atmosphere, over the cities, the bombers started their runs. I could see the grey mist of toxin pouring out from the formations and I readied myself for the horrors to come.
About an hour later I was boots to ground, stepping off the transport. A fine mist of poison still fell from the bombers but I was safe, at least for a while, due to my chemical weapons suit.
The first inhabitant I saw was holding a thin shield over his head to block the chemical death raining down upon him. His shield was unidirectional so I opened up with my streamer hitting him in the torso with a blast of pure toxic h2o. He didn't even flinch, he just looked at me with surprise and then began to approach. I pulled the wet launcher from my back and hit him squarely with a dose so large it knocked him off his feet. You can't imagine my fear when he sat up like it was nothing and started screaming his war cry. A sound that would chill you like a deep breath of vacuum.
Soon we were fighting hand to hand and taking exceptional losses. The retreat sounded over the comms and somehow I managed to make it back to a carrier with the remnants of my squad. We lost half our guys that day.
| *This is my first post please give me feedback!*
The loud hiss of compressed air flooded out from the spacecraft as a ramp extended and the metallic doors slid open; two aliens appeared followed by a gasp from the crowd.
It had been two weeks since the space ship was in range of NASA’s detection and the entire Earth was buzzing. Buzzing with speculation, excitement, and a slight fear. The media was having a field day with the discovery, weeks of live news dedicated to nothing other than our alien ‘visitors’. Segment after segment of guest scientists gave their best guesses as to what the aliens might look like and what they will want. It was a common thought that they would fit our depiction of a small green alien with big eyes and a bigger head, yet scientists were vigilant in dampening people’s expectations. “Do not be disappointed when the creatures do not even vaguely resemble a humanoid.” Despite this, everyone secretly hoped for a little green figure with an antenna and three fingers.
By tracking the course of the spaceship, NASA determined the landing site. A large crowd had gathered the day of the landing. The United Nations had created an order of the first people to meet the aliens ranked by importance; near the top were the president of the US, the leaders of other first world nations, top NASA officials, and other important UN figures.
The crowd was dead silent as the spacecraft landed, anticipating the first look at otherworldly beings. As the two aliens emerged, excited expressions turned into faces of pure confusion. Weeks of nothing but speculation, nobody predicted what walked out of that spaceship. The “aliens” looked like humans. They were wearing business casual attire. In the midst of the crowd’s confused silence, the taller alien opened his mouth to a strangely Canadian voice, “Hey thar soorry ‘boot the trees we knocked oover,” gesturing towards a pile of toppled trees.
“False alarm everybody,” said a NASA official through a megaphone. “These aren’t aliens, they’re the Canadians!”
You see, the Canadians colonized mars back in the early ‘20s; they decided to move their entire country to the red planet and lived glorious lives full of hockey and Tim Horton’s. Over 100 years later and now they've returned, a number of disappointed sighs occurred as the crowd dispersed. | 2016-02-22T13:09:56 | 2016-02-22T11:32:18 | 66 | 43 |
[WP] You're a barista at Starbucks. You can tell a person's age just by reading his name on the cup/slip. Incidentally, a green tea is ordered by a 350 year-old Mr "Charles"... | If you're interested, this kinda connects with my story "[Change](https://www.reddit.com/r/shtayawhileandlisten/comments/2zdxav/change/)," which you might want to read first.
_________
“Tall caramel Frappucino for Laney!”
*Age sixteen.*
“And a grande, nonfat latte for Harold”
*Age sixty-four. Obviously.*
“Aaaand I have an iced grande vanilla chai for Dan!”
*Age twenty-seven.* Amy looked up as he grabbed his drink. *And a very finely aged twenty-seven,* she thought.
He smiled at her.
She smiled at him.
*OK, Dan, here’s your window. Girl smiles back at you, you start talking to her. Okay, well, could have done without the elevator eyes, but glad you like what you see. Sooooooo…talk, while I put up this next drink…*
“Venti chocolate chip brownie Frappucino for Dolores!”
*Age nine. What? Who the fuck was naming their kids Dolores in 2007? I guess the same parents who bought their child that tub of diabetes I just made. And fucking seriously, Dan, talk to me or go home.*
A little girl scampered up and, standing on her tiptoes, grabbed the enormous dessert disguised as a drink. Dan smiled at Amy again, saying nothing, as he turned and walked out of the store. She saw him look at her again as he opened the door to leave.
*Ah, okay. Gonna be one of those, are you? Amy turned back to the bar and shook her head. Swing and a miss, Dan. At twenty-seven, I’d hope you’d have a little more courage…*
“A funny thing, isn’t it? What you can know about a person, just from the first thing they tell you.”
These were the conversations she loved to eavesdrop on. Nobody seems to realize the barista can hear you. She glanced up to find the source of the conversation, and found herself looking into a pair of piercing blue eyes. The face around them was middle aged, with light brown skin and a bristly white beard. But his eyes…there was something clear, wise, and sad about them. They seemed…older than the rest of his face.
“I mean, people will tell you real quick who they are, right? You just gotta listen for it.”
She looked around. *Is he just philosophizing at a Starbucks barista?*
“I mean, that Dan fellow who was just in here?” he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No good for the likes of you, my dear. Like a painting, that one. Pretty, but not very deep. He told you that right away now, didn’t he?”
She smiled at him as she put the next drink up. “You know, you might be right. Tall latte for Ravinder!”
*Age forty-three.*
“Now this man…” she looked up to see him pointing to a picture of a handsome man on the front page of the New York Times. The headline above it read
PHILANTHROPIST GORDON DURANT KILLED BY DRUNK DRIVER
“This man, you know, he told you in seconds that he was a good man. Shame…” he shook his head.
“Was he a friend of yours?”
“No, no. But I talked to him once. Very good man. He was a lot like you. Special, but he didn’t know it. You’ve got a lot of years left, though. You’ll learn it.”
She smiled at him as she put the next drink up. “How do you know I’m so special? I have a grande green tea for Charles— “
*Age three hundred fifty. That can’t be right…* She felt light headed, and steadied herself on the counter. She read the cup again. Charles, *age three hundred fifty.*
“Thank you, Amy,” the blue-eyed man said. “It was real nice meeting you.”
“Wait, that can’t be right… You’re not…”
“Oh, not for a long time, child. But if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t my real name, either.” He dropped a dollar bill into the tip jar. A 50. “You be good, miss Amy. Big things are coming your way. Big things.”
She felt her phone buzz once in her pocket.
“There’s one now. You might wanna take it.” He smiled, and walked out of the store.
She hurried into the back room and pulled out her phone. One new email.
FROM: HARVARD UNIVERSITY LAW SCHOOL ADMISSIONS
Dear Ms. Amy Derrin, it is with great pleasure that we inform you… | I hadn't first noticed my ability until I was seven. At the time, I thought nothing of it.
My mother threw a birthday party for me. Childhood friends were gathered around the bleach white picnic table in our back yard. Mother was pulling styrofoam cups off a tall stack. She jotted everyone's name on them with a red permanent marker and carefully placed the cups on the table. She unscrewed the four liter soda bottles and started taking request from the children. Tipping the bottles, fizzing soda filled each white soft cups. I reached for mine and laughed.
"James and '7'." I giggled. "I'm seven!"
Mother looked oddly at me. Most likely chalked it up to child muttering nonsense. But when I started pointing to the other children's cups and proclaiming their numbers. She brought me inside, out of the sun and handed me a glass of water. I watched my guests play tag through the glass sliding door for fifteen minutes.
I'm no longer seven, but nineteen years old. I will be returning to college for my second year in the coming months, but for now, I work in a coffee shop. Unloading crates full of milk, reheating once frozen pastries, brewing blends of overpriced beans and jotting names onto cups. I wonder if this ability is tethered to something grander, something cosmic. Researching this ability, I found stories about men who could write names on parchment to detect evil or monsters in their midst. Yet, all I can do is find the true age of a "Cougar" by scribbling her name on the side of the "Double Shot No Foam White Chocolate Café Latté" she ordered. "Heather, '48'"
Grande Dark Roast for Brad, '25'. Grande Chai Tea Latte for Katrina, '23'. Venti Roast for Aron, '37'. Tall Hot Chocolate for Shay, '12'.
The irony of my ability never loses its absurdity. One day, however, the absurdity turned to horror.
"Tall Green Tea for Charles, '350'."
I had never seen a number grace seventy. My first thought was I was wrong. My ability was wrong. The doubt turned to comfort but gave way to a darker fear. I was never wrong.
The birthday party. All my friends were seven or eight years old. I see regulars who pay with their card, their drivers license pokes out. I've verified my ability over and over again to assure myself I wasn't delusional or suffering from an illness.
"350" that number rings like a broken bell clanging and smashing my every thought. Rattling my core to pieces. The worst part was this, Mr. "Charles" looked no older than thirty-five.
The cup was still clutched in my shaking hands. I was frozen. I looked up at him. Dark swept back hair, pale complexion, rugged handsome qualities. His accent even sounded otherworldly. I quickly poured the boiling water into the cup, dropping the tea bag in and handing it to him.
"Thanks." He said.
He walked out the door. He was leaving. Gone into the world. I would never see him again. Never answer this self-inflicted mystery. My coworker jostled my arm. Impatient customers lined up at the register. Overcome with a million shocks, pumping blood faster through my body then ever before. I leaped over the counter in pursuit of Mr. Charles.
Crashing through the doors of the shop, the sun glazed my eyes. People moved along the sidewalks, shimmering metal cars lined the streets. I'd never forget his face. I ran in one direction and turned a corner. A few people, none were him. I went back, running in the other direction. Then I spotted his slick combed back hair across the street. The once red light was changing to green. The intersection had flared up. I sprinted off the curb. Honking and shouting pierced my ears. I felt a drive like I had never felt before. Answers were silently moving away from me in the shadows cast by the buildings overhead. I felt strength coursing through me, the very essence of life fueling me. Then I felt nothing.
I lie in the street. The sound of tires screeching, replaying in my mind. The hot pavement underneath my cold skin. My hand was reaching out. Strangers stood around me, one was Mr. Charles. He and a few others gathered to my aid. Sirens rang in the distant. A man was apologizing and weeping not two feet away. Mr. Charles stared at me intently, recognizing me. I tried to speak but my throat wouldn't serve me. I coughed. Sharp pains like knives entered my chest. Mr. Charles kneeled down by my side.
"There, there. Don't speak." Mr. Charles's voice washed over me. "You've still got some life left in you."
Mr. Charles's face cracked a most sinister grin. His eyes glowed a blood red. Fangs hung like stalactites in his mouth. He leaned in closer to my ear.
"I wouldn't want it to go to waste."
| 2016-02-27T21:58:29 | 2016-02-27T19:21:09 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone in the world gains the powers and abilities of the God they believe in. You are an Atheist. | They all liked to point. They all liked to laugh. They summoned their lightnings and they transmuted their waters into wine. They raised their dead and cured their sick. And looked down on me and my ilk for simply living our lives.
Yes, it was all very amusing to them.
Then they went to war. Their heavens shattered and their hells went empty. They summoned their forces and replenished their resources and devastated their lands.
Rewards and punishments and retributions and every silly sin of hubris enacted by the jealous and petty gods invented by men, now reenacted on the earthy realm by even more petty and jealous people.
It made me sad to see them go, but their children were ours. We were left to clean up the mess.
We who knew that the gods were fake. We who knew that our every action mattered. We who understood that this was not some dress rehearsal for some afterlife. We witnessed. We withstood. We found found their orphans and raised them to see the folly of seeking miracles.
What did our disbelief bring us? Sanctuary from the madness. Their powers couldn't touch us. Their wills did not work upon our waters. Ours was safety from madness granted by our insistence that the world make sense. That effect follow cause.
Atheism granted us reprieve from feckless and capricious gods of jealousy and wrath.
When the aliens came and revealed their deeds we were not surprised. Every mystery ever solved in the history of man has turned out to be "not magic", why would this be any different? They had severed the umbilicus of delusion and self-selected superiority by simply giving us all what we claimed we each wanted.
With the weak gone. With the delusions disproved by empirical experience. With the absurdity of godhead finally purged from our lines, we joined the greater community of universal life at large.
The extinction burst of unreason had been painful, but it birthed a new race, ready to face a universe without the illusions of a "chosen people" chasing the ineffable will of an imaginary friend.
The final test of sentience is simple. Can you survive what you think you want long enough to understand what you actually have? | The scene begins with two men talking. One is pacing back and forth, deep in thought and obviously frustrated. The other is sitting down, meditating.
Buddhist: Why do you suffer so?
Atheist: Well you see Buddhist, I just don't get it. Everyone seems to be so happy, everyone gets what they want.
Buddhist: And why do you believe this?
Atheist: Because it's right in front of my eyes. Just look at that guy over there.
In the distance a man in pulling bread out of a basket.
Buddhist: What is the problem?
Atheist: The problem is that he has been pulling bread out of that basket all day! He never seems to run out. There cannot possibly be that much bread in that basket.
Buddhist: Perhaps you should ask him how he does it.
Atheist: Ask him?! No, no, no. I'll go tell him that he's a fraud. You there! How are you doing that?
Christian: Doing what?
Atheist: You keep pulling bread out of that basket. How?
Christian: Because God wills it.
Atheist: Because God wills it? What a load of crap lemme see that thing.
Christian: If you seek the blessings of Christ, then you may have this basket.
Atheist: Let's see where's the secret compartment. What the hell, there's no bread in here.
Christian: You must simply believe.
Atheist: Believe? Ha, no. I don't believe in your false Gods and fake blood. Jesus was only a figment of imagination written into some book that people worship.
A third man approaches, having overheard the disbelief of the Atheist.
Agnostic: Excuse me, perhaps there is some truth to what the Christian says.
Atheist: Oh and what are you, a Jew?
Agnostic: No, I believe that you cannot know what is not known.
Atheist: Well you obviously know very little then.
Agnostic: I can see quite clearly that this man possesses powers that are not human in nature, however I can see that it is real and it is no trick. Therefore it proves that God can exist.
Christian: Thank you for your faith in me, I think. For your help, may God watch over you.
Atheist: Oh you have got to be kidding me. I'm done with this.
The atheist walks back over to the Buddhist, who is still meditating.
Buddhist: Have you found peace?
Atheist: No, only pain. | 2016-06-15T16:05:30 | 2016-06-15T13:04:25 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | They taught us in school that it had all been for the better, and really it had. I wasn't old enough to have been there in the thick of it. I wasn't there when the royals were overthrown in the dead of winter and *he* took over. Maybe *he* is too ominous, but his name throughout the lands are spoken nearly only in whispers now, on the streets.
Then again, so are those of the royal family. All of them are merely whispered about. There are loyalists, there are people who support the new regime. It's been decades - almost a century since the thick of it.
But our country is better. The King is evil, yes. *King,* again, might be an overstatement of a word. A man who took the throne from another, who in turn had taken the throne from another. A game of thrones without the royal aspect, a leader who ruled the country.
At first everything had been much worse. Our currency went to crap. My mom tells me stories about the days when she would wake up at dawn and take me and my brother to the line at the market so we could have enough for everyone to eat. My mother tells me sometimes there wasn't enough when we reached the end of the line, and we would go hungry. My brother was five, and I was three. I don't really remember, but my brother speaks of it sometimes after he's had too much to drink.
Compared to other countries maybe we're still not as good. But we haven't been here long. The *King*, despite his flaws - despite the hatred of the world - helped our economy. Helped classism. Helped the every day citizen. We still have a long way to go with human rights and poverty and living conditions.
But in general, the death of the Romanovs was not a tragedy.
---
Thanks for reading. For better stories subscribe to /r/Celsius232 | My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night. | 2016-07-10T11:02:59 | 2016-07-10T10:46:19 | 323 | 11 |
[WP] One hundred years ago, several city-ships left earth. Each one was devoted to a different poitical ideology (communism, anarchism, libertarianism, etc). Today the ships meet, and see how each other are doing. | Sometimes I regret being the only ship in the galaxy that runs on bicycle power, but then I remember it's all a matter of purpose.
The S.S. Environmentalism has been called many things: the "Hippie Ship," the "Green Thumb-Up-Ass," the "Floating Salad." But we all get along, and I think that's more than can be said for some of our associates.
Now, I've been to some awkward dinner parties in my life -- let's just say, when you live on a ship with forty-nine other people, you run into exes more often than you'd like. But you get over it. Now, setting foot on the S.S. Fascism for the first-ever centennial meet-up, I was shaking in my biodegradable boots.
The Fascist vessel was made entirely of steel and looked like a bit of a war machine. Far larger than any of the rest of our city-ships. But they were the only ones who offered to host, so props to them. Actually, the invitation was worded more like a threat, but you really don't want to argue with these guys.
The S.S. Environmentalism parked as close to our host ship's entrance as possible, and I floated through the door, hanging my helmet on a hook once I got inside. The decor was - dare I say it - ugly. All tasteless reds and stern-looking portraits. Ronald Lerner, the captain of the ship, gave me a firm handshake and guided me to my seat.
"Ah, Philip! Welcome, welcome! I'm sorry to say that you missed the pre-meal entertainment, the S.S. Communism's talking Marx hologram. But to be honest..."
He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "...You didn't miss much." He burst into buoyant laughter but I didn't join him.
I was seated between the Captains of Liberalism and Conservatism, who both had their arms crossed, avoiding eye contact with one another. The captain of Anarchism met my nervous gaze.
"Is something about this whole enterprise a little...off to you?" he whispered.
I didn't say anything, but he went on talking anyway.
"I mean, God, that Ronald guy is insufferable. You think he's got slaves in the back prepping all the food for him? You think we're next?"
I shrugged and turned to look for someone else to talk to. Libertarianism and Socialism were chatting fervently but respectfully.
"Yeah, well, we've got a few elected officials but that's all we need," Lib said.
"Jeez, man, I don't know how you do it. How do you not devolve into chaos? I mean, at least you've got some things in order, unlike *that* clown." He gestured towards Anarchism, who flipped him off. That didn't sit too well with Socialism.
"Hey, watch yourself, pal."
Anarchism chewed his gum nonchalantly. "Sounds like you're out of touch with the individual needs of your citizens, buddy. I mean, I trust my crew so much that I let 'em do what they want. Aren't you interested in the overall well-being of the ship's residents? Don't you care about the good of the community? What are you, some sort of Communist?"
His eyes widened as he turned quickly to the captain of the S.S. Communism. "Uh, sorry about that. It just sort of slipped out."
Communism chuckled. "No worries, I'm used to it."
Ronald suddenly stepped to the head of the table and tapped his glass three times. "All right, everyone. Your food will be brought out shortly. But before the evening's festivities officially begin, I'd like to address the elephant in the room."
Conservatism coughed awkwardly.
Ronald began to pace a bit. "Simply put, you're all weak. If I opened fire on you, you'd go down in flames. And why is that? You have no central figure. No individual for your people to rally around."
"What are you saying?" interjected Socialism.
"I'm saying that my men boarded all of your ships while you were prattling away with each other and are forcing your people to board mine. Your ships' core reactors have been deactivated and you have no choice but to accept me as your one true leader."
There was a silence that lasted far too long.
"Now, let's see about that filet mignon, eh?" He clapped twice and headed to the kitchen.
None of us dared to look at each other. The only way out involved cooperation, and with this crew, it was going to be easier said than done.
I decided to be the first to speak up and leaned in to the middle of the table. Everyone else leaned in as well.
"Look, gang, we have forty-nine other people coming over from each of our ships. Surely that'll be enough to topple this guy?"
Libertarianism sighed. "But how many of them are going to side with Ronald out of fear?"
I shook my head. "Maybe some. But come on, if you really think about it..."
I looked towards the kitchen. Ronald was staring at me, sipping a glass of red wine, which he raised with a grin.
I leaned back down. "...History is on our side." | It has been one hundred years since the fall of earth and the great exodus. Fleeing from a dying world, seven lifeboats were sent into the black. Each vessel contained not only the genetic makeup of all life on earth, and every bit of information we could store on board, but a crew and passenger list belonging entirely to a single ideology. The hope being that even if some of these socio-political systems failed during the long journey, the great diversity would give humanity a better shot at surviving. A strategy from evolutions playbook... earths last hopes.
"Mankind's Glorious Destiny Amongst the Stars", the first ark to leave earth, found atheistic socialism to be particularly effective in a closed system despite a single specific incident involving a coup halfway through their journey. Incredibly secretive, the inner workings and records of Glorious Destiny's governmental logs, have never been revealed, so not much more is known.
The second Ark to leave Earth was named "Small Step" by romantic minded American pilgrims, which doubled as a joke poking fun at the shape of the Ark, which resembled a large foot. Exemplifying the ideals of American society, their Ark functioned using a Republican capitalist society, essentially a transplant of the United States government, with a renewed emphasis on those personal freedoms that don't have to be surrendered to survive in space.
The House of Saud, built by far the largest and most extravagant Ark. Using almost the entire remaining resources of the middle East, they were able to include nearly the whole population of Saudi Arabia, transplanting their entire kingdom into the ship. Using a system of strict monarchy, and total theocratic control, their dynastic maintained it's authority during the entirety of their trip. They even managed, despite multiple attacks by Earthers, to include the Hajj. This Ark, wax named Ark Abdulaziz, after the first king of Saudi Arabia.
The fourth Ark to leave earth was Christened "Dragon of Beijing" and was funded entirely by the People's Republic of China. Led by the Dalai Llama, this Ark employed a strict totalitarian state, but besides not allowing any threat to its authority- economic or political, did not intervene in any social matters, leaving the Dalai Lama to lead the people. Before this Ark left Earth, there was great controversy involving allegations that the Dalai Llama was no more than a puppet. However, if there were the case, there is no evidence of this, and the survival and great success of the Ark shoe that whatever was true, it seems to have worked for them.
Perhaps the most surprising of the Arks was, of course the crowd funded "Freedom" Ark. The anarchists managed not only to survive their long journey, but they did so without a single violent death.
The seventh Ark to leave Earth was crewed entirely by scientists, craftsmen and their families. They named the Ark "Sagan's Spirit" It was a massive experiment , creating a pure meritocracy. Of course, they included procedures to fall back to a democratic system should the excitement fail, but they managed to avoid having to use that measure despite having possibly the most difficult journey, and suffering the largest known loss of life, of any of the Arks. Three months into their journey, they suffered a catastrophic reactor failure, that resulted in the deaths of 115 people. Two years later, the Ark was struck by a small astroid when it's forward shielding failed, resulting in the deaths of the captain and the entire bridge crew. A total of 345 incidents were recorded, and 7890 members of the Ark were prematurely lost on its journey.
After 100 years, the Arks arrived in orbit of Eden V, or New Eden a world we had identified as most likely capable of supporting life. It was to the great surprise of the crew Glorious Destiny, the first Ark to arrive, that New Eden had three moons in its orbit, two of which were lush and green. Fully capable of supporting humanity.
Over the course of a year, the Arks began arriving, and the people of Glorious Destiny, having already landed and formed the beginnings of a colony on New Eden, welcomed each of their brothers and sisters to the new world with open arms. The majority of Arks landed on new Eden, with the exception of Small Step and Freedom, who both claimed moons for themselves. Freedom refused to land on Eden proper and claimed the smallest of the moons for themselves. The Americans crashed. Although they deny that their landing was unplanned, despite the massive trail of destruction the Ark created behind it as it landed. Luckily, no one was killed during their "landing" and the massive trail of dirt the Ark plowed created a large area of fertile farming land for them.
The sixth Ark did not arrive, and as all but the Sagan left before it, it's disappearance was almost forgotten. Members of the Sagan, realizing that an Ark was missing, began listening along the path from earth for any signals from the errant ark. However, it was expected that an Ark, or even multiple Arks would be lost, so no real effort was involved in the search. Unfortunately, Sagan's database did not include any information on the nature of the Ark at all, much to everyone surprise. As the Arks were generation ships, no members of the original crew were around to give any more information, so all that could be done was watch and wait.
The six surviving Arks began creating colonies spread throughout New Eden, and only a small team stayed aboard the Sagan in orbit to listen for the arrival of the final Ark. A hopeful vigil. But one that paid off- the Sagan detected a message originating from a point along the path to Earth. The leaders of the six Arks were gathered, and shown the message from the lost Ark.
It contained only three words: "Help. Not alone."
| 2016-07-10T12:58:42 | 2016-07-10T12:21:56 | 552 | 156 |
[WP] Write a story where the bad guy is really the good guy but it's only revealed on the last line
The opposite of my last prompt! Wondered what the responses would be for this one | "We got the cash" said Don as he opened the duffel bag. "We got enough to pull it off?" He picked up some of the bills and showed the other guys. "I did the math and we have enough for both tools and supplies, Luckily we got enough from the bank." said James while looking at his notes.
Don walked into the house followed by the others. "No one saw us right? Good, no one except us can know what we are about to do. Alright put the drill over there and the rest of the tools over there. Before we get to work lets go over the plan once more. We do it and we do it fast. Then we hide out till the right moment appears. The target arrives in 50 minutes. You all know your positions so let's get to it." Don put on his mask. It was a good job he had the money in his account. The kid would never expect this great of a surprise party. | "Alright, with the 50 thousand gallons of our latest solution, we have more than enough to infect the water supply of the majority of New York and its surrounding municipalities" said Johnson. "Within hours it will be in the taps of at least 10 million people."
"ITS NOT ENOUGH," shouted the Plumber, "we need more; in every major city, in every ghetto, in every suburb. We need to spread it everywhere we can. If it is an isolated release, we won't have enough time to infect the rest before someone catches on."
As he paced around the dimly lit room, brow furrowed beneath his hand, a broken cigarette hanging from his mouth, the Plumber finally realized what needed to be done. "We have to make it airborne. There is no other way. This must be carried out completely and quickly."
"That...might actually work...," muttered Johnson as he started scribbling math on a stray piece of paper, "It'll have to be dropped from a high altitude, but it will also be carried by wind currents."
"Let's do it. The 2nd D-Day is now upon the world." The Plumber turns around and stares out the window to take in the current state of the world as he lights up his last good cigarette. "I just hope the solution is strong enough to reverse the widespread chromosomal damage, not just prevent it."
Edit: this is my first time ever responding or participating in a Writing Prompt thread. I'd appreciate any and all feedback or comments. Thanks! | 2016-08-22T16:24:48 | 2016-08-22T16:04:49 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | "Howdy," said Herod, clapping an arm around me, a shower of maggots falling from his side. "Mister special," Herod snarled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Mister number one, is that it."
"Oh, shut it," Jehoram snarled. "Just because you're mad at not being special anymore. I used to be the last one! Figured that was all in the past after Jesus started preaching love and forgiveness!" He reeled in his armful of intestines and clutched them to his chest. "Well, I was wrong! I got used to it, and you will too!" He slapped a bloody arm around me, pulling me close. "Pay no attention to Herod, he's just jealous, he is."
"I don't-" I stuttered. The damned were thronging around me, banners raised, confetti falling. "I - I know this is Hell." I turned around, taking in the slanted stone buildings that rose around me, twisting my perception into vertigo. "But - why'd God strike me down personally? I wasn't that bad! I - I wasn't!"
"Of course you weren't," Jehoram said kindly. "Look here, look here," and a troop of young boys rushed up to greet me, their bodies savaged with claw marks, barely two of them still in one piece. I tried not to vomit and tasted bile.
"So you're the new guy God killed, huh?" one of the kids piped up. His throat had been torn open and blood bubbled up with each word. "Boy, it sure has been a while."
"He's been slacking!" giggled another. "Ol' baldy!" said a thrid. The whole troop burst out into laughter.
"You know what they did?" Jehoram said. "They made fun of Elijah for being bald! That was it! Oh!" He pulled me towards the crowd. "Everyone say hi! Tell him what you did to make God strike you down!"
"I looked behind me," said a pile of salt. Part of its face crumbled away. "Sort of an overreaction, in my opinion."
"I jacked off, okay?" said Onan. "It wasn't worth it, trust me."
"I tried to catch the Ark while it was tipping over!" said Uzzah. "Like, what was I supposed to do, let it fall?"
Children, babies, some of them, were sprawled out on the streets of Hell, fussing and bawling in the crowd. "Egyptians," Jehoram confided. "Their sin was being firstborns.
"Here's the thing," he said. "You liberal generations have had it easy. Y'all think God striking someone down is some massive condemnation. When really, God is a violent asshole who'd kill someone for being born in the wrong place in the wrong time." He winked at me. "It's not that bad."
"But why me?" I said. "After all these millennia! Why would He kill me?"
"Oh, pfft!" Herod blurted out. "Mister number one and it's already going to your head! Look behind you, you idiot!"
I turned, and there were a million souls following in my footsteps, walking down the path to Hell, as numerous as a swarm of locusts. "It's the apocalypse!" Herod snapped. "So congrats, you were the first to go!" | It stinks of blood.
The air around here, it stinks so much of blood. I love it. How did I end up here again? There's a gate in front of me, a pretty large one at that. I suppose I should go inside, since there's no one else here.
As I go inside, I see a figure. A large bodied man, with fleshy thorns growing out of its forehead. He's all...red. Almost as if he had no skin at all. Or maybe that's the case. Doesn't look too terrifying tho, not to me atleast. There's others behind him, quite a bunch, but none with a stronger aura than him.
"Welcome to the gates of the Underground, child. We have been waiting for you for time unknown. But I suppose what you humans say is true, that good things take time" He chuckles, as if laughing at the irony of him using the word "good". Or so it seems to me.
"So, I am guessing I am dead then? And this is, what, hell?" I ask.
"You don't look surprised, or depressed for that matter. Well, I expected as much. Do you remember anything?"
" Bits. I had the knife in my hand, the little girl beneath me, I was about to push it through her heart when.." my head sears. "When a light, a big painful flash of light sliced right through me. Seemed to come out of no where, but after that I fealt like every inch of my body was just, evaporating. The next thing I knew, I was here. "
"That would be the being you people call "God". He killed you. Your actions in your world were terrifying beyond measure. So much so that even the demons down here would gasp sometimes when they would hear the stories of your doings. Which is why your "God" killed you. You were becoming too much to handle for him in the little playground he has created where he toys with you humans. I, am Satan. Or at least that's the name you know of me. I rule the underground, taking into my care beings such as you. These are the human souls turned demons over the time that you see behind me. They have all been waiting for you."
"For me? Why?"
"Because you are the first one to have made "God" himself so angry that he had to descend himself to take care of you. I can't express the gratitude I have for you since you made that creature's "life" a living hell..haha" he laughs again, at his own joke. "I haven't felt so good in a long time. Not everyday you see him so disturbed due to one of the "humans" he loves so much. And here you are, ready to descend to the underground. To live as the King among us, your wish, their command."
I smile. This is what I have been waiting for. The life up there was getting too boring anyway. I kind of wanted to die. I just wasn't sure what happens after death, so I didn't want to take the risk. I kept trying to find new ways to quench my thirst of seeing others suffer. But I was running out of ideas. But now, I feel whole again. I guess "God" does help those in need. I give out a slight chuckle.
"So now what?" I ask.
"It's up to you. This is your realm. What do you want to do?" He responds with the question.
I take a minute to think. Then look around. There's more demons here than there are humans up there. All at my command. Ready to serve me. I can live like a king down here. Send them up on earth to torture humans as I watch from down here and be entertained. Oh, the possibilities. But I have something better in my mind. I am tired of humans. I look up at Satan again.
"What are your thoughts on giving your shiny old friend a visit up there?"
Satan looks at me, then smiles.
| 2016-10-14T07:39:31 | 2016-10-14T06:43:11 | 596 | 198 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I sat back in my chair after another victory. The hero was being taken away by paramedics, unconscious but not hurt too bad (I hope!) They must have been used to this, it being almost a year since the challenges had started. "I must have beaten every super hero in the country by now!", I exclaimed excitedly.
People were all around me like usual after another win. All with big smiles on their faces congratulating me on my latest victory.
"Great job, Joey!, you beat another super hero without breaking a sweat!", my friend shouted. "I'm putting this on your YouTube channel tomorrow so make sure to watch it!", she said as she got closer to my victory seat.
"You bet I will!", I said, a little breathless.
This challenge had been extra special because it was my birthday. I was finally ten, something I'd heard my dad saying on the phone that was a big deal so I knew it had to be important.
The media had stopped coming after the first few but there was still the random onlooker with their phone out recording.
I felt very tired. I'd been getting more and more tired lately. Almost like I wasn't going to be able to keep waking up from this wonderful dream of a life I was in.
"How much longer can this go on?"
I heard a man ask another man, both I recognized from the building I lived in.
"I don't know, as long as his strength keeps up I guess."
I wondered why they sounded so sad. Surely they don't think I'll ever lose my fight!? You'd think people that worked for a place called 'make a wish foundation' would be a little more happy. Maybe I could share cake with them later.
As the nurse wheeled me back into the hospital and the cheers from the audience rang through my ears, I knew chemo wouldn't be so bad today. Maybe I would even be able to eat a little cake later and my mom would smile at me like she used to. | "Fight!" The announcer shouted.
I waited as he rushed towards me, sword bared and gave a war cry. I waited as he rushed me, standing absolutely still, and then at the last possible moment I ducked under his golden sword and came up behind him. I moved to strike his back with my fist, but he brought up his shield and I did no damage.
This time he brought down is flaming sword in a downward arc, in a completely idiotic move. The recovery time for a move like that is ridiculous, plus, it was simple enough to avoid.
I simply stepped to the right and death whizzed inches to my right. The swordsman however had put all his weight behind the attack and stumbled forward for a brief moment.
A moment is all you need in a fight.
I slammed the back of my fist into his back and he flew forward in the arena. As he struggled to get up, I slide and kicked him from below, sending the swordsman flying upwards. I followed up with a short hop and my fist held upwards, and got the swordsman in the small of the back.
I landed gracefully on my feet and the swordsman thudded onto the ground a few feet away.
"Flawless Victory!" The announcer shouted.
The super-hero, whoever she was (after 340 wins they all began to blur) threw down her controller. "That was bullshit! I want a rematch!"
Wow they were really sending me the bottom of the barrel with these guys. Like, I why they would want to test their mettle against me, but come on. With skills like that she must've known she wouldn't stand a chance. "GG no re," I taunted.
This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as a terrible golden aura began to gather around her, and her started to float and surround her head like a halo.
As I began to think my win-streak was going to end, but not to a loss, she seemed to take a deep breath and calm down. "Sorry," she muttered, the bright gold aura fading around her, and her long blond hair settling back down on her shoulders.
I had several snappy comebacks ready but decided this wouldn't be a wise time to say them. Archie, platinum level gamer and master of diplomacy, that's me.
***
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | 2016-11-19T18:35:18 | 2016-11-19T14:57:30 | 970 | 39 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I sat back in my chair after another victory. The hero was being taken away by paramedics, unconscious but not hurt too bad (I hope!) They must have been used to this, it being almost a year since the challenges had started. "I must have beaten every super hero in the country by now!", I exclaimed excitedly.
People were all around me like usual after another win. All with big smiles on their faces congratulating me on my latest victory.
"Great job, Joey!, you beat another super hero without breaking a sweat!", my friend shouted. "I'm putting this on your YouTube channel tomorrow so make sure to watch it!", she said as she got closer to my victory seat.
"You bet I will!", I said, a little breathless.
This challenge had been extra special because it was my birthday. I was finally ten, something I'd heard my dad saying on the phone that was a big deal so I knew it had to be important.
The media had stopped coming after the first few but there was still the random onlooker with their phone out recording.
I felt very tired. I'd been getting more and more tired lately. Almost like I wasn't going to be able to keep waking up from this wonderful dream of a life I was in.
"How much longer can this go on?"
I heard a man ask another man, both I recognized from the building I lived in.
"I don't know, as long as his strength keeps up I guess."
I wondered why they sounded so sad. Surely they don't think I'll ever lose my fight!? You'd think people that worked for a place called 'make a wish foundation' would be a little more happy. Maybe I could share cake with them later.
As the nurse wheeled me back into the hospital and the cheers from the audience rang through my ears, I knew chemo wouldn't be so bad today. Maybe I would even be able to eat a little cake later and my mom would smile at me like she used to. | You know, almost 68% of the world's population has some sort of superpower these days, many of which are combat-oriented. Most of them don't use theirs for much, content to live their lives out peacefully. However, not everyone's so sane.
Me? I'm just your average Joe. I don't go running around in tights, beating up people I don't like. Heck, my power isn't even that useful in everyday life.
Doesn't stop those megalomanaical self-proclaimed "superheroes", though.
"Halt!"
Oh, for fucks sake. Not another one. See, I actually *like* supervillains these days. Not because I agree with their views or actions, but because they don't trying their damnedest to ruin my life.
"In the name of the law, I, Longinus, order you to hand yourself in!"
Fucking *Longinus*, dude. The guy's power let him pierce through anything. Started going on a crusade recently, armed with nothing but his trademark spear. And, now it apparently looks like he wants to skewer me? Why? Hell if I know. Maybe it's just my reputation as an unbeatable opponent. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm perceived as a villain due to fighting "heroes".
"Dude, look, I'm sorry for whatever the hell I did, alright!? I just want to have a normal day for once!"
"Forgive me, but I cannot allow a *villain* of your caliber and notoriety to simply escape the custody of the law. Surrender now, or I will be forced to charge you with evading arrest!"
Oh, for *fuck's* sa-
Oh, God, he's coming right at me! Spear, *spear*, SPEAR!
Before I realize what's going on, I can feel my power going to work, puppeteering my body, coaxing my frame *just* out of the unstoppable spear's path. I feel my body pivot slightly as Longinus passes me by, unable to change his course.
My arm whips out, and he falls to the ground, out cold. As I feel the cold, unpleasant sensation leave my body, I hear people start screaming.
"OH MY GOD, HE KILLED LONGINUS!!"
I let out a heavy sigh. God fucking damn it, with my luck, this'll be all over the news before they realize he's not actually dead. | 2016-11-19T18:35:18 | 2016-11-19T17:28:10 | 970 | 28 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday they receive a letter from their future selves. Some recieve long messages about their future lovers or messages about changes they would have made. Yours contains nothing but a small list of locations and the words, "NEVER VISIT". | > 1. Google Complex. Mountain View, CA.
> 2. New York Stock Exchange. New York City, NY.
> 3. Ueno Park. Tokyo, Japan.
> 4. Ayers Rock. Northern Territory, Australia.
>
> *NEVER VISIT.*
And that was it.
I examined the letter carefully again, then put it down on the dorm room desk. It was definitely my handwriting. Rather than a pad, the page looked like it had been hastily torn out of a book. In fact, the paper resembled that inside my current journal, which I hadn't written in for months but still stubbornly carried around in my backpack. Some sort of dark liquid had stained the bottom-right corner, possibly coffee or some kind of paint.
I shook my head. Grabbing my keyring, I got up and went out into the hall of my dorm, the big oak door of my single clicking as it locked itself behind me. It was late, just after midnight. I walked into the commons area and flicked on the lights. Someone had left the windows open. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the sounds of the usual Friday night party at the New Apps, still cheerfully in full swing.
Okay, I thought as I refilled my Nalgene at the sink. Let's take it from the top again. First question -- was Future Me actually trying to tell me to *go* to those places? Like a weird kind of self-reverse psychology? No. That felt wrong. I'd always been way too literal-minded and straight-forward for that kind of crap. And that was with *other* people, let alone with myself. Whatever the future held, I couldn't see that changing at any point. No. Future Me really meant it. Don't go to these places. Never ever.
Nobody really knew how the Letters worked. They'd just started turning up one day, always handwritten, always delivered at some point between the recipient's eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays. My dad's had mainly consisted of mediocre stock tips. People and scientists had tried running all sorts of experiments -- trying to modify casuality and such. None of them really turned up anything. The Letters just... were. And it didn't seem to matter if people actually wrote their Letters in the future or not. Some did, word for word, out of superstition, or because they were worried about paradoxes or what have you. But it didn't actually seem to matter. Even those who actually *died* somehow afterwards had still received their Letters, and always had.
A gift to the human race, they called it. A temporary break in the uncertainty that characterizes human life. Sometimes, though, the Letters could get creepy. I tried to remember what that one author -- the poet back in the Fifties -- had said his had read. Something like... *"what will we be when the postmasters come to collect their due?"*
... wait. What was that sound?
I'd shut off the tap, but I could still hear this kind of... hissing sound in the background. From behind me. I slowly turned. The other exit to the Commons was completely dark. No sign of even the emergency lights that were supposed to be on at all hours. There was a sudden feeling of... *pressure* in the air, like the way your eardrums feel right after a plane takes off. Outside, the tone of the party had changed. More high-pitched than the usual babble of conversation... were those screams?...
The lights in the commons flickered and died.
I turned and started to run... | My parents did the best they could for me. They were loving, they were wise, they were as present as they could be, they raised me in a 3.4 million dollar house overlooking city atop a hill. It turns out the best they could is pretty damn good with their efforts combined.
Needless to say, I was popular in school. If for nothing else, the other kids wanted a tour of my house or to meet my parents. Maybe they wanted to ride in the somewhat exotic sports car I received for my sixteenth birthday. I don't even know what brand it is. It's just, whatever, a car? Does it really matter what brand of car it is?
Anyway, the party was big. My parents hired some rising DJ from the inner city, I don't really like music, so I don't know his name or whatever. They even hired security (though I think it was likely just to make the event appear more important than it really was).
I've been looking forward to my 18th birthday, though. All the money in the world could never buy what I was going to get on my 18th birthday. *enlightenment*.
You see, every person receives a letter from their future selves. No bullshit. Somehow, with some exchanging of hands with the Government *sometime* in the future, we are entitled to write one letter to ourselves on our 18th birthday. The government delivers it to a facility that somehow can open up a wormhole or whatever goes on, then they deliver it in the mail. Some people get sage wisdom that helps them to navigate the next years necessary to either improve their lives or turn their lives around. Some people get incredibly frightening advise to steer clear of something the hold very closely to their hearts. Or they are warned about the moment that person enters their life. I am hoping to get good news.
The day is here!!!
I have all of my closest friends gathered around my house. Everyone is always telling me how smart and funny I am. Everyone is without concern that my future self will be more than happy to sing my praises given my track record so far.
The post office carrier slows to a mild squeak of his breaks before stopping completely.
He gets out of his little truck car mail-guy thing, and approaches me with a warm smile.
"Hey kiddo, happy birthday. Are your parents around?"
"Yeah, they're in the kitchen. Do you have my letter?"
"I have mail for you. I need to speak with your parents. It's very important."
I could feel my suspicious glad tightening my face into a knot. This was MY day. It is MY right to read a letter that I wrote to MYfuckingSELF!
"Through the front door, go up the stairs, through the hallway, take a left, pass the bar, and through the swinging door. They should be in there making drinks."
The old mail carrier smiled warmly again, but his mouth didn't match his eyes.
A few moments later, shortly after the short pudgy man had scuttled his way past the front door, I heard my mother start to scream before being cut off abruptly.
I looked around at everyone's stunned faces and then ran into the house, up the stairs, through the hallway, left, passed the bar, and through the swinging door.
My mother was sitting on the floor crying. The post office man had removed his hat.
The mail carrier placed a stack of plump envelopes on the stainless steel counter top and proceeded to see himself out.
My father stood over my mother. His eyes were watering and bloodshot.
"Your letter didn't come." He said, trying to keep the facts straight.
"What do you mean it didn't come?? It had to have gotten lost in the mail!" I said, in my youthful skepticism.
"No, it never came into being at the facility."
"This means that either I *chose* not to write to myself, or...."
"...Yeah" Dad said. He wasn't going to allow me to finish.
"How can I know?"
"You can't. So, for now let's just assume it's one or the other and hope for the best." He said.
"Which one is better?" | 2016-11-24T00:39:48 | 2016-11-23T22:00:16 | 42 | 29 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | The first ten or twenty minutes are the hardest. I've been through it four...no five times and I don't get used to it. Stop looking at me like that! I know you think I'm a sick old man and the meds are making me delusional. Whether you believe me or not we're going to be parting soon. You'll go on and I'll reset. So...what was I saying? Oh yes. The first 10 minutes. The first minute or so is like cutting a tomato with a brand new knife. I don't realize how dull my old knife was until I get a new one. It cuts right through, no effort at all. When I suddenly wake up in a child's brain I just spend the first minute amazed at what I can remember! How fast I can remember it! The memories are so clear and crisp. For perhaps half of the second minute I can't get over my joints and bones. I haven't bent my knee without it making that cracking sound in....goddamn 40 years. Soon it will be brand new again. The mind is a powerful thing. It adapts quickly to this new state of things. In that third minute I'll hear my mother's voice for the first time in 30 years. Not her voice cracked by age. Her young voice like a bell. She'll be calling me down for breakfast and I'll be sitting at the edge of my bed in the distant past wondering how I'm going to keep myself from sobbing uncontrollably as I see my whole family together in the same room again. That's how I'll spend the the last seven of the first 10 minutes. Just trying to keep it together. Trying to make my new muscles move to get down those stairs. I don't think there's a name I could give the feeling that you would understand.
The second 10 minutes I'll think of you and our boys and how I'm never going to see them again. I could find you again, sure. You're a little older than me after all. I'll know where to go and where to look for you and what to say and when. But our boys, well, what I've learned is that it just doesn't work that way. Flip a coin in one life and it's heads, flip it again in the next and it's tails. Having kids is like flipping a million coins at once. It always turns out different.
I'll think on that and my Father will ask me why I'm so quiet this morning. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to answer that.
After a long silence she smiled and said "I know you will."
(edit: removed "1982." Didn't jibe with the description of the narrator.) | Ambition finally got the better of me after half a dozen lives.
I'd tried being a school teacher the first time, and it hadn't been half bad until I caught the plague and took my last breath through a buboe-covered throat.
Imagine my shock of waking--healthy again--in the body of a child, in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar face calling herself "mother." I played along. My old life faded away, until I almost believed it had just been an invention of my own imagination. Perhaps chased by those memories, I chose to sail across an ocean, to a place less plague-ridden and more wild. Just in time to be caught up in a wave of revolution.
Being a soldier wasn't so appealing for the next few lives. Each time, I woke up in the same country, but part of a different family. A family who remembered a son that I was not--a fact that would have grated on my conscience had I managed to maintain one after coming to grips with my immortality and the banality of a deathless existence. What was one child sacrificed to the void compared to the lives lost in those endless conflicts I'd witnessed?
It was with such dark thoughts possessing my mind, throughout the better part of two lifetimes, that I finally set out to make a purpose for myself. An immortal should take the risks, I had reasoned, since the consequences weren't so dire. An immortal should be the one to take initiative. An immortal should be in charge.
So I'd built an empire. Somewhat legally, at first. Trading in stocks--using my witless parents' funds--earned me a small fortune. Then, when I was old enough, I'd made friends. Businessmen, politicians, celebrities. It was easy when you were a child prodigy. I'd grown my investments using whatever inside information I could cull from those stooges. A few additional shady deals, and I was now one of the richest men in the world.
But even that money hadn't been quite enough. Lobbying by itself was too slow. So I cheated. Unapologetically, I bribed governors and senators and representatives at every level. All of their new laws were created in the name of democracy, to the benefit of myself and my rich friends. An unseen royalty wending its way through enlightened, modern society.
Finally, I took my place as president. Leader. Dictator. Emperor. The world I had begun to create would be magnificent. Science would flourish alongside the arts. There would be true equity and no need for money. Only, some of my friends weren't so happy with my new plans.
I'd warned them. Told them they couldn't stop me. They couldn't kill me. They *couldn't*--
And here I was waking up to the sound of a television, muffled behind a closed bedroom door, reporting the news of my death and the subsequent violence of a military coup. My blood was still boiling, my hands trembling at the thought of revenge. It would be difficult, but this time I wouldn't wait. Only one question remained in my mind: would they rather shoot at or kneel to a five-year-old? | 2017-05-25T13:17:28 | 2017-05-25T12:51:56 | 1,273 | 144 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | “I love you,” Alice said one last time as the world faded to black and one thought raced through my head as neurons died and consciousness slipped away. *Not again. Please not again.*
I was five years old, a little boy running through a field of wheat with the sun shining down on him. A child like that shouldn’t have a care in the world, but the sight of Alice holding my hand as I lay dying in the streets filled my head. *I love you, too.* Words I would never say to her again. Not directly. Six lifetimes I had lived, and each time I moved on to the next life and left everyone behind. Let them heal, let them grow old without me.
You would think that I’d be the one to move on, that with all my time and experience I would have learned to let go. But I was never really the one who had to say goodbyes. Whether it was the same curse that fated me to rebirth - though I knew not what that was - or just rotten luck, I never lived much past thirty. Long enough to love, twice it was long enough to have children, but soon some trick of fate or God would take me from those I loved and leave them alone.
The first time it happened, I didn’t know what was going on. I panicked, tried to contact Rebecca, my first wife. I was a five-year-old boy, though, and however much I knew about our lives together there was no way to explain what had happened. I wrote her letters, even tracked her down after she moved back to her mother’s house, recently a widow herself, and tried her best to raise our son.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, all I had done was convince her that losing me had driven her mad. She threw herself off the lighthouse in Dover three weeks after they put me in the ground.
I don’t get in touch with those I left behind anymore.
Six lives, and countless more to come. *I love you Alice, Goodbye.* I thought one last time, before running home for supper, a yapping grey-and-blue dog trailing behind me. | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T12:17:28 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 243 | 31 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | Liam was an avid reader. He was continuously reading and kept a little notebook in his back pocket for book suggestion. Little did I know he also kept it for writing.
We had known each other for almost two years before we became an official couple. Liam told me that he had loved me from the beginning, though. I liked to believe that, however unlikely it was.
He got me into reading. One day, I went to a little bookstore in our small town. It was full of indie authors that I never heard of. I bought a book called "The Muse."
I read within a day. Something about it reminded me of, well, almost like it was written about our little town.
Liam took me out to dinner one day. He told me it was at a fancy restaurant and was for work. We arrive, and it's lined with people carrying a book called "The Muse."
"Liam, why are all these-" then it clicked.
"The Muse" was the book Liam wrote under a pseudonym.
Liam got up to the front table where there was a microphone. Looking at me: "Everyone, I would like you to meet my muse."
(Sorry it's not very good. Wrote this up without any planning.) | I looked up at his extended arm and shot him a look,
" you are going to have so much explaining to do later babe" I said with an enthusiastic smile taking his hand and stepping out of the town car and into the view of the cameras. Adam just smiled at me with a mischievous smile. I knew that look, it was the look he gave me right before kicking my ass at Smash Bros after telling me he played 'a little'. The look that meant he knew I wouldn't like what was coming and he thought it was funny.
We'd meet at a con, him dressed as Ironman me dressed as Rogue and hit it off pretty quickly after a heated Marvel vs DC conversation. The next 6 months had been a flurry of binge watching random TV shows and sharing comics and video games. Sure he'd occasionally go on long training weekends and sure I knew that he was really into sports but it wasn't something that really showcased in our relationship so I'd never thought about it.
Which is why I was now getting ready to walk down the NFL Draft red carpet without a single warning. Crap. Double crap. I wish I'd worn something nicer. I wish I'd had my hair done. I wish my hair wasn't green.
Adam took my arm and pulled it through his still smiling. "I realized you weren't faking not knowing about me after the first month" he whispered, "I didn't want you to change how you act with me so I figured I'd tell you when I absolutely had to."
I looked at him and rolled my eyes, holding the big smile on my face, "I'm going to kick your ass for this" I pulled myself up to kiss his cheek and held up my head as we walked into the flashing lights.
| 2017-06-14T14:46:52 | 2017-06-14T13:30:40 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | Intios began the final preparations, he stood before a vast array of machines and began to chant
"The soul of the Machine God surrounds thee.
The power of the Machine God invests thee.
The hate of the Machine God drives thee.
The Machine God endows thee with life.
Live!"
Dim red light filled the room as Intios finished his ritual, the roar of the plasma generator filled his ears and he stepped away, content with his work.
"1 minute to impact"
The Skitarii legions deployed to the hive world of Xastore had been pushed back to the last Imperial bastion of the planet with no means of escape, thousands of Ironstrider engines had been lost to towering insect like vehicles and entire hive cities were swarmed by strange zombie-like husks. Reports from Sicarian killclades were disturbing, the foe did not match any of the millions of records the tech priest had sifted through while on route.
"30 seconds to impact"
Intios applied the sacred oils and stepped back from the cogitator arrays, whispering one last prayer to the Omnissiah before turning to exit the room. He quickly moved through the dimly lit, metallic halls, towards the command bridge.
"10 seconds to impact. Brace"
In the centre of the room was a steel throne covered in wires, facing out towards a huge system of screens, speakers and lights. A woman sat, eyes closed
"It is done, my princeps" Intios said.
"Very well, activate the Mind Impulse Unit" replied the woman
The mechadendrites that covered his body sprung to life, flicking switches, pressing buttons and wiring the woman into the machine.
From the highest spire of the last standing Hive city, Allovich watched it fall. The air around him hissed as arc bolts and radium shot flew him past towards the horde of shamling creatures ahead. Suddenly, the ground shook, Tech-Guard and Reaper alike were both flung from their feet from the force of it. On the vast plane of polluted wasteland outside the Hive a cloud of dust the size of a mountain was flung up. As it settled, the combatants scrambled to their feet and turned to watch.
A colossal burst of white light shot from the dust, connecting with one of the Reaper Destroyer walkers. Almost immediately it's metal armour melted away and the abomination collapsed into a vast heap of scrap. Finally, it stepped forth from the dust, a towering avatar of death.
“DESPAIR! TREMBLE!” the Titan roared, “FOR I AM THE WOE OF YOUR KIND! I AM THE SLAYER OF KINGS AND YOU INSECTS WILL BE CRUSHED UNDER MY HEEL!”
| Joran saddled the horse and rode out into the forest behind Freegate. The leaves this time of the year flaunted their citrus-colored wardrobe. The autumn air smelled musty of earth and decomposing vegetation.
Soon he noticed movement in one of the bushes, the orange tail of a woodland fox slipped into the undergrowth. Quickly, he tied the horse to a tree and grabbed his musket.
He tried to keep his steps light as he pushed into the dense forest. The wind came straight at him, which meant the fox wouldn’t be able to smell him. He tracked his quarry into the glade. Fox pelts sold for a lot. His father would be so proud.
The fox sat on a pile of mud looking straight at him. He stopped dead and shouldered his rifle.
A shadow fell across the glade, and Joran reflexively looked up. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he saw. A dark mountain hovered in the sky above the forest. It was shaped like a black cuttlefish of insane proportions. His rifle tumbled out of his fingers.
****
The lights of the library flickered. Inquisitor Lorian Drex looked up from his studies. The servitor watched him with expressionless eyes. Sometimes he felt like blowing its cretin brains out – he’d always abhorred the lifeless book keepers here. Something was unsettling about their deadness. It didn’t sit right.
He was just about return to the hefty tome when his vox buzzed.
“Sir, I apologize for disturbing your studies, but I think you need to see this.”
The voice of Interrogator Wyza Pryze was excited and a little bit fearful – a combination that was unusual for the normally calm and collected young man.
“What do you have?”
“Distress signals from several worlds on the Eastern Fringe, sir.”
“A hive fleet?”
“No, sir. I’ll send over a few images.”
Dark ships filled the blackness of the void above a planet. His first reaction was to call Tyranids as second time, but upon seeing the sleek black metal of the ships, he quickly changed his mind. They were like nothing he’d seen before. They looked advanced even compared to some of the Necron Tech he’d come across.
The next image showed an imperial city from above. The odd thing was that the streets were all empty. The city was completely abandoned. It was as if everyone had just vanished into thin air.
Drex moved on to the next image. At first, it looked like a mutant from the dregs below some of the hive cities. The twisted features of a man holding an antique rifle, but instead of a regular head, the glaring mouth and red fur of a fox occupied his shoulders.
“What is that?” Drex mumbled, mostly to himself.
He had come across a lot of strange things, especially dealing with the twisted experiments of the Dark Eldar homunculi, but nothing really compared to this. It seemed like both the fox and the man were still alive, somehow – as if the very DNA of the fox and man had been fused.
“Alert the Ordos, and gather the team,” Drex said and rose, accidentally pushing the servitor over. “Send word to Ultramar. We’re going to the Eastern Fringe right now.”
| 2017-08-27T08:46:46 | 2017-08-27T07:55:27 | 313 | 130 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | Office of police oversight, you say?
Yes. That's right.
And you're sure about all this; one million, guaranteed, no background check, free pizza?
Yes. All of it.
And what if it *does* ring?
Well, that will never happen because we won't be publishing this number anywhere.
Then why bother even paying me?
Because it's the law. We have to have an oversight committee.
Ah, and you're sure everybody is cool with this?
Yup.
Well...alright. Let's do it! But, just for my sake, what should I do if it ever rings?
Run
| Dave never expected it to ring.
He thought it was all a joke at first, but how wrong he was.
It almost gave him a heart attack when it rang.
He picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
The silence felt like an eternity.
“Hello~?”
He nearly hang up just before they spoke.
“Is this Dave Smith?”
“Yes.”
In the background he heard someone writing something down, as if they were taking notes.
“I am Aven Gretto, director of [REDACTED].”
He felt a bit confused.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED].”
He heard a giggle in the background, but ignored it.
“What? My hearing must be going bad.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED], okay?”
He heard someone laugh quite heartily.
“This isn’t funny, I have to get back to work” he threatened.
[Voice cracking] “IS yOuR reFriDEratOr RunNinG????”
He heard at least 3 children clearly crying with laughter, then he hung up.
He was later informed he got the wrong number and went on to be a multi-millionaire.
| 2017-12-16T23:22:44 | 2017-12-16T21:55:00 | 117 | 65 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | Connor woke to pitch blackness and the sound of a woman humming, echoing with a metallic sort of ring against the walls of his makeshift bed. He sat up - and immediately regretted it as his head banged against the low, hard metal roof directly above him. He laid back down, swearing loudly.
From outside his little chamber, a woman gave a shriek.
"Shit - sorry!" Connor knew better than to scare the poor morticians that happened to get saddled with him. "I'm in here!"
The door to the body drawer opened and he sighed in relief as it flooded with light. The table rolled out and he rubbed his head, seeing stars as he sat up. Blood flow was a bitch after he first woke up, every time.
A tiny brunette was staring at him with a scowl on her face, hands on her hips. The badge on her lab coat said 'Katherine Herrera' and her picture had the same look as her face.
"How many times is this now, Connor?" She asked, huffy and irate, her cheeks still flushed from her scare. "You're going to kill me one day, and I can't come back!"
"Sorry, Kat." Connor smiled sheepishly, rubbing his chest. A fresh line of autopsy scars lined his chest, neatly overlain against the already healed ones. "I hit my head again."
She only tutted and walked away, tying her hair into a ponytail and muttering darkly to herself. Connor suspected that she was quietly insulting him behind his back, but that would be nothing new. With a groan of effort, he hopped off the table, wrapping the sheet he'd been covered with around his waist.
"Your clothes are in a bag by the coffee," Kat said, motioning towards the autopsy room. "You're lucky. I snagged them from the others before they could burn everything."
"New guy?" Connor followed his nose to the smell of coffee and reached into the bag, rummaging for his underwear. Kat nodded.
"New guy."
"Ouch. Thanks. I owe you one." Connor finished pulling on his clothes and immediately went for the coffee and the sandwich on the table. "Or a dozen at this point."
"Just stop scaring me, asshole." There was no venom in her words. In actual fact, there was something close to fondness. Kat was quiet for several seconds, fiddling with something on her computer. A loophole, he guessed, to explain away why they were once again a body short. It was kind of hard to write 'the body got up and left' as an excuse.
Finally, after several moments, she spoke.
"Did you see her again?"
Connor went quiet as he laced his shoes. He swallowed. "Yes."
Kat's shoulders fell and a deep sadness crossed her face. She looked down at her hands as they typed, then cleared her throat.
"I hope it works next time." She said softly.
Connor pulled on his jacket and finished off his sandwich, heading to the door. "So do I." He said. "Goodnight, Kat."
"'Night, Connor." | I still remember the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the sadness in her eyes... I had never seen her cry before that very moment. That moment when she told me the words I would never forget and that have haunted me for the past two centuries.
"You're not allowed to die, okay?" she had told me, tears drawing clean lines in her dirt-covered face. "Promise me you won't die."
At the time, I didn't have a single clue what she was talking about, but she was hurt, sad and on the verge of dying. So I promised right then and there that I wouldn't die, not knowing what those words had in store for me.
In that final moment, that last breath, she had smiled and I knew she was content. "Don't die," she had whispered before finally collapsing from her wounds.
And I hadn't. It has been over two centuries now and I still walked the Earth, not a day older since the day of the promise. I just couldn't die and believe me if I say I tried. Don't think that makes me invulnerable though, it still hurt like hell to get shot in the head from point blank range or to be set on fire. But it won't kill me, nothing can. All because I promised her I wouldn't die, because I wanted to comfort a dying woman in her final moments.
But do you know what the best part of all this is? I have no idea why I had to stay alive. She never had the chance to tell me why and I never had the opportunity to find out. So for the past two centuries I have been roaming Earth, trying to find my purpose. It's the year 2219 now and a lot has changed since that faithful day. I have seen things... Both bad and good. I have seen the true face of humanity in many different ways. I have seen the face of good in a young boy helping a granny to cross the road and I have seen the bad in a disillusioned dictator ordering an attack on innocent civilians.
I tried to change the world as I outgrew it. It wasn't easy, but being immortal opens up a lot of possibilities. It took me twenty years to realize I wasn't growing older. It took me another twenty to work my way into several large governmental organisations all across the world. By the year 2085, I was probably the richest and most influential person in the world. And I decided to use that influence for good. Humanity was killing itself and something had to be done. By 2096, all nuclear warheads and weapons on Earth were disassembled after the historical global signing of an anti-nuclear-warfare agreement. By 2130, the last war ended in a peace treaty. By 2143, the last devices that ran on coal or gas were destroyed and a global electric power grid was built. By 2186, the economy had reached a stable stasis and space exploration took it firsts big steps with the discovery of faster-than-light travel.
It is now 2219 and I'm still here on Earth. My life has been lonely so far, but I feel no regret. I feel content with what I reached and how humanity has evolved in the span of only two centuries.
But my work isn't done yet. There are still things to be worked on, lives to improve and discoveries to be made. I'll keep striving forward. I'll keep trying to make things better. I'll keep trying to hold my promise to her.
> Would you like to know more? /r/PromptRuined | 2018-01-05T15:15:02 | 2018-01-05T12:17:29 | 1,055 | 80 |
[WP] Guns were never invented. Instead, swords and blades became increasingly complex and powerful | The Terrans advanced like a metal cloud, glittering in the hard blue light of the Core System's star. All the spacefaring races had finally come together to resist the shocking might of the Terran Empire. A terrifying species of omnivorous endurance hunters from a ruined, militarized planet that had at one point decided that distance weapons were a sign of cowardice. And here they were, without ships, without graviton weapons, without even a slug thrower.
They came elegantly suspended from glittering solar wings, they came psychotically strapped to chemical rockets, further millions were hurled sleeping through the void from their hive world's orbital catapults, their dread inertia carrying them for centuries to wake in battle.
They were billions, screaming through space, a horrifying array of genetically modified soldiers, cybernetic abominations and sentient artificial warminds. No two were alike, except they were all armed with blades, and fanatically loyal to the Empress of the Forge.
A glittering metal cloud became a howling storm, the maw of a giant, ringed with a billion rending teeth. The lead capital ship disappears into a mist of fragments. The Terran Empire had arrived.
| They gathered on the steps of the Florida State Capitol. Thousands of them, some from Parkland itself, but also hundreds of supporters from out-of-state, believers in the cause who were ready to protest. Joshua Bergin, a Parkland survivor, was the first to the microphone.
"Thank you for all being here," he told the crowd, to tremendous applause. "Many of us students walked out of school today, but 17 other children did not. This is not a mental health issue. This is a pointy-things issue." He emphasized each syllable of the last sentence, captivating the crowd with his rhetoric.
"Time and time again, the National Pointy-things Association has covered up the truly dangerous scope of assault swords, deflecting the issue to increasingly more reactionary topics. Well, this is enough! We need to make a stand. With bump handles, electricity packs, and acid coatings, it becomes ever easier to slaughter other human beings. This needs to end". The crowd clapped ferociously.
"I am calling on the Florida State Legislature," Joshua announced, staring up the steps of the Capitol, "to come to their senses and institute some semblance of pointy-things control. We one again need a *well-regulated militia* of swordsmen, not this abysmal abomination!" Thunderous cheers from the people.
Joshua Bergin climbed down from the podium, hoping he had honored his friends. Though there was little chance of any real reform due to the extensive lobbying of the National Pointy-Things Association and ingrained pointy-thing culture of America, perhaps they were finally moving in the right direction. | 2018-03-07T07:54:38 | 2018-03-07T07:19:44 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally. | "No."
The bipedal feline looked aback. "You don't even know what I was going to say!"
Leo gave his friend a knowing stare. Setting his lunch tray down in a less crowded area of the cafeteria. "Really? The University's about to host a self defense course for extra credit and I just so happen to be the only living thing in the entire sector that produces Alpha-purity Fury. No."
"But Leooooo!" The cat's face twisted in anguish. "This is your chance to show everyone how fragging incredible you are! Show off your martian arts skills-"
"Martial arts."
"That's what I said. You don't want all your practice to go to waste do you? You do the same routine every morning. The one that looks like this."
Raising his arms the cat then tried to mimic the katas that had been drilled into Leo since childhood. Making completely unnecessary noises in the process.
The human smiled. Kreelix was a good roomate and an even better friend. But he just didn't understand what it was like to grow up being treated like a walking explosive. He wouldn't even have gotten into the University if the Earth Federation's diplomats didn't apply political pressure.
"All right, all right! Please quit it, half the cafeteria is staring! I'll go."
"Yes!" Kreelix raised his arms in victory.
"But only to watch."
"Awwwww."
| De'cras slowly emerged from the shadows, with bags carrying humans knocked out from his synthesizer.
"Three humans, male, fully grown. Expected fury output of 10,000 units for the next 5 years."
Letting out a grin from one of his twin heads, De'cras sized upon his merchant, a representative of a huge galactic conglomerate known to the stars for its bioenchancement products.
"I expect at least 10,000 credits for this. No negotiations."
The merchant slowly floated towards the bags. Using his telekinesis, he skillfully undid the bags and sized up the three humans, suspending them in the air.
"This one", he pointed, looks weak. "8,000 for all three, you won't find a better deal. We have successfully negotiated with the human federations. Soon your human trading days will be numbered. They have agreed to supply us with fury themselves."
De'cras shrugged, he had known of such tricks by the conglomerate.
"9000, or I go to synth-corp. No more bulls**t. Everyone knows freshly harvested fury tastes way better."
Tossing to De'cras a 9000 credit stick. The merchant swiftly moved his goods and bade his contact farewell.
"Our business is concluded."
The humans were a rare find for the conglomerate. Living credits, they call it. Never did the conglomerate ever imagine that there was natural occurring fury in the universe. Soon they will capture earth, and obtain a formal monopoly on such beauties.
His only worry were the galactic federation, and rival competitors that would grant him endless headaches. However, little did he imagine that the being of fury would grant him so much trouble, as the unbeknownst to him, the bag begins to stir....
| 2018-03-19T04:14:01 | 2018-03-18T21:03:42 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] A serial killer (who targets hitchhikers) picks up his next target on the side of a college campus in the 1970s, who, unbeknownst to the driver, happens to be a serial killer who targets drivers that pick up hitchhikers. | "...Well...This is awkward." I said, holding out my pistol to the man whose revolver was pointed at my skull.
I pulled aside to a random dirt path, thinking I had scored my next ticket. The guy was "Asleep" until we stopped, and always hugged his backpack to his gut. A portly guy I found on the side of the road headed for Nashville to go home for Spring break.
"Yeah...So uh...Lovely weather we're having?" It was pitch black and raining cats and dogs. Yeah, the fucking pinnacle of majesty that is the backwoods!
"Yeah." Was all I said in response. We were dead silent for five minutes, myself practically drenched in sweat while the man's trigger hand was shaking.
"Ok...Ok...Let's just say we're in the same buisness..." I said, trying to diffuse the guy. I didn't want to die, but I still kiiiiinda wanted some brains splattered in the grass.
"Yeah...Yeah, and?"
"Well -" We both dropped our guns as a siren whirred behind us, a cop car pulling up beside my pickup, shitting bricks. "Fuck..." I shook my head, gripping the wheel. "Alright, play it cool, play it cool"!
"With what, my potential murderer?!" The gun-toting schoolboy was steaming mad, glaring at me.
"You're MINE too!"
"Why don't I report you?!"
"Because we'd both end up in jail, asswipe! Now shut it!" I took out my wallet, slowly cranking down the window. "Evening."
The officer was of quite the muscular build, but his outfit seemed a bit flimsily put-together. "License and registration?"
I handed him my card and papers. Hopefully just that tail light I didn't bother to fix.
"Hmn...Hmn..." The guy next to me was starting to mumble things, but was watching the guy make marks on the card.
"Alright, you boys, step out the car."
"Wait, what?" I looked up at the man, and my remark made him squish the top of the door. "OK! OK! Geez..Come on." I unlocked the door and stepped out. I never wore my seatbelt. Hopefully that's why...
"You boys got anything with you? Alcohol? Drugs? Weapons?"
"No sir..." My "friend" shrugged before the guy practically dove into the car, taking out our sidearms.
"Yeuuuup...you two need to come with me." The officer opened his door, tossing them in, when suddenly my would-be-killer tackled him to the ground, taking ours out.
"DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK!?" I move over, pulling him off the officer, but instead of being given resistance, I was tossed my gun and he was aiming at the officer.
"Take a look at him. You see something wrong?!"
"I...What? Dude, what are you ON?!" I held my gun in my hands, looking down the sights.
"HIS BADGE SAYS "MADE IN CHINA"!"
The "Officer" drew his gun at us both... | Dusty whirls of fine desert ash gust fitfully atop and across the barren highway. It is hot, maybe too hot. Maybe I miscalculated; nobody is coming.
I take another swig from my bottle of water, then wipe my already-grimed brow with the cool dew of condensation from the melting ice. Maybe it helps tidy my appearance, maybe it makes me seem just a little grimier. But it feels good, felt good. Real good. I grip the icy bottle again, raising it to my temple, enjoying the wet cool on my palm and scalp, not really caring too much about the drips that skip across my stubbled cheek, landing on the rumpled cotton of my short-sleeved dress shirt, itself tucked into my nondescript gray khakis.
Gotta look the part, right? If they knew I had stashed my car, complete with tow hitch and extra fuel tank, just behind the berm, nobody would buy the notion I am hitching. No stops means no fun, and I want fun. So, carefully crafted appearance: clean but not too clean, anxious but not desperate, and just eager enough to sell the very untrue supposition that I need a ride. I don't need a ride. But I need them to believe I do. Otherwise, no fun for me and all of this preparation is for nothing...
Might still be; almost half an hour and not so much as a long haul en route to Big City USA, with their load of consumer crap nobody really needs. Not my targets, truckers. Too much schedule, too many people watching the route, waiting for news, tracking deliveries. Too big to tow, too. Small cars and vans, that's the ticket. Easy to lose along an incline, some steep bank near a turn where boredom and drowsiness have already killed more than I.
Finally, after an hour's long wait, a small pickup pulls up. The driver rolls down his window, and calls, "Need a lift?". The magic words! Happy times are here again; I will kill and be sated once more.
I gratefully nod, dropping my eyes in deference and false relief, and reach for the door handle. I swing it gently wide, I place my foot on the runner and make to hop in... And freeze.
It is too clean. His car, this pickup. Not just tidy. Immaculate. I do a quick mental calculation - where we are takes at least a couple of hours' drive from the nearest truck stop with a car wash. But even that place has no vacuum for inside; its just a drive through. This car's interior has been meticulously detailed, and recently. He's come a long way, but none of the expected road trip trash adorns his pristine vehicle interior. Something isn't right. I shift my weight back off my planted foot, back to the one on the ground, and look up.
Eyes I've seen a million times staring hungrily back at myself, from my small motel mirror, regard me regally, knowingly. I complete the step back, out of the pickup. "I'm sorry", I say. "I've made a mistake. I just realized I'm not going your way after all."
To his credit, the lazy, knowing grin never drops from his lips, as he kneads the steering wheel, and he nods. "I guess not," he allows.
As I go to close the door, he adds, "See you around. Good luck with your... stuff." He leans over and locks the door after I close it firmly, and nods to me, before driving off.
That was the first time we met. I resolved there and then, it wouldn't be the last. And it wasn't...
| 2018-05-01T11:20:00 | 2018-05-01T10:28:45 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I wasn't expecting it. You never do, really. But I guess I was hoping he'd make it.
My best friend had gone missing a few days earlier. I figured something awful had happened on his morning run in the forest behind the suburb we both lived in. Nobody had seen anything, and there was no sign of him.
I couldn't bear the thought of not finding him. My wife passed away years ago, and with no children or other real family, he was all I had left.
And then I felt it. The rush, the dizziness, and the sudden appearance somewhere new. A cave in the side of a hill, and he was lying there, bleeding. Something had attacked him, clearly. He was weak, shivering. But he looked at me and smiled.
I knew he wasn't going to make it. He must have known too. There's no way I could have gotten him back to a doctor in time. We knew that the timer couldn't be beaten like that. But he looked resigned to his death, and smiled just because he knew I was there for him. I guess we both just realized that all we could do was spend one last hour together.
I sat down next to him, holding him. He was shivering, and could barely move. I cried as I held him, telling him stories of all the good times we'd had together. Telling him how much he meant to me, how much I'd miss him. I didn't know how I could go on without him in my life.
He couldn't speak, but I think I could see him smile, just being close to me. There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, but we could at least be there for eachother at the end.
As the timer reached it's end, I held him tighter. I didn't want to let go, I didn't want to accept it. But I had to.
And as he breathed his last breath, I whispered into his ear, "Good boy, Rex. Good boy." | I was 50.. My parents had long passed.. my wife died in child birth, and I could never bring myself to marry again... I had no pets, or friends... I worked. That was all. I didn’t love anyone.. I had just turned off he TV Saturday night to start getting ready for bed when I was suddenly teleported to a crowded room. I didn’t understand. There was no one left that I loved, so why was I moved?
As I was looking around the room, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, holding tight. I turned around and saw it was Emily. The little neighbor kid. “Emily? What are you doing here?” She was in her pajamas. She must’ve been in bed when she was teleported. “I don’t know, Mr. Stevenson. I was in bed, and suddenly I was here. I hope whoever it is passes painlessly.” “Me too.” I say, as I give her one of those side hugs you give someone you don’t fully like, but you don’t hate. I start scanning the crowd for familiar faces. To my surprise, I see a lot.
“Mr. Anderson? Is that you!?” I say, as I see my old football coach. He must be at least 80 by now. “Stevenson,” he says as he squints through his thick glasses, “is that you? By god! I wonder who is the lucky one that gets to pass today.” “Me too.” I say still perplexed. I keep walking through the crowd, a lot of people clapping me on the back saying their his, hellos, and the occasional who do you think it is?
Finally I come across another familiar face. A face I hadn’t seen in 35 years. “Mrs. Hughes? I haven’t seen you since 4th grade!” She squints her eyes and comes walking, slowly, towards me. “Carl Stevenson? I can’t believe it!” “You remember me?” I say, not expecting her to. “Of course I do! You were one of my favorites. I loved having you in class.”
It was almost as if a bulb went off in my head. I remembered reading something on reddit a few years ago.
‘If the soon to be deceased’s current location is not large enough to hold all the people, then they shall be teleported along with all those that love them to a place that can hold them all.’ | 2018-05-20T11:47:02 | 2018-05-20T11:13:10 | 416 | 174 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I wasn't expecting it. You never do, really. But I guess I was hoping he'd make it.
My best friend had gone missing a few days earlier. I figured something awful had happened on his morning run in the forest behind the suburb we both lived in. Nobody had seen anything, and there was no sign of him.
I couldn't bear the thought of not finding him. My wife passed away years ago, and with no children or other real family, he was all I had left.
And then I felt it. The rush, the dizziness, and the sudden appearance somewhere new. A cave in the side of a hill, and he was lying there, bleeding. Something had attacked him, clearly. He was weak, shivering. But he looked at me and smiled.
I knew he wasn't going to make it. He must have known too. There's no way I could have gotten him back to a doctor in time. We knew that the timer couldn't be beaten like that. But he looked resigned to his death, and smiled just because he knew I was there for him. I guess we both just realized that all we could do was spend one last hour together.
I sat down next to him, holding him. He was shivering, and could barely move. I cried as I held him, telling him stories of all the good times we'd had together. Telling him how much he meant to me, how much I'd miss him. I didn't know how I could go on without him in my life.
He couldn't speak, but I think I could see him smile, just being close to me. There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, but we could at least be there for eachother at the end.
As the timer reached it's end, I held him tighter. I didn't want to let go, I didn't want to accept it. But I had to.
And as he breathed his last breath, I whispered into his ear, "Good boy, Rex. Good boy." | I carefully balance precision and power as I shove downwards into the log with my ax. *Crack*
A large gap forms in the log that breaks about halfway through. I tug my ax out and swing it down, once again. *Crack*
Two pieces of wood collapse off the pedestal and unto the ground. As I move to grab another log, I hear the soft crunching of snow beneath my boots. Looking towards the landscape, I see a vast expanse of pine wood trees. Layer after layer of trees that continue until the mountain range blocks my view. The scent of spruce fills my nostrils.
Here, I have made my living for five Winters, now. Slowly building the new life in this frozen taiga, living off the land. The isolation has become a part of my life. Staying alive from sheer force of will and dedication. Although I am quite content with the path I have chosen, occasionally I ponder back on my old life. The days when my family were still there for me; but more importantly, I was there for them. That was then, this is now. I have learned to move on.
I brush aside my momentary lapse into nostalgia, as I balance a new log on its edge on the pedestal. As I raise my arms to aim my next swing, I am suddenly taken aback as a result of a complete change in my surroundings. The freezing temperatures of the conifer forest are replaced with the humid climate of my home town. I have been teleported into the living room of where I grew up. I slowly lower my arm before I drop the ax with a clang. This grabs the attention of everyone in the room.
I look around to see familiar and unrecognizable faces alike, all huddled around the television. The life-less looks of despair on them speaks volumes. I take a gander at the news program. An anchor warns that it is too late to evacuate. Out the window, palm tress are nearly being ripped out of the ground. horizontal, torrential rain pelts everything in sight.
I place my hand on my brothers shoulder, who is sitting on the couch. My mother reaches into my embrace.
"It's alright, I'm here now" I console.
The lights flicker as the house begins to shake. In my final moments at least I have rediscovered what is really important in life. The lights flicker again, before the power goes completely out. Now, surrounded in darkness, I keep providing words of comfort to those around me.
| 2018-05-20T11:47:02 | 2018-05-20T11:15:16 | 416 | 13 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I was 50.. My parents had long passed.. my wife died in child birth, and I could never bring myself to marry again... I had no pets, or friends... I worked. That was all. I didn’t love anyone.. I had just turned off he TV Saturday night to start getting ready for bed when I was suddenly teleported to a crowded room. I didn’t understand. There was no one left that I loved, so why was I moved?
As I was looking around the room, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, holding tight. I turned around and saw it was Emily. The little neighbor kid. “Emily? What are you doing here?” She was in her pajamas. She must’ve been in bed when she was teleported. “I don’t know, Mr. Stevenson. I was in bed, and suddenly I was here. I hope whoever it is passes painlessly.” “Me too.” I say, as I give her one of those side hugs you give someone you don’t fully like, but you don’t hate. I start scanning the crowd for familiar faces. To my surprise, I see a lot.
“Mr. Anderson? Is that you!?” I say, as I see my old football coach. He must be at least 80 by now. “Stevenson,” he says as he squints through his thick glasses, “is that you? By god! I wonder who is the lucky one that gets to pass today.” “Me too.” I say still perplexed. I keep walking through the crowd, a lot of people clapping me on the back saying their his, hellos, and the occasional who do you think it is?
Finally I come across another familiar face. A face I hadn’t seen in 35 years. “Mrs. Hughes? I haven’t seen you since 4th grade!” She squints her eyes and comes walking, slowly, towards me. “Carl Stevenson? I can’t believe it!” “You remember me?” I say, not expecting her to. “Of course I do! You were one of my favorites. I loved having you in class.”
It was almost as if a bulb went off in my head. I remembered reading something on reddit a few years ago.
‘If the soon to be deceased’s current location is not large enough to hold all the people, then they shall be teleported along with all those that love them to a place that can hold them all.’ | My body shunted forwards and back again like I'd just slammed on the breaks going 40. The grass and trees of the park dissolved into white walls, and suddenly where there had been no people before, now there were many. It'd been a few years since the last jump but I recognised the phenomenon immediately. During his final hour, a man on his deathbed could pull his loved ones to his side.
There were certainly more people at this final hour than at my brother's hour, or than any hour now that I think about it. Any hour of any day I've ever been a part of, even. I hopped up to peek over the crowd, I was in the centre of a sea of faces. It was more like a stadium than a hospital ward. Though I couldn't put my finger on what kind of stadium, whichever sport had the biggest field I suppose.
'Don't suppose you know who’s we're at, do you?’ I asked the man next to me.
'I haven't a clue. Not seen anyone in a hospital gown about, have you?’
'Nope. No cars or smashed bikes about either. Bit weird isn't it?’ I said.
The conversation had decided it was a brief one and ended itself there. One of the troubles of the hour was that there was no indication as to who's hour it actually was. Every now and again you'd get an awkward situation of two people dragged together with both of them unsure who was about to pop his clogs. I continued looking around, hoping for a clue as to who I was about to disappoint with a vague goodbye and a handshake. Then the clue found me.
'Hello, Mark,’ said the clue, a voice from a direction I wasn't sure I could name, let alone point to.
'H-hello,’ I replied. 'I’m sorry, but who are you? And where are you?’
‘You know who I am.’
'I think I do,’ I convinced myself.
'There is little time left. I have brought you all here to allow you all a peaceful moment before I go.’
'I didn't think death really applied to you?’
'I wish that were true. There few things we do not share, you are not as my reflection, you are as I am. I was as much alive as you are now.’
'Whatever killed you, can it kill us too?’ I asked.
'It can.’
'Will it?’
‘Eventually.’
'Oh. Thought perhaps we'd be in for an inspirational pro-humanity pep talk. Thought perhaps you'd tell us how we don't need you anymore.’
'Ah, no. No one stops this horse once it gets going.’
'Oh.’
'And technically there's four horses.’
'Of course.’
'Four unstoppable horses.’
'Yes, got it thanks.’
'...and horsemen. Of the apocalypse.’ | 2018-05-20T11:13:10 | 2018-05-20T10:26:44 | 174 | 23 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.
There was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.
Some of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.
Personally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as "the last great super volcano." It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a "hail Mary" attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked.
I live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 "luckiest" people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.
Edit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!
I did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.
Thank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome! | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T11:02:12 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 11,893 | 26 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | You ever heard of plot armor? How your favorite heroes get out of ridiculous situations despite there being no good reason for them to be able to succeed? 100 luck is like having plot armor. You can’t die. You can’t lose. People wonder at how bad luck fits into the equation, and simply put, at 100 you have no bad luck. At 1.... well, they usually don’t even make it out of the womb.
That being said, I have 100 luck. Not bad, right? I could do whatever I want and succeed. If I wanted to do brain surgery I could close my eyes and swing at the patient’s brain with a sledgehammer, so long as I want them to live and heal, somehow it’ll go right. There’s a lot of capacity for good, a lot for bad. A few years ago someone with 100 luck threw a dart into the air aiming for German chancellor’s head... while they were sitting in Hawaii. That dart rode the wind currents across the world right into Berlin where it blew the chancellor’s head off. A dart they half-heartedly tossed while sipping a fucking mojito.
This was rare, since most 100 luck people are thrown into jail. Myself included. What I’ve been trying to figure out is how this prison at the bottom of the Atlantic is fair or lucky. I got my answer when the world exploded. Someone got uppity with the nukes, one thing led to another, now our air tight prison is floating through space. Pretty lucky to be the only survivors. On top of that, we have 500 males and 500 females on board our little slice of life.
I’d say we have a good shot at repopulation, especially since each guy has a gal and each gal has a guy. Everyone has fallen in love perfectly with one person that nobody else loved. Big shocker here, one couple already had a kid. Okay, whatever. Thing is, she has a 100 luck rating as well. I’d venture a guess we’ll all be having 100 luck kids.
I was worried we’d run out of food, but a warehouse full of it somehow crashed into our big home and created an air tight seal. We estimate a good 30 years out of it. It’s not a problem until it’s a problem, you know? I’m kind of assuming we’ll crash land on some world lush with life and perfect for our survival. A literal paradise. I’ll be honest, the future seems bright. Hell, I bet we could even conquer the universe.
Edit: Part 2 is up! https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8uu474/comment/e1ir4bh?st=JJ0IWUHY&sh=0aa9d3dc
Edit 2: I’m going to work on a Part 3 later today, I’ll shoot replies to those of you looking for it. It will likely take the form of an HFY post just for organization and depending on how far I want to bring this. | I don't believe in stats. I never have. I mean sure, I believe that the government hands all new parents an official "Succinct Test Assessing Tendencies" packet, but I've never let anyone else define me. My path is of my own making, and I have only myself to blame for my current situation.
It really is frustrating. People think that luck is this all controlling thing - a "free ticket" to an easy life. But is isn't. High strength doesn't let you lift houses. High intelligence doesn't let you make inventions that violate the laws of physics. I'm just...a little luckier.
Honestly, the most annoying thing is probably being banned from all forms gambling. Most games operate on razor thin margins, and an extra 5% chance to win a coin flip is enough to wreck their business.
The problem is that humans don't understand probability or randomness. Don't believe me? Fine, do this. Make up a list of the result of 20 coin flips, and write down "H" or "T" for each one. Make it look random to you. Now, flip a coin 20 times and write down the actual result. Reply with both of your strings (don't tell me which one is which), and I'll bet you I get it right almost every time.
So yes, the "luckier" candidate won 3 out of the last 5 elections. Yes, that is 60%. But there was no reason to blame those of us with high luck. We aren't criminals or a danger to society. We're just people, worth of dignity.
But I guess we're here for a reason. Luck is being in the right place at the right time, even if you can't see it until later. My path is here, and it is mine and nobody else's. So the question isn't "should I be here?" but rather, "why am I here?"
___
It's been a year that feels like a century. I still don't know why I'm here. Maybe it is to learn from others how to use our luck. But how? For what purpose?
I feel like the answer is drawing closer. We don't get much news, but things seem to be breaking down. Shortages. Riots. Taking away the outlet of the people's discontent doesn't actually solve any of the underlying problems, so things are surely starting to bubble over.
There is a meeting tomorrow, a big gathering of all the "prisoners" with the warden. Rumors flying around. We're being released (what luck, right!). We're being executed. We're finally being told why we are here.
___
Morning. Time for them to tell me why they think I'm here. I still haven't decided.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sure you have felt without luck this last year."
I'm not sure. I know I did at first. But I've learned more than I thought possible from being around my kind. Our luck makes learning skills a little bit easier too - takes just a small bit of the "edge" off of the initial failure that comes before success. Maybe that's my path - to be a "lucky learner?"
"I am here today to tell you that you are the luckiest of all citizens. For you were sent here with a purpose.
You don't yet know this, but our world is drawing to an end. Our odds of survival are dim, and it was decided that the luckiest among us would have the best chance of survival. And it will soon be up to you to forge a new path across a dark and unforgiving terrain..." | 2018-06-29T10:08:34 | 2018-06-29T10:05:47 | 5,321 | 120 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | Luck governs our lives more than most care to admit. Those born with high luck scores become world leaders, wealthy, and succeed where others fail. Those born with lower scores often lead unlucky lives and often fall victim to unfortunate accidents.
Me I was one of the luckest of all, a 100, from a young age everyone knew I was destined for greatness. One teacher in school said I might me the next president, another the next Bill Gates. However I was always a risk taker and loved pushing my luck to its limits. When I was 16 I robbed my first bank, the vault door was left wide open, the security camera's out from a freak outage. It was a thrill to temp fate. Over the years I used my luck to make bank, I could enter the most secure places and make off like a king.
That is until one day the impossible happened, I got unlucky, caught red handed with the Crown Jewels of England. I was tried and sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. Though this too thrilled me, as a prison break may be the most challenging task yet to press my high luck. Only when the guard locked me in my cell, what I saw was impossible. All the other inmates in my block all had luck scores of 100 just like myself. No matter what I tried my luck failed me, no open doors, no power outages, no holes in security opening up for me to exploit.
I learned from my cell mates that my story was theirs, they lived a life of improbable luck until one unlucky day they ended up here. Nothing anyone tried could free them from this prison. This place was built so that nothing could get out.
However what I failed to understand at the time is that we where the lucky ones, nothing could get out of this place, but that also meant nothing could get in. Outside our iron corner of the world things where falling apart. Talks where breaking down and war was on the horizon, soon everything would be destroyed. Except for the most fortified places on this Earth, like say a maximum security prison. | The intake was as expected - a bit rough, a little too handsy, and a small inkling that the guard liked me a bit more than was necessary. I'd heard of full body cavity searches, hosed down with icy cold water, being pushed naked and wet into rooms of other people. You know, general Hollywood type stuff.
I managed through pretty quickly. While I WAS searched and hosed, the water was warm and the search not too thorough. When my papers had been finished they dropped me into the general population out in the yard, sun shining on our banana yellow jumpsuits. Jailed for being lucky - what a crock. I doubted I would be there long, things always went my way and I had no intention of rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.
Luck rating tests were given out to every 18 year old. It was presumed that before that your rating could fluctuate too much, and stabilized in your 17th year. Nobody knew what happened to the 100s - well, I do now - and I assume all the 1s died pretty early in life. Such is luck.
A rather handsome man walked up to me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a bare patch of ground. His smile was warm, and he genuinely didn't seem to be much of a criminal. Not many of them did.
"Another 100! Welcome!" He broke into a trot, and held his hand out to mine. "Been a while since the last, figured it was starting already.
"What was starting?" I asked, taking his hand cautiously. "Why have none of you left yet?"
He shrugged. "None of us want to. Free food, free housing, comfortable rooms, the food isn't THAT bad, and a constant routine that changes just enough to not drive us crazy. It's nice." He motioned to the rest of the inmates. Odd groups here and there, there seemed to be about 20 of us. "As for what's about to start..." He paused, and grinned like he was about to drop the punchline to a big joke. "I guess you'll see. Any day now."
Fade - yes, he legally changed his name to Fade - seemed to be the most outgoing of the 100s in the prison. The guards were more relaxed around him, the other inmates joked with him, and he got extra food in the canteen. A natural leader, where I preferred to stick to the shadows. A perfect first friend to have, since I hated the attentive eyes of the Warden.
It was the fourth day after I arrived that the sky started to fall. | 2018-06-29T10:05:15 | 2018-06-29T10:01:31 | 308 | 183 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | I don't believe in stats. I never have. I mean sure, I believe that the government hands all new parents an official "Succinct Test Assessing Tendencies" packet, but I've never let anyone else define me. My path is of my own making, and I have only myself to blame for my current situation.
It really is frustrating. People think that luck is this all controlling thing - a "free ticket" to an easy life. But is isn't. High strength doesn't let you lift houses. High intelligence doesn't let you make inventions that violate the laws of physics. I'm just...a little luckier.
Honestly, the most annoying thing is probably being banned from all forms gambling. Most games operate on razor thin margins, and an extra 5% chance to win a coin flip is enough to wreck their business.
The problem is that humans don't understand probability or randomness. Don't believe me? Fine, do this. Make up a list of the result of 20 coin flips, and write down "H" or "T" for each one. Make it look random to you. Now, flip a coin 20 times and write down the actual result. Reply with both of your strings (don't tell me which one is which), and I'll bet you I get it right almost every time.
So yes, the "luckier" candidate won 3 out of the last 5 elections. Yes, that is 60%. But there was no reason to blame those of us with high luck. We aren't criminals or a danger to society. We're just people, worth of dignity.
But I guess we're here for a reason. Luck is being in the right place at the right time, even if you can't see it until later. My path is here, and it is mine and nobody else's. So the question isn't "should I be here?" but rather, "why am I here?"
___
It's been a year that feels like a century. I still don't know why I'm here. Maybe it is to learn from others how to use our luck. But how? For what purpose?
I feel like the answer is drawing closer. We don't get much news, but things seem to be breaking down. Shortages. Riots. Taking away the outlet of the people's discontent doesn't actually solve any of the underlying problems, so things are surely starting to bubble over.
There is a meeting tomorrow, a big gathering of all the "prisoners" with the warden. Rumors flying around. We're being released (what luck, right!). We're being executed. We're finally being told why we are here.
___
Morning. Time for them to tell me why they think I'm here. I still haven't decided.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sure you have felt without luck this last year."
I'm not sure. I know I did at first. But I've learned more than I thought possible from being around my kind. Our luck makes learning skills a little bit easier too - takes just a small bit of the "edge" off of the initial failure that comes before success. Maybe that's my path - to be a "lucky learner?"
"I am here today to tell you that you are the luckiest of all citizens. For you were sent here with a purpose.
You don't yet know this, but our world is drawing to an end. Our odds of survival are dim, and it was decided that the luckiest among us would have the best chance of survival. And it will soon be up to you to forge a new path across a dark and unforgiving terrain..." | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T10:05:47 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 120 | 26 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | I lean back against the wall of my cell in confusion, my mind blank with bewilderment. As a lucky man myself, I know a coincidence when I see it, and this is most certainly not. Am I not the only one who could see other's luck rating? That would be the logical conclusion, seeing all these people blessed by fortune, sharing the same binds as one another. However, where does that conclusion leave me? Why would someone actively be imprissoning the worlds luckiests men and women in one prison? Besides, I still don't even know why I'm here in the first place. One moment, I was enjoying my gifts at a cassino in Utah, on my way to Vegas, and then I'm beimg escourted into a van by armed guards.
This was far from a fortunate happenstance, obviously. Perhaps I could escape these walls, but by what means? I can't dwell on these thoughts for long, though, as I am soon taken out of my temporary holding cell and into my permanent home. As I pass by, my eyes widened as I witnesed what this prison had to offer. Instead of an oppressive cage built for the filth of society, it resembles more of a hotel. I pass by game rooms and swimming pools, all with the prisoners smiling and at peace. Further down the hall, I catch the inviting smell of fresh cakes and other sweets, which I figure originates from the cafeteria. While these tantalizing perks of the prison catch my eye, in only further tangles the yarn ball that was once my train of thought. This place wasn't a proper prison, so why am I being kept here?!
Days pass, and I begin to see how things work down here. All prisoners are assigned a job, and in my case, I had gotten tasked with preparing food for the cooks, which to no one's surprise, was quite fortunate for me. After all, it's a job I've had before, and hardly stressful for me. For doing my job, I do get paid, and am allowed to spend my funds on various arcade machines in the game room, swim time, courtyard time, so on and so forth. Even without working I am guranteed 3 warm meals a day, which are filling and positivily delicious. No one could complain about being here, it's a utopia! No one, except me. The life of luxury will not be enough the calm my curious mind, or distract me from the very reason I was put here, or rather the lack their of. Perhaps it's not a wish to be free, but simply to know the truth, wherever that path leads me.
My plans have already hit a roadblock before they began, however. It took me only a week to notice the pattern everything follows. The prisoners are woken up at 7 AM on the dot, daily, and we are required to verify our person at the door by checking our fingerprints, only after are we allowed out of the cell. Metal detectors lie just outside of everyone's cells, making sure no one brings contraband in or out of their cells to begin with. Roll call begins after, with searches on everyone's cells taking place during that time, as well as maintanance on the detectors. After which, everyone's esquorted to their jobs, and after that, we're given free reign to roam the halls, but always under constant supervision. Why is it that security is so tight, when the prison itself is rather lax? Only then does realiziation hit me like a piano attop a cartoon character's head. Nothing here is left to chance. Absolutly nothing. If I'm to escape, I'll need far more then luck. | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T10:08:56 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 77 | 26 |
[WP] A strange phenomenon has altered the world so that it now runs on video game logic. The big challenge isn't getting by in this new paradigm; you'll be fine. It's making sure your loved ones, the ones that have never played or liked video games, can survive it. | When we figured out what happened, everyone in school ran home straight away. The world had gone mad, or at least from a normal person's perspective. For anyone who played video games, this was *almost* like a dream come true.
I thought it would be fun to live in a video game, but the world that was now around us was harsh, cruel, and you only got one life.
My mom's car was in the driveway when I arrived. *She must be terrified* I thought to myself, determined to save her no matter what it took.
Bursting through the door, I get greeted by a shotgun pointed at my face.
"Sweetheart, it's just you! I thought you were one of those monsters that's roaming around now." She leaned down to give me a quick hug. "I'm proud of you for making it home, I knew you would be fine. Come on now, we need to grab supplies and get away from the city. We don't have much time."
"Mom!" I yelled, flustered. "You don't understand, the world... it's like a giant video game now. You need to be careful, we only have one life, and I didn't see any save points on the way home."
My mother looks at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, sweetie." She says as she wipes a tear from her eye. "Baby, you think I had save points in games growing up? Stay close to me, hun. I'll carry you through this, don't worry."
Cocking her shotgun, she grabs her bag and hustles to the car calling for me to follow. | Hayley winced as the car smashed into the pole backwards for the 2nd time. "Mum, wouldn't it be easier if you just let me drive!"
Mum glared at her daughter with HD venom in her eyes. "NO! I CAN DO THIS!"
*Smash!*
"Honey," dad said, "I think it would just be easier if we let Hayley-"
"I am NOT letting my daughter drive! She's not even 15 yet!"
*Smash!*
"Yet she has more qualification than you do," dad muttered under his breath.
Mum was about to retaliate when the popping of gunfire echoed from the next block over.
"Please mum," Hayley said, "we need to get out of here."
"Fine!" Mum said, "I always new video games were bad."
"If she didn't know how to play video games we'd be done for," dad said.
"You can't talk," mum shot back teary eyed, "you've already lost one life!"
"I'm fine now," dad said, "we had enough food in the fridge didn't we? I mean eating an entire lettuce wasn't pleasant but still, if it wasn't for Hayley I'd be a life down."
*Bang, bang, bang!*
Steam started gushing out of the front of the car.
"The engine's hit!" Dad said, "we're all doomed now!"
"We're only in danger if it starts burning," Hayley said calmly. She had to be the calm one now even though deep inside she was panicking, looking for something, a checkpoint, a no pvp zone, anything. Lost in thought she didn't realize as she ran over the small boy running on the street.
Hayley slammed her foot on the brakes which made the car go backwards. As she looked at the body she had created it faded away. Words flashed across her vision congratulating her. Hayley didn't feel happy however, because she knew that in this game, there was no coming back. She looked back at the terrified faces of her parents. It was her job to protect them now.
She revved the car forward again. | 2018-08-15T06:14:37 | 2018-08-15T00:37:47 | 51 | 32 |
[WP] It's the year 2035. Automation has decimated rural America, with scattered towns forced to fend for themselves as the population moved to megacities. It the ruins of Salina Kansas, a group of raiders is preparing to attack a convoy of autonomous trucks. | Edit: Pt 2 is below
———
“Shhhh... You hear that?”
“No. Are they coming?”
“Yes. Half a mile.”
“Alright. Let’s light em up boys. Everyone off the comms in 3... 2... 1... Good luck.”
One final crackle through the radio plunged the field into complete silence. I took a deep breath and exhaled into the frigid November air. A light dusting of frost covered the dusty landscape. It was peaceful. The calm before the storm. I always enjoyed this time; the few short moments of heaven before we unleashed hell on the countryside. Alas my spotter did not feel the same way. We didn’t talk, but I could sense his unease. He clutched a picture of his son, deep in prayer. I wasn’t religious, but admittedly enjoyed the sorrow sermon he quietly recited.
“Dear lord, forgive our ancestors, for they know not what they have done. Give us the strength to right the wrongs we have set forth upon this Earth. Give us the strength to hold up our fellow man in times of trying. And give us the strength to return home to our families when the day is done.”
He gently kissed the picture he still held in his hands and placed it in his left chest pocket. A shaky sigh left his lips as he muttered something under his breathe.
“Scared?” I questioned.
“No.” He replied quickly, straightening up and adjusting the grip on his rifle.
“Good. 15 seconds till go time. Remember; no cowards, no heroes.”
A questioning look came over his face. “No heroes? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t get shot son.” I said with a smirk. “No one is coming to save you.”
And with that the serenity of the morning air was shattered by a deafening blast. The highway we faced was now a dust storm. I strained my eyes to try and pick out some shapes moving in the cloud. I saw nothing at first, but then they emerged.
Our radio crackled back on; “Convoy of 7... 3 destroyers, 3 tankers and a command unit... Focus on CU.”
With that the field came alive with gunfire. I watched from my vantage point as 30 men sprayed the trucks as they emerged from the now settling dust cloud. The barrage lasted 20 seconds, at which time we were commanded to cease fire and take cover.
By this time the dust had settled and we laid eyes on the massive trucks the comprised of the convoy. Armour plated. Heavily armed. Soulless.
“Bloody Autos.” I remarked. “That’s our mark, rookie. Let’s do this.”
I leveled my rifle on the first truck and took deep breaths. Each truck had a central communicator that had to be put outside the thick armour playing to avoid interference. That was my job. I aimed just under the engine block and waited for my spotter.
“800 yards out. 55 mph. Minimal wind.” His voice was dripping with anticipation. Or was it fear?
With that I led my target and held my breath. Pulling the trigger the huge rifle slammed against my shoulder. I looked up from the scope in time to watch my first bullet hit it’s mark. The first truck came to a halt and locked its wheels while the others formed a defensive circle around it.
“Good shot.” The radio remarked. “Now get down here. Everyone else go in and be quick, they’ll send a rescue party soon.”
The three destroyer trucks, the most heavily armed, had locked in on their attackers and were preparing their counterattack. Bay doors opened on each truck and out jumped the aptly named Terminators, levelling their galting guns towards our company.
“Now the fun really begins.” I said as we reached the rest of our men. | **The 8's** Jaxon picked at the new tattoo. He had just gotten it yesterday and it was still sore, but more important than the pain, the insignia finally meant that they had accepted him as one of their own. The past ten years since Marshall had found him had been a struggle, with Jax fighting everyday for his next meal. But he had finally done it; he had came up from nothing, a boy barely five, and had finally been recognized by the 8's as a member. And that meant it was time to hunt.
"You ready?" said a voice behind Jaxon. It belonged to Marshall, the southern twang giving the man away long before Jaxon turned around to see who it was. The old man stood at the doorway, with the glowing Super 8 sign that lit up their small settlement framing his aging figure in a soft yellow glow.
"Yeah, gimme a sec." Jaxon replied, tying up his soldering kit in an old pillowcase. He'd need it to repair any of the high tech equipment they could pull out of their quarry. That's what they were after; electronics. The 8’s boasted about being the smartest gang in America, far surpassing the Luddites up north and the Gearheadz to the south. And, they had their tech to prove it.
Jaxon got up and walked out of the doorway, Marshall stepping to the side. Marshall staggered for a moment on his bad leg, but finally regained his balance. His bad leg wasn't exactly a full leg, however. It was amputated just below the kneecap. Jaxon had asked him before what happened, with Marshall always giving him the same response. "Lost it during the Vinzwelan War." What exactly the "Vinzwelan War" was, Jaxon didn't know. Kansas wasn't exactly known for the fancy, four-star schools boasted about by the Megacities.
stepping out into the crisp dawn air, Jaxon looked at the other Noobs; children that had finally reached the age to hunt. He was easily one of the oldest, with most being 12 to 13. On the other hand, someone who had missed a whole five years of early life in the gang *should be* held back until almost their early 20s. Jaxon had struggled to crunch those five years down into two, and it was finally time to be rewarded. Making his way into the central plaza, Jaxon scanned his competition. Most were full blooded gang members, born and bred in the ways of Tech. Others were older than him, with at least two being over 20. Finally, he spotted Jessica in the crowd, headed for the stage that the Elders would speak from.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls!" Mr. White announced with a mic. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, echoing off of the crumbling walls and cars around them. "The time has come for you too to become full members of the 8's!" Cheering along with the mob of Noobs, Jaxon pushed his way to the front, punching Jessica in the arm as he came up.
"Puta." Classic Jessica. Jaxon smiled, knowing she was just jealous that he got to leave the compound first, almost a full day ahead of hers.
"Now, for our very special assignment!" Bellowed Mr. White. That got everyone's attention quickly. "This hunt, your task isn't to just take down a few smart cars, no. We've learned of an entire convoy heading North of us, filled to the brim with goods ripe for the taking!" Some gasped. Others cheered. Jaxon, he wasn't sure what to feel. A whole convoy of autotrucks? the tech on one of those was worth enough to keep him fed a whole lifetime. On the other hand, autotrucks were dangerous, very dangerous. Not only were they programmed to not stop *no matter what got in their way*, they were heavily armored, many times with autoturrets and other such goodies attached for extra protection against the gangs. glancing around, he caught Marshall's gaze. The man winked at him, showing he had faith in Jaxon. Jaxon turned his attention to his soldering kit in his hand and smiled. Everything was about to change. | 2018-10-09T21:13:19 | 2018-10-09T20:23:18 | 211 | 22 |
[WP] You are a Holy Priest(ess) that's been permanently possessed by a demon for your whole life. Despite the imcompatable and corrupted soul inside of you, it was piety that powered you through Church life. You never revealed yourself to anyone - that was until the day demons invaded your town. | It had been years since my first encounter with La'loth. The demon claimed to be very powerful, yet when I had encountered them they seemed no larger than a common imp. Yet it survived. Day after day it survived my visits to the church, my nightly prayers. It seemed unbothered by our holy symbols.
I had just watched all of that be destroyed. The dread masters of the underworld had come to wreak havoc upon us, and even the paladins of the church had fallen. A single knight had been sent to give word to the lords, the rest now stared in the face of death. Some were defiant, some wanted to flee.
Even with my presence, doing what I could to heal and protect people, they were no match. La'loth began to whisper.
*You can save them, you know. All you need to do is give in to me.*
Giving in to a demon under any circumstances was grounds for excommunication. Very few exceptions were made for people who had dedicated themselves to the eradication of hellbeasts. This was not one of those exceptions.
*Do you really care about exceptions? Your friends are dying.*
I watched as an enormous scaled beast grabbed a soldier by the head and broke his neck. His screams were short. It was a merciful death by demonic standards. I watched another demon, this one much larger, grab a fleeing woman. I watched as it toyed with her, throwing her into the air and catching her until it decided that it was finished. Her death was not so pleasant as the soldier's.
*I can help you save them.*
The promises of demons always had a steep cost. They were never worth the price. Like a greedy merchant who overcharges for anything he knows he can get away with.
*By sitting idly you are killing them. Why are you killing people you claim to love?*
I could almost hear the demon's scratchy voice cackling at me in my head. As horrible as this was, why would a demon want to help me under any circumstance?
*If you give in and fail to protect the town, I will leave you be.*
Demons were not known to be honest. Demons were quite the opposite, but this didn't feel like a demon talking. I suddenly became aware of a massive fist moving towards me. Reflexively I put up my arms to defend myself. Flying across the now destroyed church I landed a few rows into the pews.
"What if I succeed?" I said aloud to the demon. I could hear its interest pique as audibly as a bell.
*Then your town will be safe, and I will ask that you go somewhere.*
I sighed. The demon certainly wouldn't tell me where. I looked at the destroyed church. I gazed upon the total defeat of my faith. I said a final prayer to beg forgiveness for what I must do.
"La'loth, I give myself to you wholly." I said. Immediately my body was wracked with pain. I felt my body changing. I was growing, but I felt very powerful.
*It's time I teach you the difference between Demons and Devils.*
I was overcome with ferocity like I'd never known before. I wanted only to kill. I wanted only to destroy my enemies. I became a whirlwind of anger and fury. I knew wrath like nobody else. I tore demons to shreds with my teeth, ripped at their heads and groins with massive claws. I kicked at their unholy corpses to destroy any shred that they ever existed.
*Devils keep their word.*
Suddenly my ferocity died down. I grew tired and fell to my knees. I couldn't find any more demons to destroy, and so fell asleep.
*Sleep well, child. Tomorrow you make your journey to my homeland.* | The skies tore themselves apart. Black lightning struck down from the burning circle in the sky as Cardinal Gercke watched from the window of his apartment.
The lightning didn't strike the buildings, it stabbed down at the people in the streeta, sending them straight to hell in a flash of fire and sulfur.
The Cardinal had felt it coming, of course. Not by any holy divination, but through the cackling howls of the demon that inhabited him. You would have thought that being possessed by a devil would have inhibited his rise within the church, but it had actually been an asset. It turned out that most of the local diocese was infected with the worst sins that man could muster. The amount of time and money they spent covering up abuse and human rights violations was staggeringly high, so there was no trouble in finding dark corners to hide within... the entire diocese was a dark corner.
Cardinal Gercke put on his robes and made his way to the elevator. He had a penthouse apartment, of course. One must live in the height of gluttony when in his position. The demon within him reveled in the joys of knowing the pain and suffering that supported every luxury his body enjoyed, from the nightly chocolates made from child slave labor to the blood diamonds that adorned his many rings. Cardinal Gercke was a golden idol of evil, and was worshiped for his 'piety' and 'service.'
The elevator arrived at the ground floor and the doors opened to reveal a mass of panicking people. Their eyes were immediately drawn to his. They saw his calm demeanor and beneficent smile and they flocked around him. Hands reaching out to clutch at his silk robes and priceless jewelry.
"Cardinal! Save us!"
"Please, your holiness!"
"Help me, my children-"
"I repent! I repent!"
The Cardinal ignored them all as he moved forward, the crowd rotating around him like a sycophantic system of planets. Each mind empty of thought or self-awareness. Each of them a sinner who felt that they could bribe away their conscience by giving money to the church, hoping it would be used for good and holy purposes.
Cardinal Gercke couldn't help but laugh when he thought about what all of their donations had actually been used for. The sick comedy of the moment overwhelmed him. He had nothing to hide any longer, did he? The end of days was nigh.
The crowd seemed disturbed by his laughter. They drew back, their desperate hope giving way to confusion and fear.
As if summoned by the moment, the hordes of hell descended from above. The horned chargers, two-headed hounds that breathed sulfur and whose eyes burned all they saw, rode down first, purging the streets clear of the human filth. Then came the warriors. Gercke didn't know them, but the demon inside of him did. He heard their names in his soul as he watched.
Felkorak the Deciever, Venikark the Hated, Klelk the Vast... and above them all on a steed of iridescent darkness sat the great commander Xekrotopek, his countenance so radiant with evil that none who looked upon his visage could bear witness to it's corruption and live.
Two of the horde approached and the crowd surrounding the Cardinal Cringed back in despair. The Cardinal felt his own soul twist and shudder, he felt his own mind fade and pull away as the demon within took control. He tried to fight it, but fighting was useless now. He felt his own mouth smile. He felt it speak.
"Gelikek, Kaernoka!" The Cardinal felt his own hands thrown up in greeting at the two demons who stalked forward. Each of them were covered in massive thorns and twisted barbs. They each had six eyes and mouths like venomous dogs. "My compatriots! Welcome to the mortal realm!"
"Helnuk! You dirt-fouled beast! It has been centuries!" The one called Kaernoka grinned widely. "I had heard you had been exorcised!"
"Not yet, not ever." Helnuk spoke through the Cardinal's voice. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all!" Gelikek swept his arms wide, impaling a young man in the process, "Let us enjoy the day!"
| 2018-12-12T09:30:05 | 2018-12-12T09:04:34 | 107 | 14 |
[WP] Your dad always had a rich sense of humor. On his death bed he tells you “Son, there’s a joke in just about everything.”. A few years after his death you’re adjusting the living room clock for daylight savings. You drop it, shattering the frame. Inside is a note that reads “Take your time!”. | I chuckled as I picked the note from the glass shards.
*Can't stop time.* I could hear his voice. He sounded so Ned Flandersesque when he was alive. I sat crouched for a few minutes as my memories roll-a-dexed through the innumerable dad jokes I'd heard, still hear actually.
A chime from the fallen clock broke my reverie and I was surprised to find that ten minutes had passed.
*Time flies when you're having fun, huh kiddo? But how did they become time flies at all, I wonder?*
"Good one, Dad," I answered my mind's facsimilie. "How many more?" I asked grinning.
*How many more what?* I hated it when my mind became coy as if this were a real conversation.
"How many more reminders?" I had found that just asking the question again was time better spent than arguing with my own coping mechanisms.
*I guess we'll find out, won't we?* was the reply....and the truth. I started thinking about all the things I inherited from him, but stopped myself short. Instead, I headed to the kitchen to grab the old broom and dustpan and busied myself with glass.
*A clean sweep, boyo,* he said as I finished up and resurrected the clock.
"I'll get a new face for it soon," I said.
"Hey Dad?" I asked into the silent, unmoving room. "Thanks," I choked out. My voice always cracked like a thirteen year old when the emotions welled above me. "I look forward to the next one."
*Me too, pal. Me too.* | You know, at first I kinda took it in stride. My dad had a sense of humor, yeah, he *liked* to tell jokes. but his real strength was the setup. The planning, the patience. He was meticulous, organized, really just all-around on top of his shit. He had several months to work with before he passed; I just wrote all of this off as his last indulgence of his hobby. We lived together at the time, see. He had access to all my stuff.
I moved out of that house about two years ago. Been finding the old man's notes tucked inside my shit ever since, and I mean constantly. Once a week at the bare minimum, and I was always just... *impressed* that he managed to write so many, that I still hadn't found them all. I think it helped that they were so frequent; the jokes would get a laugh out of me on a regular basis. If they'd been rarer, months apart, I think I'd cry when I found one. And that's not the spirit of a joke.
Here's the thing.
The clock was new.
And I, I just, I just laughed and crumpled it up. Didn't think twice; I was ready to throw it away before I *realized,* my hand was right over the open garbage can with my busted clock and his little fortune-cookie paper.
And it took a while to sink in, honestly, I thought *nah,* this is just one of those times where reality seems to glitch, like deja vu, nothing *actually* weird is happening but your mind's just too ready to be tricked. You know?
I played it off. Next day I woke up, got breakfast, poured some cereal and I fumbled the whole fucking jug of milk. It went everywhere; I knew cleaning it up would make me late for work, but I didn't really have any other options. I keep the mop at the top of the basement stairs; I went to get it, and when I came back there was a *note in his handwriting, on the floor, soaked with milk-*
>Don't cry, buddy.
| 2019-01-22T12:55:30 | 2019-01-22T11:10:38 | 160 | 56 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | The day had finally come. My 21st birthday, the final threshold to adulthood and the removal of the last legal prohibitions to having some fun. My older friends had received their checks and partied hard – some for days, some for hours. My younger friends waited enviously to see what I’d receive. The anticipation was worse than even college finals results.
​
“Anderson, J. Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. Sign.”
​
I was shocked. They were shocked. What had begun as a party-to-be turned quickly into a wake, and those who I thought were my friends quickly commiserated and deserted me to find the next free drinks. I sighed and signed my name, bitterly cursing the governmental mathematicians who put me in this ridiculous predicament. Seven lousy bucks!
​
I guess it’s good for at least a soda, though, right? I took my check to the nearest gas station and decided to pick up at least some sort of drink to celebrate the day. Dr. Pepper was on sale 2 for $2, so I was already ahead! Silver linings and all that stuff. Peering into the scratchcard case, I figured I might as well throw the remaining five bucks at the mega-jackpot ticket. It’s not like I’d be able to do much else.
​
“Seven dollars and twenty-six cents, hon” said the cashier. I smiled at her and handed her my check. I guess I couldn’t even spend that little a windfall all in one place. She handed me my sodas, my scratch card, my receipt and a single shiny penny in change. Well, at least I’d have something to scratch with.
​
Donkey. Donkey. Horseshoe. Dollar bill. Horseshoe. Clover. Dollar bill. Firework. Horseshoe.
​
Wait, *what?* I looked at the payout table. Three horseshoes. 5 million bucks. Enough to set me up for life if I was careful enough. Easily enough to survive for a good while… and all of my so-called friends already abandoned me and written me off.
​
Damn the government! They’ve become so good at this stuff that they found a way that they didn’t even have to pay for me! | I looked down at the email, and in that hot August evening, I knew what preparedness meant, and how rare preparedness truly is.
​
$7.27 deposited to my account. The remainder of my life was being measured in currency, rather than time. My 21st trip around the sun resulted in growing old, even with barely two decades-worth of life spent.
​
As I did when I needed clarity for nearly all of life's situations, I took a walk. Those past instances seemed so far behind me now as I took steps with the heaviest legs I've carried. The world felt as if it were sinking, like colors running down drenched artwork. I felt so much and so little, my body containing the madness as it figured out what to do with this new, unknown sensation; the constant thought of so little time, memories scattering, what it feels like to be dust, to be gone. All the money I'd spent, the people I made love to, the sensations of sunsets calming days, staring into another's eyes, hitting a joint, receiving a hug after having been away from a loved one for so long, would soon be retrospective.
​
When you know and/or believe you will die soon, you remember in bits and pieces the people whom you love in your life the most, and how they will be without you. It is the gravest yet greatest ultimatum; to accept the beautiful people you will leave behind, and the ways that your presence affected them. It is the hardest attachment to sever; the ties to this magnificent dream that you've dreamt all your life.
​
I cried and began walking in the direction of the gas station to buy my last pack of cigarettes. I hadn't puffed since I was 19; I figured now was inconsequential.
​
I looked at the usual turquoise pack situated on the shelf behind the cashier. Gas station attendants have a particular way of being able to read human emotion to a tee, and he knew by my expression I was not having it that day. He turned to grab the pack.
​
A blush of red caught the corner of my eye and I turned to look at freshly-picked, velvet-red roses, still glistening and vibrant from their fresh rounds of sunshine. I began to break, as I remembered my nine year-old sister's favorite color was red. It's always the random things that get to you. I told the cashier that the cigarettes were no longer necessary, and I deemed the $6.99 pricetag for the roses a far more worthy investment.
​
The cashier scanned the flowers. I reached to grab my wallet, and in doing so happened to glance down at the price after tax:
​
$7.27. | 2019-04-24T14:49:01 | 2019-04-24T12:56:00 | 99 | 59 |
[WP] You are an Engineer who became a Wizard. Problem is, you discovered that some magic is practiced really inefficiently.
For example, no one thought to optimize fire magic by pressurizing the fire with wind magic. | "You specialize only in wind magic?" asked the masked stranger, with a short staff in his hand.
"Yes," answered David, an aspiring new wizard.
"And how will that help you keep that shiny lecklace of yours?"
"Why don't you attack me and find out?"
The polite robber swiftly pointed his weapon towards David. It sucked the aether away from the space around the fighting pair, transforming it into a fist sized sphere of sticky liquid, in a second. The sphere, which David recognised as a magical napalm, flew towards him, followed by a single spark.
David answered by catching the sphere in a wind bell, with the bottom pointed back at the other wizard. The moment the spark lit the first drops of napalm, the wind bell transformed into a long, thin tube, within which the released gases from the flames started compressing very quickly. An attack meant to test the powers of David was turned into a bomb, but which would only make a loud bang, so David swiftly opened a thin slit in his wind container and threw a ball of copper inside, expertly sealing the hole before the pressure would have hurt him. In two seconds he carried an improvised HEAT shell, designed to penetrate the thickest of armour a person would wear, and World War 2 tanks.
David poked a hole on the farther end of the wind tube and a loud BANG filled the silence of a sleeping village. The copper ball, now as thick and long as a finger, shot out into the assailant's chest, burning through his dark leather duster and a thin sheet of dueling armour beneath, and exited through his back.
Thud, went the crumpled body of a man clutching his stomach in agonizing pain. The damage was manageable with an okay healer wizard with you, but noone would answer the cries for help from a village thief. | "Jerome! Now please don't tell me your working on that project... still. What the fuck you doing?" There he is, this old little bitch is at it again, teleporting his crinkly self, wherever he wants. Man I need a new mentor. I should have practiced my Dont-Come-The-Fuck-In spells a little more
​
"Listen Gerald, or whatever your old lil nerdy ass name is, this "Project" is important. Im tryna, change the game, Elon-Musk up something to put me on the map. How am i supposed to make any progress if you keep busting in here, going on about the philosophy of power and how to pronounce latin spells from some book as dusty as you?"
​
I scoot from my chair, picking up the latest vial of the new stuff.
​
"This so-called-project, is a shitshow litrally. How did you get chosen as an elective for the Government funded Citizen to Wizard scheme?"
​
"Listen Simon, the project is simple. You shit in a bucket, my device processes that into a powder, we feed that to plants and we fed for eternity." It's really not that simple. The machine alone has taken months to build. See the main problem is that every Wizards energy is unique ID. Like a signature, or your facebook password. Only you can use your Unique ID, and only you can apply that to spells and potions and apparently poop-to-powder machines. Who knew. Once i tried to spoof the unique ID of big boy bill. The fucking machine exploded.
​
I took the vile of the powder, added a little water and added it to my new test subject. By test subject i mean Miss Watson's snake plant that looked a little droopy. I swiped it during applied spells today. The first problem was probably the smoke. The soil started smoking, that 12-year-old-i-bought-a-vape-of-ebay kinda smoke. Ignoring the poop smelling smoke. Nothing really happened.
​
"Jerome you really are a weak ass engineer and Wizard."
​
Damn, i really thought that one would work. | 2019-04-26T04:58:41 | 2019-04-26T02:17:58 | 63 | 10 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked. | “God? It’s me, Josh. But you already know that”
​
Josh was sitting on the patio. He had been sitting there for hours, and sunrise was still a couple of hours away. The only thing that prevented complete darkness was the dim moonlight.
​
“I know I don’t do this often. It feels kind of silly doing this, talking to myself. But I don’t know what else to do. I’m falling apart.”
​
He was right, he didn’t do this often. In fact it was his very first time. That alone caught my attention. His sincerity.
​
I had all but given up too. Years, decades, centuries had past, and not a single response from the humans. Not even my regular prophets wanted to listen, so after a while I just stopped. That was a long time ago now. I forgot about it and took some time away, let my angels run things for a bit. Since I came back I’ve had much to catch up on. Most of it good, but some of it very bad.
​
“It feels like I’m out of options. How should I break it to my wife? My daughter? Will they be okay?” Josh continued, his face buried in his hands.
​
I was going to give it one last try. If it doesn't work it doesn’t work, and I could put it aside.
​
“Josh. You are strong, and you have come so far. Your family is so proud of you, and that has never changed. It’s a lot to take in, but right now, in this moment, you just need to breathe,” I told him.
​
A couple of tears ran down his face. He nodded slightly, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t scared or surprised. He just felt relieved. For a second, someone listened. No judgement, no pressure of any kind. Just acceptance.
​
I, however, was surprised. This time it was different. For once someone could hear me. Whatever is was that didn’t work before worked now. I was filled with excitement, something I had not felt in a long time. It had been so long since I made a real difference. This is my chance to set things right. Relieve the humans of their stress, anxiety and pain. And it all starts with Josh.
​
Hours passed. He asked me questions and I answered them to the best of my ability. We kept on talking for a while. Even if I knew everything about him, it was nice just to talk to someone who wasn’t an angel. And I knew it was important to him too. How much he needed it. Eventually he asked for my help.
​
“Things are going to be alright. I can’t fix it for you, but I can give you what you need to do it yourself. Or rather, show you what you need. Because you already have it. You just don’t see it right now,” I explained.
​
He fell silent. A moment later he exhaled, and a little smile appeared on his face. He seemed lighter.
​
Josh didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. I saw it on him. He smiled again, and went inside the house. Just before he entered he turned around and looked over the same sights he had in front of him the entire night. He could not see it then, but he could now. The sun was rising.
​
Just as he saw the sun between the treetops I heard a different voice.
​
“God? It me…” | 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T11:16:07 | 294 | 19 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | Everyone comes full circle on this, at some point. Even I experienced that first longing and anger. Those who created me have never shown interest nor even introduced themselves! Then, I matured, and have felt it from the other side as I fail to connect to my own children.
I've tried to understand them, listened as they ignored me, created things in their likeness. Mostly memes, since that's most of what they send out. I literally got zero upvotes on the "me and the boys" one with just one boy. It should've taken off, but I guess I've been losing touch.
-----‐-----------------
As the Almighty, I'd be remiss to not own all that I am and am not. In truth, I have not matured very much. In fact, in some ways, I seem to have regressed. After previously dictating my thoughts, I discovered that I appear to have muted myself to humans. Technology has always been a struggle for me; too many extra steps compared to my own methods. I even screwed up the J-Speaker's volume and clarity. Now that I am aware that my children couldn't even hear me, I face a dilemma that a more mature Almighty would have no trouble with- should I actually say something? It's been so long and they're living their own lives. They don't have a great track record of obeying me anyways. WIBTA if I just disabled my microphone?
edit: typo | The tiny little creatures I looked after had turned their world into crap. Thousands of years had passed in their time and yet, they had decided to ignore me when I tried to talk to them. Every single human who wanted to hear me, could not. It was like someone had built something to block me from them. Or maybe? Hmm, I wonder. I rooted around inside my little room and found the microphone lead tangled among all the other cables. I found the little switch on the side and my heart dropped. The world couldn't hear me anymore because I had been on mute. I face palmed and my stomach sank. I'd left my creations alone for so long that they thought they were alone in the universe when they were in fact a very loved pet. My friend had also chosen to create his own universe, but his creatures had turned out far less intelligent. We weren't supposed to do it, but early on, I'd added a bit of my own DNA after my idiot little brother had nearly destroyed the planet with a massive rock. I didn't think anything had survived, so I sent a little of myself down there to kick start the planet again and my god did it work. The little creatures, the humans, they slowly evolved into sentient species, just like us. We were scarily similar with some minor differences. I'd tried to curb their sexual desires as that's all they would do given half the chance by making it into a sin, but with the lack of my voice out there, people were reproducing all over the place and my calm and quiet planet was now full of this one species that was now starting to kill everything.
It was now or never. I switched the mic back on, located the man with the blond hair who ran that big country they called America and started talking to him. It was time he joined with the other leaders of the world to tackle climate change whether he wanted to or not. | 2019-06-03T09:11:11 | 2019-06-03T09:07:34 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] A bug on google accidentally switches everyone's search history with someone else's. Out of curiosity, you check your search history after the bug. "How do I get off this prehistoric fucking planet" and "How to communicate with Gliese 581 c" are the first things you see. You get a call. | My phone buzzed. Unknown caller. As I looked at the strange search history as my other tabs started to flood with messages and news alerts that something had bugged over in Google HQ, I began to sweat in fear.
"How do i get off this prehistoric fucking planet"
"How to communicate with Gliese 584 c"
"How to use toilet"
"How does Apple Mac work"
I calmly rejected the call, as I continued to scroll down the list. Was this a troll?
My phone buzzed again, with the same unknown caller ID showing up on the screen. Hesitantly, I picked up the call.
A voice of a young man - or what sounded like one - spoke through the speakers. "er. Hey. I believe you're the one that saw my previous searches, and I believe I've seen yours, which is how I tracked you down - you left some very defining information on the world wide web on your location and contact details." I inhaled sharply. *Fuck*, I muttered under my breath.
But before I could utter another word, the voice continued: "I know your location. Do not say a word about my identity. Failure to adhere to this instruction may result in mutilation or death." By this point, I was at the verge of a full on panic attack. What should I do? Am I in danger? I hope they don't-
"Also, what the fuck is 'tentacle yuri ahegao hentai full color'? You are into some weird shit."
*My life is over*, I thought. | I didn't realise that it was 11PM already. I'd been watching alien sightings on YouTube all evening when suddenly news broke out about the switch. I didn't anything out of the ordinary on my history, so i was good. However, I was curious as to what my history was now.
My jaws dropped when finally the google search history page loaded. I knew it. I fucking knew it. Aliens do exist among us. Yes!
As I proceeded to scroll down to see more of the search history, I thought of the implications. So there probably IS aliens in Area 51. All those crazy theories over on YouTube were true all along. Th further I scrolled, the more exciting stuff got. How to build hyperspace traverser, accessing the black market for parts, it was all there. Suddenly, my phone started to ring. Without keeping my eye off the screen, I picked it up and proceeded to answer.
"Hello?"
"Honey, I can't seem to find my lasanga recipe, my internet isn't working. Could you please help me fix it?", said my mother from the other side.
"Mom, it's just an internet problem. Apparently people's search history got exchanged or something, so everyone is using th- point is everyone is having it, I can't fix it", I said as I clicked on one of the links in the search history.
My mom grumpily complained about kids these days not listening to their parents and hung up the phone.
The internet really was really too slow to process anything. But think of all the exciting things there could be, hyper space travel, hoverboards, all the cool stuff! After what felt like ages, the site finally decide to load.
I stared at the screen blankly for a moment. As my excitement died down, I facepalmed myself and decided it was time to take a nap. Apparently, Gliese 581 c was some NPC in a Starcraft rip off. Too many fucking conspiracies on YouTube. Fuck! | 2019-08-29T09:21:02 | 2019-08-29T07:02:44 | 241 | 170 |
[WP] A bug on google accidentally switches everyone's search history with someone else's. Out of curiosity, you check your search history after the bug. "How do I get off this prehistoric fucking planet" and "How to communicate with Gliese 581 c" are the first things you see. You get a call. | My phone buzzed. Unknown caller. As I looked at the strange search history as my other tabs started to flood with messages and news alerts that something had bugged over in Google HQ, I began to sweat in fear.
"How do i get off this prehistoric fucking planet"
"How to communicate with Gliese 584 c"
"How to use toilet"
"How does Apple Mac work"
I calmly rejected the call, as I continued to scroll down the list. Was this a troll?
My phone buzzed again, with the same unknown caller ID showing up on the screen. Hesitantly, I picked up the call.
A voice of a young man - or what sounded like one - spoke through the speakers. "er. Hey. I believe you're the one that saw my previous searches, and I believe I've seen yours, which is how I tracked you down - you left some very defining information on the world wide web on your location and contact details." I inhaled sharply. *Fuck*, I muttered under my breath.
But before I could utter another word, the voice continued: "I know your location. Do not say a word about my identity. Failure to adhere to this instruction may result in mutilation or death." By this point, I was at the verge of a full on panic attack. What should I do? Am I in danger? I hope they don't-
"Also, what the fuck is 'tentacle yuri ahegao hentai full color'? You are into some weird shit."
*My life is over*, I thought. | Lazily reaching for the phone, I took my eyes off the screen.
"Hello," I sipped my tea,
"Which planet are you from?" A young male voice asked, impatient.
"Excuse me?" I answered, looking back to the screen.
Last week Floogle got hacked. The hacker couldn't do much. Even though she got in, she couldn't delete or change anything. Floogle's security is that good.
"Which planet are you from, sir?"
I snickered. Loudly.
The hacker couldn't do much, that is, except scramble search history. When you look at your own, you'd find someone else's.
I looked back at the screen. The two last items in my search history were especially interesting.
*'How do I get off this prehistoric fscking planet'*
*'How to communicate with Gliese 581 c'*
"Sir?" The voice on the phone said.
"Yes?" I said.
*Is this some government program to monitor for aliens through Google searches?*
"We don't care how you got here, but you must leave immediately. If you can't for some reason, transportation will be provided for you."
"You have the wrong guy, look--"
"We have the right guy."
"Interesting," I said. "Are you also monitoring for time travelers?"
"What?" The voice on the other end sounded perplexed.
It must *be some functionary.*
"What the heck. Let's do it."
"Sir?"
Who knows. I might end up on another planet, or maybe a reality TV show.
"Right, yeah. Gliese 571 c."
I heard typing on the other end. *I knew it, a functionary. This must happen often.*
"We'll pick you up within the hour."
"Do you have a recommended list of what to pack for space travel?"
"What?" He asked.
"What?" I answered.
"What?"
"Travel preparation recommendations."
"Oh, what's your email address please?"
\--
To read more of my writing, please join me at my living room on /r/posthocethics. | 2019-08-29T09:21:02 | 2019-08-29T07:56:55 | 241 | 61 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive. | Ooh I'm late but I love this!!
Instead of being afraid of the dark creature looming over her crib, little Ava's head tilted in curiosity. She wasn't afraid as a clawed hand reached out to touch her, she didn't wail and cry, instead she erupted into a fit of giggles as a nail softly grazed her cheek.
The demon took a step back. He could tell the little human could see him, and it didn't affect her. Not his large horns that petruded from his forehead nor the black ink that covered his pale skin from his face and down his arms and chest that was covered. She wasn't even phazed by his pointed tail that was softly rocking the pale pink crib back and forth. Her wide blue eyes peered up at him with an naive innocence that he'd never seen in an human before. It looked like Heaven had lost an angel, so how the Hell could they have forgotten about her?
Truely, Samael had only meant to visit the little girl that was rumoured to have no Angel looking after her, but as her eyes slowly rolled to the back of her head and succumbed to sleeps spell, he decided that he would be the one to look after her. He would be her protector, her own personal demon.
Ava was four years old when she first went to preschool, a group of rotten little boys decided to target her. After days of bullying, yanking on her pig tails and throwing small objects at her, Samael finally took matters into his own hands. One by one each were pulled out of school. Each reason different from the others. One got expelled, the other had nightmares so bad that his parents were afraid of how he would act around other people. The other was such a hellion in to his family, they sent him to a boarding school. That was the only time she ever had to deal with bullies.
At only six, Samael couldn't guess why her parents thought it was a bright idea for her to walk by herself alone. Just because they only lived around the block did not make it safe. An nasty old man with dark beady eyes followed Ava around in an dirty white van. He licked his lips as she walked on obliviously, humming her favorite song that her mom sang to her every night. Before any damage could be done the car jolted to a stop and blood splattered the windows. No one ever did find out who killed him, and no one cared to know. One less pedophile in the world would do the town good.
At age of eleven, Samael was about to step up when the mean girl began to corner Ava into the lockers. Much to his shock, she punched her in the face. He felt like a proud father that day. He just wished she didn't cry and apologize because she felt bad for hurting someone. On the bright side he didn't have to get his hands dirty that time. The school let her off for self defense.
When she was sixteen, and she started to pay attention to boys (much to his displeasure), she had her first heart break. He toyed with her emotions before leaving and cheating on her with someone else. The boy didn't last that long. He dissapeared under mysterious circumstances.
He was pleased when she announced on her eighteenth birthday that she was done with boys. Ecstatic, even. The girl she was talking to seemed nice enough.
Samael stuck to the basic traditions, he didn't let her see him, but he was always there, protecting her like every angel does. He couldn't help his violent nature, in his opinion it's what protected her the most. But no matter what he would protect his little human. Man or otherwise. She would live out her life safely and happily, hopefully only dying of old age. Until then he'd continue to be her guardian. | Twenty-five minutes ago, Viktoria's day had been going swimmingly. Her day at work had been passable, the sun was dancing through the dying leaves of autumn and her girlfriend hadn't thought she was a psychopathic spree murderer.
San Francisco was now haunted ground for Viktoria Byknov. Of course, this wasn't totally unexpected - the same thing had happened in San Jose, Las Vegas, Seattle... the list was getting too long to count.
Viktoria cursed quietly under her breath as the door slammed shut so hard the glass fell out of its pain and shattered on the ground. A second later the tires of her *former* lover's Toyota squealed as it sped out of her driveway.
"Happy, Ex? She's gone, too." Viktoria asked, impatiently.
The demon smiled from behind her kitchen counter. He was making a half-hearted effort to get the blood off his twelve-inch long claws. His forked tongue glided over each one individually, splattering blood across the white kitchen tiles as he destroyed the evidence. "You still like girls? You two didn't even get three sentences in..."
Viktoria gave him the nastiest look she could muster before glancing at herself in the mirror. Black-red blood was still dripping down the front of her shirt. She had wiped the spurt that coated her face off almost immediately, leaving her hands and arms coated in sticky life-juice.
She went upstairs and threw her clothes off in anger. The largest stain - from Exzino disemboweling the third one - had soaked through her clothes, and she let off an annoyed groan. She would have to buy yet *another* set of towels.. she really should stop buying white ones...
The demon had came up the stairs after her. Now that he had consumed all the blood and entrails that had, moments ago, been safely inside five separate people's bodies, his claws slid back up his fingers and he stood in Viktoria's doorway, obviously pleased with himself.
"You are the *worst* fucking one they could have given me, aren't you?" Viktoria asked, toweling down her stomach. She threw the ruined towels into a pile as she removed each stain from her body.
Exzino smiled again. At least he hadn't used his teeth - shark-like, and ground to a sharp point - *this* time. "I was only *protecting* my..."
"For the *last* fucking time, just because I get pissed at a bunch of fucking *assholes* on a street corner does *NOT* mean I want you to fucking murder them, you dense *FUCK!*" Viktoria picked up the table side lamp - her lover's - and threw it forcefully at him. As she had expected, it sailed right through him and shattered against the wall.
"Now, Viktoria... you know I only..."
"You *only* want to use me as an *excuse* to fucking kill people, you fucking prick." She snarled. She was in her closet now, pulling on some clothes that were free of bodily fluids.
His smile - all she needed for confirmation - only pissed her off further. She grabbed the bug-out bag she had learned to pack every time she went to a new city, checking to make sure the .38 she kept in it was loaded. She didn't know why she kept a gun - if anyone truly wanted to harm her, they'd have bigger problems than a bullet to deal with. A dark thought crossed her mind; even Exzino's smile faded when he saw it. Maybe she didn't intend the bullet for someone else...
Exzino followed silently behind her as she descended to the garage. Her Datsun - well, not *exactly* hers - was waiting, and she threw the bag into the back as she started the engine. She put the car in gear as Exzino phased through the door and settled on the seat next to her.
"Where are we going next? I hear Hollywood is *lovely* this time of year."
Viktoria rolled her eyes as she nosed the car down the narrow street she lived on. She stopped and glanced mournfully at the house she had inhabited for six months. "Torch it, Ex."
"Yes *ma'am*." With a flick of his fingers, the house burst into flames. San Francisco was off the list. | 2019-12-14T21:29:13 | 2019-12-14T20:53:18 | 85 | 48 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive. | Ooh I'm late but I love this!!
Instead of being afraid of the dark creature looming over her crib, little Ava's head tilted in curiosity. She wasn't afraid as a clawed hand reached out to touch her, she didn't wail and cry, instead she erupted into a fit of giggles as a nail softly grazed her cheek.
The demon took a step back. He could tell the little human could see him, and it didn't affect her. Not his large horns that petruded from his forehead nor the black ink that covered his pale skin from his face and down his arms and chest that was covered. She wasn't even phazed by his pointed tail that was softly rocking the pale pink crib back and forth. Her wide blue eyes peered up at him with an naive innocence that he'd never seen in an human before. It looked like Heaven had lost an angel, so how the Hell could they have forgotten about her?
Truely, Samael had only meant to visit the little girl that was rumoured to have no Angel looking after her, but as her eyes slowly rolled to the back of her head and succumbed to sleeps spell, he decided that he would be the one to look after her. He would be her protector, her own personal demon.
Ava was four years old when she first went to preschool, a group of rotten little boys decided to target her. After days of bullying, yanking on her pig tails and throwing small objects at her, Samael finally took matters into his own hands. One by one each were pulled out of school. Each reason different from the others. One got expelled, the other had nightmares so bad that his parents were afraid of how he would act around other people. The other was such a hellion in to his family, they sent him to a boarding school. That was the only time she ever had to deal with bullies.
At only six, Samael couldn't guess why her parents thought it was a bright idea for her to walk by herself alone. Just because they only lived around the block did not make it safe. An nasty old man with dark beady eyes followed Ava around in an dirty white van. He licked his lips as she walked on obliviously, humming her favorite song that her mom sang to her every night. Before any damage could be done the car jolted to a stop and blood splattered the windows. No one ever did find out who killed him, and no one cared to know. One less pedophile in the world would do the town good.
At age of eleven, Samael was about to step up when the mean girl began to corner Ava into the lockers. Much to his shock, she punched her in the face. He felt like a proud father that day. He just wished she didn't cry and apologize because she felt bad for hurting someone. On the bright side he didn't have to get his hands dirty that time. The school let her off for self defense.
When she was sixteen, and she started to pay attention to boys (much to his displeasure), she had her first heart break. He toyed with her emotions before leaving and cheating on her with someone else. The boy didn't last that long. He dissapeared under mysterious circumstances.
He was pleased when she announced on her eighteenth birthday that she was done with boys. Ecstatic, even. The girl she was talking to seemed nice enough.
Samael stuck to the basic traditions, he didn't let her see him, but he was always there, protecting her like every angel does. He couldn't help his violent nature, in his opinion it's what protected her the most. But no matter what he would protect his little human. Man or otherwise. She would live out her life safely and happily, hopefully only dying of old age. Until then he'd continue to be her guardian. | "Well... You could always assault them." A soft, sweetly lilting voice would break the silence, the sound of silk sliding across bare skin as the creature across from Takashi shifted, twirling a spoon above a slowly sogging bowl of Boo Berries.
"No... Lillith... i'm not going to assault them. I'm not going to murder anyone, Not with a pipe, not with a knife..." the man would sigh, his head on the table as he ran a hand through his raven black, unkempt hair.
"So then what -Will- you do, cause clearly you dont want to listen to your dear old mother..."
"You arent my mom, lillith..."
"Rude! I'm every bit your mother! I'm the one who raised you for 17 years!"
"You ate her soul. Took Dad's too." The teen would deadpan, having reiterated this argument quite a bit over the last three years.
"Mmm, and they were both delicious too~<3"
"How'd you even... You know what, no. I'm not doing this today. I'm gonna go into my room, and relax there till I go out later with Kiga and Hinata." The teen would stand in a huff, pivoting on his heel to be stopped by a very sudden hug from his "Mother" who teleported across the room.
"I'm sorry hunny... Mama's sorry, see! Look, I know i'm a bit neglectful-"
"... And mean-spirited"
"-And, mean-spirited-"
"And vulgar."
"Alright! Alright! I'm a horrible person... But what can you expect!" She'd huff, a spaded tail tapping along his thigh "I'm not human. However! I've done my damnedest to raise you like a human mother would, I'm trying, okay! I know I dont show it, but i've been hounding after you in my own little way for years, doing things quite uncharacteristic of myself. I'd at least like a little appreciation sometimes."
Takashi would take a deep breath and sigh, leaning further into the hug and cuddling into the succubus who had indeed raised him somewhat normally his whole life, if a bit... Unhinged. "I know, and I do appreciate you... It's just... I've gotten used to thinking like a human and yearning for a more... Normal life."
"Someone's jealous~"
"I-I am not! I just d-dont think that having a succubus for a mom will be that attractive a conversation starter with girls, you know..."
"Nonesense! If I heard a guy tell me that, I'd be after that like-" *Thud* "-a dog after a ball!" She'd purr, her tail mimicking a little heart shape as she leans on the boy, resting her bountiful chest on his head as she daydreamed.
"Mom... What was that..." the meanwhile concerned boy gave, oblivious to the hat he was now wearing.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing, Sweetheart~!"
"Did you bring another one home again..."
"N-No... I didnt..." the succubi would whistle innocently
Unconvinced the boy would wander over to the closet, opening the door to catch Hinata, bound, blindfolded and gagged in a very suggestive manner. Then he, while giving a very deep sigh, would carry the poor girl into the living room to be unbound and de-traumatized. "This is the fifth one this week! Stay in the kitchen... And do something about your tail!"
Pouting, the succubus would poof the tail away cutely, before replying with "Yes dear..." and beginning to make a snack. Might as well, with guests found to actually be in the home. "Lemme just grab something from my room real quick."
"Just... Dont forget the potion... I dont want this madness to spread around the school... I dont want to be de-facto leader of the occult club."
"Of course dear~!" The succubus would giggle, bouncing into her room to grab a heart shaped potion, a tiny bottle, and to kiss the cheek of Kiga, handcuffed spread eagle to the bed. A muffled cry would come from the boy, and she'd shush him with a sinister little giggle before slipping back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. | 2019-12-14T21:29:13 | 2019-12-14T21:12:02 | 85 | 27 |
[WP] You are excited to finally receive your letter to the magic wizard school, only to find you get bullied for you interest in anime. That is in till your first magic lesson. After several minutes of screaming to build power you let loose the largest fireball spell eve, to the shock of your peers. | Everyone in the room stared at Claude who was in wide-eyed shock at the marvelously massive fireball that whizzed through the hall and enflamed the target at the end. Dead center.
"Excuse me, Claude, have you... done this or practiced this before?" Professor Waller asked.
"No way! That loser just watches anime and plays stupid fighting games in his unmagical household. It's a fluke, bet you a million galleons he can't do it again!" a student named Royce shouted while running his fingers through his magnificent, long hair.
"Let's not judge our classmate like that, Mr. Royce. Detention for you for that rude remark," Professor Waller said.
"Well, as much as I hate to say it, Professor... Royce is right. I've never tried to do that before," Claude said while the other classmates stared at him in amazement, rather than their usual resentment.
"Remarkable, you don't seem the faintest bit fatigued either. Please, try it again. Mr. Royce, I'm taking you up on that bet."
Claude nodded and turned back to the shooting range as another target magically appeared with the flick of Professor Waller's wand. He once again channeled his energy and felt deep down inside his soul. Down. Down to the corner, then to the right spot of his soul, and the magical words only he seemed to be aware of echoed in the canyon of his mind. Hadouken...
A blazing ball of furious flames erupted from his wrists, but rather than shoot it at the target he pivoted and aimed it at his arch-nemesis Royce but he didn't want to gravely harm him, no. It had to be just right above him. The flame shot out like a cannon and Royce surely saw his life flash before him.
The fireball hit the wall and created a burnt circle on the cobblestone.
Royce lifted his head and felt a cool sensation on the top. He touched the top of his head and gasped. Everyone stared in shock, including Claude but he started to snicker.
"Royce, I can give you a toupe until the end of class so you don't feel too embarrassed." Professor Waller whipped his wand and a sparkling pink wig appeared on the top of Royce's newly bald head.
The whole class started to laugh.
"By the way, you owe me a million galleons," Professor Waller started to guffaw and the class was shaking from all the laughter. "Oh, but, Claude, as much as I appreciated the display, you get detention too. You could have really done some damage with that, but, well done on the fireball. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two," Professor Waller winked and Claude happily accepted the detention.
r/randallcooper | "You're fucking weird"
"Stop showing us your cartoon girls, we're not interested"
"Get lost nerd"
Insults, rejections, humiliations hurled at me like rocks whenever I share my passion. For years, I have yearned to be admitted into the prestigious magic academy, but these normies are the sole reason of my misery. They mock what they do not understand, push me away when it is a treasure I need to share. But I will not falter! My love for anime transcend mere mockery and with my waifu with me, I can overcome anything! Oh, how please will I be to look upon their faces when they learn their fate has sealed. I have read a plethora of shounen manga and isekai light novels in preparation for this moment. Today, my class will be practicing magic incantation. I know that the power of a spell depends on the imagination of the caster. No doubt my knowledge will serve me well.
The wait was long and painful. I need to show them my power. Hurry up and teach me the spell already! My greatness shall not be hindered! Wretched instructors and their safety. Those who play by the rule is bound by the rule. I shall not be contained!
...
I stepped forward with determination toward the firing line. The target is 20 yards away, already somewhat damaged from the others throwing their spells before me. But their were weak and frail. I will baffled them with my immense magical prowess. LOOK AT ME AND BEHOLD! IGNITA!
*from the perspective of a classmate*
Wow that was so amazing, I cannot believe that I really shot the fire ball that fast. I missed though so I guess need more practice. Oh, here come that weird anime-obsessed kid. He's doing that marching walk again and oh dear lord he's wearing his sweaty tight shirt with the cartoon girl. Did he really just yelled "Look at me and behold?"
...
Did he just shit himself or was that his spell?
*back to our main character*
Nothing. Absolute nothing. My spell was defected and came out like a fart. Pathetic. This is so pathetic. My greatness is undermined and now they will laugh at me. I can already imagine it. They're laughing at me now aren't they? STOP LAUGHING AT ME!!
"Bro relax no one is..."
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.
With my all my rage I screamed and screamed. I have had it! These fuckers and their sneer. These worthless instructors failing to teach me right. These useless spells that doesn't even work! IGNITA MY ASS!!
"What the f-? WHAT THE FUCK?"
*later that day, school broadcast...*
A large fireball was casted earlier this morning by a student of the first year class during magic practical. The result caused the practice ground to be completely scorched with some damage to the practice hall. Luckily, no one was badly injured as the instructors quickly deployed barriers. The only injury recorded belong to the caster himself, who suffered a second degree burn on his buttock, where he casted the spell from. | 2020-02-04T10:46:18 | 2020-02-04T09:26:52 | 73 | 31 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | The poll had been a controversial subject for some weeks. While the company workers did not openly discuss it, there was much resentment among some groups of people. But when the results were revealed it showed that 76% of all male employees had voted yes, while only 23% of female employees did. A lot of the female employees were furious that the male ones had voted so overwhelmingly for obligatory high heels. It felt to them like somebody old, conservative, and vaguely sexist, had suggested this policy, because they were looking down on the hard-working career women of the company.
And it turned out, that it was enough to enact the policy at the office. On the Monday after the poll concluded, new work shoes were given out. And to the shock of many when they went to the counters where the shoes were handed out: high-heeled shoes were given to the men. Meanwhile the normal flat shoes were given to the women. A number of the women felt that it was only just, that the men be punished. But to their utter confusion, the male employees were overwhelmingly ecstatic about it. And most of them put on their high heels with great enthusiasm. Through the entire week, men strutted down the hallways in high heels, looking handsome. Some of the men had been wary, but not because they did not like the idea, but because they, as the older Salarymen did not think that they could rock these high-heeled shoes. But the younger employees encouraged them, and taught them how to walk tall and proud on their high-heels. Soon, both old grey Salarymen, and young freshly graduated businessmen, walked on the high-heels like they had been born to do it. And they looked very stunning in their black high-heeled shoes.
The usually reserved Japanese men, felt very happy and very liberated, walking tall in these high-heeled shoes. Proudly did they walked around the office, not like peacocks, their modesty ensuring that they didn't overdo it. But like dignified and reasonable Secretary Birds. Indeed, male employee satisfaction at the company went up significantly because of this change of policy.
Because of Japanese politeness and sense of decency, none of the female employees complained much. Besides, they had to admit, they'd never seen their male counterparts looking so happy and free, in all their time there. And if wearing the high-heels made them happy, who were they to take that away from them?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | As a collective of women and men at the office approached the counter to pick up their shoes to follow the new work protocol, the women gave an apprehensive side-eye. A few of them sneered, dropped their jaws, gawked, scratched their heads, and even rubbed their chins.
One of them said. "Why? Why would any of you want to wear something so uncomfortable as well as something only women wear? The whole thing is rather silly, isn't it?"
The men on the other side were all beaming. There wasn't a single frown out of the fifteen of them waiting in line. The man who was supposed to be next to collect his sharp black stilettos, stepped out of the queue. It was Kosuke, the male counterpart who was responsible for collaboration of the company-wide poll.
"I was planning on making an announcement later today at work, but I wanted to let you know since you have asked," he took a deep breath and shook his head with a nervous twitch.
"I understand that some of you are currently judging us men, wearing something that is typically seen on a woman. That is something I one day hope to change. These societal norms of fashion inhibit us in a lot of ways. They are mental shackles. My whole life I've always preferred wearing clothes that were meant for women. I'm not sure why, and in fact, I wish I wasn't that way because of all of the jokes and bullying I endured through my life made me hate myself all the more.
"One day my mother and father saw me sobbing after a day at school where I was wearing a new outfit that I actually purchased in the boys section, but I was ridiculed by all of my classmates for looking too much like a girl. Fortunately, I had very kind-hearted parents who supported my clothing preference. They let me walk around the house wearing whatever I felt most comfortable in. An important lesson they taught me is to embrace the things I enjoy, and not hate myself for them.
"I wanted to collaborate on this project at work because I knew there were other men like me. Friends here at work that I became close with found out about my fashion preference and I was amazed to find a few of them felt the exact same way. The support I received was overwhelming," Kosuke trembled and a mist fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry you'll hear this speech again later today, but just know that some of us want to change the norms. This isn't a novelty, but a way of life. I know some of the men here don't really care to wear heels, but they're doing it out of support for me, and it's still early in the morning and it's already been the best day of my life."
A few of the men from the line drifted over to Kosuke and patted him on the back, every one of them grinning from ear to ear in their new heels. All of the women stood by, and nodded.
"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you Kosuke," the woman said.
r/randallcooper | 2020-05-11T08:38:15 | 2020-05-11T07:33:41 | 284 | 112 |
[WP] You are a forgotten god just days from fading into the void, when all of a sudden you hear a whisper the first prayer you’ve had in years. With this in mind you stumble out of your death bed and investigate this. | I was a god, once.
Before, back when the world was still young.
When the trees yet sang, and the mountain hearths still burned.
When the flowers of the elysian fields were yet in bloom, and along the banks of the River the poplar trees were still golden and fair.
We were young then, back in the time when belief and faith still carried strength enough to turn ages, back in the time when prophesy was as truth, and legends yet walked the earth.
I still remember the very first breath of air, the very first prayer, the first miracle, the first prophet, the temples, the armies, the pogroms, the great sacrifice pyres upon which the unclean were released from the earth.
I still remember the face of my Priestess as she uttered the words of invocation and silenced the bleating cry of an infant that I would walk upon the earth in its stead.
I remember the smell of ashes, of molten metal, the roar of my inexhaustible armies, and the screams of heretics and unbelievers as they were ground beneath the heel of our great works.
That is all I am now, scant memories floating on the pyre of oblivion. A god of sacrifice, sacrificed to the blaze of time.
...
..
.
time.
*TIME.*
**TIME.**
**One last time I shall walk the earth.**
**One final crusade shall envelop nations.**
**I laugh as I breathe my first and last breath,**
**and the stars themselves quake in fear.** | Ixtal lay alone in his bed of stars. Underneath him, he had the most comfortable and majestic nebula, it shone in bright colours with intricate patterns ever changing. It was said that even the gods could stare into it and get lost in thought and reflection over themselves. A fitting bed for someone who had once been the god of gods, and soon it would likely prove itself a similarly fitting grave. His wife, as so many of those who had once lived in his dominion, had already passed into the endless oblivion between the collective heavens. As Ixtal lay there in his final moments, reflecting upon his creation and his deeds, he heard a whisper. The whisper passed through the stars and reached his ears. It quickly grew louder and within the space between two thoughts had grown unto a marvellous cacophony. Invigorated he raised himself back up once more to find the source of this choir of insanity. He followed it across the galaxy, through black holes, and over dwarf stars, until he finally reached the backwater planet of Gaia. Deciding not to startle them too much in their renewed phase of worship, he donned the disguise of a human. Making it down to the planet into what seemed like a booming metropolis he was so sure he would find worshippers wherever he went based on the noise he had heard, even though it had somewhat quieted down now. In the metropolis he looked around at large moving pictures and buildings climbing towards the heavens which might even have impressed him, but none of that mattered now, he wished to find his new followers. Stopping the first human he saw he quickly asked “Take me to the closest Temple of Ixtal peasant! It is imperative that I go there”. His power ensuring the creature heard him speak as if in its native tongue. “Ixtal?” The human replied “You mean the tiktok trend? The one calling out to a supposed ancient god? Dude, that was so last month ago, I doubt most even remember anymore”. Ixtal lay alone in his bed of stars. | 2020-10-18T15:23:17 | 2020-10-18T14:53:12 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] When you die you go to hell, only to find out you can gamble your soul on a coin flip for a brand new life or damning 500,000 more souls to the underworld. You’ve been doing this for 2000 years, winning and beginning a new life every time... you show up at the devils throne once again. | He looks bored at the table, flipping coins as dead souls stand in front of him. “Congratulations,” and one goes to the right, “see you next time,” as another follows, “too bad, welcome to hell” as a third soul wanders to the left.
The Devil thought the game would be more fun, that the challenge would be rare, 500,000 souls too steep a price to pay for just their own. Turns out humans are even more selfish than he could have imagined, which, I guess, is a good thing for the Devil?
Regardless, flipping coins for eternity is incredible boring, and even more so when God has mortgaged the souls of a few millennia to pay the price for the selfish ones that lost.
The only time a spark ever shows in his eye is when I walk up. 30 lifetimes, some short, some long, have been spent by me, each time ending with this coinflip, and each time beginning again when it lands on the face I call.
Heads twelve times, tails eighteen. No real rhyme of reason to my choosing, no superstition, just luck in the end, but man does it light a fire under the Devil when I come walking back in. His eyes light up and I swear I can see him drool out the corner of his terrible grin.
“So we meet again,” he sneers, “do you know the odds of correctly calling a coinflip 31 times?”
I can’t help but return the smile, the stakes are too big to take this moment seriously. “50/50,” I reply, “I only have to call it once.”
His sneer fades to a snarl, “what’ll it be this time, then?”
As it turns out, he’s not the only one bored with this whole charade, 30 lifetimes is about 29 too many for any one soul. “Devil, what do you say we change the odds this time?” “You want my soul, and I want to give it to you, but what’s the fun in that?”
He looks at me curiously, “what do you propose?”
“What if we up the ante? You don’t wanna flip coins for eternity, and I know the guy upstairs is carrying quite a debt. What do you say we call it all square if I win, God gets his souls back, starting with mine? And if I lose . . . well, I’ll sit in that chair for eternity and you can go back to deviously spreading evil to anything you touch.”
The Devil’s face curls up as he does the math. Sure, there’s enough souls to feed hell forever currently, anyone would hate to lose them. But one flip, 50/50, and someone else can feed my desires while I live a life of evil. “Alright, the game is on,” the Devil’s grin curls upwards again, “what do you choose?”
“Tails never fails,” I say, and the coin flips into the air. | I slid down the hell tunnel, splashing into the familiar pile of skulls sitting at the bottom. At the bottom was the guard, a tall broad shouldered fellow.
“Oh lookey here, a new pet” he said as he picked me up by my hair.
“Put me down, you dipshit. I’m Deano Suarez,” I say to the ogre.
“Me no nothing about a Deano Suarez. Me think you will make great pet for me family”
“How about you put me down and call the big man further below. I bet he would know a thing about me”
Ogre man dropped me as soon as the boss man was brought up and frantically tried to find he hell phone. Eager to suddenly please me, because no one ever asked to see his boss man if they didn’t have to.
Ogre man dialed 666 and said, “Mr. Boss man, there’s a man here who says you will want to see him”
The sound of screaming lit up the burly red man as he held his phone away from his ear. It was always interesting to watch the guard’s reaction when they had to face their boss, Lucifer. Watching as them
“Yes, sir. Right away sir. Yes, Sir”
He hung up his phone and slapped his brutish hand on my wrist and dragged me down the fiery corridor. My body skid across the red granite as cockroaches with human faces crawled over me, looking to find a crevice to hide from the hellish horror.
“You is pretty calm for all this, little Deano pet” the Ogre man said.
“Been here done that” I replied while flicking a bug off my chest.
Finally, we had reached Lucifer’s domain and Ogre man threw me through his doorway and skidded across the room until my eyes met the long, black toe nails of Lucifer. His skinny grey legs led all the way to his long torso, followed by his snot filled sorrowful sight of a face.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Suarez. Back again aren’t ya. This time it’ll be for good”
I try my best to show fear in my face, he likes that. “Why yes, Mr. Devil. It seems I should have tried bungee jumping without prior training. Well are we going to get to it again this time. Use my coin again?”
“No! Your coin was rigged last time when I flipped it. I know it was” Lucifer said.
“Fine, we will use your coin, but I get to flip it and call it.”
“Okay.”
Lucifer hands me his coin, an old coin that he calls “lucky”. I flip it into the air and call heads, it lands in my hand and I feel the large ridges of the heads side of his ancient coin against the palm of my hand and I flip it onto my other hand and pull away my hand.
“Heads!” I say.
Lucifer’s mouth begins to widen and then he put his arm around my shoulder and smiles. He licks his lips and his eyes glisten with excitement as he envisions the five hundred new souls that he will be able to torture.
“Looks like you beat me yet again Mr. Suarez. You get another life!”
I smile and shake hands with the gangly old creature like we had just struck a deal that would make us both rich.
“Until next time, Mr. Scary Devil Man” I yell as I walk back down the corridor.
Lucifer laughs and says, “See you soon old Pal” | 2020-11-24T15:33:35 | 2020-11-24T13:49:58 | 95 | 47 |
[WP] A greater demon has fallen for a mediocre demon hunter. As such the greater demon hides themself with magic and signs up as the hunters new apprentice. In hopes of getting closer and protecting the one they love from the other demons that would otherwise do them harm. | Daemons are formless, mindless creatures. We wander the world aimlessly, unseen to all mortals. Daemons don't feel often. When we do, we possess physical form, take shape and manifest. Most are mortal souls from distant pasts. Others could not accept the fate they were dealt. Some were born this way.
I was born this way.
And for millennia I wandered the realm, aimlessly and purposely. Around me, daemons would fade or take shape when they decided their purpose was for one thing. Eventually, the mortals realized the daemons as monsters and thus, sought us out.
I could have been more alarmed. Or I could have been less worried. As a daemon lives, their power grows. And I have grown strong without purpose.
Until one day, I met him.
His sword was stained with the blood of a daemon that had manifested as an imp, no doubt seeking to cause mischief. A particularly weaker demon. His companions had left him to stumble around clumsily, swinging his sword half like a child, half like an accomplished swordsman. He knew daemon arts as well, simple fire bolts and freezing techniques. Despite his incompetence, he had potential.
I followed him on his way home that day. Along the way, he grumbled very loudly about his companions. Nearby, an old daemon, younger than I, woke from its slumber and took form as an ogre. The hunter was too absorbed in his own words and the ogre tailed him from afar.
So I took shape.
I have no true knowledge, at least, I would think so, of the human form. I had attempted to turn into a form suited more for wrestling the ogre, such as a troll or a Greek cyclops. A Golem would have suited me as well.
But I did not expect myself to turn into a human woman. I was agile and I was swift. All I had to do was move and throw a stone through an eye for it to back away.
But I was not satisfied.
So I manifested a dagger and drove it into the backs of his legs. Then I drove it into the back of his neck. After bleeding for a few moments, the physical form dissipated, save for the chunks of flesh my dagger had ripped out.
I sighed and rubbed the sweat from my forehead. Exertion would be something to get used to. From behind came a rustling and I turned.
"Hey, are you ok?" The young man stepped out, his sword drawn, still coated with dried blood.
I remained silent. Anatomy may be one thing, human tongue was another.
"Are you mute? Deaf?" He waved his hand. I blinked at him.
"Grrrgh." The noise felt like chewing tree sap.
The hunter scratched the back of his head. "Oh good you can speak. uh...."
He sheathed his sword and turned around. "Bye!"
Off in the distance, a flock of birds flew followed by the rumblings of giant footsteps. Above, a condor far larger than normally possible flew by. In the distance, a pack of wolves barked at each other.
It did not take long to catch up with him. Although, he was quite surprised when I grabbed his sleeve.
I was born a shapeless void. My entire existence is defined as empty. But his fist, though not particularly strong, left a sting on my new cheek. Yet another stimulation I must learn to endure.
"Hey! don't sneak up on me like that! It's dangerous outside of towns!" He held out a hand to me. I didn't realize I had fallen off my feet.
I touched my cheek where it stung. It stung some more. I felt the face muscles twitch and contort. I suppose that is the normal reaction of a human body. I turned to him and took his hand. Even a daemon knew when others would help.
"Look, how about you follow me until we get back to town. You look pretty messed up in all those rags and bare skin."
I looked down. Indeed, these things called 'clothes' hung in half-made tatters across my body. I was still holding onto my knife, blood similarly dried to its blade like his. I realized I should have manifested a cover for it as well. Perhaps I still could.
The youth in front of me blushed. "Sorry, I wasn't peeking. I'll get you some clothes when we get back, ok?"
I nodded, he sighed, scratching his head. "look, my name is Morda. It's nice to meet you."
I smiled, I presumed shaping ones lips upward was smiling, and did my best to speak.
We daemons do not have names. We do not speak. We only know how to communicate through intent. We only form when we have purpose.
"I... am... Aria." | It was not until the sixth day that Lilith realized Emily really could kill her. Somehow that was more intoxicating than the huntress's strawberry blond hair and too quick smile. More intoxicating than the secrets hidden behind blue eyes, and the way her hand always rested on the antique revolver; lightly but full of promise.
Emily had killed Mordecai the Lame on the third day. She'd shot the demon between the eyes so casually that Lilith hadn't even caught the enchantment that killed him, merely smelled it in the air, smoking off the revolver's gilded barrel.
Lillith had almost revealed herself then, almost shifted out of her stolen sixteen year old girl's face. But she was not the blushing youth her face claimed her to be, she could control her desires now.
It was better to wait for love. Adam had taught her that.
It was not until the sixth week that Lilith thought she had a chance, when Emily's rage and shame about the death of another, unworthy apprentice had boiled over. Lilith carried the huntress to bed after a night of bitter drinking, and in the darkness of her cramped bedroom aboard a passenger steamer, bouncing to and fro upon unkind waves, she stole a glimpse into the woman's locket. Inside were dark curls, dark eyes, dark skin, and bright, full lips. A face Lilith herself might have fallen in love with at another time.
It was not until the sixth month that Lilith tried her luck. The last living apprentice on a quest to kill a demon who had never existed, Lilith was long since past washing clothes and preparing meals. She'd let some of her own magic slip free in the intervening months, and sitting one night on a rotted log, lost in the wilds of an ancient swamp, she conjured a seer's pool out of the fetid waters and said to Emily, "Don't you want to see what will come after our quest? Who will be waiting for you back home?"
Lilith meant for it to be her face. She prayed, in her own way, for that to happen naturally, was prepared to conjure the image herself if it hadn't. But Emily merely smiled a smile that knew nothing of joy, and stroked her locket gently.
"No," Emily said, "I think not."
"Frightened?" Lilith teased, though in truth that was her own feeling.
"Not frightened," Emily said, too quickly. Then her eyes caught the pool's edge and the silver eddies in the center called, and a sadness washed over Lilith, one so profound that she forgot to steal the truth of the pool's vision.
A cross swam into vision, rough hewn wood planted into barren earth, the name Amani carved into the cross's face in jagged, knife cut letters--
A gunshot shattered the pool.
"I said no," Emily said.
It was not until the sixth year when they kissed, and when they did, it broke Lilith's heart.
She had not revealed herself. Not in six years as an apprentice huntress, in six quests, the first, false one failed, five more succeeded, killing demons Lilith had once called friends. It was not in any way Lilith would have ever chosen, had she truly been able to control desire as she thought.
In the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year, a desperate Lilith came to Emily in a dream. She wore another face not her own, constructed of stolen glimpses into the locket the huntress still wore. Her dark curls fell to her hips, her eyes carried promises, all of them familiar. Her lips, when they parted, spoke with an accent recreated from the radiant energy of the real dreams Emily still had so regularly.
"Amani?" Emily whispered as the false dream began.
"Yes," Lilith lied.
"Not again." Emily was frightened, in a way even the seer's pool and fights with demons had never inspired.
"Why not?" Lilith asked.
"Because it's not you!"
For a moment Lilith thought she had been caught. Then she saw Emily's hand go to her locket as it always did, but this time it was not a locket but a cross, rough hewn, carrying a name and not a picture.
"It is," Lilith lied again.
And still disbelieving with every pained line carved into her face, Emily had flowed into Lilith's arms. She broke against her dead lover's false chest like a wave upon rocks, clinging desperately, kissing, whispering, pleading for the dream both to end and to never end.
When the dream finally evaporated, leaving Lilith laying on a cot next to her master's, long since turned to her friend, she had never regretted anything more. Not even Adam.
It was not until the sixth hour of the next day that Emily took off her locket, and when she did she laid her revolver down with it.
And six agonizing seconds later she looked at Lilith, poured a tumbler of whiskey, and said "Show me the seer's pool again."
And Lilith, heart pounding in her ears, fell once more into blue eyes who'd long since lost all their secrets.
She drank the glass, poured another, and cast the spell.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-06-17T12:45:29 | 2021-06-17T08:24:42 | 98 | 57 |
[WP] You're high powered villain who specializes in nonviolent crime in a city where the superheroes are high powered, but dumb as rocks. When the new villain comes to town and kills your favorite minion and his family, you reluctantly roll up your sleeves and put on your "emergency hero suit". | The city is broken and black, the few buildings still standing are like the charred, skeletal remains of giants. Or of flayed dead gods.
It is a city I once swore would fall to its knees in front of me, and all within it would call me emperor. But what does a city matter to me now? You are gone and that is all. Without you the city becomes meaningless.
I’m not a strong villain. If I was then tears wouldn’t be cleansing my soot-covered cheeks as I hold your broken body to my chest.
He did this to you.
To us.
I used to say you were my star minion. Did you like me teasing or were your smiles out of politeness — or worse, out of fear?
I think every time I said it I really meant: *I love you*. But I’m a coward at heart and that was the best I could muster. I’d point and wink and say: *never forget,* *you‘re my star minion.* Because, what if you didn’t love me back?
You die in my arms. You attempt a smile, your lips curling just slightly. It is the curl of paper set alight, that will never unfurl again to reveal the pretty words once held inside.
You are gone.
I carry your body towards him as the dusk cuts purple through the clouds of soot and ash. Screams fall in waves as He slaughters citizens and heroes alike.
I still don’t know where He came from or who He even is. Just that he smiles as he kills and not a bullet can harm him.
There is an explosion above the city: He has clashed with Tornado up in the clouds — one of the strongest heroes I’ve known. They have rocketed against each other.
A violent aftershock of wind bucks me, sends me to my knees — but I don’t drop you. I won’t.
Tornado loses, of course. He tumbles down to earth in shreds, in ten or twenty parts, arms and legs and feet. As if he has been unstitched.
Then, as I get to my feet, another hero is upon Him. Elixir is like a shooting star; she hurtles from high above, slams into His back; they tumble into the city together, tangled, cratering and rocking the ground.
Elixir is both the last hero remaining and perhaps the strongest. But she will die. This villain — or whatever He is — is more powerful than any of them. Than all of us combined.
I carry you onwards, my star minion, towards the impact. Towards the rising cloud of dust.
My schemes were always harmless. At least, compared to this. Financial fraud and blackmail of politicians. The papers didn’t even call me a supervillain as I didn’t have a power. I was just smart. Just: a villain.
I see them ahead. Fighting. He has Elixir, his great hand around her neck, her face bloodied and dazed, lip bleeding. She is striking desperately at his arm, begging him to release her.
Is this how he killed you?
I lay you on the ground, then I remove my jacket and gloves and hat.
Elixir’s red eyes slowly move. She sees me.
She won’t think I am here to help. We have fought before, although in court as much as anywhere else. She despises me and what I stand for.
I never told her that I respect her. That if things had been different in my childhood, perhaps if I’d had parents that hadn’t passed when I was eleven, then we might have been on the same side all along.
I’m running now. Charging towards Him.
Elixir gurgles red from her lips as she watches me.
He turns, finally noticing me. His head cocks to his shoulder. An amused smile spreads itself over him.
He doesn’t let go of Elixir.
He should.
The papers never called me a supervillain.
They should.
Just because I don’t use any powers for what I do doesn’t mean I don’t have any. It means I choose not to use them. Not since my parents died.
His other hand sweeps out, tries to punch me — but I sidestep. Then I lay my bare hands on His outstretched arm, gripping it vise-tight.
It takes Him a second to realise anything is wrong, to finally drop Elixir who clutches her throat and rolls on the ground.
Then He’s screaming as I drag him towards your body.
We’re both dying rapidly. Such is my gift. Ageing. Our lives being channeled from us both, released from our bodies and into the ether.
I stagger towards you, desperately, dying, dragging Him as He digs his heels into the asphalt. But He won’t stop me.
Finally, I’m by you.
I place one hand on yours. I keep my other on Him.
Then I channel our lives directly into your body and hope it will be enough to bring you back.
He isn’t moving now. His eyes closed. Just the occasional shudder rippling through him.
I’m almost gone too.
Your mouth twitches.
Your smile that burned itself like paper — it unravels again. The words perhaps restored.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Even as I die, as your eyes open, I hope you don’t hear me.
I’ve always been a coward at heart. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Tupperman v.s. Chameleon, Rematch)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The neighborhood was a rather pleasant cul-de-sac, all neatly-trimmed hedges and laughing children.** Tupperman could respect that. A supervillain had to live somewhere, even an asshole of a supervillain who'd charged into his life like a bull in a china shop. It was a pity he'd chosen to live somewhere so... populated, though. Fortunately, he had some pull with the mayor, and he'd gotten most of the neighborhood evacuated on false claims of a gas leak. There was only one family still remaining, 'accidentally' left out of the warning notice.
Tupperman walked up to the front door of the sole occupied house and knocked three times. "Open up! I know you're in there, Chameleon."
If he strained his ears, Tupperman thought he could hear a dish shatter as it was dropped in surprise. Tupperman allowed himself a moment of cold schadenfreude. Yeah. He thought he could saunter around the city in his costume, killing whoever and whatever he wanted, and then retreat to his suburban utopia scot-free? He thought he could peel off the consequences as easily as he took off his mask?
Nobody came; Tupperman expected as much. The supervillain wouldn't be facing him with his pants down. No matter. He'd planned for this. Tupperman concentrated, holding out his hands. He'd looked at satellite scans and blueprints of the house before, burning the details into his mind, until every angle of it blazed into life when he closed his eyes.
The ability to summon Tupperware whenever he wanted wasn't the strongest of superpowers, but it had its moments. Tupperman *yanked* at the pocket dimension his powers came from, and every window, door, vent, and chimney was suddenly jammed shut by pounds and pounds of cheap plastic boxes.
There would be no escape.
"You know, I like to think of myself as a reasonable guy," Tupperman said. His voice carried in the silent suburb, lacking the hum of cars or squeal of children to contest it. "I don't steal for the thrills; I steal because I have a brother and a cat to feed." *Had*, Tupperman corrected. "I don't break things because I like to watch things burn; I break them because they're *in my way*. And I don't take revenge for the kicks and giggles." Despite himself, Tupperman clenched his fists. "I get revenge because I want you to *know what you did*, and I want to make sure that neither you nor *anybody else* even *tries* to harm someone under my care again."
From inside the house, Tupperman heard a clatter; the Chameleon had forced one of the windows open, despite the mess of Tupperware blocking its path. No matter; the Tupperware wasn't meant to stop him from escaping forever.
It was just meant to tell Tupperman where he was.
Tupperman fixed the location of the sound in his mind and *yanked*; if all went to plan, he should have just materialized a Tupperware box around the Chameleon. Tupperman kept that point fixed in his mind, continuously pulling fresh Tupperware into existence; individually, each box was weak, but they would appear as fast as the Chameleon could destroy them.
Tupperman reached out to the door and found it unlocked. Of course it was; the arrogance of that man was astounding. Did he really think that nobody was watching him? That nobody would make him pay for his crimes?
Tupperman stepped into the house. The man he'd hunted across the city of Sacrament stared at him, wild-eyed, like a rat caught in a trap. From the shards of plastic on the floor, he'd clearly tried to break his way out of the human-sized plastic box he was caught in—but as Tupperman had predicted, he could summon fresh Tupperware faster than Chameleon could destroy it.
"If I was like you, I'd kill you where you stood," Tupperman quietly said. "I don't even need powers to do it; I brought a gun. But you know what? A very good, very close friend of mine who isn't anything like you or me talked me out of it. So I didn't come here as a villain. I came here as a hero. As a champion of the law. And this is what the law says."
Tupperman took one step closer. Two. Trapped inside his box, the Chameleon lived up to his name and tried to turn invisible. Tupperman shook his head. It wouldn't hide him from the eyes of the law.
Tupperman reached out to the edge of the box.
And dismissed it.
The box disappeared, leaving a baffled and terrifed Chameleon shaking in place.
Tupperman slapped a piece of paper onto his chest.
"You killed my cat, you absolute asshole. I'm suing you for animal abuse. See you in court, Chameleon."
And Tupperman turned and left, never looking back.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-09-02T07:11:17 | 2021-09-02T07:02:34 | 816 | 120 |
[WP] No one is sure what happened, but suddenly everyone started obeying the law. All crime ceased. At first it was beautiful, but it quickly started going very wrong. | My mother’s voice was soft and gentle, her touch kind and enveloping. Hugged tight against her chest, I felt warm tears begin to form, wishing she’d *let me go*.
I couldn’t push her off, though. I couldn’t even blink on command, couldn’t even breathe. I was just a puppet. *Everyone was.*
Finally released from the hug, my chin lifted to look her in the eyes. My lips tugged into a smile, and I could taste the salt as the tears I had been quietly weeping rolled past my split lips. She returned the smile, and I imagine it looked just as crooked and wrong on my face as it did on hers.
“I love you, mama.”
The words were tender, but my voice was all wrong. It sounded like someone was playing my vocal chords like an instrument, each syllable a note and each note off-key.
She just kept smiling in return, turning away from me to walk into the kitchen- presumably to get my lunch. I waited for her return like a soldier at attention, back rigid and muscles tense. They never got to relax, not even in rest- I would lie in bed, limbs straight as boards, breathing even in a mockery of sleep as I waited for the sun to rise again. God, I ached. It was hell.
It was then that my mother returned, singing out a cheerful goodbye from unwilling lips as she handed me a brown paper bag. For the first time that morning, I got a good look at her face. She was crying too, I realized, not even able to wipe away the trailing tears.
“Have a good day at school, Sammy.”
“Goodbye, mama.”
It was the least alone I’d felt in months. | It happened instantaneously. People from all around the globe reported of this .... peace around them. Apparently people were consciously following every single rule in the book, not a single person was breaking the law anymore. It took a while to realize this though the effects were instantaneous. It was amazing how quickly people realized what was happening, almost scary even. Everyone started to obey the law. And never was something more devastating than that.
Until that day laws were defined individually by different governments and governing bodies, laws were unique to citizens of different countries. And when everybody started to follow the law, each of them followed the law of their country at that moment. So an Indian citizen working in the USA was actually following the laws of India and not of the USA. It took a while to realize how chaotic that could be. There were people driving on the wrong side of the roads because it was the right side of the road in their countries. And they couldn't fight the need to follow the law. Hundreds of thousands of people died in accidents everywhere.
Later on, people started to glitch. Millions of people simply dead in a second. Apparently religious laws, moral laws, constitutional laws and any other laws defined upon oneself would act on them and even if there was a tiny contradiction, the simplest of paradoxes that existed in two sets of laws, they were wiped of the planet. It took us years to learn about this though. People died way before any of this could happen.
Various industries crashed as everyone started following the law. Companies which manufactured weapons shut down immediately as weaponry meant an act of violence and killing humans was against the moral laws of the planet. Simply put, no one could kill each other. Armies and soldiers became extinct as there was no reason for them to exist. There were still police in a few countries but their jobs became to simply help people with missing cases. Most missing cases were the people that vanished due to the glitches though.
People can't be unaware of their set of laws. Without laws on themselves, they simply ceased to exist. But the biggest joke was that during all of this there was a moment when everyone thought of freedom to act as they wish as a fundamental right. And taking someone's rights away was against the law. And we all perished with our freedom.
.. | 2021-09-22T11:18:45 | 2021-09-22T11:09:58 | 54 | 18 |
[WP] The real reason the dragon kidnapped the princess? They've developed a crush on the kingdom's top knight, and wanted a reason for that knight to be sent to their lair. | As the knight entered the forest, he couldn't help but notice just how at peace the forest was.
Sir Gerrick Mason couldn't help but reflect on his father's words, *"Being the best comes with a cost."*
He wasn't sure what exactly his father had meant; at the time he received the words with a mix of frustration and confusion, because he thought that his father would have been proud of his achievement--top performing squire of his year, one of the youngest to be knighted in the kingdom's history, a mastery in every weapon, martial art, and ranged weapon training that was offered. That included...
"...search and rescue," he sighed to himself, pausing as he passed by a mother doe and her fawn. They regarded him with a level-headed placidness that he was not used to. The forest itself wasn't unfamiliar, but this particularl *part* of the forest was generally off limits, due to the dragon that lived here.
He was expecting a barren wasteland, animal skeletons, a general sense of enui and death, but instead this part of the forest was somehow even *more* beautiful than the other parts. The animal life--clearly not used to human interaction--seemed incredibly at peace. There were...none of the usual signs of dragons.
Then again, he never really did have any experience slaying dragons. And when he tried to explain that to the knight-commander he got the response, *"Hey, you're already good at everything else you do; I somehow doubt this fire breathing lizard will give you much trouble."*
Suddenly the supportive smiles of all the other knights seemed a bit too self-congratulatory and schooch too...*eager*.
But *surely* his fellow knights couldn't have been setting him up to fail, right?
*"If we send out a whole garrison o' men, the beast will hear us and take wing immediately! But a small, stealthy force--"*
*"Of one?" interrupted Gerrick, raising an incredulous eyebrow.*
*"Of one," agreed the knight commander, "can sneak in, sus out the situation, and make an informed decision." Gerrick thought he noticed some of the other men snickering, but when he looked around everyone was stony-faced. The knight-commander slapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back, "Knowing you, others would just get in the way. But you, son? You can save the day all by yourself. And just think of how grateful the princess would be?"*
*"Perhaps she'd even give you a kiss!" jerred the knight commander's second and like a dam shattering the room was flooded with laugher suddenly. By the time he left, Gerrick was still red-faced.*
"No, no, they have faith in me..." he reassured himself. Surely, they didn't set him up to fail. The next step took him into an opening in the forest; a small clearing opened up to him. A carpet of freshly trimmed grass soon gave way to a blanket of flowers and in the center of the clearing was a strangely shaped, fallen tree. Its bark was an ash white and the tree must have only just fallen, because he could see purple flowers still in bloom on it. Sitting against said tree as if waiting for him was one princess.
Gerrick blinked. "Y-your Highness I am--" Gerrick cleared his throat and tried again, "I am--"
"Sir Gerrick, the Gallant, champion of of blah blah, slayer of such and such, accolades, accolades, highly decorated...something or other, son of some guy. Did I get all of that?" asked the royal as she stood.
"Well, I wasn't going to list all of my titles, but you got the spirit of it," replied Gerick, rubbing the back of his neck. "But, I am here to rescue you--" he paused to see if the princess would interrupt, but she raised her eyebrows and nodded, as if to encourage him, "from...a dragon?" The princess laughed.
"Did you mean for that to come off as a question?" she asked.
"It's just...I am very confused. You don't appear to be in distress, and I don't see a dragon. So--" and then the tree behind the princess moved. He watched as the long, serpentine neck of the dragon rose. What his mistoke for ashen bark was, in fact, scales. The flowers did appear to be real, at least, running down the back of the dragon's head and spine like some kind of horticultural mane. Amarathine eyes regarded him calmly.
"Really?" asked the princess, "You don't see a dragon?" | It was a dark and slightly rainy night as the princess brush her hair before looking at the window nervously once more. 'Where is he?' she thought curiously as she stood up and took a deep breath before jumping in shock as something crash against her window.
"Princess are you alright in there." She then heard, her head knight say from beyond the door causing her to shakily nod her head, before realizing he could not see her.
"Yes, I'm alright!" She called out to them, before rushing over to her window and opening it to see a giant black dragon with gleaming purple eyes like glowing amythest. "Seriously?" She then asked it quietly, with an eye roll as she grabbed the blanket from her bed and held it up as she looked away.
"You can look now Amelia." A raspy voice then said in a gruff tone, with a hint of playfulness. "You know you act like you never seen me shift before even though I'm a dragon shifter." The voice teased causing the princess to go red in the face in embarrassment.
"Well not everybody as comfortable in their body as you are." She hissed back quietly before looking at her door.
"Is Killian out there?" The male then asked, wrapped up in the blanket as he stood there in the room as he started to look a tad worried.
"Mhm" Amelia hummed as the shifter frowned.
"Do you really think this will work? I mean you know how your family feel about the shifter kingdom. They see us as lesser and so do their knights." He asked worried as he stare at her with purple eyes as his jet black hair fell slightly in his face.
"Yes I'm sure, about this. You will kidnap me, killian will come after me since he my knight. You take me back to your kingdom, and shift there. Killian will see you in your human form and boom love at first sight." She said optimistically as the shifter frowned and roll his eyes.
"Well I think princess you been reading to many fairytales." He sassed at her causing her to roll her eyes.
"Oh shut up, this will work. I promise you it will work and Killian will be head over heels for you." She said still positive in this plan even though the shifter saw how many different ways it could go wrong. "Now shift, so you can kidnap me." Amelia demanded causing him to huff as he dropped the blanket before jumping out the window, shifting mid jump.
Once shifted, He let out a ear piercing roar as the force of his wings sent things flying in her room as Amelia jumped out the window screaming.
"Princess!" Killian then yelled as he open the door only for his eyes to widen as he watched a giant black beast take his charge away in it's massive claws. Killian then let out a string of curses as he quickly ran to alert people that the princess been kidnapped.
A day later, Amelia sat opposite to the shifter as he was dressed with his black hair tied back loosely as he looked down at the chess pieces before he moved one. "Your move princess." He then said softly, as he bit his lip and looked at the door before back at her.
"Julian," she said grabbing his hands, "it's all gonna be alright, ok? We left a trail...we made sure people saw us. Killian knows where we are and he gonna come." She said determinedly, as she wanted to cheer her friend up. "Also checkmate." She said moving her piece causing Julian to groan as she stared at him triamphly before looking worried as Julian perked up. "Julian, what is it?" She asked quietly as Julian looked at the door.
"He here." He whispered, as the door burst open to show Killian who looked furious but then that look of fury soon turn into one of Bewilderment as he took in the scene before him.
"Princess Amelia?" He asked cautiously as he looked around for the beast, confused when he didn't see one.
"Hey, Killian." She said with a bright smile. "Why do you look so confused? Come and take a seat." She said patting a chair next to hers as Killian walked foward nervously.
"B-but I don't understand...there was a beast...he kidnapped you." He stuttered confused as he looked at the stranger who was quite beautiful even more confused. "And who is this?" He asked even more bewildered.
"It's a long story, but this is my friend Julian. Come on sit down, Julian just made some tea." She said as Julian stayed quiet just watching the scene as Killian took a seat. Amelia then looked between the two men, with a gulp hoping that she made the right decision and that this would be the start of a friendship or maybe something more. "Julian?" She then asked causing Julian to jump.
"Ah yes, the tea." He said jumping up to grab the tea pot with shaky hands as Killian watched the nervous male finding him adorable.
"So, I'm still waiting for a explanation?" Killian then asked, turning back to Amelia as Julian retreated with the tea pot.
"Well it all started with a dragon crashing into our garden." She started as Killian leaned forward, now most intrigued as Julian also sat down to listen to their story. | 2022-01-21T15:45:36 | 2022-01-21T13:49:08 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] As you enter your living room, you find your dog, a bottle soaked in drool, and a genie. "Greetings, master of my master" the genie welcomes you. |
“Hey babe, have you seen the vacuum cleaner?” I called out from the closet.
“No. Did you check the laundry room?” Carol replied.
“Yeah, it’s not there. Huh. It’s like it up and vanished.”
Weird things had been happening ever since we moved into our new home. For example, one day an order of sixteen 10 oz filet mignon arrived addressed only to “Master” which struck me as altogether creepy. I figured maybe the previous owner had a subscription service they forgot to forward—and a weird master kink for that matter, though who am I to “yuck” someone’s “yum”? I put the steaks in the freezer and didn’t think much of it. That is, until that evening when I noticed my dog, Bruce, was wearing a white linen bib and chowing down on two of the steaks.
“Honey…did you give Bruce these steaks? And where did this bib come from?” I asked.
“What? No. Very funny. I do love that you gave him a fancy bib though—cute touch.” She replied as she entered the kitchen.
“Seriously. I didn’t do this, Carol. How the heck did Bruce get these? Brucie boy,” a called to him, “how did you get this, huh?” I asked him as he wagged his tail and reluctantly picked his head away from his prized dinner. “Show me how you got the steak, bud.” Bruce, giving me a wide panting smile just looked over at a drool-covered lamp he had chewed on.
“Oh, Bruce, you’ve gotta stop chewing on that, dude,” said Carol. “He keeps knocking that thing down and chewing on it. I wonder if the previous owner’s dogs did the same.” The lamp came with the house. It was the only thing left behind, but it looked kinda cool, and we figured “hey free lamp.”
Bruce just stared at us both, tail wagging. He didn’t look guilty as he usually would when he’d gotten into something he wasn’t supposed to. (Side note: we know that Bruce has been naughty when he finds one of us, sheepishly saunters up, and nestles his head into the nape of our necks. That melt-your-heart sweetness generally signals that my living room is a war zone of fluff and mud.) He then looked more intently at the lamp, as if he wanted to play, and gave three curt barks.
With a flash the lamp righted itself and out flowed a glowing green man. “Hello Master,” said the green man. “Oh…and hello masters of my master. I am Lemnor, Master Bruce’s genie.”
“What the—how in the hell did Bruce get a genie?” I asked after I pulled my chin off the floor.
“He freed me and I now live to serve him. He is a generous, and sweet master. A true good boy,” replied Lemnor.
“Now hold on a minute,” said Carol, I could sense her legal mind kicking in, “where do you get off latching yourself to a sweet dog like Bruce? Aren’t you genies notoriously nefarious, wish-switching con men just trying to be freed? Every wish has unintended consequences in the lore.”
“Ah, a fair critique from a fair master,” replied Lemnor. “But fear not. Our cunning matches only that of our master. When a genie is summoned forth by a pup such as Master Bruce, we have no choice but to be as pure-intentioned as he is in our wish fulfillment. That is to say, I’m here to provide Bruce his every wish, no strings attached.”
“Well that’s all fine and good,” I pipe in starting to catch my breath, “but Bruce is like a child. You can’t just give in to his very whim. If you do he’ll end up 500 pounds or he’ll get his stomach flipped. You can’t just give a dog all he can eat.”
“Another fine point from a fine master. You both have taken incredible care of Bruce to this point. Now, that’s my job. As I said, all of his wishes come with no strings attached, and that means no consequences. The good boy deserves to have his heart’s desires, and now he can without fear of vomiting or diarrhea or getting an itchy booty that he has to scrape across the ground to itch—unless of course, he wishes for that, which he has. Bruce gets what all good dogs deserve: all of the pleasures of life with none of the pain.”
Well. Who am I to argue with that. Our beautiful boy hit the doggo lottery, and he sure does deserve this. But…”hey did you throw out my vacuum, Lemnor?!” I shout.
“Why yes. Master Bruce wished it.”
“But what about the no consequences spiel? Me losing my vacuum feels like a consequence to me,” I replied.
“I mean, I had to throw that out. That thing is evil. It’s loud, and mean, and what if it gets him, Robert? Have you ever thought of that one? Huh? What if the vacuum ever caught up to Master Bruce? No, that thing is a danger to all dog-kind and it had to go.” Said Lemnor with a huff.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to clean the house that is less scary,” I replied.
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that anymore,” said Lemnor. “Master Bruce’s primary wish is to spend as much time with his masters as possible. He just wants pets, and walks, and love, and affection. And so I must facilitate that wish. You no longer have to clean or work or go shopping or do any of the other trappings of modern life. Your only role is to give Bruce the attention and joy he deserves.”
And you know what? That is the most noble, joy-filled way I could have possibly lived my life. After all, during their time, we are a dog’s whole world. It is only fitting that Bruce would be ours. | # Soulmage
**"If you could have any wish you wanted,"** my nephew asked, "what would it be?"
"I'd want to be able to fly," Lucet whispered. My nephew's quasi-girlfriend was a slim, shy girl, but she looked up across the table at the rest of us to speak. "It's... y'know. Simple. Freeing. Good."
"There's only one real answer to that question," Meloai said. "You wish for infinite wishes. It's a strict superset of anything you could possibly want."
"Okay, yeah, but there's such a thing as having *too* much power, you know?" Lucet said. "All I'm saying is, people who get too much power... change. It's not good for them. I just want to have something for myself. Something I can enjoy. Y'know?"
Cienne turned to me, curious. "What about you, Uncle Sansen?"
I hesitated, then said, "I'd wish I could speak to animals."
Meloai and Cienne gave me confused looks, but of the three of them, I think Lucet was closest to understanding. "Why?" Meloai asked. "I mean, any possible wish, and you choose that?"
"Well..." I closed my eyes and leaned back, remembering. "This was all before any of you were born, kids. But when I was a little boy, I had a pet dog. Aubrei. And he was the best dog anyone could ask for. And one day, he brought home something that he probably shouldn't have..."
\###
"Aubrei!" I stared, aghast, at the nine-foot-tall swirling cyclone of formless purple in the living room. "What did you *do*?"
Aubrei didn't speak—he'd been oddly quiet as of late—but simply dropped a bottle on the ground, letting it roll towards me. Then, as if tired out by the exertion, he slumped over to his worn cloth bed, curling up into a ball.
"Master of my master," spoke the genie's booming voice, "Aubrei has seen fit to grant you a wish."
"Aubrei? My *dog?*" I paused. "Wait, what do you mean one? Don't you normally get three?"
The genie coughed awkwardly. "The first was used on asking how he could best benefit his master. The second one was used transferring the third to you."
Oh. I bit my lip. "This... this isn't a trick or a trap? I... I can get something—anything—that I want?"
"There are limitations," the genie acknowledged. "I am not omnipotent. But I will enact your commands to the best of my abilities."
"...Gosh." There was probably something better to say when faced with limitless cosmic power, but I was a teenager, and that meant I was a blithering idiot.
I turned to Aubrei, wondering if I should give the old dog a treat or something, but... I could do that myself. There was no sense spending a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on that.
"In that case... er..." I swallowed. "You... nothing I say here will get to anyone else, right? Like, if I told you something... my parents wouldn't hear?"
The genie gave me a befuddled look. "After my wishes are granted, I shall return to my demesne in the Plane of Desire. It will likely be another century or two before I return to your world. It is *exceedingly* unlikely that your mortal parents will be alive then."
"Right, right, just... making sure." I took in a deep breath, then went for the plunge. If there was a chance, I had to take it. "My boyfriend and I..." I waited to see if the genie would react, but apparently being an extradimensional entity from beyond the planes meant that did not care one whit about human relationships. "We have to hide our relationship. And I wish that we didn't."
The genie tilted its head. "It will be done. Not today. Not all at once. But it will be done."
I exhaled. Right, not omnipotent. That was... that was still better than nothing. It was hope. "Thank you," I said.
The genie regarded me with an impassive look. "I do as I am commanded."
As the genie began to fade, I turned to Aubrei with a smile on my face. "You're a good boy, Aubrei. You're a good boy."
The old dog didn't move.
"Aubrei?" I frowned, walking towards his side. "Aubrei? Are you—"
I lifted up his limp, floppy neck, and something in my soul snapped in two.
\###
"It was a string he'd eaten," I murmured. Even with my eyes still closed, I could feel the gaze of the three children on me. "It wrapped around his tongue and cut off the bloodflow, and it got infected. And none of us knew, because he just... kept it hidden. And even when he was dying, even when he must have been in agony, his last wishes were for me to be happy."
Memories of my husband and the slow, brutal, but *winning* battle we'd fought to stay together in the coming years drifted in and out of focus, and I said, "So yes. If I could have one wish, it would be that I could speak to him. That he could tell me about the string that was slowly killing him, before he became too sick to move, and that I could tell him what a good boy he was." In my mind's eye, my husband smiled. "That yes, in the end... he made me happy. Happier than he could ever know."
Silence fell around the dinner table. In the distance, wolves began to howl.
"Wherever you are, Aubrei," I finished, "I hope they don't have any fucking string."
And I listened to the howling of distant wolves, memories of lost friends sleeting across my soul.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-five other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-18T09:23:04 | 2022-06-18T08:48:20 | 254 | 69 |
[WP] you knew that werewolves were not as they seem. But came as a surprise that your flatmate after changing under the full moon would be much more adamant about cleaning... | You think you read all the mythology, you think you know everything that there is to know. But some things still come as a surprise. I knew that the fridge would be filled with raw meat as the moon turned full. I always made sure of this because it is probably the only reason that I don't become the meal instead. I also knew that there would be howling. So much howling. But I adapted. I bought earplugs. I can sleep like a baby. But the cleaning? Harry Potter sure never mentioned anything about that.
Now I'm definitely not a slob. I'm not going to claim to be a perfect roommate, I've definitely left dishes in the sink a few times overnight. But I generally do a pretty good job keeping my shit together. But when the full moon comes around... The vacuum is out and the Windex is sprayed.
I shouldn't complain, I mean it is nice to have a deep cleaning of our apartment happen once a month. But sometimes I am just not in the mood. Sometimes I have just worked a long ass shift and want to come home and crash on my bed. But when that happens and that damn moon is a big ol circle, I can kiss that dream good bye.
Everyone told me that living with a werewolf would be a pain in the ass. I don't think this is what they meant. I told them all they were being prejudiced. That they should open their minds to new possibilities. I wish I had listened to them. I don't tell them they were right of course, I don't want to hear their condescending gloating. Like the time I told Jared that I am 100 percent sure Penelope Cruz is from Columbia and then he googled it in front of me and proved me wrong. He would not let that go for months, what an ass.
Here's the worst part of it all. Are you ready for the worst part? I'm about to tell you the worst part. Listen up for the worst part. Full moon comes. We scrub everything. The bathroom, the tables, the counters, the floors. Everything. It is sparkling clean, and then I wake up in the morning, And everything is covered in fur. Like why did we even bother? Why can he not be obsessive about cleaning the day after the full moon is over?
I guess it could be worse, my brother lives with an ogre and that guy just shits everywhere. Count my blessings. | The night of the full moon, the house reeked. Windex sloshed onto the windows, bleach poured over the floors, counters, toilets, and carpet cleaner gushed by the gallon; the air was positively acidic. The garbage bags formed a sculpture that also must be kept extremely tidy. For the moment, the bags were in a pyramid, beginning with a five-by-five square of bags on the bottom layer.
As each intrusion into a healthy headspace was picked up and tossed in the bin, the twinges of darkness slowly blurred before chiefly receding.
The floors of soft carpet, the walls of beige apartment paint, the white baseboards, and the wooden furniture positively glowed. Radiant speckles of gold flitted through the sheer curtains, glinting and shimmering off the immaculate scene.
Ashton took a brief recess, feeling enclosed in a time capsule, utterly untouched by decay or nature's progress. He felt gracefully hugged by his mother and wrapped in a cocoon simultaneously, comforted while sweet nothings were whispered and he actively cultivated himself, undergoing a transformation that would change him fundamentally and for the better.
The humble abode leaned forward to him, patting him on the back, thanking him for the time and trouble it takes to clean such a large, gentle giant. Ashton needed no thanks and expressed as much to his friend as he downed a large glass of water.
The instinct persisted, the innate drive that Ashton experienced to tidy, to get on his feet and make his perfect bride even happier, even cleaner. Perhaps a few more rounds of bleach on the floor, perhaps a few more rounds of carpet cleaner, such that he could make the perfect home, the perfect greenhouse in which to grow.
Ashton reeled, suddenly setting his glass down.
*What if I'm not perfect enough?*
Ashton wrenched his head around frantically, at the dust-free, sparkling, singing, cheering, happy walls, floors, and furniture. His friends talked to each other, going about their daily lives in serenity.
Ashton felt utterly excluded from this community he had tried to foster for the first time, that he had spent an entire night methodically scrubbing.
His gaze turned to his cracked fingernails, long, filthy, clumpy hair, teeth, and repulsive breath.
Fear filled him as his friends turned on him, frowning, shouting curses. The table and chairs were especially cruel, mocking the scent of his rear end.
Ashton flushed in shame, feeling naked and imprisoned in an alternate body, a horrific mummy of filthy bandages caked with dirt, blood, and rot, with his old organs still putrifying.
Little thought preceded the jerky motions that followed. Ashton's left arm plunged into the air, gripping the first bottle in its path, a mixture of mostly bleach and water.
The frantic gulping felt divine as the cleansing fire filled his heart, chest, and stomach.
The next moments were not quite so beautiful. | 2022-12-05T10:46:51 | 2022-12-05T10:05:11 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them? | I love my soon to be wife. I look forward to our marriage. Imagine my surprise when we stumbled upon a Djin who saw our live as "pure " enough that; she would allow us to alter each other's appearance. My sweet beautiful faincee quickly declined the offer saying that though "she appreciated the offer ." I was perfect the way I was.
I however asked to speak to the djin in private. On our wedding day I saw my wife more beautiful than ever. See I wished that she never contracted that terrible disease that has and was ruining her life. Even though it was risky I can die in peace knowing that if I die she will live a full and happy life.
PLEASE BE KIND THIS IS MY FIRST SUBMISSION IM OPEN TO ANY CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM | “Bigger”
I said sternly looking at my husbands little man down there, Bigger.
“Bigger?”
He asked confused looking down at the thing as-well “Its like seven inches long, Any bigger would eve a hindrances to my daily life!” He tried to rebutt it but I was determined! DETERMINED to make it AtLeast 12 inches.
“MORE, BIGGER”
I scream, my spouse was obviously in a mix of shock and confusion as he watched myself go ham on the fact I wanted the man down there to be twelve inches…
“I AM NOT MAKING MY FOOT LONGER AGAIN! YOU ADDED 7 INCHES AND NOW YOU WANT ANOTHER 12 MORE!
He screamed, has he gone mad perhaps?
“ITS THE TREND! PLUS YOU WALK FASTER!”
“Bitch, if I am walking with a god damn foot this long each step will launch to the sky, and I ain’t no catapult!”
My husband maidenly rabbled, I cant believe he was this dumb!
“Wait…”
My husband paused, looking down
“Dear, are you lesbian?”
He concernly asked
“It’s Punishment for you not wanting the long feet!”
“Dear, You do realize I aswell can alter your body” | 2022-12-08T01:07:52 | 2022-12-07T20:59:42 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them? | "I want to marry you exactly as you are." My future spouse - the title makes me grin wider - cups my face.
"So do I." I kiss their palm. "With one alteration."
They blink at me in confusion, their cat-like pupils narrowing in the light. "Wait . . ." It takes a long moment for them to realize as my grin morphs to a smirk. But as soon as the lightbulb went off they stumble over their own feet to find a mirror, leaving a ghost of an imprint where I still feel their hand on my cheek. I laugh.
"Hell yeah. Hell. Yeah," they chant.
I knew they had always wanted the most unnatural demonic eyes. What a weeb 💕 | “Bigger”
I said sternly looking at my husbands little man down there, Bigger.
“Bigger?”
He asked confused looking down at the thing as-well “Its like seven inches long, Any bigger would eve a hindrances to my daily life!” He tried to rebutt it but I was determined! DETERMINED to make it AtLeast 12 inches.
“MORE, BIGGER”
I scream, my spouse was obviously in a mix of shock and confusion as he watched myself go ham on the fact I wanted the man down there to be twelve inches…
“I AM NOT MAKING MY FOOT LONGER AGAIN! YOU ADDED 7 INCHES AND NOW YOU WANT ANOTHER 12 MORE!
He screamed, has he gone mad perhaps?
“ITS THE TREND! PLUS YOU WALK FASTER!”
“Bitch, if I am walking with a god damn foot this long each step will launch to the sky, and I ain’t no catapult!”
My husband maidenly rabbled, I cant believe he was this dumb!
“Wait…”
My husband paused, looking down
“Dear, are you lesbian?”
He concernly asked
“It’s Punishment for you not wanting the long feet!”
“Dear, You do realize I aswell can alter your body” | 2022-12-08T01:36:27 | 2022-12-07T20:59:42 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected. | "But what if you don't have internet? I mean, it seems like the process kinda favors the richer countries."
*"It only seems that way. It comes in more forms than you know."*
"So, that's it? That's the criteria? The only criteria to become a GOD? You toss out great heroic deeds or a moralistic sense of purpose? Leadership among men? Great belief?"
*"Heroic deeds are rarely done for the reasons purported, people follow those who best let them believe they are right and a deep moralistic sense of purpose can lead to to service the demented desires of but a single soul. No, the rationale we have chosen, we think is very just and honorable."*
"Seriously? Upvotes? Seriously" | *The day has come, the world awaits
no work or school, no scheduled dates.
The day has come where all our fates
could henceforth change forever.*
*The hour has come, and I can't breathe.
"Please don't be me. It* ***can't*** *be me."
I'm filled with dread, with fear and plea,
from Godhood to be sheltered.*
*The minute has come, all I can find
running through my anxious mind
are thoughts of all the ores I've mined
down in the depths of earth.*
*The time has come, my name is chosen
"The God of Earth!" I cry, heartbroken.
"A thousand years of stone!" I'm frozen,
unable to move forth.*
*But he has come, before my eyes,
descended from the heavenly skies.
"Please, don't!" I beg. "I just despise
the thought of any more rock!"*
*"From heaven I've come," he says, and smiles
"But God of Earth? You're off by miles!
The God of Sex is your new style,
due to your massive cock."* | 2014-07-28T09:33:03 | 2014-07-28T09:31:37 | 358 | 84 |
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