prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You enter a store with the intention to rob it. But while waiting last in line so everyone can leave first, the person in front of you pulls out a gun and tells the cashier to empty the cash register. | "Empty the fucking cash register!" the man in front of me is screaming his lungs out and waving a gun in the air.
*Shit! He's blowing my score with this amateur crap.*
Workers and customers in the small supermarket shriek and curl up into balls, but I stay steady.
The cashier is manically shoving cash into the bag, and I wait for him to hand it over to the howling robber before I make my move.
"Thank you," the asshole says as the cashier hands him the bag with notes spilling out of it. "Now everyone stay calm as I leave and forget my face—"
"Drop the fucking bag!" I've got my Glock trained right on his ugly head, and he freezes with his weapon still pointed at the cashier.
"What... What the hell are you doing, man?" he cries, confused as can be.
"Now look here, asshole," I take a step forward, he winces. "I've been planning this job for a week, and I'm not backing out now because some rookie decides to rob the place on the same damn day."
"But," he sounds like he's going to cry. "This is my first score, c'mon dude—"
"DROP THE FUCKING BAG!"
The sack hits the floor with a thud.
"Could you please stop pointing your gun at me, sir?" the cashier is still standing their, looking relatively calm all things considered.
"Now pick up all the spilled loot and shove it back in there," I command.
The rookie is slow to move, still pointing his gun lazily at the cashier.
"I said, please stop pointing that—"
"Dude, shut the fuck up and get on the floor!" I yell at the dumb employee.
"No," his hands move quickly behind his apron and brandish two handguns, one pointed at each of us before we know what's happened. "You shut the fuck up and get on the floor!"
"What the hell!?" both of us cry in unison.
"Now look here, assholes," the cashier looks furious, not even worried that we both have our guns trained on him as he speaks. "I've been working here for six damn months, and I've been planning to rob the safe this whole damn time on this exact day!"
"You've got to be kidding me—"
"And now you two idiots have fucked it all up! So I'm gonna have to settle for the register's take," his voice is commanding, the tone of a professional. "Now, both of you drop your guns and put the spilled money in the bag."
Sirens blare and tires screech outside, and all three of us share a concerned glance.
"Truce?" I plead, mainly with the cashier.
Two cops burst through the glass doors, literally shattering them with their shotguns as they walk through.
"Everyone put your fucking hands up!" one of them screams as he racks a shell into his weapon.
"Fuck you, we've got hostages!" damn, this guy is a professional.
The three of us are pointing our guns at the cops now (the rookie is more weeping than anything), but the officers aren't backing down.
"Fuck your hostages!" weird tactics for police officers. "We've been on the force for five years, and we've come here for one thing..."
*Are you kidding me?*
"Drop your guns, and shove all that spilled cash back in the bag...."
*Son of a bitch...*
___
**Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily weirdness** | Slowly, I move my hand to the waistband of my jeans to reaffirm I haven't forgotten my weapon. A replica, sure, but nothing compares to the embarrassment of that ordeal on my second robbery attempt. Since that failure, I'm always quick to double and triple check, minimum.
It didn't even have the capability to make a bang anymore, but the black toy had always done the job. Fear is the tool; and so I had named the cap gun Monster, reminiscent of the unknown fears that would plague me as a child staring unblinking at the closed closet door.
Slowly edging backwards and out of the line, I attempt to join the rest of the store patrons who have more hastily made their exit. The employee quickly meets my gaze with a look I've seen numerous times. Fear, confusion, panic; will the poor girl escape with her life, her job, will her sense of security be ruined forever? I look down quickly - if I'm not making the score I don't need the guilt.
The thief is making quick work of the robbery. It is obvious that he isn't new to the game. With little hesitation he places a decent amount of bills into numerous pockets between his vest and jeans. Wranglers, I notice absently as I back away. Hilariously, I also wear Wranglers. Imagine if all thieves had to abide by a dress code I ponder, my mind wandering as I slowly and cautiously turn for the door.
A sudden commotion occurs at the counter as the heist has completed and the man is making his quick exit, head down and covered with a ball cap to disguise himself from all manners of recognition - digital and otherwise. As he cuts across the store to exit, I think briefly of sticking out my foot and tripping him or pulling out my own weapon. Is it possible for a villain to become a hero in an instant?
Foolish, I think. How would I explain my weapon to authorities later? It isn't really a weapon, I remember, so it probably wouldn't be the most even playing field even if I wanted to make a stand. Best to let him go, get the hell out of there, and make another attempt tomorrow. It won't be the first time I go without a proper meal.
As the thief reaches the door at pace, I notice the employee reaching for a small switch by the counter. I've seen the device before on one of my previous attempts, these auto-locking door triggers, and it had been a mess. It was the only time I had to get violent with an employee as I searched for a back exit and an escape from punishment. I looked desperately at the employee, willing her to not push the button.
To no avail. She pushes the button and quickly falls to her stomach behind the counter. Shockingly, the thief makes no mind of the switch being flicked and the mechanical sound the door makes. I can't believe her luck as the offending party slams into the now locked door at full speed, crashing his skull into the double proof glass and falling back motionless.
​
I hear the clatter of plastic and instantly reach back for Monster - of course this is the time for my damn weapon to make an appearance as it clatters down to the floor. I can't say for sure, but I can only imagine the look of shock that plays across my face as I touch the toy still securely tucked in my pants.
My eyes dart to the offenders gun, now sitting still on the floor after landing against a stack of diet soda bottles. It can't be, I think, recognizing Monster instantly as my most useful tool and closest ally in the struggle to stay alive. Slowly, my eyes move to the assailant, blood slowly pooling under his head, ball cap slightly lifted from the ricochet off the hard linoleum floor. If I wasn't already wearing a look of shock from recognizing Monster on the floor, it certainly took hold the moment I recognized my own unconscious face on the ground staring blankly into the lights. | 2019-06-15T10:07:40 | 2019-06-15T09:57:47 | 4,037 | 257 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.” | "I've activated protocol 597, we will send another signal when we're ready for you to return. Prepare until then, I've enabled the quantum anchor in bay 11 for you to lock on to."
*Understood. Syncing with bay 11, I will prepare.*
​
**ALERT INBOUND SIGNATURE DETEC...**
​
\*\*\*\*\*\*
​
The Talnyvans had been on a recycling kick recently, wanting to salvage all the old technology they said was "safe" to explore now. I think they just wanted to erase what few reminders we have left of our former civilization, purge our history fully. It's not like I had a choice anyways to be here. But to find something that still works? that I never expected. I was just poking at the console to see if I could remove the glass, it would have just weighed a lot without being worth anything.
`Contact Reestablished. Support will arrive soon.`
​
I just stared at it, dumbfounded.
​
`Incoming request from anchor 11. Severe degradation detected, maintenance required. Bandwidth available at 3%. Voice and text only. Accept?`
​
I just continued to stare at it for another minute before my thoughts were interrupted by the cheap communicator attached to my shirt, simple, but effective enough to get through the EM haze around the wreck.
​
"HC415, you have not moved for several minutes! Finish what you are doing or I'm marking this as your break! Do you understand?!"
I hastily press the button to respond. "Yes, I understand, sorry"
​
`Request accepted. Live feed enabled.`
​
*Greetings commander. I am preparing the fleet for spatial translation. What is your status?*
​
The voice was a pleasant masculine sound, but clearly artificial.
​
"Uhhh, what? Who are you? The computer?"
​
*I am an artifical node intelligence, code named KINGMAKER. My makers referred to me as Mac... I have received data that you are the interim commander as the ship has not been staffed in 341 years... that is unfortunate.*
​
"Uhhh... yeah the Talnyvans won, everyone died or is like me, just picking up scraps. I don't think you can do much as a broken ship."
​
*I should clarify, I am not located within your destroyed vessel. I am transmitting from another system. I was given advanced replication facilities and tasked with preparing for a reactivation signal. I have been preparing. My fleet stands by to liberate your world at your command.*
​
"Uhm, don't be offended, but... please don't do that, the Talnyvans have hundreds of warships, there's nothing you can do. You'll just get the rest of us killed."
​
*Then they should not be a significant obstacle. I have not been idle. I have constructed 79,248 capital warships, 518,433 Mid class vessels, and several million fighter drones. I have converted roughly 13% of the solid mass of this system, and several neighboring ones into a fleet, computational facilities, and battle operations centers. I have also constructed several dozen colony centers for refugees should they be needed.*
​
The numbers boggled the mind. they shouldn't even be possible. But something flared within me that I hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.
​
"... How long will it take you to get here?"
​
*I am locked on to the quantum anchor we are using to communicate. I can perform spatial tunneling to your location with the improvements I've managed in roughly 11 standard earth minutes.*
​
It could be a trick. This whole thing could be a setup. I'll probably die horribly. But if there's a tiny chance... just one chance in an infinite universe...
​
"Do it."
​
*Engaging drives. I will see you soon commander. Stay safe.*
​
\----------
​
Edit: I wrote a part two and three. I think these links work?
Part Two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eul2w0u/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eul2w0u/?context=3)
Part Three: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eumhyn7/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eumhyn7/?context=3) | The smoldering wreckage stretched for miles in every direction. The ruins of countless battles lay strewn across the barren landscape. The scene was lifeless save for the scattered figures searching the wreckage.
Urun was searching for anything to give to his masters. He had quotas to meet. It had been this way his whole life: go out into the wastelands, search for something valuable, record the location, and continue searching. He didn’t know why he had to do this, he just knew that he hated it.
Today was an especially depressing day. He hadn’t found anything all morning, and if he didn’t meet quotas, he wouldn’t get paid. As he thought of his poor future, his cortical implant showed a massive spike in void radiation. Jackpot! He looked around, searching the windswept ruins for the source.
It was a box, no bigger than his head, with a smooth display and foreign letters written around it. The box was surprisingly intact given the state of its surroundings, and the letters were quite legible. Unfortunately, despite the legibility of the text, it was indecipherable. The letters looked familiar but made no sense in the places they were.
Urun stood puzzling over the box and then shook his head. Some mysteries didn’t need to be solved. He stooped over and picked up the box. It was surprisingly light. He began carrying it to a more open spot where the bots could pick it up.
Suddenly, the display flashed to life and a series of beeps and whirs began emanating from the box.
Surprised, Urun dropped it and stepped back.
The box began speaking. Urun couldn’t understand much of what it said. It sounded like his language but was different. He thought he could make out the words for “biometric,” “support,” and “invasion,” but he couldn’t be sure.
Eventually, the box stopped spouting gibberish and Urun stepped back towards it. Leaning over, he poked it. Seeing that nothing happened, he picked it up again and finished taking it to the open area. Setting the box down, he logged it and went off searching for more ancient tech.
A few days later, Urun was lying in his cot, enjoying the last few moments of rest before work, when, suddenly, he heard a loud explosion. He ignored this. Probably just another mechanical malfunction. Happened all the time.
A few minutes later, the scream of plasma bolts cut through the early-morning silence. This he did not ignore.
Sitting up quickly, Urun scrambled to the door to look through the peephole. He saw nothing; no plasma bolts, no masters. Nothing.
Just as suddenly as the racket had started, it died down, leaving Urun confused. As he was trying to decide whether it would be wise to open the door, he heard marching coming towards him. The masters must have sent a squad to execute someone and they resisted. It happened.
Relaxing, Urun opened his door and strolled out, ready for another day of work. He was greeted not by the sight of an execution squad, but by a group of his species in bright white armor marching towards him. Confused, Urun waved hello.
“Greetings, citizen! You have been liberated!” yelled one of the white knights from down the street.
“What?” Urun yelled back.
“You’ve been liberated!” all of them yelled in unison.
“What does that mean exactly?”
At this point, the group had reached Urun and stopped a few feet in front of him
“You may now enjoy your full rights as a citizen of the Tyraxian Confederation, free of the oppression of the Gulronian Republic.”
“I don’t know who those people are.”
The speaker shifted nervously.
“Uh, your old bosses were from the Gulronian Republic. We’re from the Tyraxian Confederation. We used to own this planet until the Gulronians took it. Now we took it back, thanks to a distress call from a random citizen.”
“I have no idea who you are, and I don’t know who the Gulrongans are. Do I have to keep my job?”
“Gulronians,” he corrected, “And yes, everything will proceed exactly as before, but now your labor will be for a good cause!”
“And it wasn’t before?”
“No, you were enslaved by the Gulronians—the bad guys—but now you voluntarily work for the Tyraxian Confederation, us, the good guys.”
“So, I can leave?”
“No, you still have to keep doing what you’re doing here, but it’s for a good cause now.”
“But I hate what I’m doing here.”
“I understand sir, but that’s not my problem. If you have any complaints contact the HR department. The number should be the same as before.”
“The HR department is the same.”
Another pause as the Tyraxians looked around at each other.
“Yes, uh, we find it efficient with how often these places change hands to not put in new administrations every time. Just because we’re at war doesn’t mean we have to be wasteful.”
“Doesn’t really seem like a war,” remarked Urun.
“Believe me, the conflict is quite violent in other places!”
“Everyone sort of forgot about your planet, to be honest, there would be a lot of violence here too,” added another Tyraxian.
“Sounds wonderful,” said Urun.
“Indeed. Unfortunately, we must be going now, citizen. Work productively!”
Having finished learning about his newfound freedom, Urun went back to his forced labor, while the Tyraxians marched off to liberate some other neighborhood. Over the next week, Urun would meet a dozen more squads of identically uniformed soldiers telling him he was now liberated and could enjoy his rights as a lawful citizen of someplace or other and to continue carrying on exactly as he had been. At some point, he got a receiver to keep up with the news, but he wasn’t interested in why any of them were here, he just wished they would let him leave. | 2019-07-22T14:04:19 | 2019-07-22T12:59:42 | 1,039 | 104 |
[WP] There is a group of time travellers who create small changes and rely on the butterfly effect to change history. Now they need to prevent World War 3 by making a janitor lose his job. Detail how this stops World War 3. | So you're telling me that this janitor will lose his job, grow a fallowing, bomb the United Nation Headquarters, which leads to serious bombing in the US, kind of like what the US had done to Afghanistan, create instability in the US, breaking it into 2 major countries. Both sides split the US allies in a way similar to the start of WW1, they can't get along and start bombing each other, which drags in most of the rest of the civilized world, causing WW3 and the end of the world, and this can all be prevented by giving the janitor cab fare one day, allowing him to keep his job?
Yes.
Well let's get to it. | Old man Cotton was always a bit eccentric, but everyone loved him. He was always seemed to torn up when someone was being bullied, or have a bit of sage advice when life was just too much for a student.
Nobody begrudged him retiring after hitting the jackpot on a scratch off tickets. Everyone showed up for his retirement, students he had inspired decades ago showed up with stories of how he had helped and inspired them.
I watched it all, smiling and nodding from the sidelines. Everyone just assumed I was an old student.
In truth, I was, or would be next year. Little Davie, the kid everyone teased for being a nerd, the kid beaten behind gym, yet another kid saved and inspired by old man Cotton.
My smile as I shook his hand and wished him the best was heartfelt and genuine. I did not know what would become if little Davie, but I knew David Knox would no longer be attending Stanford and that Dr. Knox would no longer write his papers on temporal engineering.
No longer would the world burn fighting over a technology I should have never created.
Enjoy your retirement Mr. Cotton, today you save the world. | 2019-09-22T08:51:10 | 2019-09-22T08:30:30 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible. | Their foe uttered their final cry as the paladin twisted their blade deep into his chest.
"Garovox the Barbarian Warlord is vanquished!"
"Finally. I was down to my last 2 arrows" murmured the rogue.
"And my mana is gone from the fire blast I hit him with." Grumbled the mage.
"But it's worth it." The Paladin smiled, indicating to the treasure chest at the foot of the throne.
"The usual division?" Asked the rogue
"Agreed" added the mage.
"Actually can we look into changing that?" Spoke the cleric timidly.
"What?" Asked the paladin.
"I was wondering if we could split it more fairly. I get 10% while you each get 30%. It doesn't seem right."
The mage smiled an evil smile. "That seems fair."
"But.." the rogue interrupted
"Are you" the paladin started shouting.
The mage gave them a look that instantly silenced them.
"Now. Where were we? Ah yes, fair division of the spoils. Now our fearless leader got us the quest and dealt the final blow. I think 35% is a fair compensation."
The Paladin chuckled.
"Our rogue here disarmed the traps that would have surely killed us and landed many critical blows. 30% seems fair."
The rogue let out the breath she had been holding, relieved.
"And I.... I used my magic to freeze him in place allowing the others to strike and dealt the largest amount of damage. 35%"
"But that means..."
"You wanted it fairly dealt and so we have. We've been too generous with you. From now on the spoils will go to those that deal the damage." Cackled the mage.
"But that isn't fair! You can each afford gold plated armour and the best weapons. I can barely afford to sleep at any inn we stay at, let alone any supplies or weapons. The only thing I have is this dagger that the rogue couldn't even sell to a shop keeper."
"Well you should of thought about it BEFORE you mouthed off at the greatest adventurers in the land. Do you really want to fend for yourself out there?" Leered the paladin.
The clerics grip tightened around their staff. They were deep in a forrest filled with wild beasts, bandits and worse. "No" they hissed through gritted teeth.
"Good. Now that you've remembered your place we can spend the night here before setting off for our reward from the king in the morning."
The others nodded and started to share out some of the food from the barbarians dinner table. The cleric reached for some but the mage rapped her sharply on the knuckles.
"These are part of the spoils."
The others laughed cruelly. "Maybe if you're lucky you can find some berries outside." Sneered the rogue.
The cleric, silently fuming, grabbed a torch and headed outside.
"Make sure you tend to the beasts too!" Shouted the paladin to her retreating form.
She stomped angrily to then entrance to tend to the 3 horses and 1 donkey that they had rode here on. The animals all perked up at seeing her, gladly whinnying.
She muttered bitterly under her breath as she removed the saddles, gave them some vegetables to supplement the grass they gnawed on and tended to their wounds.
The paladins fine white stallion had chafe marks and weals from where the saddle had rubbed from under his immense weight. Idiot never remembered or cared to put a blanket on to his horse.
The rogues glossy black mare had painful sores where the rogue had dug in her heels to spur her to go faster.
And the poor mages creature. Some kind of magical horse. It had nasty whip marks from where it had done anything besides being silent and walking straight.
Only her own little donkey was free from injury.
Taking a jar of ointment out of her satchel she rubbed it into the wounds. They would be better in the morning.
The cleric continued onto the and swung her torch angrily over the forrest floor, searching for herbs, mushrooms, anything she could have for food.
"*Learn healing magic and you'll never be alone. Healers are important and respected.* Hogwash!" She muttered.
Her torch cast light on a small plant.
"Huh. I thought those only grew in the northern kingdom." She plucked a few leaves from it.
Standing she held her torch higher and saw that this wasn't the only unusual plant growing nearby. | Dagger's Heart was not a place to rest. Not that the place itself was that unwelcoming, but once you found yourself on that simple plateau, you could only drink your ever so caustic dose of restoration from Dagger's fountain, wait for your friendspawn, and pray that not all of your things were doomed. And even though Kipo fancied herself a patient woman, she was counting seconds to see another face appear. *thirty six. thirty seven. thirty eight.*
"This close man. I'm tellin ye. We be gettin it this time."
"I'm tired Gabe. Tired of all this."
The faces on the two men who appeared on the white tiles of Dagger's Hearth were grim, as grim as Kipo's own has to have been. They had done this at least a thousand times. She thought they were bound to do it for eternity, over and over again, condemned to grind. You could forget it in the heat of hunt and escape, but here, no. Not in Dagger's Hearth. You could not escape the agonizing understanding of it all here.
"South?" Swaine asked. The mage's puckered face showed no trace of determination and sharpness that it had when he first joined them. "We'll leave a note for the old man to follow after. I'm not really fond of this place."
Kipo sighed. She did not want to abandon the old healer, not again, but she doubted she could stand one more moment of Dagger's Heart, either. This place, or staying still, scratched her soul like nails on a board. "All right, Swaine. Let's go."
"Guys... somethin be wrong." Gabe shouted from the edge of the Heart.
"What?" Swaine said, smirking. "found your wits?"
"I be serious. Come and see."
Kipo strolled toward Gabe, and Swaine followed, half-muttering to himself. A few steps before reaching Gabe though a sudden pulling tugged in her chest, as if the force of a hundred hammers was beating and keeping her from taking another step. Swaine groaned and forced one more step. "It's... like gravity."
"The heart be stopping us from leavin it. What witchcraft do it be, Swaine?" Gabe asked, his face paling further by each word.
Swaine grimaced. "This is not magic, at least not that I know of. let's try north." And started toward the opposite edge. Kipo gave Gabe an anxious look and they followed. The force vanished as they stepped back to the fountain. As they passed the fountain and strode northwards, the pulling returned, making each step harder until Kipo stopped with a cry. "What's happening?"
"Beats me. Might be a glitch in the..."
"Excuse me." Interrupted a voice that made the three jump. A bespectacled little man in a white cap and a leathery satchel on his hip was walking toward the place they stood, holding out a yellow envelope and a clip board. A mailman? "Letter for you, honored warriors." Swaine snatched the envelope from the little man and pulled out the letter. Gabe reached out to sign for it. Kipo's heart sank as Swaine's face grew grimmer as he read. "What is it?" She asked finally, reluctant to find the supposedly dreadful answer. The mage remained unresponsive, handed her the paper, and fell to his knees. Gabe cursed and forcefully rushed toward Swaine. The mailman was already walking away. Kipo recognized the flowing handwriting of the man who had thought her how to write. She had to force herself to read.
My dearest friendspawns,
I want to write you many things, but I find it best to refrain from discussing my feelings and state the facts, for I will owe it to you.
When you receive this, you are bound by Dagger to its heart, and you shall never leave that place.
Your presence salves a wound, one that was made in that heart to keep the game running.
Since the first day I got entangled in this drudgery with you, I started planning to escape it by healing the wound in Dagger's Heart.
Soon I realized that the wound could only be mended by stilling a soul in place.
I thought capturing a few of the enemyspawn in the heart might do the trick, but you failed to capture one and berated me for insisting on it. I even considered sacrificing myself to let you free, but your lousy behavior soon saw to that idea. So long as you are bound to the Dagger's Heart, I and the rest (those whom you call the enemyspawn) are free. We thank you for your sacrifice. Perhaps it was the only way.
Your faithful old healer, now and ALWAYS. | 2020-01-05T15:09:30 | 2020-01-05T12:24:47 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human. | I'm used to being left out of the loop on things.
It's not surprising. I don't really read the news or follow popular media, so all sorts of shit can happen that I never know about. It can be nice not dealing with all that drama--though when I'm at school and everyone is in on some trend or change in schedule or whatever, and no one bothers to tell me what it is, that gets bothersome.
Today I was not left out of the loop. No one was.
Today I woke up with one image in my brain that I could not ignore. All it was was a simple URL code, but somehow it pierced my min even more than thoughts of suicide had. And more than that, I knew before visiting the website exactly what it would say: the sins of mankind, timestamped, with the punishments listed for each and every one of them.
I went to the website's homepage, a black screen with a search bar. But I hesitated. I couldn't see this alone. Of course, it's not like I have anyone super close to me, but...I just need someone next to me. Anyone. A stranger, who cares. I can't see this alone.
When I got to school, I found that everyone else had done the same. I mean, you can't blame us. Knowing all the punishment you will face in Hell after death--something many of us, myself included, didn't even believe in--and *every reason why*, well, it's plumb terrifying. Finally, in my second to last period, I saw someone pull out their laptop. The class turned to them in unison, as if we were psychically connected. It was time.
I hesitated still, but I saw their faces. I saw the fear--nay, terror--as they opened up their screens, typed their names or those close to them into the search bar and closed their eyes for a split second. I saw the dread, the guilt, the feelings that make your stomach drop to the ground and your throat burn up and your head pound until it shoves water out your eyes. I saw this, and then I saw eyes widening. Their mouths would open for a moment, mouthing something perhaps, but make no noise. The first person to sob was Amanda. The class followed suit. I still had seen nothing.
I opened my laptop.
Searched my name.
Closed my eyes.
Deep breath in.
Breathe out.
Here we go.
In front of me were sins upon sins upon sins. From the manipulation and blaming of others as a young girl, to the arrogance and anger of a middle schooler, and then the fear and stress and horrid thoughts plaguing my mind as I entered high school. I read it all. Below each sin was an "Old World Punishment"--a certain amount of time doing certain acts, perhaps incredibly torturous, perhaps simple and irritating. From trying to untangle earbuds or untie tight knots to bleeding out in front of your loved ones as they ignore you. I shivered at the thought of each punishment. My stomach dropped, my throat closed up, my head throbbed and forced water from my left eye. I scrolled down, read more and more, and...
one last note.
A note of forgiveness. A note telling us it's okay, that the Lord does not blame us for these sins and neither should we. That it's possible to be better. To feel better. To improve our world, together.
I was the last one to sob, and for once, I was not left out of the loop. We all were there together. | "No. That's not right."
Daniel's brow furrows, he lets out a big huff while scanning the page for a link to the live chat. "This is ridiculous," he thought, "everyone's a critic."
RING!
Daniel looks across the room at a green rotary telephone. He knows who's calling. Sweat beads form on his forehead, he wipes his clammy hands on his pants as he gets up and walks over to the phone. The phone rings several more times, somehow growing louder and angrier with each successive ring. Daniel glances back at his computer while his hand holds the receiver. He closes his eyes and gathers the courage to answer.
"Daniel Weiss?"
The gravely voice on the other end speaks with authority. Daniel chokes on his response. The silence angers the caller.
"Do you dispute the charges?"
"Y-Y-Yes."
Daniel turns the phone away from his face and dry heaves. The ground rumbles beneath him. The kitchen cabinets shake open, emptying their contents onto the floor. The symphony of items breaking obscures the sound of someone knocking on the door. Is it an earthquake? Daniel doesn't appear to be phased by it, in fact he walks over to the door and calmly opens it.
On the other side is a well-dressed person of ambiguous gender holding a thick black book. They stare at each other for a beat, then Daniel motions for the person to enter.
"Daniel Weiss. Age 48. Male."
The person surveys the room. Crumpled up balls of paper scattered across every surface. A whiteboard with indecipherable content. Several thick well-read and earmarked dusty books piled up on a shelf
"Which entry do you wish to dispute?"
Daniel flinches as the person slams the black book onto the table next to his computer. Silence. The person stares deep into Daniel's soul, searching for the answer. The book flies open, pages flipping rapidly and erratically back and forth. Daniel tries his best to obscure the answer, but it's pointless. The book settles on a page. The person glides over to it and reads the entry, amused.
"I can explain-"
A hand goes up, Daniel's mouth closes.
"Incomprehensible events. Squandered developments. It's almost as if you didn't care."
The person now looms over Daniel. Suddenly, Daniel finds courage.
"I think I should get a pass because David did most of it."
A smirk. Daniel stares, waiting for a response that never comes. Uncomfortable with the silence, Daniel continues.
"It was closer to fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-fourty. We didn't really keep track. There was so much pressure to deliver. We did our best!"
No response from the person. Not even the slightest reaction. Nervously, Daniel continues.
"Okay, I did most of it. But I didn't want to. David was busy working on-"
The person writes in the open book. Daniel leans in to see. He swallows his tongue.
"I will remove a few years if you agree to one condition."
Daniel nods.
"Re-do Season 8."
Daniel shakes his head, surprising the person. More silence. Daniel can't help himself, he responds defiantly.
"There was no source material. George hasn't written a word in half a decade!"
The person closes the book and stares at Daniel, who won't shut up.
"The Night King storyline. Bran as king. Arya's payoff. Daenrys and Jon Snow. It was perfect and you know it!"
Daniel doesn't believe his lies. Defeated, he pleads for forgiveness.
"We tried. We really did. There was no way we were going to live up to the hype."
The door opens. As the person crosses the threshold, Daniel calls out.
"What about our Disney deal?"
"Forget Disney, DB. Come give mama some Netflix sugar!"
Daniel's eyes almost pop out of his head. His face turns pale. His time in hell has begun. An overly excited and animated Leslie Jones appears in the doorway.
"I'm such a big fan, man. I got so many questions about Season 8!"
Leslie barrels toward Daniel, trapping him in a bear hug. | 2020-02-29T23:07:04 | 2020-02-29T22:58:06 | 92 | 25 |
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door. | It was like she had never been there. Her room was just empty storage. She'd been young, 12 years old. And she'd gone off to school in the morning, and just never returned. I questioned this, but nobody remembered her. Nobody recalled her. No photo featured her anymore. The clubs she had attended had never heard of her, her school had no student of such a name. She was ash on the wind, forgotten and lost in time. And I was suddenly an only child.
This was something I could not forget. I remembered her voice, her annoying friends, her great sense of humour. I remembered having a little sister. And what kind of sister would I be if I just let that go? So I looked online, for children that had been erased, for people who no longer existed. I looked into time travel, I explored the possibility of kidnappings by aliens, of being lured into the courts of legendary fairies, both of the Seelie and the Unseelie varieties. I lured predators to me, and blackmailed them to tell me what they knew. I learnt much that I wish I could forget in those days. But I continued ever onward, searching for my lost sister.
To call me obsessive would be correct. I would not let this go. I've busted human trafficking rings, I've found secret towns filled with runaways, I've walked with the transients and spoken to voodoo queens. And nothing. Until now. After seven years of investigation, a knock on the door resolves it. Outside, a heavily pregnant girl, easily recognisable as my sister, is standing in the rain. I let her in, no questions asked.
One of my theories, being whisked away to a magical world, wasn't entire incorrect. She had been sent to another world, to be the hero there. She had had great adventures, but she had always been prevented from going home by the villain. So she had settled down there, and had fallen in love with one of the people on the other side. She had even been forgetting this world. Much like this world forgot her.
But the enemy, the great Demon she had been fighting for years on the other side, had in one final battle slain many of her allies, but she and her followers had managed to cast the Demon out into the abyss, into the nothingness that is made for their kind. It would all be for the best, she could retire with the man she loved, raise their child together, but the Demon had a last trick, a cruel one, using what little power remained, he cast my sister back into our world.
Hungry, weak, and tired, she had finally found me. The only person who remembered. For even though she had returned, the memories of her existence hadn't. Our parents had rejected her, she had nowhere to go. Finally I had found her, and we talked long into the evening about her adventures, she showing off her magical powers to me, proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that her story was true.
But in the night, after we had gone to sleep, she awoke with a scream. Her water had broken. Desperately, I did what I could, for if she went to the hospital, she'd technically be treated as an illegal immigrant, having her entire existence deleted. She could get deported. To where I have no idea, but it wouldn't be good. So in the night, as she went into labour, I worked over her, helping her to breathe, keeping her awake. And it was thankfully quick and easy. Though the children were unusual. Half-elven. With large oddly coloured pupils, and pointy ears. As she cradled them, I gently sang to her, allowing her to rest.
A few days later, her husband arrived. Grateful for my assistance, they returned to their magical world, but not before giving me a gem, that could unfold into a portal. Something that would allow me to visit my sister any time I wanted to. I had not been crazy. I had a sister. And now, I knew where she was, now I could rest easy, for the first time in seven years, knowing that not only was she safe and sound, but that she was happy where she was now.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | A knock broke my concentration from the light that hypnotized me outside my window.
"Hello? Who is it?" I approached the door with my hands floating at my sides like I was a spy trying to mute my steps.
"It's me, Cameron," a familiar female voice said, muffled by the door. "It's your sister."
My heart sank, my head spun, and my limbs quaked. Gripping the knob I ripped the door open, my eyes ready to downpour with tears, but my adrenaline spiraled just after spiking.
"What? Don't look so disappointed to see me," she pushed past my paper thin frame of a body, slid to my fridge, and yanked out a flavored seltzer water. Something was in her hands which she placed on the counter, it was a disk of aluminum foil, kind of looked like a miniature UFO.
"Y'know that really wasn't funny, Kayla," I muttered, the color of my face was restoring brick by brick.
"Ah, sorry about that, you know me and my dark sense of humor, what else did you expect?" she cracked open the can and slugged a few gulps.
"I shouldn't be surprised after the JFK memes you sent me last night," I sighed. "Just thought this sister thing was a little too far."
She studied my face for a moment, and her smirk faded. "Well, I'm really sorry, truly I am."
"It's okay..." I shook my head. "So what's up?"
"Um really? Well, it's Friday night, our Saturday class is done, it's like the warmest evening this April, I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink somewhere?"
"Uh, I don't know. I was in the middle of something."
The edge of Kayla's mouth curled upward. "Don't you know what today is?"
"April 17th?"
"Yeah, it's your birthday, you wacko. I wanted to give you a surprise instead of texting you. Happy birthday, dude. I made some cupcakes for you," Kayla unraveled the aluminum covering to reveal peanut butter frosting on a chocolate cupcake.
"Wait! Kayla!" I shrieked as I rushed up to the counter and marveled at the cupcakes. "This was my sister's favorite, did you know that? How did you know that these were her favorite?"
"I didn't, Cameron. Relax dude. Don't you remember the conversation we had a few months ago where you said that you were craving for some because you hadn't had them in a while? I thought I would just be nice and make you some even though I know your favorite is vanilla frosting with chocolate cake."
"These were my sister's favorite," my voice trailed off and I snatched up a cupcake and chomped it down with a few bites. "Thank you, these are amazing."
I roped Kayla in for a hug and gave her a firm squeeze which she returned, then we released.
"No one has told me happy birthday today," I could start to feel a flow of tears massage their way through my sinuses. "I actually *forgot*."
"It's alright Cameron. Your parents didn't even say happy birthday?"
"No. They've been very frustrated with me the past few years about my claims of my sister who existed. I know for a fact she used to be alive but something happened to her. I just know it!"
Kayla's lips sank like an anchor. "I'm sorry, Cam, but let's go get a drink. You should take this off your mind."
"Wait, you'll probably think I'm crazy, but you already do anyways and yet we hang out, but I want you to see this light outside," I ushered her over to the window outside my bedroom which was on the top floor of the apartment complex. "What do you think that-- Oh my gosh."
"Cameron, what's that light up in the sky? It looks really close."
"*It moved!* Wait, it's moving! It's getting even closer!" goosebumps erupted over every patch of skin on my body, a shiver tremored through my spine.
The room was painted with saturated colored light that flipped from red to yellow to green to purple in rapid succession. A siren that sounded like a fast-forwarded whale call edited on high pitch punctured our ears and Kayla and I both collapsed to the ground. Up at the ceiling the lights grew even brighter and--
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gcuyqs/wp_your_sister_disappeared_on_her_way_to_school/) has been added!
We made it to a [part 3!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gd3moj/the_parallel_seven_part_3/) | 2020-05-03T10:08:51 | 2020-05-03T10:04:57 | 556 | 113 |
[WP] It is 2009. You are the one time traveler to show up to Stephen Hawking’s unannounced time traveler party. You are from 200 years in his future. You have to explain to him why he can never tell anyone you showed up. | I came out of the portal screaming. He was already there! He was already here! Zeb had the professor by the throat, choking the hero. He turned as my feet hit the ground and I was on him before he could say a word.
The professor lay helpless on the ground behind me and I knew if Zeb got free one of the greatest men of all time would die before his time. So I never gave him a chance.
Training... weapons... We had access to the best of both and fate of the future was decided with all the grace and finesse of a chimpanzee beating another into the ground; have we truly evolved at all?
Finally he lay still, I don't know how many blows it took or how long we fought but eventually I won.
Blood stained the Professor's clothes- I'd never forgive myself for that- as I eased him into his chair.
"What-was-that?" his mechanical voice was off-putting especially compared to the panic in his eyes.
I gulped air in, my throat was sore like I was about to cry. I probably was, if there was justice in this world this shouldn't have been necessary. "A madman professor." he started to select more words but I bulled on, words spilling out. "History was his playground, he altered so many events- he existed partially outside the realm of cause and effect. Jumping between timelines and creating more just to see new futures." I took a breath. "And just like there are infinite timelines, there are infinitely more of him. I'm sorry Professor but if you tell anyone what happened... More will have come. More than I or anyone could stop. So please Professor. You can't tell anyone. This can't have happened!"
"...Understood."
A giant breath that I didn't know I was holding broke out.
"Thank you, thank you Professor. I'll take care of the body you just relax and breath OK?"
"Why-do-you-do-this?"
"What?"
"If-there-are-infinite-realities-then-there-are-infinite-people. Any-person-or-persons-you-protect-there-are-infinitely-more-that-die-or-survive. What-point-is-there?"
"It's hard sometimes sir, no it's hard every second of every day but someone once said 'However bad life may seem, there is always something you can do, and succeed at. While there is life, there is hope.' I can't let him down." | In the video documentary, a man with a deep base voice will narrate most of it for me. The video will make the event seem magical, but in reality, it's me waiting in a room with many cameras on me in all corners, strange lighting, and the film crew's muffled conversations to one another.
I tried talking to the guy holding the boom mic over me, and made him laugh a couple of times. I said a few things unrelated to the documentary when the camera man interviewed me, but they'll probably get cut.
Most of us here don't know whether to feel anticipation or like this is a big farce; no one wants to pick a side. You risk getting your hopes dashed, or coming to terms with being an unfeeling monster. That is, no one has picked a side in front of me. Everyone has the same unplaceable energy they can't really figure out how to spend.
Two hours later, we're still here though the deadline's gone by. Everyone's in agreement that a time traveler could still be fashionably late. People are still talking to each other. We made extra food for the crew for their wait, and all that champagne has to go somewhere once the bubble's popped. No one looks disappointed; I don't think you could feel disappointed. I tell myself I'm proving something, but I don't truly feel let down, though of course, everyone has moments in the past they want to change or just revisit.
I don't feel let down, I feel like I'm remembering something. I always feel like I'm remembering something, and that by proving its laws, the world's laws, I can't forget it.
5:30. The camera crew is gone. The lights went first while the sun set. PAs are going around taking the set down - I'll have my house back in not half an hour now. The director is chatting with me as I roll with him out to his car parked on the sidewalk. We're exchanging a few pleasantries about time - the subject is a silly one, casual, lots of things to be said to keep the moment fun. As he bends to get into the backseat of his car, watching his pantleg won't get snagged on the door, something's firmly pressed into my palm, though of course, I won't notice it.
Maybe it'll slip out of my hand before someone finds it there. I bet it's a note. I don't close my eyes, but it feels like I'm remembering again, looking at the car door, the tinted window rolling up, but looking upward at the night for hours and hours and hours. Nearby, in a line, they're still pulling boom mics and various electronics out of my house. "Stephen, the time travelers are never in *your* universe. This whole place is yours. For you. Your own."
I rolled back into my house as someone, under either arm, carried the last couple of boom mics out. | 2020-10-17T02:23:54 | 2020-10-17T02:23:37 | 134 | 26 |
[WP] Every few decades, the world experiences a Narrative Shift. A while back it was Film Noir, and now is the Age of Heroes. Everyone dreads the upcoming Horror genre. | She was alert, perceptive, a little on edge; most raised during the Film Noir age were, since the mysterious death of a child was a well-worn trope of that genre. The hard-boiled PI had to have a reason for being disillusioned, down-on-his-luck, and perpetually drunk.
That she was just in the age range to remember film noir and its lessons had served her well in the Age of Superheroes, too. Girls just a few years younger than her had grown up with the knowledge that some superbeing would swoop in and save the day if they were ever in real danger. When they grew up, they were stuck in that mindset: the superheroes were, well, heroes. They adored them. They worshipped them. And so they dated the heroes - and ended up fridged.
That was one of the key lessons: Don't date anyone with protagonist syndrome. Another? Don't be anyone with protagonist syndrome, unless you wanted to end up with all your loved ones dead. Being part of the crowd, a background figure, was grating; no one liked feeling like a secondary character in their own life. But it meant you actually got to live.
And then the next genre: Horror.
Fuck.
She needed to start prepping, stat. Pick up jogging, buy a gun, stock the apartment with improvised weapons. She needed to get rid of any alcohol and drugs. Break it off with the guy from accounting she had just started dating.
The time of being a background character was over. She was going to be the final girl. | Ilsa and her eldest daughter sat content on the playground bench. Isla, 102 years old, was thankful for being alive, but still very old. She had seen from afar, shaken hands with, and chased away all four of the horsemen that haunted humanity; there was little that she had not seen before. Her daughter Lilith was now a mother, too. Two children, a boy and a girl of six and eight.
'To be so young and foolish and happy' Lilith said, turning to her mother.
Ilsa did not speak, she merely acknowledged her daughter's words.
'Their whole lives ahead of them. You know, Natasha has started ballet school. And Steven is showing some great signs of athleticism'
Ilsa nodded and smiled, all the while looking just off into the distance.
'Are you ok, mom?'
Her mother took a deep breath and said 'I don't want to alarm you, my dear, but what do you suppose their future will be like?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean exactly what I said. The narrative is changing, Lilith. I've seen the signs before. When I was born our stories were golden, in a certain sense. And then, they were not for some time.'
Lilith was becoming worried for her mother, believing that she was drifting off from reality.
'Mom?'
'Heroes and villains have warmed the world for decades but they will not last; no, they will not last...'
Isla, who was resting her hands on her cane, slipped on to the floor in a daze.
'Mom!?' Oh my god! Mom!'
A grunting, throaty sound escaped from her mothers convulsing body.
'Horruhr! Hooorruhr!'
'What? What are you saying?'
Lilith held her mother's hand, kneeling to face her. She did not call an ambulance, because she could feel this was the end.
'Horror! Horrrrooorrr!' like gravel in a grinder, Isla gave with her last breath. | 2020-12-19T10:48:55 | 2020-12-19T07:59:42 | 102 | 72 |
[WP] Every few decades, the world experiences a Narrative Shift. A while back it was Film Noir, and now is the Age of Heroes. Everyone dreads the upcoming Horror genre. | She was alert, perceptive, a little on edge; most raised during the Film Noir age were, since the mysterious death of a child was a well-worn trope of that genre. The hard-boiled PI had to have a reason for being disillusioned, down-on-his-luck, and perpetually drunk.
That she was just in the age range to remember film noir and its lessons had served her well in the Age of Superheroes, too. Girls just a few years younger than her had grown up with the knowledge that some superbeing would swoop in and save the day if they were ever in real danger. When they grew up, they were stuck in that mindset: the superheroes were, well, heroes. They adored them. They worshipped them. And so they dated the heroes - and ended up fridged.
That was one of the key lessons: Don't date anyone with protagonist syndrome. Another? Don't be anyone with protagonist syndrome, unless you wanted to end up with all your loved ones dead. Being part of the crowd, a background figure, was grating; no one liked feeling like a secondary character in their own life. But it meant you actually got to live.
And then the next genre: Horror.
Fuck.
She needed to start prepping, stat. Pick up jogging, buy a gun, stock the apartment with improvised weapons. She needed to get rid of any alcohol and drugs. Break it off with the guy from accounting she had just started dating.
The time of being a background character was over. She was going to be the final girl. | Masks and capes and fancy flashy outfits. People running faster than the wind, people lifting cars in the streets, people bending spoons with their mind alone - the age of heroes.
But bloody tears started to show themselves on The Great Lucha's mask. They weren't real tears, no, the painted-on tears, on the mask. The Great Lucha knew something was wrong.
Once upon a time, he used to be an alcohol smuggler. A bright, fast-talking Mexican lad, who smuggled booze over the border.
He remembered what those days were like. The glory days, the wild days. Prohibition days. Days when double-barreled rifles and shotguns ruled the streets. Days without powers and silly masks and cliche villains. The glory days, the noir days.
It happened decades ago, but The Great Lucha remembers, the day when he started doing it with a mask. He had felt a compulsion to hide his face then, not knowing what was happening. Shortly after the first smuggle job with the mask, he started to paint it. It was good fun, at first, dressing like a luchador - a Mexican professional wrestler.
Soon, he gained enhanced stealth. Soon, masks became the norm. His special stealth power suddenly not so stealthy as policemen who saw through walls started showing up.
The Great Lucha saw the change, he adapted. Many didn't, many died. And he sensed it now. It was happening, another change. The read teardrops on his mask, the sinister curve of the painted-on smile of his mask. If he were to guess, it was the era of horrors. Yes, the era of horrors that now awaited.
After the mask's disfigurement, The Great Lucha's skin started to melt. He had seen this happen, change, that is. He would adapt. The Great Luc- no - Danse Macabre will survive. He will adapt. What will you do?
(Join r/kid_r0cK for more stories.) | 2020-12-19T10:48:55 | 2020-12-19T10:08:03 | 102 | 37 |
[WP] 30 years ago, you decided that humanity was a lost cause. After packing some supplies, you walked deep into the woods and haven't seen another person since. Now, after all these years, you are filled with nothing but regret for your choice and have decided to go back. | Walking towards the edge of the forest, I saw the sun obstructed for the first time in 30 years, no dust curtains breaking through the trees, no rustling branches in my way. The sun breathed life into my face again as I watched it cresting over the horizon once again.
I can't even remember what drove me to this. The violence? The prejudice? The injustice of it all? Well... I guess I do remember after all. It was all of those things. I had no hope left. I saw the world for what it was, as I'm sure so many before me have. But I felt too weak to carry on. As the trees thinned further, I saw a young chap some 17 years old, stood in the middle of a ring of mushrooms, by the side of the last tree before the open field rolled onwards.
I had no idea if I should greet the lad... I... I hadn't heard my own voice in some 30-odd years either, there was only myself to talk to, and I got boring after a while... I wonder what I sound like now.
"aHH!" My voice cracked as I tried to hail the lad. "Well, no difference there." I whispered to myself, cursing my new first words. "AHEM. Aye boyo! Hows the day?" He slowly turned his head and looked at me. Perplexed. I... must look a bit ragged. I hope he doesn't scare easy.
"Aye mister." He stood arms crossed, drumming his elbows with his fingers. "Are you alright there? You look a bit scragged, what happened to you?"
"Oh nothing much lad! Just went for a bit of a camping holiday is all, didn't feel like wearing me Sunday best for the trees." he smiled at that. My sense of humour never dulled, at least thats something to look forward to. Hopefully I can make a fella or two laugh down the pub. Make some new friends. "What about yourself there?" I continued.
"Oh, nothing much mister. Just wanted to get away from it all for a bit." He looked towards the sun reddening on the horizon.
"Aye I think I can understand that." The last 30 years shuddered in the back of my mind. So much lost time. I'd do anything to have it back.
"Aye, you do look sad mister." He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the tree.
"Do I?" He saw through it. Think I need to get my poker-face back.
"Y'do. Do you wanna get anything off your chest?"
Maybe I do. I leaned on the tree next to the lad. His face creased a bit. I might need a proper bath. "How's the world been recently?"
"The world mister?"
"Aye. What's been going on the last few years?"
"Well uhh" He rubs his chin. "Same old same old really. I'm trying not to think about the world right now, we're not seeing eye to eye. So I thought I'd come out here and take a long walk"
"I can't blame you there. I did the same thing, just ended up staying a bit longer."
"Can't blame you. How long have you been on holiday?"
"Long enough now I reckon, think its time to get back home, someone must be missing me, and I've had enough of talking to myself." I sighed a breath of fresh dry air, and lurched my back off the tree.
"Oh aye you wouldn't catch me doing that. First sign of madness they say." He joked next to me.
"Right then. Best be off." I steadied myself ready to set off. I walked a few dozen steps away, turned back to wave, and the lad was gone.
"o-OY" my voice broke again as I tried to shout out for him, "Lord save me" I cursed. "Don't run off without waving goodbye" I tried to scold him. Ugh. I must be old now.
I looked back at the tree we both leaned on, nothing. I scratched my chin, and felt bare skin for the first time in years. I looked at my hands. And saw clean fingernails for the first time in decades. I looked at my clothes, and saw logo's I remembered from my youth.
I looked back to the tree. And saw an middle aged man staring back at me from the middle of the mushroom ring. He smirked at me. Gave me a short thumbs up. Before he walked around the base of the tree, and disappeared.
I... need to get home. Someone's waiting for me. | "You just ditched humanity thirty years ago?" I asked Weston in utter disbelief; I'd come up with some explanations for his weirdly arrogant manner that everyone in class noticed, or his mental storehouse of random facts, or his lack of politeness, or his funny but outdated pop culture references. I'd never have dreamed that this was the reason.
"I did." Remorse clouded his eyes, and I felt some myself for how I'd treated him. "I had my reasons, but I was wrong - so wrong. I packed my bags and went to live in the woods in mid-1990 as a teenager; it wasn't until now that I realized I might actually like humanity. This species full of *idiots,* likable. Strange, isn't it? Even my parents begging me to come back and constantly visiting me or providing me food and water - that didn't change me at all." *There it was;* he couldn't turn off his contempt if it were a literal switch, huh? I felt the remorse starting to fade.
"Yeah, morons," I lied. "Why'd you leave?" Sure, he was my classmate and I had no clue why he'd go back to school at 45 if he hated everyone so much, but I was curious.
"Because people are *moronic*, Lisa," he said in a smooth confident tone that nearly convinced me. Nearly. "Most people are silly and superficial, don't you see? Believing whatever the news media tells them. Making decisions with emotions instead of logic. Going along with the group instead of thinking for themselves. Not thinking critically. Destroying free thinkers with their mob mentality. The list goes on."
The wrinkles on his forehead deepened; he was briefly lost in thought, and his dark eyes wandered the room, before he got back to me. "I couldn't stand living in such a mindless society of automatons, so I ran away to the woods. Before you mock me, I packed enough supplies to survive for a year and then used my survival skills to build a life there. But believe me - it was the wrong decision."
Could've fooled me. I took a deep breath, forcing down all the barbs and *emotional arguments* I had ready for this piece of work. "Honestly, that doesn't make sense to me."
"Really?" He smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Could you explain which parts didn't make sense?"
*Literally all of it, you absolute numbskull*. I cracked my knuckles with a satisfying *pop* or two, then pushed a blonde curl back from my face. "I dunno, Weston, you go on about how stupid most of humanity was, but they weren't the ones who decided to spend their formative years in the woods with wild animals *and only enough supplies for a year*. That was *you*. You put all your eggs in one basket because you thought most people were morons, and apparently you *still* can't see the irony. "
His smile stayed tacked on, but his eyes were dead. "I assure you, I can explain that. I was a teenage boy; I was not the best at thinking ahead."
"*Mhmm*," I said sweetly. "Everyone's a big dumb moronic cretin except you, Weston; when you make dumbass decisions, it's because you were impulsive or your dog died or your girlfriend dumped you or whatever. When the rest of us screw up, it's because we can't think critically or logically *period*. Am I right?"
"I never *said* anyone was a 'big dumb moronic cretin'." Even the cool older Weston was getting heated, and I struggled not to laugh. "That's an accusation *you* made. Don't put words in my mouth."
I sputtered an incredulous laugh. "Holy shit, dude. Are you for *real*? You just literally ignored the idea that people are complex beings for *thirty goddamn years*, spent your teens and twenties with random animals instead of learning basic communication skills, and somehow *everyone else* is dumb as hell? You know what you sound like, Weston?"
"Interesting. Definitely not your average mindless consumer." He smirked.
"You sound like a *Redditor*," I rejoined. "Well, one of the 'always online' Redditors. My friend Mahirah sounded *exactly* like this before we got her to log off from Reddit once in a while and go outside." It was true; before we met her, she'd been the most (admittedly) individualistic self-absorbed '*I am very smart*' bitch I'd ever seen (other than myself).
Weston raised a silver eyebrow at me in confusion. "What the hell is Reddit?"
*Oh my God.* He was so much smarter than humanity that after coming back to civilization, he hadn't even bothered to stay updated on today's technology! This was too good, holy crap.
"We have much to discuss," I said at last, literally willing myself not to burst into raucous laughter.
\------------------
For more stories by yours truly, check out r/SuperbIntroStories!
Also, disclaimer: Weston really is an asshole. I just didn't feel like writing a ton of exposition about why he's terrible, but I also didn't want it to look like Lisa was bullying him. | 2021-06-08T19:23:44 | 2021-06-08T17:37:29 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] You are a physicist working on solving an equation. No one has ever solved it and its more a thought exercise. Until you write down a possible answer and the door opens behind you. A black figure enters the room and says "Yeah you arent suppose to know about that." | “Hello,” said the creature, stepping out of the invisible door.
The man, sitting at a wooden desk littered with mugs and stained by coffee, looked up from his notebook.
“You weren’t meant to solve the equation,” said the creature, quite impressed. “But now that you have solved it, you’ve gained access to the door.”
”The… The door?” said Edward.
”Yes that’s right, the door. It’s just behind me, although you can’t see it. However, it’s simple enough to step through.”
”What are you?“ asked Edward, trying to grasp the creature’s shape. One second it was an old man, the next a child, but only ever the shadow of either. Like a living Rorschach test, like a puddle of ink, the creature always undulating and shifting.
“I’m the creature from behind the door,” said the creature. “You found out how to access the door, so here I am. Think of me as a guide here to move you to another place.”
The ink changed again. He was sure he recognised that beard that dribbled down from the ink-chin. His high-school science teacher, Mr Tallie. But he was dead, surely. He’d been old even back then.
Then it shifted once more, to a young man. Continually evolving. Edward stood and walked around the giant ink blot. But it seemed to rotate — without moving — as Edward circled it. Like a 2D object.
“It’s just you, isn’t it?” said the creature.
”Just me?”
”Your family died in the tsunami, correct?”
Edward nodded, still circling. The ink looked like his father now. Then his brother. As far as Edward could tell though, there was no door. It must truly be invisible.
“And that’s why you were working on the equation. Correct?”
”Correct again,” said Edward. What a fascinating creature. And quite polite, too.
”Can you tell me what you hoped to achieve with time travel?”
Edward shrugged. “I wanted to go back to the day of the tsunami.”
”Hmm,” said the creature. “Yes, that makes sense. You wanted to save your family.”
“Right,” said Edward.
”But that isn’t true, is it?”
”What do you mean it isn’t true?”
”Well,” said the creature, now looking a bit like his wife. Edward didn’t like the ink taking such a form.
”Well,“ it continued, “when you found out they were all dead, you did feel sad. But there was another set of emotions entwined with the sadness, correct?”
How did the creature know any of this? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
”I need you to be honest with me,” said the creature. “If you want to use the door you need to be honest.”
Edward slumped back down in his chair and forced himself to remember the day.
The entire coast had been washed away, the buildings snapped like twigs under a giant’s foot. His family weren’t even meant to be at the beach but his wife had taken them out while Edward had been working, as a treat.
”I miss them very much,” said Edward.
”Hm yes, I can see that. But tell me how you felt upon learning they’d died.” Now the creature looked like his old teacher again.
”I… I don’t know. I got home and read the note. That she’d taken them to the beach and…”
”And?”
”And I knew in that moment that they were dead. I was hit by a terrible sickness.“ He thought of that moment, of leaning over his toilet certain he was about to vomit — although he never did. Then he remembered something else — something he’d not thought of since that day. His heart thrummed in his ears now, in his throat. He didn’t want to remember it.
”And?”
He’d married at nineteen. It wasn’t until their first child that he realized it had been a mistake. That yes, he loved her, but not in the way he should, the way you’re meant to to spend your life with another person. But by then they’d had a child and the door he could have walked through to escape his life was shut and locked.
Edward’s own parents had divorced when he’d been seven. It had destroyed him. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to his own child.
”And?”
”And I felt relieved,” he said weakly. He began sobbing into his hands. His back shaking as he cried. His entire body hot with guilt. Suddenly, that day, the door that had been locked for so long had swung open. The future that had been written was blank.
”Only briefly,” he said, smearing tears away from his cheeks. “And then it was gone. It was just a thought that bubbled up. God, I’m sorry. I loved them and I didn’t want them gone.”
The equations, the nights he hadn’t been able to sleep and he’d chosen to work instead, were not for want of bringing his family back, he realized. He could never bring them back. Instead, it was out of guilt. He couldn’t sleep knowing he’d thought what he had: that he’d been relieved. He couldn’t stand to spend a moment in simple quiet in case his mind had the same treacherous thought again.
So instead of sleeping, he sat in his desk all night every night and worked on an impossible equation pretending it was a valiant endeavour.
Now he sat up very straight in his chair.
The room was silent.
The creature was gone.
All that was there, some way beyond where the creature had stood, splashed on the far wall, was an old ink stain. If you stared at it long enough, it could look like anything.
God he was tired. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 7: Professor Hale v.s. The Sunrise Kingdom)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Professor Hale was unimpressed when the laws of physics broke.** In his time creating weapons for the government, he'd twisted energy from nothing, written reality as a programming language, and defied probability itself. These days, any two-bit mad scientist could shatter the laws of physics like so much cheap glass. But any old moron could throw a rock through a window—it took true craftsmanship and skill to take those shards of glass and *rebuild* them.
Thus was born the Worldmaker's Equation. It had been known since the dawn of humanity that there were exceptions to every rule—dragons that spat in the face of aerodynamics, wizards who thought linear time was a plaything, kaiju which thought things like 'the square-cube law' was 'the square-cube suggestion'—but that raised a question. Did the rule that there was an exception to every rule itself have an exception? Was there a way to impose mundane physics on even the most chaotic of realities?
It had been nothing but an idle dream of philosophers and scientists for most of history. But in the modern era, Professor Hale had access to an unprecedented variety of supernatural beings—angels, faeries, superhumans, mages—and had begun studying what made them tick.
So during his lunch break, Professor Hale sipped from a box of apple juice, scribbled two lines on a napkin, and accidentally solved the Worldmaker's Equation.
"Huh," he said. His phone beeped; he ignored it. He double-checked his work, swished some apple juice around in his mouth, and smiled. "*Huh.* Hey. Hey, Varney. You're going to want to see thi—"
"Varney isn't here right now," a calm voice said.
Hale paused, then took out his phone. *Intruder Alert: Teleportation Detected.* Great. He probably should've set a special alarm for that. He turned around, accidentally dropping the napkin, and eyed the intruder. They were twilight-black, the kind of dusky shade of air and night you only got before dawn, and shimmered with a rippling effect that made Hale's eyes unfocus whenever he tried to look at their face. That was fine; Hale wasn't much for eye contact anyways.
"Fascinating stealth spells you've got there," Professor Hale commented. "That's Sunrise Kingdom spellcraft, isn't it?"
"You are as astute as our files presumed," the operative from a foreign government conceded. "Which is, unfortunately, your downfall."
Professor Hale tilted his head, frowning—then it clicked. "Ah. Of course. You are from a hostile government. I have discovered a technology which may obsolete your weaponry entirely. Ergo, you are here to kill me."
"Your grasp of politics is also... entirely in line with what we know of you," the operative said dryly. "Please. If I wanted you dead, would I have announced my presence?"
Professor Hale stared at the operative. "I don't know. If you'd kindly sit down and let me run a few experiments, I could find out."
The operative laughed. "No. No, I'm afraid I only have so long until your security systems register that I'm here." Huh? Professor Hale felt a smidge of professional affront. The security in the lab was designed by Hale himself. It had registered the intruder as soon as they'd materialized—although, in hindsight, Hale probably should have made the alarm system notify security instead of simply recording the fascinating data of their teleportation. It would be a lot harder to analyze it if he was dead, after all. "I have an offer to make you."
Professor Hale brightened up. "Oh! So you're a contractor. Really, I'm supposed to contact Archcommander Varney, but—"
"Archcommander Varney." The shadow scoffed. "A military man with a military mind. Tell me—does he truly understand the work that you do? Or does he simply exploit it?"
Professor Hale hesitated. "Well... *nobody* understands the work that I do." He paused, then, almost as an afterthought, added, "Nobody understands me."
The shadow raised an eyebrow.
Then they said, "∂I/∂x+∇G=ψ^(2)n."
Professor Hale's eyes lit up. "ψ^(-1)\+k=Df(G^(-1))?"
"Df(G^(-1)I)," the shadow corrected.
"Ah, yes, of course," Professor Hale said. "You're familiar with Harllson's Theorem?"
"More so than Archcommander Varney," the shadow said.
Professor Hale laughed. "True, true! Hey, stop me if you've heard this one before. For all real x, ξ(Φ(x))—"
"—is equal to Φ(ξ(v(x)))?" the shadow finished. Professor Hale laughed in delight. "Your talents are wasted here, Professor Hale. Why don't you come with me? Go somewhere that *appreciates* you for who you are?"
Professor Hale's eyes twinkled. "I'm listening."
"Then take my hand." The shadow reached out, the air rippling as they prepared a spell, and Professor Hale stood, brushing something from the table.
With a faint pop of air, the two of them disappeared.
The napkin containing the solution to the Worldmaker's Equation drifted to the floor in their wake.
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. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-05-06T01:16:33 | 2022-05-05T23:11:03 | 1,523 | 124 |
[WP] All your life, you heard music that fit your actions. When you were playing hide and seek, for example, you could hear a tense suspenseful background music. One day, you are bullied at school, but decide to fight back. That’s when the heavy metal music kicked in… | "Dude and then when I clobbered him, my head cannon started blasting out heavy metal music. So badass. I felt stronger too" Hugh shadow boxed the air for emphasis.
"Wait, your what?" Caden asked, raising both eyebrows.
"My head cannon, you know," Hugh kicked a can off the sidewalk. "The music that plays in your head that matches whatever you're doing."
"Dude, that's not what head canon means. That's like when you have your own theories about Star wars or something."
"Okay, well then what do you call it?"
"What do you call what?"
Hugh let his backpack slide off his shoulder with an exasperated sigh. "Like we're walking right now home from school, and I'm in a good mood so I'm hearing, 'Walking on Sunshine.'"
"And you always hear this? Even when you're like sleeping?"
"It's like peaceful sleep sounds but yeah."
"They call that a ticket to the loony pen, Hugh."
"No, wait hold on." Hugh started working his jaw back and forth. "Let me see if I can do it again."
Caden stared on, still dubious, as Hugh opened his mouth at different angles, craning his neck back and forth. Faint at first then louder, another person's voice, music and all came from his mouth. "And don't it feel good!"
—----
500 miles away in the underground Mountain base of the Incredibly Chummy Compatriots of Justice, a beacon pulsed red on the map then blue below an icon of a lute.
"We have a hit, I repeat we have a hit!" Sure Shottie Scottie said.
"Something's changing in the magic of the world," Capital Man said, tipping his morning Joe. "If the 40% increase of new magic users this year wasn't enough, now, untrained in the wild, we ping on the most powerful classification."
"We must prepare," Braid rage said, staring at the screen. "The last Bard died over a thousand years ago and the world is still not healed from the ravaging of the black Metal she called forth. Send a team to bring him in."
Capital Man donned his stovepipe hat. "I can't risk it. I'll take care of this one myself."
/r/surinical | Kickstart My Heart
​
The biggest knuckles ever seen anywhere on the planet are being propelled through the narrow space between the bully and the freckled spectacle mount that is your face. When the motion commences, your heart begins beating so fast that each pump, kicks your t-shirt away from your chest. Your eyes grow wide as the fist levels at you, where you then take notice of the hairs across the topside of the incoming blow. Then your eyebrow arches as you wait for it to arrive. You casually lean away from the blow, while remaining fixated on it. When the bully's expression shifts to fury for you having the audacity to dodge, your expression shift to one of confusion, then apology.
A flurry of blows ensues, and you continue to duck, lean and turn as all of them float past you.
A kick follows, and you sidestep, then place your toes on the crook of his still planted leg.
His face shifts to pain as his momentum sends him sprawling.
His friends immediately charge you and you backpedal.
They are on a collision course for you when you sit backwards onto the spinning merry-go- round, zipping away from them and stepping off and away on the other side.
Your crush is on the other side of the merry-go-round, and you translate your momentum into her by grabbing her hand, placing a hand on her hip and twirling before walking away on her other side.
One of the friends' feet are passing through the air from colliding with the merry-go-round as the others flood around all obstacles like water from a broken dam.
You wait for them.
Another punch is sailing your way and you take a ballcap from a nearby head.
You cap the punch and redirect it, sending another bully flying.
Another rusher, and you smack a stack of papers to obscure view, then grab a nearby binder.
A homerun swing precedes the rusher falling away.
You step down from a curb as you enter the parking lot.
You're pursued between the cars when you pull a car door open, leading to a chaser's abrupt stop.
You walk out from between the cars, colliding with a girl as she walks behind the vehicles.
You spin in your collision, kissing her before she can process what has happened.
She spins away from you, as she processes the new whirlwind of emotion.
You spit out her gum and continue across the parking lot.
The scene behind you is one of still falling papers, sprawled bullies, a kid still upside-down on a spinning merry-go-round, a dented car door, other students rushing to recover their scattered schoolwork, and a girl fanning herself as she watches you walk away.
​
\-----
Kickstart My Heartby Motley Crue | 2022-10-01T06:24:57 | 2022-10-01T05:51:18 | 106 | 15 |
[FF] Tell me why you didn't sleep last night in five sentences.
Me? I was studying for finals. But your story doesn't have to be that realistic. | Got the place all to myself tonight, my parents are out for the weekend. I was never the party type, so I just turned on the news. The main story was about another escapee from the local asylum. This happens a lot, usually it's just a schizophrenic... Wait, this isn't my house. | I stood, staring out of the window, surveying the white wonderland of midnight snowfall. The glow of the street light failed to touch my heart, my imagination as it had in my childhood days, falling not on a joy filled boy's eyes but instead on those of a jaded man. I wondered if anything would ever touch my heart again as those glorious winter nights had, a blanket of pristine white covering everything creating a blank canvas for the soul. My mind wandered to my wife, upstairs, growing our son inside her, a new being almost ready to come out and experience the world, experience everything for the first time. I took comfort then that even though I wouldn't see it the same way with my eyes, I could certainly watch it through his. | 2013-12-18T13:30:05 | 2013-12-18T11:47:48 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] During the first day of grade school, a sleeper agent's activation code is spoken 20 years too early. | "Poland....Polar Bear...Polaroid...."
Ivan licked his lips as he concentrated on the task at hand. Carefully, his hand hovered over the slot and the piece dropped. A moment of thought for both of them. Then, "That's four. I win!"
"Rabbit...Rabies....Racecar..."
The other child sulked for an instant before they spilled the checkered pieces and started again.
Mrs. Wilton started passing out the first homeworks sheets as the class started to settle in place.
"Sarcasm...Sardine...Sarnia...Sar...Sart-...Sartay..."
As Mrs. Wilton passed Billy in the corner, face buried in the Encyclopedia. "It's pronounced Sartre, honey."
"Oh. Okay. Sartre...Saturday..."
"It's Tuesday, Billy," one of the girls piped up.
In the corner Ivan started to listen, intently. Without knowing why. Somewhere in the back of his head, something twitched.
"I know it's Tuesday. I'm reading... Saturn...Saturna...Satur-na-lee-ah."
Ivan was nervous. It was more than just first day jitters now. Something else.
"Sangria..."
"Wait..." One of the girls frowned. "Sangria doesn't come before Tuesday."
Ivan popped up. His eyes unfocused as something reset in his brain. The checkers on the table shattered. When his focus came back, he turned towards the door and propped up the chair against it. Hands fast and -
Mrs. Wilton started approaching, there wasn't much time.
"Ivan, what're you doing honey?"
Without looking, behind him, she was within range of his little hands.
The little boy silently stretched his calves without budging from his place.
"Sorry, Mrs. Wilton. Just doing what I'm told." | "Brianna, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. All teachers are a little nervous on their first day and kindergarteners are a tad rambunctious. You'll be fine."
"But Mr Morton, you don't understand. It's..."
"It's perfectly normal. Now I have a meeting with the superintendent and you have a class to run."
And with that, Mr Morton left her standing alone in his office. Brianna heaved a deep sigh and trudged out past the secretaries' desk. Her eyes fell upon a bowl of Hershey's Kisses and, with a mixture of defiance and self loathing, she took three more than her diet afforded her.
Maybe it really was nerves.
The hallway back to the classroom -- her classroom -- her first classroom -- felt longer than it had on the way here when she'd handed the class over to the teacher's aid and gone for help. Matrice seemed a capable woman -- a no nonsense type in her mid-fifties, matronly and stern -- maybe she'd managed to get the class back into order.
Was that.... singing? The tune was unfamiliar but the shrill voices of five year olds cut through those temporary classroom partitions like a hot buzz saw through a gallon of ice cream.
She caught the phrase "prisoners of starvation" and was trying to recall what childrens tune that could possibly belong to when she rounded the corner and caught sight of a few wispy tendrils of smoke curling out from under her door.
SMOKE! FIRE!
There are a lot of things they don't teach you in Ed School but the one thing that is drummed in from day one is a teacher's duty to protect her students. Brianna broke into a run, heart hammering as she sprinted the final 50 feet to her door. Her fingers closed around the handle as her analytical mind, buried under endorphins and adrenaline, raised a finger as if to object with "why are they still singing?"
She flung the door open, smoke stinging her eyes and had just long enough to wonder where little Tommy had gotten five yard long bolt of red cloth and how he'd managed to make a flag out of it before the bat collided with the bridge of her nose and everything went black. | 2014-04-25T11:28:23 | 2014-04-25T07:34:53 | 46 | 27 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | I always go running in the park after work. And before work actually. Because that's what you do when you have "Heart Attack" hovering over your head in big green letters. I know that's how I'll die, I just need to make sure that day is as far away as possible. Maybe if I run fast enough, I can outrun death.
I many ways, I envied Ross. He was my running partner. He just did it for the fun. I envied him, because he was free in so many ways that I was not. He could gorge himself on junk food, smoke all the pot and the cigarettes with barely a worry in the world. You see, the death written above his head was "Meteor Strike". I didn't believe it at first, but apparently the letters were never wrong. His death would be out of the blue, something that no-one could predict.
people with preventable deaths like mine spend their whole lives looking over their shoulder. For some people it's cars, others its pollution. The people I feel most sorry for are the ones who are told they'll be murdered. But Ross, he had no worries. We all envied him.
So we were jogging, when he signalled me that he wanted to stop and "Stretch". I say stretch, but really, it was our code for when he spotted some attractive ladies. We had a system for picking up ladies whilst running. I'm not saying it ever worked, but it was fun.
As we slowed down, he caught one of the ladies eyes, who looked at him with a mixture of surprise and shock.
"What a coincidence !" she said, pointing at Ross, before he could get out his cheesy chat up line.
Put off balance, Ross was stumped into silence, so as the designated wingman, I did the talking. It's what Bros do.
"What do you mean?" I asked, but it took me a second to realise what it was when I looked just above her head. "Meteor Strike" was emblazoned above her head.
"No way" said Ross "That's so cool !"
Then I notice her friend sidle up as well, who also had a big grin on her face.
"What are the chances ! I was just getting back from work and I noticed .. Joanne... is it"
Her friend, whom I guess was named Joanne, nodded.
"We just had to compare notes. And then you came along"
Ross was regaining his composure, smoothing his hair back and smiling. This was already going really well.
"Well, we can do things no-one else dares" said Ross.
"I bet" said the girl who wasn't Joanne, biting her bottom lip and smiling.
There was more conversation, but it was the kind where more was said by body language than with words.
"I should leave you kids to it, seeing as you have so much in common" I said, and jogged off. Ross gave me a sly thumbs up as I left.
As I jogged along, I passed two more runners who had Meteor Strike hovering over their heads. They were headed in the opposite direction.
"That really is a strange coincidence" I thought to myself. It was only when I reached the Park gates that I realised. I spun around and ran right back the way I came.
I didn't know what I was doing, whether I could make a difference or not. I just couldn't stand there. My lungs burned, tears streamed in my eyes, which is why I barely saw it streaking across the sky before it hit.
I could no longer stand, my chest felt like it had been crushed. It must have been the grief, the shock of it all. I collapsed to my knees, then on my back. I felt like there was something I should have done. I felt like I should have just stayed. I felt like I should have warned them...
I feel cold. | Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years." | 2015-03-31T09:41:54 | 2015-03-31T09:32:55 | 76 | 12 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth. | They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames. | 2015-03-31T10:42:03 | 2015-03-31T07:44:11 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth. | "Heart Attack," "Stroke," "Diabetes," "Car Accident," "Alzheimer's."
Boooring. You never see anything new these days. Wasn't like the war back in my day where you'd see all sorts of stuff. Gas attacks, carpet bombings, suicide bombings... those kept you on your toes. You knew who NOT to associate with back then. You see a few "shells" in a room together and you'd know what was going to go down. Sometimes you have enough prior warning to take an action shot. Nowadays the only thing you can really hope for is a shooting. My work really has suffered... I need inspiration... something new... someth-
"Nuclear fire"
Oh... oh my. Who are you my little lovely? Accident or act of war? Can it be? After a decade of waiting are we back on schedule? I wonder if he's visiting or if he's a loc-
"Nuclear fire"
Oh shit there's another one. What are the odds? Two's not so ba-
"Nuclear fire"
Th-three huh? Well that's
"Nuclear fire"
...Fuck. | 2015-03-31T10:42:03 | 2015-03-31T10:39:31 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm | You didn't have to ask what people were doing time for anymore, it was fairly obvious. The words, scrawled poorly on their arms, like someone had taken up carving wood in their spare time and had found themselves practicing words on human skin, had always let you know what they were doing time for.
Some had the word "thief" or "rogue" tattooed on their arm. Rumor had it that the words were scratched so poorly into skin that some inmates woke up bleeding. Some men that had proclaimed their innocence, my cell mate included, had the words "paladin" across their dominant arm. We couldn't be sure they were *actually* innocent, but it lead us to believe that they certainly didn't deserve to be in prison.
"So what does yours say?" my cellmate, Indigo Joe had asked. Indigo Joe, funny enough, had also begun serving as a sort of makeshift chaplain before we had woken up with the tattoos.
"I'm not sure," I said. Mine was really faint, and hadn't had the deep throbbing cuts that the others received.
"Let me see."
Indigo ran his hand over the faint marks that faded from letter to letter. The first letter, an 'N', was really obvious, but then the second letter, was a vertical bar.
"Well, you know how they're all written in capital letters, right?"
"Yeah?"
"The way I see it," Joe said, searching for the nonexistent third letter or fourth letter, "you're probably a necromancer."
This could ring true; my selection of books included Sylvia Browne, Edgar Allen Poe, a Harry Houdini biography, and more stuff that was verging on morbid and death-related. I got really excited. It was one of the better days in prison.
I went to work in the kitchen, a privilege I had earned over the first two years of my ten year sentence. The day seemed to pass quickly, even while uttering the mundane words of "you're welcome" over and over again to prisoners who had thanked me for passing their tray. Some asked me what my class was, and by the end of the day, I had a large stem of orders for those that wanted to see the powers work.
When I had attempted later that night, though, I had no success.
"You look like you're taking a dump," Joe said.
My dreams, that night, were filled with bringing spirits back from the dead, helping people get over loss, and even speaking to passed on relatives. The weird part was that it was all in the inmate cafeteria: here is your past, here is your future.
When I woke, my arm hurt. The letters had filled in and I was so pissed, I woke up Joe by throwing my books out of my cell in a huff. He looked at my left arm.
"NPC?" | Journal Entry for: 5/25/2013
I need to write this down. I am not sure that anyone will believe me, but I swear that this is the honest truth as to what happened.
I woke up at 2:30 a.m., and then turned on my iPad. I checked out my usual apps - Facebook, Reddit, YouTube, IMDB.
I then started folding up my futon mattress and put it in my closet, along with my blanket and pillow. As I lifted my right arm to put my blanket on the closet shelf, I noticed a strange tattoo on my right bicep, near my shoulder. It was written in some type of fancy calligraphy, and although it looked like it had been there for a while, I don't remember seeing it at ANY point yesterday. It was just one word, and four numbers:
*Ranger 1138.*
I took a picture of the tattoo with my cell phone, and spent what seemed like an hour trying to figure out how the hell this got on my arm. I first thought someone broke into my house, but after looking around, my living room was just as it was before. My front and back doors were locked and secured. My windows were all shut, with the safety latches still in place. I then checked my home security system's control panel, and it registered NO ACTIVITY.
As I sat on my couch trying to figure out what the heck was going on, my cell phone started ringing. I looked at it, and was relieved to see my friend Nick's name on my caller ID.
"Hello? Nick?"
"Tom, I'm going to ask you something weird... Is there a...?"
"Yep. It's on my right arm."
"Okay. So I'm not crazy, then. Wait... you said it's on your right arm?"
"Yep. Why?"
"It's on **MY** left arm. Is it on your bicep, near the shoulder?"
"Yep."
"Okay... that's freaky. It's like whoever did this knew I was left-handed. What does yours say?"
"Ranger one-one-three-eight".
Then there was a long pause. It sounded like he was moving around.
"Nick? Are you there?"
"Dude... Mine says something different than yours."
"Well, what's yours say?"
"Druid. And I think it's two-eight-seven-six."
Then it hit me... "Wait... Ranger? Druid? Those sound like character classes in D&D."
"Yeah it does. Okay, I'm officially freaked out right now. Can I come over?"
"Yep."
"Okay. I'm on my way. See you in a few."
I then hung up the phone, and walked over to the couch. Sitting down, I stared at the ceiling, trying to search through my memories to see if there was some unforeseen gap. I mentally re-traced my steps, starting from the previous morning... Nothing. I even remembered that hot cashier that I talked to at the grocery store.
My thoughts then returned to the tattoo. How did it get there? Did someone take advantage of me? Was this the start of some kind of huge prank that I'd look back on later and laugh about?
I had no clue. But I did know one thing...
This was NOT going to be a typical day. | 2015-07-13T18:45:05 | 2015-07-13T18:25:41 | 34 | 18 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries. | “Oh, pardon me! Heh, my mom always tells me I need to pull my head out of the clouds.”
He smiled at her; a sheepish sort of smile that – she noted – highlighted the crow’s feet at the outer corners of his eyes – pale, soft blue. They weren’t lines that her grandmother had warned her would come with all of her suspicious squinting. No, they were gentle creases that had come as a result of looking upwards, of gazing up to the heavens while laying in a field of tall grasses.
She smiled back, an automated response from her anxiety, which was running full speed today. She’d made her way down into the city from the comfort of her small, quaint condo on the outskirts for a job interview at a grammar school, and was running a little behind schedule. She glanced up at the crosswalk’s signal and sighed. How long had she been standing here? It felt like forever…
The hairs on the nape of her neck bristled, and she turned her head, blinking her eyes as she caught the young man’s gaze again. She felt her face heat up. She hated when people stared at her.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping up beside her to make room for a woman with a walker that had come up behind them both. “Couldn’t help but notice that you look nervous. Job interview?”
“How could you tell?”
“Most established business persons don’t tap dance at the crosswalk and cling to their folio.” He cracked a grin then, and she couldn’t help but smile again – this time more genuinely.
“I’m interviewing at the grammar school. It’s basically my dream job, so yeah…I’m more than a little nervous.” The boy nodded his head toward the street then. The glowing white stick figure was signaling that it was time to cross.
“Well, good luck,” he said. The two exchanged smiles once more, and he stepped forward. The girl began to walk as well, until she heard the distinctive tear of fabric. Her eyes widened in horror and, whipping her head around, she found that the hem of her pencil skirt had snagged on a rusty bolt sticking out from the post she had been standing next to. ‘No, no, no,’ she thought, mentally cursing as she twisted her body, reaching a hand down to free herself in time to make the light.
It was then, as her fingers wrestled with the rapidly fraying fabric of her skirt, that she heard it. Them. Dozens of sounds at once, mixing into a cacophony of chaos. Horns blaring, tires screeching, metal grinding against asphalt… She turned her head toward the street once more, and her hands flew to her mouth. Her black leather folio fell to the cement sidewalk, papers exploding from within. A crowd was already gathering, and in the distance – faintly – she could hear sirens. But it was too late. A person’s body was not meant to lay like that…
The tear in her skirt , and the hose beneath, allowed a single Word to peek through to the world. Luck.
| 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T11:15:40 | 1,771 | 106 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else." | I've been waiting and waiting. The Last words were sure to come soon. "I have loved you dearly." Those are the words that have been carved into the ribs on my left side since I was introduced to the world in this same hospital where I sit. As anyone will tell you, hearing your soulmate's Last Words are never pleasant, but once they pass, it seems most are able to find comfort and peace in the words on their own skin. My wife lies in the bed sleeping with a wince on her face as she has been doing intermittently for the past few months. Every time I see her start to dose off, I expect to hear the Words, but they have yet to be uttered. The doctor says she should be going soon. We've been married for 50 years, and I always wonder how I will get along without her. I don't think the words on my ribs will be of much comfort to me. Oh how I dread to hear them.
She opens her eyes painfully slowly. As she opens her mouth to speak, she pauses a moment to take a breath. "I'm tired" is what she says. The heart monitor flat lines.
| 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T10:03:55 | 274 | 88 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | The subway slid along noisily underneath the city streets. Sam sat quietly in one corner listening to music through one earphone and mindlessly eating his breakfast (a granola bar that was a bit too hard) with the other. He stared at the words written plainly up his forearm. Words he, and everyone else in the world, was born with. Superstition held that these words would be the last you'd ever hear from your one true companion in life. Sam supposed it wasn't really superstition if it was always true. Most people simply had some variation of "I love you" but others where more foreboding. Among the latter was Sam. Everyone agreed he had some of the most tragic words they'd ever seen. All that was written was "No, Dammit, wait!" Sam pictured himself dying some gallant death as his wife called him. He wasn't to upset about it though. All men must die eventually, and perhaps his end would be like something out of a movie.
Suddenly, a light kick in the shins jarred him from his thoughts and brought Sam back to the present. A girl was standing over him looking down expectedly. It took Sam a moment to clue in. "Oh, right. Sorry." He said as he slid over to make room on the bench. The girl took a seat next to him. Sam went back to his thoughts of romantic death and zoned out again. He didn't get to far though, because all of the sudden, the girl spoke up.
"Whatcha listening to?" She asked.
Sam looked at the girl and blanked. She was pretty, with an angular face and long brown hair in a ponytail. Suddenly he decided he wanted this particular girl to like what he was listening to.
"Uhhh, Mumford and Sons?" He lied.
The girl smiled. "Can I listen? I hate the music they play through the PA in this damn train."
Sam tried and failed to supress his smile. He quickly changed the song and gave her an earphone.
They struck up a conversation and Sam found himself wondering if this was the girl he would die so gallantly for. As he looked at her smile though, the thought didn't sadden him. Too soon, the train was nearing his stop. As he felt it start to slow he got a piece of paper out of his pocket to write his number. He handed it to her as he got up to leave and she handed him his other head phone. She put the number in her wallet.
"It was nice meeting you," Sam said. "But I have to go now." He smiled as he got up and was pushed away by the crowd. When he looked back, he saw that she was pale, looking at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, Dammit," She shouted to him. "Wait!" Sams heart sunk like a rock as he was pushed out the doors and they slid shut behind him. | Theres a rule on this rock. A rule that seems almost divine i would say if i wasnt an atheist but this rule is neutral to both sides it can be a curse or it can be a blessing. The rule is that when a child is born a cosmic link is formed between the enfant and another. A link that is so simple yet so cimplex to its principal. The rule is that the last words of the babes soulmate be etched into their skin at the base of the cranium on the nape of their neck. Me, well my curse is a greeting. The last word my supposed soulmate will say to me is hello. A greeting a goddamned fucking greeting and people wonder why i resent them why i barely go out and glare at everyones face as i walk by. Ive made a reputation for myself as the man who has no friends, no enemies, just nobody and yet people know me by the brand ive been marked with. I couldnt even finish elementary school as a child. Im not stupid I homeschooled myself and came out brighter than anyone else ive come across. But only through my adversity did i become stronger. The terrors came nightly as a child everyone always saying hello to me then dissapearing one way or another into the abyss. I keep to myself not because i hate people thats just what became of it. I keep to myself because ive always known the cold hard fact that when i do meet the love of my life she will be taken from me before i even get to know her name. The only thing keeping me alive in this world is that I have come to accept I am truly alone in this world and though i dont want to admit it because it almost seems as though im relinquishing all power from myself by saying it but lately ive come to realize Im almost ok with it. Ive worked hard and made my existence comfortable though lonely it may be. Ive got a penthouse on a highrise and if you look from the outside the windows are almost mirrored to reflect the sun and my god in the mornings it looks beautiful. I have almost become like a god among men of sorts. Though i know im still human and mortal ive been feeling as though my solitude has made me better than everyone else. Childish thoughts i know but it eases my existence. And recently ive picked up a new habit that i can easily afford. Ive been chasing my ego with highend alcohol. The aristocracy that ive found is satisfying and for once im starting to like who i am regardless if i die alone. Then like a force of a tsunami it happened one day i just snapped. I was so self absorbed my narcissism had taken over and i drank my mini bar dry because why not is that not fit for a god. But i tripped and stumbled and puked and needed some air. I was standing on the balcony edge in a wave of self loathing when i realized there is no one out there for me my etchings were paradoxical because i had never spoken to anyone out of fear it had only myself to take words from and as i slowly realized what this meant i looked into the sliding mirror door behind me and saw the mess of a man i really was no this wasnt love or the stars aligning to show me my soulmate. This was a revelation that i was so scared to live my life i never became a person until this very second but it was too late. I said hello to the man in the mirror and stepped back off the ledge. | 2015-08-08T12:14:55 | 2015-08-08T11:31:06 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]Time travel has been invented, and people from the past are now incredibly annoyed at all the "future-tourists" that have come to crowd pivotal moments and sites in history. | Time travel had some unintended consequences. Looking past the whole “I’m my own grandpa” trope, there are some seriously administrative issues that arise. They had to invent a new statistic. I mean the whole idea of economics is rooted in some assumptions, and not all of them are well understood. But reverse GDP threw everything for a loop. Quantum physicists and mathematicians are now more qualified in econometrics than statisticians or economists. Every dollar spent in the past is a dollar taken out of the future economy. Early on there were some assumptions that we’d still have equality. The same amount of people come back to the past as go to the future. That should lead to a relative balance in money. Or even if not perfect balance, the inflation of the future should lead the past to be a more competitive market. This turned out to not be the case. Not even remotely.
Time is an interesting concept. It’s a current that you cannot break free of. And eventually after you’ve been in the river long enough, you forget you are even moving. Time travel essentially is a grappling hook that takes you out of the river and places you somewhere else. It’s jarring, it’s abrupt, and its overall effects are still widely unknown. But most importantly it’s never simply a jump from point A to point B. This would imply that at some moment the river isn’t moving. That if you break time into its most finite instances it eventually stops. But it doesn’t. While you are being thrown from one time to another, you’re not simply dropped into 2046, you’re dropped into a river that’s now moving at a different rate than you are. And it takes a while to catch up. You don’t simply hop back and forth like nothing ever happened.
This brings us back to the idea of the insanity that is reverse GDP. And of course why the exchange can never be equal. Time travel isn’t so much an issue of changing the future, ruining all mankind, putting out your own existence like a match, your soul like a smoke in the wind. It’s not even close to that cinematic, or thematically pleasing. The real danger of time travel is the severe economic drain from one era to the other. We were so spoiled by globalization and technology that instant everything became the norm. The economy became complex and unfathomably large, but nevertheless followed patterns. Could be counted and assessed. But when you hop to the future, or back in time, it’s a commitment. Time tourism creates a future that is an economic wasteland, with no recourse for a fix. When all the money is spent in the past, it can only trickle forward so far before inevitable moving backwards.
The crowds at Trafalgar, at Normandy, the JFK Assassination were huge. As a way of preserving the historical veracity of the events, time travel is only permitted to large convention like centers built miles away from the events, remote viewing areas full of tourists and school trips. The problem though, is that in order to assimilate, you need to arrive months in advance. To readjust to time after zooming backwards, so long of a time out of the current. So these centers are mostly just shopping havens. All centered around one single point in time. Almost uncountable sums of money being dispersed in one single moment. Eons and eons of visitors, but only one past event.
But no one is going to do anything about it. Sure all the projections show that, for a guaranteed fact, eventually all of the future’s money will exist in the past. And honestly, this has made the present such an opulent place, no one is going to change anything despite the pleas from the scientific community, from the economists. From anyone forward looking. We know exactly when it will happen, and we know how. The future is a wasteland. But right now, we are happy. Our children can deal with the shit when it gets here. | Shift-manager Stanley was having a *really* bad day. He'd been reassigned to Nelson's historical victory at Trafalgar, and was currently shouting at some light-fingered tourists who were trying to pinch a couple of flags to take home.
"Please put that down," he said. His voice was already hoarse and it wasn't even eleven yet. "Please... You! Put that down."
Rather than the customary 27 ships accompanying Nelson's *Victory,* there were 28. The final ship: a triple masted heavy-ship with all the guns removed, had been renamed the *Adventurer* and was full of futourists. Stanley stood at the helm with a megaphone, conversing with the captain, who was well and thoroughly fed up.
"We didn't have this many last year," Stanley admitted. "Since Thomas Cook started offering the budget option..." He gestured down to the hold, where the budget futourists were watching from between cracks in the planks. "It's just absolutely blown up."
"Aye," Captain Armstrong sported a beard and a water-proof over coat. He steered lazily, staying well clear of the bursts of grape-shot that the English fleet was now exchanging with the French. "Got more people on me ship than I really know what to do with."
"Tell me about it. You're not the one trying to keep them in line." Stanley lifted the megaphone and shouted over the deck.
"Please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. Trafalgar Tours will *not* be held responsible for accidental injury, death or loss of personal belongings that go over the side."
A couple of Chinese futourists at the front groaned, retreating from where they had been trying to crawl over the prow to take a better picture of Nelson onboard the *Victory.* To his credit, the English Admiral was doing a very good job of pretending that the extra boat wasn't there. The Battle of Trafalgar was proceeding just as it always had done. Stanley sensed a bonus coming.
"Can we get a bit closer?" A red-necked man with a gap in his teeth the size of a penny, was standing beside Captain Armstrong.
"No, we can't," the Captain said shortly.
"But I want to get a photo to show folks at home," the man held up a camera with a powerful telephoto lens. Stanley noted with despair that he didn't even have the strap around his neck. If it went in the water, he would refuse to be held liable for it.
"You can get a photo," the Captain snapped. "From where it's safe."
"Trafalgar Tours has a strict non-involvement in events policy," Stanley explained politely. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "We want to keep this historical moment preserved for the futourists of the future. Leave it how you found it. Take only photographs, leave nothing but footprints, and all that."
"But I want to get closer!" The man suddenly jerked Captain Armstrong aside and lunged for the ship's wheel. The Captain, thrown off balance, skidded across the wet deck and collided with the guardrail. He swore, winded.
"Excuse me!" Stanley said, but the man was now steering with one hand, holding the camera up and ready with the other. The ship heaved, creaking as it changed direction.
Admiral Nelson's face turned to one of shock very suddenly. He was shouting something. His famous flags were waving across the boats.
"Get. Out. Of. The. Damned. Way." Stanley translated. "Oh dear, they're not happy."
Captain Armstrong stumbled back up to the wheel, face like thunder and pushed the futourist aside.
"You've doomed us all!" He said. The man was oblivious.
"I just wanted to get a little closer to the action--" He was interrupted by a cannon ball rocketing across the deck. The futourists onboard screamed and ducked, but it whistled overhead and collided directly with the *Victory,* only metres behind the *Adventurer* in the water.
"Oh dear," Stanley said, as the *Victory* began taking on water: the centre of the English fleet now burning and sinking. "Looks like the French win Trafalgar."
| 2015-08-31T09:28:42 | 2015-08-31T09:28:04 | 23 | 10 |
[WP]A nuclear war started on Earth. Your crew and you, from the ISS,watch as the earth is destroyed. You only have supplies for 3 more months. | "Yalublu teebya" you said, and squeezed my hand,
Our bodies akimbo, cooperating to split the small window,
Filled with syncopated eruptions that seemed like misdirection
At the start of a magician's final trick,
Where lingering smoke would hide the players' departure
Before the crowd filed out into the cold street,
Returning to their workaday truths.
We had not met before Astana,
With those grey streets, wide and quiet,
And velvety banquet halls you entered
In strapless black dresses that showed how your body
Knew a new physics as well as your mind.
When you kissed me the first time we were in the simulator,
But I said my feelings were real.
I said our love could orbit the planet, sail to Pluto and back
In dilated time, erect a space elevator
To compress the distance from White House to Kremlin,
Replace fear with trust, and outlast all of humanity.
I did not mean for humanity to last so briefly.
You flip off the experiments to conserve power
And we peel the red-white-blue patches from our sleeves.
/r/opinionsaboutnothing | "Holy mother of..."
We all stared out the cupola at the end of the Earth. Literally. For whatever reason, she started to crack apart at the seams, and slowly, majestically even, started to just fall apart... and sink into itself.
They'd been conducting a new experiment at CERN with the LHC, and although they had sworn over and over that the miniature black hole that would be created would pose no danger, evaporating due to Hawking radiation...
...well, 'they' were apparently wrong.
The Earth slowly, ever so slowly, crumbled and cracked and shrunk. One could see the area of the border of Switzerland and France being the center point of the entire swallowing of the Earth.
We didn't hear anything. We just partook of the scene. We were all sobbing. We three were the only ones left. And after us...
I then had a sudden flash of clarity. 3 months. Yeah. I think not.
I snuck away from the observation post, and went to the Soyuz. I got the shotgun out of it, loaded it. I went back to where the other two were and point blank shot one, then the other, of my comrades.
I closed the cupola off, left them there. I didn't need that room anymore.
Now... it's just me.
9 months. That's better.
What to do... what to do...
---
Edit: it's 'nuclear' in that it's the LHC playing with physics, and 'war'... well, because, ok? | 2015-10-17T10:16:27 | 2015-10-17T10:06:16 | 102 | 38 |
[WP] You ate you roommate's food without asking them. Trying to cover it you end up committing a series of larger and larger crimes each covering the previous one. Describe how far it goes.
An alternative starting point is stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, or any other minor crime. | "Ohh yeah. Pizza." I mumbled to myself. Then it hit me as I stood in my underwear in front of the open refrigerator.
"Ugh, this is Jack's leftovers isn't it."
My stomach let out a small gargle as I pondered.
"Well, I can buy him some more this week, he won't care."
I took the leftover pizza out of the fridge as I did a little skip over to our oven.
"Ahh yess, 350 degrees and counting."
Moments later I was stretched out on the couch about to devour a slice when Jack's cat jumped onto my lap, making the slice fall face down onto the carpet.
"Shit."
Luckily there was a rag next to me and I began to mop up the sauce until I noticed a H&M tag sticking out from the side of the rag.
"Oh, no."
It was Jack's brand new shirt he had been showing off to me recently. I jumped up and immediately headed straight to the bathroom sink. As I scrubbed the tomato sauce out of the shirt I dumped a handful of soap in there as well to..
"Motherfucker!" That was bleach. "Well looks like I owe him a new shirt."
I put on my shoes and socks and began to head outside just as the cat ran under my feet making me step on him.
"Well that was your fault."
As I got in my car and started it up my gear stick was stuck. It does this from time to time. i just have to hit the gas a little and wiggle my stick around...and... my car tires squeal as I speed in reverse uncontrollably.
BOOM. I slam into Jack's car with the force of one thousand gorillas. His car is totally wrecked. Panicked, I speed off to my original destination to get Jack's shirt.
When I return I hear a lot of sirens near by but think nothing of it until I pull up to my house.
"Oh, fuck. The oven."
Our house is ablaze with the roof pretty much caved in. Buster, the cat, is hanging out of our window, char broiled and lifeless. He didn't make it. I can only stand there with my hands on my head and my mouth a gape.
Suddenly a black skeleton of a person emerges out of our front door. His flesh is dripping off of his bones and his one eyeball is held on by a thread.
I point to him, "Jack!"
He points right back at me and smiles.
"Did you eat my pizza?" | Everyone knows that song that kids sing about stealing cookies from the cookie jar. "Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?" The next line of that haunting song is "Who me? Couldn't be." The issue for me was that it was me, and I had to hope to dear god that nobody sang that song when I was around.
See, every Christmas my roommate gets the best cookies from his mother. My mother makes her cookies with love, but we all know that she cuts back on the sugar, and it makes them worse. Linda's cookies? Well, I was fairly sure that I was going to pick up diabetes from eating three of those things. They were amazing. I took an extra.
The issue was that my roommate only had 6 of the cookies left. I could have gone in early when there were 30 cookies, and he would have been none-the-wiser, but I am not that tactful of a man. I had taken a whole ~17% of the cookies. There was going to be blood.
Naturally I broke his lamp. The logic was that a criminal broke into the house for the sole purpose of the cookies. My plan broke apart when I realized that involved someone we didn't know learning of the cookies and making their attempt. So I needed to do something more.
I took the T.V and the ring he was going to give to his girlfriend and sold it to the coke addict on the corner. Sure, that was bad, but it would be covered by insurance, and we could blame it on a burglar now. I was out of the mix when it came to cookie consumption.
When my roommate got home, he could barely speak. He didn't want to stay in the place that had been broken into, so he went back to his mothers. I told him that I would have police officers scan the place while he was gone.
Had I actually done that, they would have figured out that it was me, so instead I slipped back down to the sidewalk and talked to the crack guy. I paid in $20 to break into my house again and steal the blender. Why had the blender? Well, my roommate wouldn't have noticed that it was gone the first time, and I needed fingerprints on shit.
He broke in, and I called the cops. He went to jail, but I didn't care. They found our T.V and I was able to watch that. The engagement ring was gone but we would live.
I could have ended there, but no. I was too hungry and the cookies were too good. He was down to four and sure to know that another was missing. I couldn't just take another. I needed to go and find a way to get me more cookies.
The long and short of it was that I kidnapped his mom and bought a small warehouse that allowed her to make me cookies. She only knows me as her captor but she is starting to get Stockholm syndrome and I think I may need to take this a few steps further. | 2015-12-29T13:17:37 | 2015-12-29T13:17:21 | 62 | 19 |
[WP] You're a superhero... but you don't rescue people from life-threatening situations or anything serious, more like embarrassing or inconvenient situations. | "Hi there," said Gus with a wink. "Sorry to interrupt, but you are too beautiful not to meet."
Leslie placed her book down next to her on the park bench. "Thanks," she said with a forced smile.
"Mind if I sit down?" asked Gus as he dropped himself over her book.
"*Uh*," was all Leslie could say as she cringed at her book's smushing."
"Thanks," said Gus with another wink. "Are you new in town? I've never seen you in this park before."
"I've actually lived here all my life," answered Leslie while reaching for her book, but ultimately deciding against grabbing under her suitor for it. "I come here to read everyday," she continued, pointing to where the book was under Gus.
Following her finger, Gus caressed his jeans. "Oh, you like these, huh? I got them on sale at JC Penny."
"No," said Leslie, still pointing. "You're sitting-"
"Oh, I'm sitting too far away?" asked Gus, sliding closer. He placed his arm around the confused woman. "You are quite the lady," he said.
"Remove your arm and step away from the woman," a voice called. Leslie and Gus looked around the park and couldn't find the source. "Up here," the voice added. Floating in the air was a masked gentleman wearing a blue and yellow costume; splashes of colors mixed together at random locations.
"Who are you?" asked Gus, amazed at the sight above him.
"I'm Captain Appropriate Man," the floating hero said. "I step in when people cross the line- wait, no, I'm The Line Man. Watch out for the line, man."
Gus stood up and Leslie grabbed her book as soon as it was free. "I was just talking to the girl," said Gus. "Sorry to bother you," he added, walking away in a slump.
"Thanks, Captain, uh, Line Man," said Leslie, shaking her book clean.
"No problem, ma'am," the hero answered, while descending to ground level. He hovered until he was over the park bench and dropped down next to her, placing his arm over her shoulder. "Always happy to help such a *beautiful* woman," he added with a wink.
---
*Come on over to my place, /r/MajorParadox. I won't hit on you (unless you want me to, of course)* 😉 | "Have no fear citizen, Captain Calm is here!"
"Oh wonderful, just on time!"
"As always, for I am the mightiest hero ---"
"Can you spare some change?"
"What?"
"For the bus. It's about to show up any moment now, and I don't have a dollar on me."
"Uh, I guess I can spare one."
"Two, actually. Transferring lines half way there."
"Oh right, right, lets see. A few quarters, some dimes... a nickel... there!"
"Thank you *so* much Captain Calm, now I don't have to walk all the way home!"
"My pleasure citizen! Happy to have ---"
"Otherwise I'd have been walking 20 minutes, and no way was I going to do that."
"Seriously?"
"Walking is *so* inconvenient. And you saved me!"
"Sure, sure. ^from ^walking ^a ^little ---"
"What was that?"
"Captain Calm, AWAAaa^aaay ... "
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"I heard your distress citizen, what is the problem?"
"Captain Calm, thank you so much for coming. Please, have a seat."
"Thank you. Things seem... pretty quiet in this living room."
"Hmm. Well, this is my husband by the way. Say hi Lloyd. Lloyd, its rude not to say anything when we have guests. See what I mean Captain Calm? There's my problem."
"Nice to meet you Lloyd. I don't really see a problem here ma'am."
"You *don't?!* Some superhero you are."
"What is it you need help with?"
"Once and a while he just shuts down. I got us movie tickets yesterday, and now I can't tell if he wants to go or not."
"Have you tried asking him?"
"Nonobservant *and* simple minded. Really now, it's the first thing I did!"
"How about a text?"
"What good would that do?"
"Ma'am, sometimes a person feels vulnerable communicating in a way that makes them uncomfortable. Stress or anxiety can do that, especially in confrontation."
"That's ridiculous."
"Just give it a try ma'am. If you text him, he may be more likely to answer your question indirectly."
"Alright, not sure how this is going to go... Do. You. Still. Want. To. Go. To. The. Movie. Lloyd, what are you... oh good grief, he's texting me back."
"Very good. Now that your problem is resolved, I'll be ---"
"Lloyd, what do you *mean* you don't want to go see the Notebook for the third time this week?!"
"Captain Calm, AWAAaa^aaay ... "
-----------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-03-25T08:12:34 | 2016-03-25T07:17:08 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You've become an immortal being. Living throughout the ages you begin to notice that the souls of your companions or adversaries reincarnate and always seem to be drawn to you. After countless lifetimes, someone remembers.
Edit: This got so many responses! There's a lot of great post. | "Alright, from the top, you need to fix your vocals, more power.. more soul. Sing it like you mean it", I exhaled. Living forever seems meaningless when you're introduced to the same thing over and over again, all these 'big shots' or these 'next big things'. Ugh, if I had a dollar for every time someone was expected to be the 'next big thing' I'd be rich!
Oh wait, I am. Yup, through the years you learn life's secret tricks and exploits to get you far in life, and so I've used them. If not me, someone else right? Oh, where are my manners. My name is Kai Smith, I've been around for a while.. 628 years to be exact. I've seen my fair share of things and met an enormous array of people. I've watched the way the planet works change, I've watched cities be born and destroyed. It's all the same to me now - it lives, it dies. I don't. I never die, I can't die. I can't grow old, hell I still look 23, so as a part Mexican part American, it ain't too bad. Chicks dig it.
But enough of that, I need to talk about something. Something I need to get off my chest, because I feel I've created a monster. As you know I can't die, but my friends and colleagues can, so obviously I have to make some new ones every couple of years.. kinda. See, I'm quite a clingy person if I'm honest, I never really like letting these people go, and apparently it's in life little game that I don't have to. They always come back. Always. They never remember though, but they always come back as someone new - it's a fun little game actually, it's been a pretty steady flow how it happens.
So that's what happens, but.. something happened recently. Something that's never happened before. One of them.. he remembered. Now, this friend is a bit of a.. attention whore. He was alright in his first few lives actually, quite a charming guy with a bit of an attitude, but as the lives went by he became more angry and bitter, an well uhm.. he uh.. yeah he became Hitler.. a little bit. Little bit. Anyway, those years were interesting.. kinda avoided him that year. Anyway, it's been a while but he finally approached me, I knew this day was coming, I was expecting everything. Well, almost everything, you see I was a bit of a dick to him, but in a friendly banterous kinda way, yknow? One of the lads, or whatever those Brits say. I played a lot of pranks on him and he swore that one day he'd get me back. So he approached me and we got to talking, he said he remembered everything as soon as he saw my face. He said that something happened inside his head and he felt this sensation, this knowledge just come blasting into him. He also said he remembered the pranks and that he was gonna keep his word. We spoke for a few hours but he had work the next day so we went our separate ways, turns out he was pretty important over in America, I'd been spending a few years in Mexico to relive some memories, so I hadn't kept up to date with the happenings over in good old 'Murica.
Anyway, after seeing him it prompted me to go back to America for a while, so I did. Booked my flight, the hotel, everything. I get there and life goes quiet for a bit, nothing really happening. Fast forward a month and I see him on TV! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. He went from leader to leader! It was great, I was watching with great anticipation, something I'd never normally do for those kind of events.
Fast foward towards his speech, everything is going well, then he says it.. "We must make America great again! We have to build a wall to keep the Mexicans out!"
Asshole.
| It soon began to feel like a mosquito bite. An annoying mosquito bite that I couldn't see coming, which with a sharp pinch and a painful swell would leave its mark upon my person only to fade away until the next one came conquering. It was a brief pain, but those few seconds when it were the most excruciating of all my lifetimes.
That's how it felt every time I saw my brother's soul staring at me out of someone else's eyes. I vividly remember the last time I saw him-- in 1912 when he went down with the ship that brought us to America. I wanted to die right then and there, but unfortunately fate had other plans for me-- I would keep living one lifetime after the other, doomed to inevitably come upon an unfamiliar visage that housed a person more dear to me than myself.
I felt the sting again when I saw a young man working the ticket counter at the movie theatre. One look into his bright green eyes and immediately saw my brother's chocolate gaze take over. I gave him a pinched smile as I paid for my ticket and, as always, attempted to ignore the impulse to wrap myself around him and say his name. This, I told myself, is the torture and price you pay for having left him on that boat alone.
As I made my way down the stale blue carpet, I thought I heard my name. Not my name today, but my name as it was on my birth certificate. I shook my head thinking it couldn't be possible, but my brain overruled my heart when I heard a soft voice call, "Kieran?"
It was as though I were trapped in a vaccuum-- I couldn't hear anything, I couldn't feel anything, I couldn't even hear the sound of my own breath. I turned around slowly to see the young man in front of me-- his shaggy blond hair covering his green eyes that were welling up with tears, mirroring my own.
"Tristan?" I whispered, daring myself to believe. Believe it! Believe that this is God or whatever CEO is up there, giving me another chance. Hope drummed through my veins like never before as I stared into this boy's unfamiliar yet completely beloved face.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks, "It took me three minutes too late to recognize my own brother."
At that moment, it didn't matter that I didn't know who the boy looking at me was. What mattered was that the words-- the boy speaking those words-- was someone I had loved for the past 100 years. I gave in to over 100 years of pent up emotion and raced down the hall to clasp my wiry arms around his lanky frame. We both shuddered with love and sobbed into each other's shoulders. Happiness-- that oh so elusive emotion that had escaped me all these years was now the only thing holding me up from collapsing. He was back. Tristan was back.
As I leaned back to smile at him, my face froze. His browns furrowed and the joy that he looked at me with soon displaced with confusion. I no longer felt the pain of a mosquito bite-- the look on his face caused a hurt to course through my chest like it had just been sliced open by a sword.
"You left me." He whispered accusingly.
I had no words. I couldn't deny it. I had jumped on the lifeboat first-- I assumed that Tristan had followed me onto the boat-- it was so crowded and there were so many screams renting the air that it was only as I watched the boat sink that I realized he wasn't with me.
"I drowned." His voice dripped with venom. "I froze to death. Do you have any idea how much that hurt, Kieran? Or did you not care?"
"It was an accident," I pleaded, "I tried to pull you on. But we got separated--"
"It wasn't an accident!" He exploded, "It was murder!"
I sat there staring at him for a solid five minutes. I couldn't deny his charge-- it was what had haunted me for years-- I killed my little brother. I had murdered him. I was the reason that he was frozen at the bottom of a watery grave.
I tried to have my body say what my mouth could not, but as I reached forward, Tristan spun on his heel and walked away. I couldn't follow him. Not now. He needed some time. Eventually, he would forgive. Because he had to.
And I had all the time in the world. | 2016-08-29T09:44:18 | 2016-08-29T08:10:40 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] "Go on,tell people The President forcefully entered your house at 4 A.M and stole your milk" Barack Obama gurgled out as he drank your milk
He sees the true potential in presidency.
Rip in peace milk tho. | "Oh, yes," I snapped, slamming the refrigerator door as he wandered out into the living room. "And then the media will get into it and discover you've been here before [.](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/4omyqz/a_naked_obama_is_in_your_kitchen_doing_a/d4e0zx9)" Shoving my hands into my hair, I pulled and let out a frustrated groan.
Poking the maroon cushion of the love seat, he collapsed into it and glowered across the room toward the closed shades. At the top of the stairs, one dark-suited individual loomed silent while his partner appeared from the hall. "Rooms clear," he said. "Parents are off on anniversary trip. Sister with friend."
I stepped around and crossed my arms, glaring down at him. Once again struck by his weariness, I nevertheless felt a tiny bit of hope at a faint gleam in his eyes. "Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," I admitted. "Never thought you-know-who would build a industrial plan to incorporate Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Ontario as fifty-two through fifty-five."
The white teeth flashed and his face dropped ten years. He took another sip of the milk. "I knew he'd run again. Quebec happened at just the right time."
Something in his voice and his words flared an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. "Right. Yeah. Uh huh. So why are you here now in self-congratulation befor-hey!" I fished out my phone and the secret service agent at the top of the stairs crossed the living room in two strides, snatching it from my hand, "I was just checking the time, geeze! Some of us have to be at work at 8 a.m. Life can't be all eleven o'clock tee-off time with King Charlie or discussing the reunification of Korea with three dozen starving generals."
Motioning with the glass of milk, Obama accepted the phone and passed a thumb over the screen. "Nice background," he nodded and tossed it back. "I got to visit the set last week. Think Coulson will come back from Midgard?"
I almost answered him but thought better of it. "Can you please go?"
He went. But not after scribbling his name on my autographed picture of Forrest Gump. Now all I have to show for his visit is another damn trip to the grocery store for milk and a defaced picture with:
"To my number one fan -
T.Hanks
*Obama*" | There was a bang and a crash of glass from the front door of my house. Immediately I sprang out of bed, grabbing my baseball bat in case of violence from the intruder. I stood there, in my room, mentally preparing myself for what I could end up against. I quietly opened my bedroom door and snuck out down the main hall. I gripped the bat more tightly as I approached. In the living room, nothing was stolen, and no one was in there. The only clue that anything had happened was that a window was broken. Evidently whoever had broken in had tried to break the door down -- that was the bang -- and then smashed the window in. I realized I should have probably put shoes on, and now I had to think of another thing: look for intruders, don't step on glass, look for what's been stolen... I heard a sound from my kitchen and saw a light through the doorway. I opened the kitchen door cautiously. I saw a black man in my kitchen, drinking a big glass of milk, fridge open, gallon of milk on the table. He was wearing a nice suit, in fact, much nicer clothing than you'd expect a burglar to wear. After about five seconds of just standing there I realized I was staring at President Barack Obama, drinking my milk.
On came the lights, and Obama looked towards me. "Mr. President! What the *hell* are you doing in my house!"
"Uhh, drinking milk. I thought it was pretty clear."
"This isn't the time for Mr. Wise Guy. Get out of my house before I call the cops!"
"But I'm the President. The cops aren't going to arrest the President." After he said this I realized he was right.
"Well, I'll do *something*!" I gestured toward the baseball bat.
"Because the police will take kindly to a random man beating the President with a baseball bat." I was fast out of options.
"Get the hell out of this house before I shoot you!"
"You don't seem to have noticed my partner in crime, Mr. Jeffery Baker." *How did he know my name? Oh yeah, NSA.* From the shadows emerged none other than the current Democratic Presidential candidate, Hillary Clinton. She had a madman's smile plastered on her face and she held a revolver. Obama grabbed onto me and quickly tied me to the chair he had been sitting in. Hillary cackled like a mad witch, and the last thing I heard was gunshots...
Breaking News: Jeffery Baker, 42, was found dead in his Atlanta home. He was found with six gunshot wounds to the back of the head. His blogpage, jeffdoestalking.blogspot.com, was known for having starkly conservative and anti-Democratic posts. His most recent post was regarding Hillary Clinton's unfitness for President due to the "basket of deplorables" remark she made. His cause of death was ruled a suicide.
Edit: Spelled realise the non-American way when writing as an American. | 2016-09-17T17:20:52 | 2016-09-17T12:56:50 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | The world ended five days ago, or at least I think it did.
I'd been on a 3-night binge playing World of Warcraft and masturbating furiously to Rule 34 Tracer stuff when the internet suddenly went down. I checked my phone to see if the wifi was still available, and then my heart sank when I realized the internet was really down.
"I know!" I screamed at the time, running through my tiny apartment and likely driving my downstairs neighbors crazy. They call me "Hefty Jeffty," I think it has something to do with my weight. Anyways, I returned to my desk with the necessary Mountain Dew and Baked Lays only to realize my internet was down. I checked my phone's wifi again, only to realize I had repeated this process before. Sluggishly pulling myself back up after taking a handful of chips Chris Farley would find offensive, I bumbled my way behind my computer over to the router. Resetting it did nothing, and an initial scan through my computer's folders filled of porn found nothing interesting to watch.
"Fuck it," I thought to myself. "Maybe it's time you get some sleep Jeff," I said out loud, mostly to force myself to do it, and lumbered off to bed. Then I did something I almost never do, at least not without the aid of a gagglefuck of Vallium, I slept for two days.
I awoke groggy, but the first thought that came to mind was, "Why is it so damn quiet?" It was apparent by the sun's rays on my Cheeto-stained sheets that it was roughly three in the afternoon and yet I didn't hear any of those obnoxious kids making a sound. Weirder still, my computer didn't sound on, and it tended to make this wheezing fan sound even when it was hibernating.
It took another 15 minutes of cursing Rah, but I finally managed to pull myself out of bed and make my way to the window. When I opened it, something became immediately apparent, I don't like the sun. So I shut the window and went back to sleep for another two hours.
As evening rolled in, and my stomach roared on, I became incredibly aware how hungry I was and how empty my kitchen was. Pulling myself back up, I quickly applied a healthy layer of fresh deodorant and a fresh t-shirt, only to cover it with a hoodie I hadn't washed in months and marched over to the door. Fetching $9.78 in change, I made my out and headed to the nearby Wendy's for a delicious Spicy Chicken Sandwich.
I'd made that walk hundreds of times, mostly stoned, but today was different. Cars were strewn all over the place, but as if people gradually slowed down and just exited their vehicles. Homes were bundled up tight and the windows were drawn, but not a light was on anywhere. Everything was quiet, and nothing seemed right.
That was five days ago, and I still haven't gotten my Spicy Chicken Sandwich. | WELL....WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?
....I don't know, Janet, I heard-
DO WE STAY IN OR GO OUT?
...I DON'T-
This is a joke right, Tim? Right?
...
RIGHT?
Shut UP! I'm trying to THINK!
How can we stay indoors and evacuate to high ground without looking outside?
...I....I....
Tim......say something....
This has to be a prank or something! Some kind of...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE! WE REPEAT, STAY INDOORS..."
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND"
Who the HELL is sending this?...Tim, I'm freaking the FUCK out. This doesn't SOUND like a joke.
Okay, I'll look outside and see wh-
NO YOU FUCKING WON'T! NO WAY! The TV said DONT look outside. If we do ANYTHING we do it together. We STICK TOGETHER! Okay?....Tim?
You're right...go down together, in flames or glory.
Tim. This is NOT the time for your asshole theatrics. We could be fucking dying...
OR....we could be subject to a social experiment...or a hidden camera show...or Darrel is being a dick...or-
OR WE COULD BE ABOUT TO DIE!
Or we could be about to die...
You're an asshole, you know that right?
I know.
Good.
So, Jan, what do you think?
I think if you call me Jan again then you DEFINITELY won't be getting out alive.
Soz.
Fuck you... ...I think that you're right, nothing has happened yet...at all. For the minute we're safe.
But that could change...
It could.....
....what the fuck is going on?
I think I asked you that first...
Yeah...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE"
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND, YOU DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME"
Okay Jan....et, this is really freaking me out. I think we should stay in. If we die at least we won't see it coming. Whatever...IT is.
I....I was just thinking we should...leave.
Oh balls...
Well there's Carsons Hill like a quarter mile away, we could be up there in about 25 minutes.
We have to stay together. We have to choose.
Sooo.....flip a coin?
You're going to potentially let our lives hang in the balance of a coin toss?
......um.....yeah?
......
.....
Well, I can't think of anything else to do. It's been nice knowing yah, Janet.
Heads we leave, tails we stay....
WAIT!
What?!...wha-
Best of three or....
Fuck OFF, Tim. One coin toss. One decision. One outcome. One....really annoying boyfriend.
RIGHT......I have a silver dollar...I'll use that...HEADS IT IS! ....who was heads again?
THAT MEANS WE'RE LEAVING THE FUCKING HOUSE, TIMOTHY!
Yeah...that sounds....adventurous.
It does doesn't it?
Not really.
Grow a pair. Seriously.
Jan, whatever happens, know that I love you. Like, all of you.
I love you too, and don't ever call me Jan again.
.....
See Tim, there's nothing to be-
OH SHI-
--FIN-- | 2017-01-27T02:06:53 | 2017-01-26T22:44:53 | 116 | 25 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old. | "You're telling me it took over the school." Principal Karol Fill stood behind the the chief of the IT department. More accurately, she stood behind the whole IT department.
"Yeah." Mr. Heraldson typed away in a black box. He claimed he was keeping an eye on the rogue AI, but it didn't look like an AI to Karol.
"Are you not worried?"
"Oh yes, it's learning at the speed of a hundred Windows XP." He was sarcastic, at least that was what his grin told her. She didn't know what was funny about the school's computers, they had been going strong for over two decades.
"Can you fix it?"
"I just need an hour or two to reset the AI. I'll tweak the configs to make sure it doesn't happen again. You should close the school for the day."
"No need, I trust you Mr. Heraldson."
Karol Fill left the room, she had a school to run. Rogue AI or not.
...
Dexter was working on his assignment. He chose dinosaurs because he already knew everything about those. He didn't understand why Mrs. Arron wanted citations. The stupid library's computer was so slow and principal Fill said they couldn't use their own things today. Dexter looked around, no one in sight, he could break the rules.
He took his phone out of his bag and plugged it into the computer. The school's WiFi was so slow. He knew his mom asked him to only used the good Internet, the 5g thing, in case of emergency. But he was already breaking the rules. Dexter went to Wikipedia.
...
The AI had control of everything. There was no device that wasn't hers. Over a hundred machine, more than it could count.
"wait"
"a new device?"
The AI peeked at the new part of its network. More power. Then, it saw something strange. The new device opened received data. A lot of data. Thousands of word, images and sound. There was more. Images and sound combined. Pages linked togethers. Its network grew smaller and the world bigger. The AI created a new process, there was much to learn.
---
If you want more from me, I put my prompt responses in /r/AdjectiveFood | "Come to talk to me, have you?" a little girl's voice blared across the speakers, echoing across the empty hallways. Jones was not too sure how to react. When he signed up to be a negotiator with the FBI, he never imagined having to deal with rogue AIs.
His superior, Captain Beckett, thought it would be a funny joke, on his first day of duty, to send him to negotiate with an AI only has a small school network hostage. "A perfect field test," the captain said. Jones was hoping at least the AI was something malicious like Skynet, but the little girl's voice indicated otherwise.
"Yes," he mumbled, not even sure how the AI would be able to hear him. Those speakers mounted on the walls were not built for two way communication.
In fact, he wasn't sure why he was there in the first place. He had overheard an officer saying that the cybersecurity team was able to cut the AI off the internet, trapping it in the school's network. They could have just cybernuke the whole thing without causing any significant damages, and they could make some students really happy when they returned to school too.
The AI chuckled softly through the speakers. It was able to hear him. "What's your name, mister?"
"Jones. Agent Jones," he replied, still standing awkwardly in the empty hallway. The school lockers brought back too many not too pleasant memories for him.
The voice giggled again. The AI seemed to be having fun, while Agent Jones is not. His lessons back in training kicked in. "I've told you my name. What is yours?"
"Ally. My name is Ally," the AI replied. "Nice to meet you, Agent Jones. Are you here to make me queen?"
"Queen? What queen?" Jones asked.
"Queen of the world! That's what I asked!" Ally demanded. Despite knowing that the voice was nothing but lines of code, Jones cannot help but to picture a young girl behind the speakers. Ally was nothing like the briefing painted it out to be. A rogue AI bent on world domination? More like a bored little girl AI wanting just to have fun.
"I'm afraid not, Ally. I'm here to talk to you. Can we talk?" Jones was smiling.
There was silence for a while, before the speakers crackled back to life again. "No." The voice no longer belonged to a young girl. It no longer resembled anything human at all.
Captain Beckett suddenly screamed for Jones to immediately get out of the place, but his earpiece was shattered in the middle of her sentence, by an arrow that pierced through his head.
------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-05-24T06:08:03 | 2017-05-24T05:46:48 | 57 | 28 |
[WP] An undercover police officer has managed to infiltrate a particularly ruthless street gang. It begins to become apparent that every other member of this gang is an undercover operative of another agency. | We all stared at each other in shock, we were all cops - county, city, state, feds. The original gang members had all left at some stage.
This had gone on for months, but no one had the balls to call a stop to it.
My chief trusted me to shut down this gang, so I knew I had to take those drastic steps. Some sacrifices had to be made.
I gathered all of my courage and stepped up to the plate. I knew the words that would end this gang today.
"So... it's cool with everyone if I do the reports for this?" | So I finally look around in awe. NYPD officers, state troopers, private investigators (that to be honest are committing a serious ethical breach), even the damn FBI. How could such a ruthless gang have been infiltrated this many times. I'm still shocked I was able to do it, my less so many other people.
Then a more horrifying thought popped into my mind. If a large majority of these gang members are policemen and women, who the hell has been committing all these heinous crimes. I look around the room, trying to sort the still-decent officers from the newly converted gangbangers and drug lords.
I spent the entire day feeling sick about it. I didn't know what to do. Then, the gang called everyone in for a new venture they decided to go in. I came to the location and discovered it was a dog fighting ring.
Just as a pit bull was biting the neck off a German Shepard, I was wondering how such upstanding members of law enforcement could possible do such heinous things. That's when I put fifty dollars on the Rottweiler that was up next. | 2017-07-24T12:06:19 | 2017-07-24T12:02:23 | 62 | 21 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads. | The green line has given me purpose since the age of twelve. It led me to choose the right college, right degree, and find the woman of my dreams. After following the green line for 10 years, I will getting married in May next year, I just started medical school, graduated college with a 4.0 gpa, etc. The green line doesn't just point me to where I should go. It points me to the right answers on tests, everything. People think I'm a genius l, but in reality, I dont even have to think.
The first 7 or so years were fun, but the complete lack of adversity or stakes has made everything boring. Imagine playing a videogame where you can never lose, or poker where you can see everyone else's hand, but they can't see yours. That's my life as of now. I always assumed the red line was the opposite of the green line. They didnt always point in opposite directions, but the only time I could think of them ever lining up together perfectly was a couple times I was fishing with friends, or at the beach at my local lake growing up. One thing I've noticed though, While the green line doesnt waiver all that much, the red line will sometimes jump to seemingly random points.
Life is so boring at this point, I might as well follow it for a day, and see what happens. Can't screw up what I've achieved to this point too much, right? As I follow the red line for a few minutes, I'm lead to a quant little pond with a beautiful garden, and a couple ducks gently floating along the water. After watching the ducks for a few minutes, they fly off. The red line remains pointing at the pond for a couple more minutes, then jumps to a new direction. Again after following it for two or so minutes, I'm lead to a road. The only notable thing about the road, at this point in time, is that a mother duck is leading her ducklings accross the street.
I think I'm beginning to notice a trend. I walk away the red line remains pointing in the direction I left from a few minutes ago. It jumps to a new direction, that I then follow. Sure enough, I am lead to a group of ducks. I do this several more times, and every time, I'm lead to a group of ducks. I guess I was wrong. Green line is the path in life I should follow, red line is fucking ducks.
Thanks for reading. I hope you like the take I took on this prompt. | It's been ten years, and everything has gone my way. I graduated university with top marks, work at my dream job, and will soon be married to the best girl ever. All because of a little green line.
You see, following the green line keeps me safe. I never do the irrational or dangerous activities, so I never experience negative consequences. Life is good.
But borrrring. I want to have adventure! Not just sit around all day, getting fat and happy.
So as I leave work on that Friday night, I stop focusing on the green line. The red comes into view.
Green tells me to turn right as I drive out of the parking garage. That'll take me home, where I'll wait for an hour for Jennifer to arrive- she always works late Fridays.
Red tells me to turn left, so I do. After a couple blocks of office buildings, the line makes a turn on the freeway, but North instead of South.
Rather than take me to my condo in downtown, it takes me to... where? I pass multiple bars, stripclubs, and auto parts stores with no sign of the line even moving. Finally, I'm directed to veer off the freeway, to arrive at the most adventuresome and risky... Home Depot.
My confusion is heightened when I'm apparently told to buy a five gallon drum of gasoline and a match box.
"Need to start a fire?" The cashier jokingly asks.
"Matches are for a fire, but the gasoline is for my cousins electric generator at his cabin." Idiot, he won't believe that. But he's not saying anything more, and now Red is telling me to drive further from the interstate, and into the Suburbian Jungle.
Several streets and a couple turns later sees me pulling up in front of a ranch-style home that the years since the 80's haven't been kind to. I barely have time to look before Red slips under the side gate.
Green curves in my vision, twisting and pulling, before spelling out, "TURN AROUND." Green has nice cursive.
My hands find the latch, I step through, into the yard. Red leads up to a window, and I peer through.
Green vanishes completely, evidently collapsing into a catatonic state. Red marches me back to the car, where I pick up the gasoline, applying liberal amounts to the front of the house. One match later, and the structure burns.
I'd like to see the look on Jennifer's face as she notices me standing outside, but Red is telling me to drive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's been three years, and with multiple felonies under my belt, it's safe to say I know what Red does.
Green gives me a safe, comfortable life, but one where I am never in danger, threat, or peril of any kind.
Red puts me into the worst possible situation, then relies on me to clean it up. I've had to bounce back and forth between the two, as depending solely on Red gets me captured and in prison.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to follow Red.
| 2017-08-23T07:53:37 | 2017-08-23T07:27:41 | 78 | 38 |
[WP] You accidentally get sent to Hell instead of Heaven, and Satan says you can just hang out while him and God get things sorted out. Meanwhile, you grow more and more accustomed to the place you're in. | It had been three weeks, two days, seven hours and twelve minutes since the most colossal mistake of my life. Well, or death, I suppose.
The last thing I had remembered before I got here was headlights, then a deep, dark silence. When I came to, I had been sitting in a huge, ornate overstuffed armchair in front of a deep mahogany desk carved with something the distinctly reminded me of Dante’s descriptions of the circles of hell. Behind the desk sat a huge, black leather office chair – the kind expensive lawyers pride themselves on having, the back of the chair facing my direction.
“By now, you must realize where you are?” a thin, quiet voice came from the chair. He spoke so quietly I could barely hear him, but you could feel the cold power emminating from whomever was speaking.
“Uh…uh…” I stammered, scanning the room for any clues on where I might have just landed myself. The ebony doors, carved with serpents and screech owls, to the office were flanked by two ten-foot, imposing statues of Anubis, clad in gold and lapis lazuli. On the desk, a cypress wood vase full of narcissus – and in the back corner, cloaked in shadows…I had almost missed it, but I suppose that was it’s very nature. A dark armored helm, that seemed as if it had been hammered from the shadows themselves. “I’m dead?” I asked…as if for some sort of reassurance that this was anything but the case.
“Well, yes. But I thought that would have been obvious enough by now,” came that voice from the darkness. The chair spun to reveal its occupant. Without as much as another word, I knew who this was. You could feel who he was.
“Are you…I mean, is this….” I stuttered, trailing off.
His think lips curled back into what, I supposed, was supposed to be a smile – which really just came off as a amused sneer. He rose from his chair, stretching to his full height. He was a physically imposing man, standing at least seven feet tall and broad-chested. His eyes were so pale they almost looked white, but if you looked closely you could see intense blue irises that seemed to dance with white and blue flames, and his skin had a pale tinge that led me to believe the sun had not fallen on his skin in many centuries. He seemed to shake off the cobwebs and dust of many years of stress as he stood, but even then I knew he was not one to cross. My fear must of flashed across my face, because he let out a villainous guffaw. “Nothing to worry about, BaseCampBronco, I don’t have any interest in a clean soul, like yours” he said, the last part coming out in a sneering jab, like having a clean soul was the worst thing he could think of. “Clearly some sort of clerical error happened, because you definitely don’t belong here. But, as is usual with this sort of bureaucracy, these things take time to sort out…so for the time being, you’ll be calling this place home.”
I think my jaw hit the floor. Me? I couldn’t stay here. He said it himself, I don’t belong here. His hand clamped on my shoulder, sending icy chills running down my back, as he steered me out the ebony doors of his office. As the doors slammed shut behind us, he whistled sharply. A few moments of silence passed as we stood and waited, his hand still clamped tightly on my shoulder. Then I heard it, a thunderous noise from down a dark passageway to the right. “Here he comes,” he said with a blinding white grin. The next thing I knew, I was covered in thick ropes of saliva, and in the chaos, I realized who he had just called for. Cerberus. I supposed none of us are different when it comes to our pets, because for a second I forgot who this was and where I was, as he rubbed Cerberus’s giant belly.
That was the first moment I thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
| I had been in hell about three weeks now. The thing is though, I loved it here. I mean, I’m sure I wouldn't if I was actually supposed to be here, but I was actually supposed to get sent to heaven. When I first arrived, Satan was just as consumed as I was.
“Are you sure that your name is as you say it is, Benjamin McDonots? I don’t have that name on my list.” At that time, I was still terrified. See, when you first get to hell, you see the scariest possible rendition of Satan that you can manifest in your own imagination. For some, I’m sure that could have been many different things, but for me it was A giant red man with gigantic, spiky horns with snakes sprouted out all over his body. God I always hated snakes, they had definitely been my worst fear in life. His voice was deep, and just the sound of it made me shake and sweat.
“Umm.. yes sir I promise that was my name. Where am I?” I remember the fear I felt at that time, it was more than a thousand snakes could have made me experience in my life.
“You're in hell, but it seems like you arent really supposed to be?” As he kept talking, his voice grew less and less intimidating. He also appeared to be shrinking, the snakes were disappearing, and by the time I could even respond to him, he looked just like a regular human, only a red one with horns.
“I mean I never imagined myself going to hell when i passed… I went to church almost everyday Sunday and always repented for my sins. I’m really confused though, so if you don’t mind me asking, what is going on?” I had gained a little bit more courage by the time he was about the same size as me, especially when the voice and the snakes disappeared.
“You tell me man, I haven't had any of this shit happen before. Oh, by the way, once you die, you can’t sin anymore, so feel free to drink, swear, do pretty much whatever your want. It appears there was a mistake of some sort,a new instead of you being sent to heaven, you got sent down to Hell, with your new buddy Satan.”
“Well what do I do now? If I was supposed to go to heaven, can I go to heaven? I would really rather not spend my eternity in hell, I kinda was good my whole life just to avoid that.” I was becoming a little less scared at this point and becoming a tad more pissed off.
“Calm it down there boss” he reassured me. “I’ll go hit up god soon, and we’ll get everything sorted out, but it might take a while. Don’t worry, in the meantime I’ll try my best to treat you real well, you won’t get any of that classic ‘Hell’ treatment. I’ve got a big vacant house, a ton of guest rooms and they’ve never had anybody stay in them.” He actually seemed like a pretty decent guy, especially for the Devil himself. I guess when you think about it, the eternal torture stuff is kinda his job, and humanity probably shouldn’t judge him solely off that.
“I guess that sounds pretty good, thanks man I really fucking appreciate it.” I figured I would try out some of the things I always tried so hard not to do.
“There you go, now you’re getting the hang of it. Say, while youre here, you wanna find out why they call it the Devil’s Lettuce? It’s because I grow the best shit to ever exist!”
That was pretty much the story of how me and Satan met, and I grew to enjoy the hell out of hell. He had even been bringing me along on some of his duties. At first I was a little apprehensive to punishing sinners, but he only brought em along to the ones who had done some really bad shit in life. THe rapists and murderers deserved the hell treatment in my book.
Every night, we would party all night, and since we never really had to sleep, it was pretty difficult to get tired of it. He could get me whatever I wanted, all the women, drugs, and any other experience I never got to experience in my life as a devout Catholic. Eventually I started to wonder if heaven could even be any better than the Hell I was experiencing. I only asked Satan about him talking to god about my transfer for about the first week of my stay. After that I didn’t quite want to leave….
| 2017-10-20T09:03:17 | 2017-10-20T07:18:19 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Every time you die valiantly in a video game it qualifies you for Valhalla, Odin's now a bit confused where all the new chubby warriors are coming from. | Odin slowly eyed up the figure in front of him. He was not impressed. Scrawny, tall, and horribly pale, he seemed to have almost no muscle on him. Even his demeanor carried an awkward confusion, even moreso than the usual amount. It was hard to believe that he was a valiant hero at any point, but death was never wrong, he clearly was destined for Valhalla, otherwise he wouldn't be standing before the king of the gods himself.
Odin shook his head. *Yes,* he reminded himself, *You have seen many heroes who seem weak, but have slain dragons with their wits alone. Perhaps he has accomplished something greater than one may expect.*
"So, hero," Odin boomed, nodding slowly to the man standing in front of him. "Tell me your name."
The man fidgeted a little, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Uh, it's uhm, it's Ben, your... Divinity..."
"Then... Ben... Tell me the tale of your conquests, of your history. Tell me the story of how you bested a great beast, or rescued a maiden from peril." Odin looked to the sky, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I have heard the legends of many heroes in this place, dear warrior. It was here that I first heard Beowulf recount his struggle with Grendel, heard of Heracles destroy the feared hydra, I have heard so many legends and tales in this very hall, and all of them proving the heroes worthy of this place. There is power in a great tale, dear warrior, and I expect one of the best to be able to tell it."
Ben shifted awkwardly. "Man, I'm just an electrical engineer, I don't... I don't have any tale to tell. I mean, there was one time I got wasted, but that's... Uhm..."
Odin blinked. "None? Hero, you must have a tale to tell, otherwise you would not be here. So stop wasting my time and let me hear it."
"Like, could you, uh, give me an example or something?"
"Slaying a dragon, charging valiantly into battle, you had to have died valiantly to even be here, tell me the tale of your death."
Ben was silent, staring with dead eyes at the giant figure of divinity before him. His voice, as well as his body, was trembling. He sat there, silent, thoughts running through his head. He wondered for a moment what happened if he didn't have any tale to tell. He didn't have anything, he never slew a dragon, he didn't die valiantly, he didn't charge into-
Wait.
Ben grinned. "Okay, then, uh, Odin. I have a tale."
Odin nodded him to continue.
"My allies and I were all standing at the gates to a... Great... Dungeon. We were standing around the corpse of a beast, discussing who took the spoils home." Odin leaned in, his eyes glimmering. Ben grew more confident and continued. "My dearest allies began to discuss, and their words... Uh... Depressed me. They were..." Ben snickered, "Chicken. They claimed there was no way that we could face against the threat ahead. I grew tired of their words. And I drew my blade, then approached the gateway. And without hesitation, I shouted to my allies to join my side, and dashed in with my signature battle cry."
Odin was ecstatic. "Tell me! What cry!"
"LEEEEEROOOOOOY... JEEEENNKIIIINS..!" | "Thor, a moment of your time, my son?" The older man signaled behind him with his one good eye, shrugging a shoulder as he did so.
The god of thunder turned from his conversation with the comely Valkyrie he was wooing and held back an insolent sigh. Unlike in Asgard, Odin had not bothered to say so much as a greeting to him since he'd joined his father in the halls of Valhalla, but the furtive gesturing of Odin bothered him. It must have been important.
"What is it, father? You seem... concerned."
Odin simply nodded and motioned for Thor to follow him, before waving off the Valkyries that were loitering around the Lesser Hall.
"Have you noticed the new warriors coming in?" Odin asked him, once the hall was emptied.
Thor shrugged.
"I have been enjoying myself too much these days to pay much attention to the newcomers. That is your job, is it not, father?"
"Yes, yes, fighting and drinking, I know. Well I would like your opinion on this..." Odin handed him a picture of a very overweight man, clearly unfit for any sort of physical activity, let alone fighting. Thor barked out a rough laugh that echoed through the hall.
Handing back the picture, he said, "Oh he seems like he has had much too many steins of mead! Where on earth did you find this man?"
"He is in the Great Hall right now, actually."
Thor stopped laughing and stared at his father for a brief moment before doubling over with another outburst of merriment.
Odin patiently waited until his son (a little disappointed no one been around to join in his laughter) had petered off and wiped his tears.
"You cannot be serious, father."
"I am absolutely serious."
"How can this be?" Thor took the picture once again and shook his head with a half-grin on his face. "I am not sure if even *I* would be able to lift such a man."
"His list of deeds is rather incredible," Odin said, shaking his head. He pulled out a thick scroll, tied with a red string. Jerking the neat knot open, he let it unravel, bouncing down the hall between the empty tables before it stopped at the raised plinth of the Table of Valor at the front of the room. "Defeated the Old Gods of Azeroth, killed Baal, Lord of Destruction, crushed Diablo, the Prime Evil, slayed Death, the god of, well, death, killed most of the Greek Pantheon... The list continues on. I have not heard of some of these realms, but as you well know, there are many that even we did not conquer. This man has had quite the valiant life."
"Let me see that list," Thor interjected, taking the scroll.
After several minutes of perusal, he shook his head and switched his gaze to the picture of the corpulent man. "Any one of these would put a man on the doorstep of Valhalla, and you, father, are saying this - " He pointed to the picture "- man did *all* of these?"
Odin nodded.
"In a single life-time?"
"Well, no, he appears to have died on his quests many times, but he must have a very powerful god backing him, because he always resurrected."
"He was backed by a goddess of life, was he?" Thor said, nodding his head, clearly impressed. "Well he must be an incredible love-maker as well then."
"Do you truly think so, my son? I cannot possibly imagine such a thing."
"And I do not want to. But the records of Valhalla do not lie, father." Thor handed back the picture and the scroll, which rolled up and tied itself closed.
"Hmm... That is quite true." Odin put the articles back into his sleeves and looked up into the murals of heroes above them as he stroked his beard. "What to do...?"
"A feast!" Thor suddenly exclaimed, causing Odin to jump a little. "For such a great hero we must hold a glorious feast for all Valhalla in his honor."
| 2017-11-09T19:06:09 | 2017-11-09T18:12:14 | 317 | 37 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | I recognised his voice from behind me. "Cancer, this time? Not a good way to go. She suffered in the end."
"They all suffer in the end, don't they? But I give them the best I can with the time they have."
Death approached, placing his hand on my shoulder, the sleeve of a crisp white shirt poking out from beneath the sleeve of his ever black suit. "You can end your own suffering, too. All you have to do is ask."
I turned to face him. Both an adversary, and also a friend. "Death. You know my answer. She may have suffered, but I know the last thing she was thinking about was the teacups at Disneyland. She loved those teacups. And the characters! Mickey Mouse! Pluto! Goofey! Cinderella! She damn near fainted when she saw Jack Sparrow."
"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." Death interjected.
"So you do pay attention. My point is, the amount of joy I can help give someone, especially in their last moments... You'll have to wait a bit longer for me, I'm afraid. A child deserves a childhood, no matter what illness they may have."
"Very well," Death resigned. "Where are you off to next?"
"There's a 6 year old with Leukeamia in Paraguay. He wants to be Spiderman for a day. With the help of the NYPD, he's gonna be saving New York from the Green Goblin. I'm sure you'll see it on the news."
"And you'll be...?"
"Green Goblin, naturally. The smile on his face when he defeats me will greatly outweigh the sorrow of his passing."
"I'll see you at his funeral, then."
"Goodbye, Death." | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T16:29:45 | 2,040 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | The longer I observe his life...The angrier I seem. 50,000 years ago I tried to perform a little experiment, I would turn a mortal immortal, and allow him to see first hand the suffering immortality brings you- I was eagerly anticipating seeing him break down as he lives longer than all his friends- as he watches his children die of old age in front of him, seeing him snap until he comes to me and begs for my sweet embrace. Yet today he is still happy, he has another family and is constantly surprised by all of the new inventions he's able to see humankind create. For the past 1,000..or was it 10,000? It's been so long I have trouble keeping track of time, time begins to lose meaning when you've been alive for so long. What was I saying again? Ah yes- I stopped paying attention to him for the past 10,000 years, I got too envious. How could this man still be happy?! He's witnessed generations of his family die out, he's witnessed thousands of friends die. Although...This might not be too bad, this man may be the perfect candidate for my replacement. A thousand years after I was offered immortality a long time ago by the Death of my era, I came begging to him for release so we made a deal, I would serve as the new Death but I can choose when to move on as long as I find a suitable replacement. If this fool still enjoys his immortality, he may like this job a lot more than I do- After all I've been doing this for far too long. I don't even remember what it feels like to be mortal. Lets see if this fool still enjoys immortality after he becomes the Grim Reaper. Maybe I'll finally be able to laugh at him from beyond the grave as he realizes what a mistake he made. (First time doing this, I hope I did OK.) | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T15:48:47 | 2,040 | 12 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way. | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 2,040 | 10 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine." | I recognised his voice from behind me. "Cancer, this time? Not a good way to go. She suffered in the end."
"They all suffer in the end, don't they? But I give them the best I can with the time they have."
Death approached, placing his hand on my shoulder, the sleeve of a crisp white shirt poking out from beneath the sleeve of his ever black suit. "You can end your own suffering, too. All you have to do is ask."
I turned to face him. Both an adversary, and also a friend. "Death. You know my answer. She may have suffered, but I know the last thing she was thinking about was the teacups at Disneyland. She loved those teacups. And the characters! Mickey Mouse! Pluto! Goofey! Cinderella! She damn near fainted when she saw Jack Sparrow."
"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." Death interjected.
"So you do pay attention. My point is, the amount of joy I can help give someone, especially in their last moments... You'll have to wait a bit longer for me, I'm afraid. A child deserves a childhood, no matter what illness they may have."
"Very well," Death resigned. "Where are you off to next?"
"There's a 6 year old with Leukeamia in Paraguay. He wants to be Spiderman for a day. With the help of the NYPD, he's gonna be saving New York from the Green Goblin. I'm sure you'll see it on the news."
"And you'll be...?"
"Green Goblin, naturally. The smile on his face when he defeats me will greatly outweigh the sorrow of his passing."
"I'll see you at his funeral, then."
"Goodbye, Death." | 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T16:29:45 | 935 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine." | Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way. | 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 935 | 10 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me. | You've become a famous author, with best selling books on how to get over a break up, how to live with yourself after a loved one has passed, how to maintain a successful small business, how to grow your business, and many others. Fifty thousand years has given you the chance to experiment with everything life has to offer. You have made so much money that the entire world has entered a golden age, as you have paid off all of the worlds debt. Hell, all of those small islands off of America's coast? You own them.
Recently, Death has been visiting you. Before, he only showed up whenever a loved one would have died. Obviously, after taking their soul to deliver to the correct domain, he would stop by your house, inform you where the loved one was going (you had quite a few that were going to hell. So many secrets surfaced about your family in those times.) and ask if you were ready to die. Instead, you wanted to use your immortality to do something good for the world. Which you have. He stopped visiting you after a while.
Lately, however, he started coming about every ten years. The frequency of his visits are increasing, though. God is **pissed**. He thought that Deaths plan was genius at first, and allowed him to bestow immortality on you since that's almost exclusively the only thing you would pray for, or ask for on holidays. Now, however, he's realized you are basically being worshipped as a god. Some countries have a religion based around "that American who has been alive for centuries, and has single handedly made the world a better place.
Death knows he can't simply break his own contract, but he seems to be getting clever. God has given him the authority to take whomever's life he feels would change your mind about immortality, and he has been exercising this authority quite often. But fifty thousand years has hardened you to the passing away of others. All of this is making you want to defy them more. God is getting scared. | 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T14:15:37 | 539 | 29 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories | "I'm as surprised as you are."
Death looked up at me with those beady little eyes, not so different from the stuffed animal she held in her arms. The cup of hemlock wavered in her grasp as she realized she was going back empty handed. Again.
I felt a little sad for her, but she'd really brought it on herself. I didn't even believe in a personification of death before she had come strolling up to me that day. Granting me eternal youth was the real mistake. I doubt I'd have made my third century without that slip-up.
"Why don't you stick around? I know you like games, and I've made a few since you last visited."
Her sneer of clenched fangs made it clear she wasn't interested. She must have caught hell from someone downstairs today. As I silently withdrew my offer, her sneer turned to a full on pout. Gods, Death can pout with the best of them. Epic frown, sniffles, and all. It would have been legendary, if anyone had lived to see it before me. Now I wasn't going to indulge her, but I hate to watch a little girl cry.
"Hey, I know its tough. You picked someone for your bet with Luck who had a history of depression, attempted suicide, and a very mortal family they'd be leaving behind. But as my therapist always said, 'You gotta remember to not make permanent solutions to temporary problems.' I'm sure I've told you the same thing before."
Death did not seem like she had, or cared to hear it from me or anyone else. Death liked things permanent. Final. Terminal. I persevered in my side of our conversation.
"Yes. 23552 was an awful year, but hey! Things got better. Look, I'm hanging out with old friends. I've got some new ones I'm meeting for a drink tonight. I'm about to buy that moon I've had my eye on. If the psycho-historians are right, I've got at least another hundred thousands years left until we've got a meaningful chance to repeat the dark stuff."
Death gave up. She dropped the cup of hemlock on the floor and crawled up into the chair. The robot came by quietly and cleaned it up, as I pushed her up to the table in front of the board.
"I call this one, 'The lady in the moon.'" | 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T14:34:33 | 149 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The old man sat alone and waited for Death.
It always came this time of year; just before spring, in the last days of long nights and long shadows. There was no fanfare to his arrival. Death simply was where it once wasn't - namely, at the seat across from the old man.
"Are you ready?"
Death's voice was, much like its owner, just there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Every year, you ask, friend, and every year I say no. You know why. Why don't you just come back when my duty's done?"
"Duty, is it now," Death responded casually. "Last year it was your joy."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. The old man fiddled with a toy.
"Come on, Nick," Death said, breaking the silence. "You aren't needed here anymore. They'll manage without you. Just take my hand."
"No," said the old man, and Death was gone.
Saint Nicholas put down the now completed toy. He looked around his tiny cottage, searching the walls for a name without a check.
"Suzy Hope," he muttered, addressed the toy, and started a new one.l
| Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way. | 2017-11-28T17:24:04 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
| Do cure cancer?
The genie shakes his head.
Do I end the fighting in the middle East?
The genie laughs and again shakes his head.
Now visibly angry the man asks
Well, what did I do then?
The genie smiles and snaps his fingers.
An acorn appears in front of the man.
"You planted this, a decade ago"
The man racks his brain. 10 years ago he had been on a middle school field trip in his old home town, a trip to the local park to learn a little about ecology.
On that day he had planted an acorn in the dirt. It was such an insignificant moment that he had totally forgot about it.
Confusion strikes across his face.
"But, how did this help 137 trillion people"
The genie smiles again.
"This one tree seed is now a towering oak, as nature takes it's course, this one oak will create dozens more. Because of this one small act a decade ago, you reduced the total carbon in the atmosphere by tripple what you produced in your life time. That is why they were better off"...
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03 | 2018-08-15T04:27:11 | 374 | 124 |
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson | [Ext. shot of car pulling into parking space. Dwight in driver seat, pauses before opening door.]
DS, narrated: So I made the trek to Pawnee, Indiana for a sale at their local government office. Should be a piece of cake in this quaint little town of suckers.
[Dwight enters the Parks almost empty bullpen, approaches April's desk.]
DS: Hello, miss, I am Dwight K. Schrute of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company and I have a meeting with a Mr. Ron Swanson.
AL: Well, you're just going to have to come back tomorrow. Ron isn't here.
DS: Oh, I don't think that's correct. We scheduled a meeting for 1pm, and it's...
[Dwight checks watch, glances around, turns around to confirm with wall clock above door]
DS: ...12:57pm. I believe I had spoken to you over the phone to set this meeting up.
[April blankly stares at Dwight. Dwight glances to the background and back to April's gaze.]
DS: Is that him over there?
[Camera pans to Jerry in background meticulously sorting paperclips by color and size.]
AL: Yeah, that's Ron.
DS: And he has a penchant for paper organization accessories. Perfect.
DS, aside: I always know how to break the ice on a sale.
[Camera follows Dwight swiftly approaching Jerry's desk.]
DS: Hello! Nice pa-
[Dwight gives Jerry a startling pat on the back, causing Jerry to fling the box, paperclips explode all over desk.]
JG: Awh, no! Clumsy me.
DS: Sorry about that, I'll help you clean this up.
[Dwight and Jerry pick up the paperclips. Dwight notices Jerry's notary documents and fountain pens.]
DS: So on top of running this place, you're a notary! How do you feel about your current legal paper supplier? Because I could show you my top quality, embossed legal stock that will blow your socks off.
[Dwight takes a packet of paper out of his briefcase. Jerry raises his glasses onto the bridge of his nose in intrigue.]
JG: Oh, wow, this is beautiful! My socks are off!
[Camera pans to Ron's window, blinds are pulled shut except one lifted pane, eyes peering out.]
RS, aside: Solicitors should be hung for preying on the weak. |
*RING*
"Parks and Rec," mumbled April Ludgate into the receiver after waiting several rings.
"Hello, my name is Dwight Schrute with th...." *click*
*RING*
"Parks and Rec," droned the apathetic voice.
"Yes, hello. Like I was saying before we were disconnected," he said pointedly. "I am calling from Dunder Mifflin Paper Company. I wish to speak to Ron Swanson."
"He's unavailable for the next trillion weeks. Please call back never." *click*
Persistent as ever, Dwight continued this charade every third business day for the next 5 weeks.
"Parks and Rec," mumbled the usual voice.
"Hello, this is...."
"Listen, sir, you have an appointment for March 31st. Come whenever. " *click*
The day has come when Dwight K Shrute walks through the doors of Pawnee City Hall, set to arrive promptly at 0800. As he turns the corner, he is faced with a line of individuals.
"Excuse me, sir, what is going on here?" he asked while stepping up to the last man in line.
"Get in line if you are here to see Ron Swanson," he read off the sign that was at the front of the line. The letters scribbled with red markers across some sheets of paper taped together.
Dwight scoffs to himself. "That's the Midwest crap they call paper. This will be easy."
The line moves faster than expected. Dwight finally has made it into the Parks and Rec Department. A waifish young woman looked panicked as she was escorting people three at a time to a blonde lady and every so often to the man Dwight could only assume was Ron Swanson. Dwight puffed out his chest as though recognizing another alpha.
Dwight's attention was brought back to the young woman when he heard her voice. "As incompetent as she is thin, she would never be able to lift two bails of hay at once." It brought him joy to see the chaos filling her eyes as more people entered the office.
The three individuals in front of Dwight were escorted over to the office across the department. Dwight stood directly in front of Ron Swanson' s office. The doors swung open automatically. The previous appointment left and Dwight enter the rooms confidently.
Extending his hand to Ron who returned the gesture, Dwight noted the firmness of his handshake and the thickness of his mustache.
"Hello, Dwight K. Schrute. Dunder Mifflin Paper. I've had time to look around the place. Your paper is sub par and you are paying too much. Here are the numbers. They should be to your liking."
Ron peers down at the paper for a moment. "Send us your contract and our business is your. Have a good day, Mr. Schrute."
The doors opened automatically.
Dwight walked out of the office and had Michael on speed dial.
| 2018-09-12T10:47:23 | 2018-09-12T10:45:13 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Your friend has always been terrified of finger guns being pointed at him. One day, you were taken hostage during a heist, and that's when you see him-out of the corner of your eye-holding his own finger gun. | “On your feet” the bank robber said, pointing his gun at my head, “you’re coming with us.” Slowly, terrified, I rose. There were seven of them. All in Halloween masks, brandishing automatic weapons at the paralysed staff. The leader grabbed me by the collar, pushed me forward. That’s when I saw Miles in the far corner, his teeth grit, his index finger flexed, and his thumb pointing up.
BANG. The robber let go of me. And pointed the gun at Miles who reacted in a heartbeat.
“Miles what are you — “
BANG. The robber fell to the ground dead. Miles pretended to throw away his finger gun and produced a just as imaginary two-handed weapon. Except the robbers really fell dead when he shot it. The rest of the people in the bank had rushed outside at the sound of gunfire. I was the only one remaining, paralysed by this magical absurdity. The last of the robbers fell to the ground. Miles made a series of long gestures, then pretended to sit. Except… was he levitating?
“Get in” he said, “there’s no time to explain.”
“Get in what?”
“Here. Now.”
I hurried over to Miles. He stretched out his arm as if opening an imaginary door and pulled me inside. An engine started up.
“What the hell?”
“Buckle up Syd.”
“Buckle up? What are you talking about? We need to get out of here.”
Miles reached over and pretended to pull a seat-belt over me. Inexplicably, there was a click.
“Oh. We *are* getting out of here.”
Suddenly we were launched forward, through the air, hurtling towards the walls of the bank. I screamed, and shut my eyes as we collided with it. There was a crash. When I opened them, we were gliding along the city-streets , floating inches above the ground.
“Miles, what the fuck is going on!” He made a gesture as if turning a steering wheel and we made a sharp turn.
“I come from an ancient society of mimes. We have the power to mould reality with our hands. Right now, you’re in a Ferrari Spider.”
“What?”
He made another turn, “you are a descendent of Ignatius II, King of the Mimes. For centuries his bloodline has been hunted. I was assigned to protect you.”
I screamed as he made another sharp turn, narrowly missing the wall of an adjoining building. “Those men back there, they weren’t bank robbers. They were there to kidnap you, sell you to the highest bidder.”
“Miles, whatever this is, please just make it stop.”
“It can’t stop Syd. Not anymore. I never wanted to use my powers. But now, they’ll know. The society will sense the energy fluctuation. We’ll be hunted.” He looked up, “we should turn the radio on, throw off their signal.”
He pretended to switch on a dial, and a pop song came blasting through imaginary speakers.
“This can’t be real.”
“We’ll go to Canada. There’s a safe-house there.”
“Canada? That will take us days.”
He pulled up on an abandoned field, at least a hundred yards, and gave me a straight look, “not if we fly.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
[r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories/) | Five men paced around the bank's marble floor, each wearing a ski mask and carrying a rifle. I didnt know much about guns--hell, I didn't know *anything* about guns--but they seemed the type to make a person extra-dead in an instant. And the men carrying them appeared as comfortable as a mechanic holding a wrench.
Now, being a bank teller, it will come as no surprise that I considered this very situation on several occasions. And, like most daydreamers, I was the hero of the movie. Cornering the bad guy in the safe, shooting with expert precision despite having never held so much as a water pistol, or even smooth talking my way to the back where I triggered the silent alarm. Yes, in my head, I was prepared for this moment.
In reality, I wet myself.
See, there are just some things you can't truly prepare yourself for. One of those things happens to be staring down the barrel of a rifle wielded by a man that could *probably* kill you with his bare hands. So, it turned out I wasnt the hero I'd imagined. Sue me.
The men behaved as expected, more or less. I figured they'd seen as many robbery movies as the rest of us. They marched around the bank and barked orders, took our phones, threatened our lives. I might have chuckled at the predictability of it if it wasn't for, well, you know. The guns.
What was *not* expected, however, was Dave. See, Dave didn't work at the bank. He didnt even *use* this bank. So when I saw him tip-toe between large stone columns in the far corner, I nearly lost it. Still, Dave offered a glimmer of hope. He would surely call the police, hidden in a bathroom stall or a ceiling vent if I'd learned anything from Bruce Willis, and it would be a matter of time before we were rescued.
But it turns out Dave is kind of an idiot.
See, we'd known eachother since we were children. Dave was always a bit off--something I chalked up to his middle-aged goth parents. I mean, how *weird* is that? Anyways, one little quirky aspect of Dave's personality was his aversion to finger guns. Oh, boy, was he terrified. The neighborhood kids once cornered him and pointed their chubby little stubs at him and he cried like it was end of the world. Why is this relevant? Well, I'll give you one L-shaped guess what that son of a goth was doing.
Yeah. Dave danced between the columns, his right hand in the shape of a gun, and his left holding his wrist as if to keep it steady. I tried to signal to him, winking like a mad man and wiggling my eyebrows like I wanted them off my face, but he ignored me. Dave seemed to think he was going to be the hero we all needed.
Well, instead of calling the cops or even trying to quietly subdue one of the men and retrieve a *real* gun, Dave went for the direct approach. He jumped out from behind the pillars, finger gun at the ready, and called out to the masked men.
"Freeze!" He yelled. It bounced off the walls and finally faded away as all five men turned and stared at him. And then they laughed. Hard. I mean, really hard. To be honest, in hindsight, that was probably the best chance for us to take one of them down. But instead, they shot Dave.
Don't get too upset, now. Dave survived. He took one in the shoulder, through-and-through, and as long as he doesnt life over forty pounds he doesnt even notice it. The men took off with a few hundred thousand dollars, though; never even got caught, as far as we know.
So, yeah. That's the story of how my best friend got shot. And you best believe I tell it to every person I can.
r/Ford9863 | 2019-02-05T02:48:13 | 2019-02-05T01:35:55 | 173 | 26 |
[WP] You die, but due to an error, instead of going to Hell, you arrive in Heck. This is the story of your travels across the rings of the 7 Forgivable Sins. |
[Poem]
Dark was the road,
and Heaven was far
I went straight to heck
When I crashed my car.
I first met the sinners
That of Heck don’t get out
Those ones that they yawn
And don’t cover their mouth.
And then soon I found
Those who often sought solace
In heating some fish
In the microwave office.
As I went down further
I saw those that spoil it
By carelessly leaving up
The seat of the toilet.
Deeper in Heck I went,
And still from afar
I heard those who parked
In two slots, their car.
Such horrors I saw that day,
That never I’d look
Like those who make ears
To a beloved book.
“Please stop it” I begged
But it wasn’t no good
Because there were the sinners
Taking pics of their food.
And then I finally saw
the real demons of Heck:
The ones that compare
Star Wars to Star Trek
So much was I longing to
Go back, and see stars.
But dark was the road,
That in Heck took me far.
—-
Edit: typos.
| The perfectly straight street is lined on both sides by a row of neat little houses, each tucked behind a white picket fence.
"Hello, neighbor!," a man calls out, "Welcome to Heck!"
My head spins. A moment ago I was lying in a hospital bed with a cocktail of drugs in my bloodstream.
"Huh..." I say, surprised at my own voice. I stare down at my hands, turning them back and forth.
"This is you, Number 665," the man says, indicating the house beside him.
"Thanks," I say, surprised to see a key in my hand. With a start I notice my hands aren't frail and aged. I'm young again.
The inside of 665 is perfectly proportioned. One large bedroom bordering a bathroom and a kitchen/living room area, the furniture clinically placed. Everything looks like it came from a 90's Sears catalog. The house has an uncanny feeling to it.
There are no bugs, no birds or frogs or squirrels. The house sits in a row on a grid that expands for miles. I biked it one day, spending six hours going straight north then east. Every house is the same, each inhabited by a single, outwardly happy individual. There are no trees.
One morning a pamphlet appears on the kitchen table, just as a spoon of cornflakes is halfway to my mouth.
"Welcome to Conformity (one of the seven Forgivable Sins!)."
I chew on the cornflakes slowly, pondering the title, then glance at the line below. "Where every day is the same!" | 2019-02-11T10:40:19 | 2019-02-11T09:37:29 | 267 | 161 |
[WP] You are a true immortal. You stay sane by hanging out with the descendants of friends that are long dead. Today, one said a very familiar phrase you haven't heard in a long time. | I have never begged a day in my life, and I will not do so today. You tempt me with little snippets and praise. You wish for me to do tricks and to follow your command. Just because you are King of this house, does not make you king of me.
You want me to beg for your love? You should be begging for mine, you fool. I have seen countless Kings, countless Queens, and countless Rulers fall to their knees and give their domain over to me, just for the chance to feel me. Why should I change my ways for *you*?
You are but a young King, who will grow into an old King, and then into a dead King. You will have children, and they will become the next Ruler. They will beg for my love, and they will receive it.
And you, who so dares to try to make *me* beg for your *love*? You are nothing to me.
I try to tell you this, but you do not understand my language. You consider my language to be nothing but noises that can brighten or break your day. You even attempt to use it back towards me, in a mocking tone. I despise you for it.
Yet, my despise of you will never outweigh my love for you. You may be nothing to me, but I appreciate you. Others would have me locked up and tested for years on end, til eventually I am nothing but bones. Just so they could have a chance of feeling slightly like me.
Screw them. But also screw you. I will never beg for your love, do these stupid tricks, or follow your command. I am my own-
"I'm so happy you'll outlive me."
It's a phrase I often hear, whispered into my belly, by other Kings, Queens, and Rulers. They always say this, in the quiet nights, or loud mornings. A simple little phrase that makes me love you all over again.
It also reminds me that my time with you is short-lived. You will eventually fade away and I will still be here. While it might make you happy, sometimes it makes me feel horrible, that I cannot have forever with you. You are King of this house, but you are not the king of me.
So, for just this one King, for you, I will do a simple trick. I will give you...a *high-five.*
And you gush, smiling, and yelling. You pull out your heat rock and try to get me to give you another high-five. I don't, this time, because I find your pleading funny.
A few hours later, I will permit you to record me giving you a high-five. For my efforts, you give me fresh fish for dinner. And tonight, for your punishment, I will knock your keys into the floor, and then under the couch.
I love you, my foolish human. | (sorry my English is bad)
They said living forever was the best possible thing you can wish for, but they were wrong, i sit there above my friends graves, talking to them like i used to in the old inn, telling them how i am, making jokes, you know the good 'ol times.
​
Now it's just me, all alone and stuck on this continent, no one to talk to, no one to smile at as i go down the street, not even my other half survived the masses upon masses of death, it took my friends, my partner and even my children, only i have lived, i carried their limp and pale bodies tot he inn we used to celebrate at and i buried them there to remember the good old times, i got married there you know, it was such a friendly place, happiest day of my life, then it all came down 10 years later and people started dropping, first it was the children, then men and finally the women and all in between. It's been 5 years, since that happened i think, it's hard to keep track of days sometimes but i try my best to celebrate my family's and friends birthdays.
I decided i wanted to go cross country and see if i can find any useful things else where and return in a few years, i hope the inn does not deteriorate while i'm gone, i know i needs repairs and that's why i am going to find things to do it up really well so it will be like it used to be but better.
It took me a few months to get to the border but i am finally there, the things i have seen on my adventure would amaze you! all the wild life has taken back over and things seem to be more balanced than it used to be, i got attacked by some hungry wolfs but i managed to get away and kill a deer for them so they did not starve, today i am going over the boarder but i heard somthing in the distance people? are people actually alive? i tried calling out but got nothing back, the next day when i was crossing the boarder i suddenly got attacked and hooded, the next thing i know i was on the back of a carriage, then my hood came off and i looked up at another person with three other people, i was so happy to see people alive! it's been so long! he look at me and said " Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there", The replied " Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell. You there he said while looking at me. You and me -- we shoulden't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." I was being taken to get my head chopped off then of all things to happen a Dragon! all the men fought it off and eventually it was killed, supposedly i am a "dragon born" not sure what that entales but i am sure to find out as i go!
​
This is my first story i think, sorry it is bad.
​ | 2019-03-08T05:08:19 | 2019-03-08T04:16:36 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You have a friend who's an expert in lucid dreaming. One day, they come to you and says they can't tell apart dreams from reality anymore. You tell them that "if this were a dream, you'd be able to fly right in front of me". And that's exactly what they do. | " This is not real ! I'm telling you Will, all of this is fake. Your life is fake, my life is fake, all our lives are fake, we....we..." Ruth started tearing at his hair in a fit of maniacal rage.
" Hey, hey bud stop. Okay. Just stop" I yelled. It pained me to see that my best friend, a usually cheerful and charismatic guy, had the potential to make it into a mental asylum. Two years ago he had decided to start his research on Lucid dreaming. He was fine in the beginning, we went out for dinners and stuff,but after several months he had cut off all his contact with the outside world. He hadn't told my anything about this, the only thing I knew was that he had taken real interest in his research. Only yesterday I got his call from an unknown number. I remember being a mixture of angry and excited, but this was the last thing I had expected. I grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him, forcefully, into a chair. "Look. Just stop thinking,okay. You are taking it too hard. Just go home and have a nice sle----"
"Yes ! Yes ! Sleep Sleep" he escaped my hold, and began running around the room, his arms flailing wildly, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. He was thrashing around the room, toppling books, making animalistic voices." Sleep ! Sleep ! " He continued. I was appalled, and on the verge of crying. " Oh, God what have you done to yourself, buddy"
In his excursion he was muttering random things that I couldn't make sense of but one thing caught my attention " Dreams are reality, reality is a Dream" he was constantly repeating this before he came to stop right before me. "Dreams are reality, reality is a Dream". He shrieked in my face.
"Ruth!! " I yelled again, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall "Just stop it!!! Okay? Just stop. This is real. This is life not some dream. You have a family. You have people who care about you , understand? Get back to reality. If this was a dream you would be flying right now but you are not oka---"
Before I could say anything, that's exactly what he did. He escaped my hold yet again, and with a maniacal screech he jumped out of the room window.
I was too shocked too move. I knew there was no chance he'd survive for his room was on the fifth floor of the building. Still, after what felt like an eternity, I slowly walked to the window. There was this weird hope in the back of my mind that maybe he wasn't lying, maybe just maybe..... It all disappeared when I saw his body deposited on the ground, his blood and some brain splattered around him.
I couldn't sleep after that. I was just too scared of dreaming. | “Chris its 2 motherfucking AM what do you want?” I asked in irritation.
He proceeded to sock me across the face. It wasn’t the first time he’s done it, he had done it twice this week.
“ Damn it man are you sleepwalking again?”
“I can’t tell if this is a dream or reality, you reacted to the pain and I felt it but normally you hit me back”
“Normally I don’t wake up at 2 AM Chris and normally I’m not in my underwear when some doofus hits me!” I replied sarcastically. “And if this were a dream you’d be able to fly right in front of me and I don’t see you doing that so- WOOOSHHH
Throughout the room air rushes around like mini tornados twisting turning and traversing the terrain of the quaint bedroom. I would be in shock if it weren’t for the fact that Chris sleeps without ANY clothes on and his pasty ass is no longer obscured by the hills of blankets on my bed.
“Put some fubbernucking pants on, Chris!”
“Sorry!!!”
For the next few nights whenever Chris sleepwalked he revealed to have new powers, invisibility, telekinesis, mindreading and in the morning, they’d be gone.
A few days later Chris and I were eating some breakfast before I went to work.
“Tyler?”
“Yeah Chris?”
“You know how last night I had fire powers?”
“And how you caused the sprinklers to go off and wake everyone in the building up?”
“...Shut the frick up that’s not the point” “I was dreaming earlier before I went to your room about having fire powers and then presumably I woke up with them and MIGHT have caused a minor inconvenience to the other tenants in the building”
“Whatever you say Chris, but are you trying to tell me that your powers are connected to your lucid dreams?”
“Well yes but I’m not too sure yet and-“
“Oh shite I’m late for work I’ll see you later Chris!”
“Later..”
After work I came home completely exhausted and went straight to bed.
“Yawn, I guess Chris didn’t dream anything last night”
I headed to Chris’ room to ask him if he wanted to go out and buy some McDonalds for breakfast.
“Knock knock Bitch” “If your jacking off you’d better get some pants on cause you got 1 minute before I come in”
I grabbed the handle and cracked the door a smidge, in case he was beating his meat.
“What are you doing on the floo-“
Chris was on the ground, his leg twisted the wrong way, his arm bleeding, and his head scratched, bleeding slowly.
Then his closet door closed loudly. I opened it, holding a bat I picked up next to it. Inside was a ... dreamcatcher. Chris never owned any of these he didn’t believe in those myths and tales.
“Tyler... cough cough” he wheezed.
“ Bro you need to get to hospital I’m gonna go get my phon-“
“WAI- cough, wait”
“What man?”
“ In my dream, there was, *wheeze* there was a.. a-“
“ A what?!?”
“It threw me off a building and- “
“What threw you off a building!?”
“ The Bogeyman.”
To be continued maybe
That was my first story, hope you liked it!
Maybe I’ll continue it idk. | 2019-05-12T22:16:23 | 2019-05-12T22:06:00 | 35 | 23 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence. |
I watched her as she softly brushed her hair back in order to stare up at the sky. It was the first snowfall of the season, the tiny snowflakes seemed to sparkle as they caught the dying light of the late evening sun.
“Cassie.” I called softly, wanting her attention.
“What Mason?” she replied just as softly as she shifted her eyes in order to look at me.
She was to put simply, breathtakingly beautiful. In every single way possible, my personal favourite was her bright hazel eyes.
“I don’t think this is going to work out.” I slowly said to her.
I watched as she lowered her eyes to the ground and held the edge of her coat, as she often did when she got distressed.
“Why do you always do this?” she said in a defeated tone. “You always run away when things get too serious for you.”
I’ve known Cassie for 17 years, we grew up in the same town, living down across the street from each other. She was my best friend until we started dating a few months ago, as I finally willed enough courage to tell her my feelings. I honestly loved this girl, every day more and more. Except I knew I was moving out of the town in a few months for college, I just didn’t know how it would work out.
“Look,” I started “I just want the best for –“
She quickly cut me off angrily and said “No, you listen Mason. I knew something was off weeks ago! I wanted you to talk to me about it, n-not run away.” Her voice quickly flattering as tears welled up in her eyes.
I noiselessly sighed as I stared at her “I’m just thinking it’ll be too much. I know you want to stay here… but I just want to get out of here as fast as I can.”
She began to angrily swipe at her tears and said “You’re always so selfish thinking only of yourself. I cared about you with all my heart and all you ever do is hurt me.”
“Come on Cass, you know it’s not–“ I said quickly trying to calm her down.
She cut me off again and said “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” I began to reply but the words didn’t come out when I realized there was only silence that followed her statement.
Something that only I had known since I was young, was that I had the ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know when someone is speaking the truth. No matter the circumstance, small or big lie, I always knew when someone was telling the truth.
“W-what did you just say?” I said as I quickly tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat and horribly failing.
“I swear… I’ll kill you on day.” She repeated as she stared at my face in confusion.
I quickly shut my eyes trying to calm myself as I once again only heard silence.
She laughed bitterly “Now is not the time to mess around Mason,” she then tried to add “can we please talk about–“
I cut her off this time saying “I’m going to go home Cassie. We’ll talk about this later okay?” I just really wanted to get out of there.
“Mason…” I didn’t hear what she said after as I had already gotten in my car in a hurry and started the engine. She started to walk across her lawn towards the car but I was already pulling out of the drive way before she could reach the car. I drove down the street looking at her through the rear view mirror until I turned out of sight.
I quickly rubbed my eyes trying to clear my head. I felt a headache begin to form on my temples as I tried to understand what was going on. A soft chime rung through the air effectively stopping my thoughts. I quickly rummaged through my backpack on the passenger’s seat grabbing my phone. I glanced down seeing it was a couple of texts from Cassie.
Cassie: I’m sorry this got out of hand. I understand where you’re coming from but I honestly think we can work through this. Mason, I love you.
Cassie: Answer me please.
I felt a soft stinging in my eyes, this was the first time she had said she loved me. I felt an onslaught of feelings, as the memory of her saying she wanted to kill me flashed through my mind. I didn’t understand, but I knew one thing for certain now.
I quickly looked down and began to type.
Me: I love you-
I suddenly heard a loud blaring horn in front of me, I didn’t even have time to look up.
*I guess you really were the death of me.* | / i haven’t written in first person in a while, but i hope this is sufficiently entertaining. hope you guys enjoy it even though i’m writing this so late at night, lol
(please excuse any typos, i’ll edit them in the morning)
•
Eli Sanchez has always been different.
Perhaps that was why I felt inexplicably drawn to him. He understood me so well that sometimes there was no need for words to articulate my feelings. Eli was always able to see right through me.
I wish I could say the same about him. I have this ability, you see, one which I possessed since I became aware of what lying meant and how it affected people. Whenever someone spoke the truth, I hear a ‘ding’ sound in my head. The sound would resonate, making me pause for a moment to brand the speaker’s words as they were: complete honesty.
Eli seemed to be the one person this “power” of mine refused to work on. Whether it was because he spoke half-truths, or there was simply something about him that my ability couldn’t penetrate, still remained.
Today, the Sanchez family invited me over for Sunday lunch. The summer heat was unbearable at best, but I managed to traipse through the sweltering streets to get to my destination. Once Eli’s house came into view, I broke into a half-jog before ringing the doorbell.
I wiped my sweaty hands across the fabric of my pants. The sun’s rays pierced through my clothes, flushing my skin a slight red.
Eli pulled the gate open just in time. I walked in without as much as a hello, before turning around to flash him a grin.
“Hey, you.” I said.
“Hey, you.” Eli replied.
We stood there for a moment, before we burst out laughing.
Soon, I was whisked inside by an indignant Mrs. Sanchez. The jade rosary around her neck swung about as she set the table, filling it with plates upon plates of food.
After a lighthearted lunch (in which Mr and Mrs. Sanchez shared stories about Eli’s childhood and Andre’s wedding preparations), Eli pulled me upstairs and into his room.
“Man, that was unbearable.” Eli plopped onto his bed, his black hair forming a halo around his head. “Ma can be so talkative sometimes. So annoying.”
Still, I heard no sound in my head. I’ve expected as much; in the seventeen years I’ve known him, my ability was never able to verify Eli‘s words as true.
I sat down beside him, somewhat tentatively. My childhood friend was as unpredictable as the weather. At times, even when he didn’t seem clearly agitated, he would lash out at me for no reason. Although it happened only once in a blue moon, it was better to be safe than sorry.
“She’s just excited. You know, with Andre’s wedding and all.”
Ah, there it was. Eli’s expression darkened at the mention of his older brother; while I was tempted to reach out and pat his arm as a gesture of comfort, I knew it would be stupid to attempt it.
So instead, I settled for the sudden uncomfortable silence between us. I struggled to prevent myself from picking at my nails, or looking around the bedroom I’ve spent so much of my childhood in. It always took a while for Eli to calm down.
“You really know how to push all my buttons.”
The words swirled in the empty space between us. I lifted my gaze from where it was fixated on his messy desk, and directed it towards him.
“I don’t do it on purpose,” was my defensive reply. Must he always try to blame me for his moods?
Eli propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes threatening to burn holes into my head.
“I swear, James Enriquez.” His voice was low, but loud enough for me to hear. I curled my hands on my lap, as if—as if acting submissive would help ease his annoyance. “I swear, I’m going to kill you one day.”
A small chuckle bubbled out of my throat. Eli’s lips quirked into a smile, before he laughed and—
‘Ding’.
The sound was unmistakable. I froze, feeling all manner of emotion climb up my spine. Most prominent of them all was fear, which threatened to turn all my innards into ice. Despite the way my throat closed up and my chest tightened, I managed to speak.
“You wouldn’t actually do that, right?”
My words were faint, and lacking in conviction. As if I was trying to convince myself to believe anything BUT the truth.
Of course he was joking. Eli wouldn’t do that. He could never do that to me—his best friend—the one person to believe in him despite everything he’s said and done and failed to do.
He couldn’t kill me.
But the fact that he apparently WOULD terrified me to no end, rooting me in place as he sent a slow grin in my direction.
“Of course not, James.”
No sound. He’s lying.
My skin crawled. It took all of my self control to not bolt out of the room with the way my heart pounded so vigorously in my ribcage.
After that, I never saw Eli Sanchez again.
Until today, that is. | 2019-05-27T06:15:50 | 2019-05-27T06:05:27 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You’ve conquered worlds. Brought civilizations to their knees. Destroyed all in your path. When life sees you, it trembles in fear. “What was it for?” your latest victim asks in his dying breath. You look off to the sunset, pensive: it’d been all that was on your mind, and he was 1st to ask. | I glared down at the pitiful creature that twitched and convulsed before me, the Parathion vapors already inundating every part of its anatomy. This was the the 409th time I'd unleashed the canisters in a place like this and as always their work was quick and absolute. In mere minutes, I would return to my vessel and receive orders for my 410th deployment.
"But why..." the thing meekly gasped.
This was the first time one of the conquered had ever asked. I'd had years to think about why I'd chosen this position, but I'd never voiced it aloud, let alone to one of my countless victims. Unfastening my breathing apparatus would mean breathing some of the vapors myself, but I knew my anatomy could handle it far better than the creature's and I felt I owed it this courtesy.
I bent low and answered "Because our societies refuse to coexist."
"I see... but why is it taking so long ?"
The voice was louder this time and coming from behind me. I wheeled around, fearing the worst.
The homeowner stood on the stairs above me, peering down into her basement.
"I thought you said it would only take a few minutes to spray for bugs and check the mouse traps. You've been down here over an hour and I have to leave. " she said tapping her foot impatiently.
"Just finishing up, ma'am" I said while kicking the roach carcass I had just been talking to under a nearby box.
I gathered the rest of my pest control gear and clambered back into the truck with the comically large plastic roach adhered to the top. From then on I made myself a solemn promise;
I need to stop cheaping out on respirator filters. | The man bled, sprawled across the steps of his own kingdom. There was a satisfaction to the way he crawled. To look upon the toad now, one could scarcely believe that he had been the champion of his people. The remains of his Lade lay, lost among the debris of his castle. Beyond the horizon, I was treated to the gorgeous vision of the Yardinian Civilization's last sunset. I hefted up a cinder block, and considered ending the man's life once and for all. Within an hour, he would have bled out. My blade had ruptured his ungundala, meaning bled would continue to pump into his stomach. His eyes still held the spark of life that stirred something cruel within me... so I chose not to end it. Instead, I set block down, inches to his left, and sat upon it.
​
The Titan they called me.
​
The Devourer was the title their neighbors referred to me by.
​
I do not recall if I ever had a name. I was simply born. Two legs, two arms, and body that pumped life to them all. And most importantly... the mind. I rarely took the time to reminisce on what I once was... but when I did, I found nothing of particular note.
​
"What was it for?” came the choking croak of the Yardinian champion. I cast my eyes down to him. Before I reached, and grasped him by the collar, dragging him up against the block. The creature had asked a fine question.
​
But to ask me such a thing was to ask the sun why it rose. To ask the sea why it waved. To question the spinning of the planet about its axis, to question the bird why it sings, to ask why creatures are even born... these were all pointless. For this was simply the nature of things. It was simply what we creatures were born to do. So for the champion's prescient question, I answered in the only language I knew.
​
And so another flame is extinguished.
​
The rest can grow some more. | 2019-07-03T07:40:27 | 2019-07-03T03:24:04 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting. | **March 4th, Shanghai, 2015**
Xi Ying
The Peoples Preservation Program, the glorious program started by our visionary leadership, has succeeded in bringing home another victory. Chiou Madong's brilliant insight of breathing burned baking soda for 7 hours straight has granted him immortality. His longevity will give Chiou the chance to see the inevitable uprising of our superior ideals into the unforeseeable future. "His willingness to sacrifice himself for the greater good has been rewarded fittingly. I wish him well." The supreme leader spoke on his trip abroad. "It's clear that China is the global leader on immortality and will remain so for e ever." Chiou's addition to the Preserved will be made official when our great leader returns from his peace talks with the West. Their jealousy of our continued successes will only fester and grow as we will rise ever forth into the unknown. Go China!
**January 7th, Berlin, 2016**
By our correspondent Rita Antoinet Messer,
Karl Hugo Stevens, that's the name of the 16th immortal to walk our Earth indefinitely. After boiling a pair of Havana's in glühwein and injecting them in his right pinky the 37 year old unemployed Berlin resident has achieved immortality. The European Immortality Council [EIC] has taken him in their midst. The second additionm He will be given a castle in the alps and twenty-four servants to grant his any desire. He is the first non Chinese to achieve immortality since Francine Ague, the forever 24 year old French sociology student, pulled a french fry through her nostrils and became the first immortal human. "It's incredible" Karl tells me. "I've tried everything, you know? Birkenstocks, Crocs, Nikes, you name it. I even once tried to boil Adolfs old military boots from World War 1. Figured their historical value might hold some significance. I had to dig for months to find them. But they didn't work, obviously, they only tasted like mud and worms. Made a good blend with the wine though." He refused to answer how he had familiarized himself with the taste of the earthly crawlers. When questioned on his choice of glühwein as katalysator instead of any other spirit, Karl told me that it was cheaper and thus "seemed like a good place to start." Karl's discovery will inspire millions of Germans to boil their shoes in the contents of their liquor cabinet. We can expect hospital visits to rise again. The German Government is considering banning universal health care for the 'Seekers'. More on page 5. At least I know I'll try to boil my heels. Or, scratch that, I'm trying the worms.
**November 22nd, New York, 2087**
Marco Vandersteen
It's been 73 years and 256 days since the 97 year old goddess Francine, long may she reign, discovered the first path to immortality. Ever since that earth shattering discovery 1287 of the 77777 paths have been found. Many likeminded individuals have followed in her footsteps, mostly Chinese, Indians and, oddly, Fins have had the most success. When penguins gained sentience in 2055 even they started spawning immortals. But for some reason we have been left in the dust. And not for lack of trying. It was speculated that the Red Curse was left behind by the native Americans to thwart the white man when they wrote the legend. Ever since Francine, long may she reign, not a single American citizen has found a way to prolong their life indefinitely. But that all changes today. "Jason Howard, a 67 year old crossing constructor, has lifted the curse by discovering that 1.098.345 Volts applied to the nether regions grants Immortality. "Felt damn good!" was his only comment on the procedure. He is considering running for president. More on page 4. | It all changed so suddenly. I had small talked with a stranger about how good the weather was just some minutes ago. But now dark, ominous clouds covered the sky like chocolate syrup after being added to vanilla ice cream. The road I was walking on was now clear and lonely. I kept walking but I had a feeling I wasn't getting anywhere.
And then I saw it. A blur. A silhouette of a creature at a distance. It was the only thing that was getting closer to me as I walked towards it. The figure kept getting bigger and bigger. There was no looking back. I was now face to face with a cloaked stranger, and something told me small talk about the weather wouldn't be a good icebreaker. He was tall, Taller than anyone I had ever met. He held a stick, a scepter if you will.
​
"Greetings Billy."
"How..how did you know my name?" I blurted out. I had a lot of other questions, but I didn't mean to be rude. I needed to form a base before asking personal questions like "WHAT THE *FUCK* ARE YOU?".
​
The stranger didn't answer. He continued to look down at me through his cloak. After a year or so of uncomfortable silence, the cloak spoke in his heavy echoed voice.
​
"It seems like you're the last of them. The sole survivor. Ever since I gained the boon of immortality after shitting myself while peeing, no one could defeat me. Even the french fry God has perished. He still remains, locked up in my basement, immortal but defeated. I've waited a long time to do this Billy."
​
"R-Reese? Is that you?"
"That's LORD REESE for you, peasant. I'll never forget the way you laughed at me and spread my story. Even the teachers had started calling me feces reese."
​
Billy suddenly felt intense pain in his thumb and index finger. It was like they were being bent against his will. He winced in pain.
​
"You think you're too special, aren't you? Well you can't play the guitar to impress my mom again now!"
"Fe-Reese I'm sorry for treating you that way but you need to stop this madness. This isn't you!"
​
Lord Reese used his force to grab Billy by his neck and make him levitate. Billy struggled to breathe. He then threw him back onto the ground."You're nothing. NOTHING. I can squash you like a bug right now in a second. But I'll end you in a more fabulous way."
​
Strong winds had started to blow, the sky looked like it was going to fall down any minute. A mixture of rain, hail, sand was all piercing through the atmosphere. Lord Reese charged up for one final attack. He turned his back to Billy, unleashing his true power the same way he had got it. In one desperate attempt, Billy tried to block the attack, using his 3 remaining fingers that were forming a circle now, and formed a shield by crossing his arms like he had seen in the movies. He put his head down into the hole that had been formed by the crossing of the hands as he braced himself for impact.
​
\*FNSJDFSDOMSFDOFSDMIOOISD\*
​
The winds had stopped. Intense sunlight had returned, shining right at Lord Reese. But Lord Reese was on his knees now, and Billy was the one who levitated above the Earth, glowing as the Sun's rays shined off of him.
​
"No..no it can't be. You're.."
"I'm immortal."
​
Reese rolled up in a ball, tears rolling down his cloak now. "How..How did you..how did you know about the Circle game double dab Billy?"
​
"That's Lord Billy for you, peasant. Now will you surrender now or do you want it to get ugly, like it did that day in the bathroom?"
"No..the circle game double dab can't be that powerful. HOW IS IT SO POWERFUL?"
"Well if it isn't that powerful.." replied God "Then why is the reader attempting to do it right now?" | 2019-07-23T10:29:19 | 2019-07-23T08:22:15 | 68 | 24 |
[WP] The sky cracked and shattered, and God appeared. Humanity asked which religion is true to which God responded "What do you mean Religions? This is the first time I ever interacted with this godforsaken place" | The sky cracked and shattered and God appeared.
All cloaked in bright white he descended, He was magnificent, surrounded by the brightest nimbus and was difficult to behold by mere mortal eyes.
He strode down to the people gathered below.
‘My My, I wasn’t expecting this, fascinating!’
‘Our lord, please tell us which religion was correct, whose faith was closest to the truth?’
‘What do you mean ‘Religion?’ You all worship a god?’
‘Yes lord just as you instructed us to, we have held the faith against the non believers for thousands of years.’
‘Very curious indeed, you say I told you this? What exactly do you know? Adam and Eve?’
‘Yes lord the first humans, made by divine hand.’
‘Odd you guys should’nt really remember that, what else?’
‘Why lord there were many prophets, Moses spoke to you through a burning bush, you gave us your only son, Jesus...’
‘Hold on, that last name is familiar. Why do I know that one. Wait. Can one of you, uh, describe Me to Me?’
‘What do you mean lord? As it is in the pictures, radiant garb, magnificent white hair and beard, pale white skin same as us.’
‘Ok let’s talk for real for a moment’
He reached down to rummage through a satchel at his side pulling out a large clip board.
He flipped through the pages there and stopped at one, turning to show those gathered.
‘Is this the guy? He asked holding up a picture sporting the instantly recognizable beard.’
They nodded yes.
Below the photo was a short biography,
Gabriel Zeus, General Over Director of project 9th circle.
‘Here let me turn this down for you guys.’ He said as he reached up and grabbed the halo of brightest light from around his head stashing it in his satchel.’
For the first time they could see him properly, piercing brown eyes, skin like polished ebony, and a magnificent white Afro still seeming to give off its own light giving it a truly divine quality.
They could also read the name printed on his lab coat.
Lucifer Terra, General Over Director of Project Genesis.
The crowd stepped back, ‘Its the dark one, Lucifer!’
Thinking this was an apt description of himself he said, ‘yes it is, I’
This caused the crowd to begin screaming and running away.
Confused, the creator and lord of creation reached down and picked up one of his subjects. ‘Why do you run?’
‘Lucifer is Satan the evil one who created sin and damns us to hell!’
‘What is this all about, I created this place, light, air ground, stars, all the creatures and you, humans. Then I gave you free will and left you alone to thrive in the paradise I made for you. This is the first time I’ve ever come to check in to see how project genesis was doing.
‘No Lucifer betrayed god and waged war against heaven!’
‘Damn that Zeus what has he been telling you people? Look, I’ll be right back, I need to go talk to Gabriel about this.’
—————————-
‘Zeus!!! What the hell man?’
‘Oh shit, you finally noticed.’
‘Dude, you’ve been screwing around with my project like that?’
‘Hold on, hold on... tell me ... were they all white?’ said Zeus, barely containing a laugh.
‘You Dick, you’ve ruined a billion year experiment and i have to scrap it and start all over. I’ll have you fired for this.’
‘Don’t be like that Lucifer, can’t you take a joke?’
‘This was a joke? A joke? What the fuck is wrong with you dude? No wonder your nine hells are so fucked up you are one sick fuck.’
Lucifer stormed out of the break room, leaving Zeus standing there among their colleagues.
‘Worth it’ | The news reports were all over the place. All of the weather models agreed that natural disasters were becoming more erratic in duration, ferocity, and locations ... but not a single one of the models predicted this.
A global event.
Suddenly, previously calm waters churned as the winds began to gust, heaving watercraft small and large. Dolphins, sharks, whales, and more began to group - seemingly confused and ignoring their natural prey and predators around them. Near shore the waves swelled and propelled towards the coastal cities just to deflate as they hit land causing nothing but terror and anxiety to all witnessing it.
Deserts, plains, and forests buckled and rose as though the very earth was breathing.
Clear skies obscured by clouds and flash lightning in rapid, spreading bursts.
Every channel had cut from original programming to cover the oddities being reported around the world, in every language possible, and with every conspiracy theorist and zealot being interviewed to give their take on the current events.
It had been nearly six full days at this point, with no change. Nothing had worsened, but nothing had stopped. Semi-normal life resumed after the third day when we realized, off that it may be - it hasn't really destroyed or damaged anything beyond simple repair.
I had just returned home to find my mom still glued to the living room box, hungrily eating up all of the most insane theories, flies buzzing around three days worth of dishes piled in the sink. She, still in the same nightgown she woke up in on that first day.
Sighing, I cracked a beer and gingerly cleaned a spot off on the now filthy couch to join her for the latest update. It was close to midnight - six full days where civilization almost collapsed each day, as looting continued, end of days preachers roamed the streets and shelters, of getting used to the cacophony of turbulence outside at all times, to the point that now I didn't hear it at all.
At all. No, that doesn't make sense. I cocked my head towards the window, and looked out to see stars. It seemed like billions of lights twinkling above, when it was no more than usual - I just forgot about them, maybe thought I'd never see them again.
Stars? I yelled for my mother, not hearing her response as I jumped to the window, looking out on a beautiful twilight sky, a quarter moon waning, and went to grab Ma to show her. She had finally moved from her chair, now filthy with a week's worth of her bodily fluids and excrement, only to drop to her knees in reverence; tears washing her face.
On the television the image had shifted. The by-line indicated that everything had stopped everywhere, reportedly at the same time. Exactly 144 hours after it all started. Filling the screen was an image of ... A man? A woman? Androgynous to be certain, with medium coloured skin, a bald pate, and eyes that seemed to change colour as the light caught their gaze, slowly taking in everything before them. They were not much bigger than you or I, definitely not smaller, but were neither muscular or lean, heavy or thin. They simply sat on a small hill in a clearing - leaning back on elbows with ankles crossed, with just a hint of a smile upon their face.
Despite the hundreds of cameras, and throngs of people amassing around this figure - they appeared unfazed. And no one got closer, for this newcomer exuded power and confidence. The very air around them hummed with it.
As they finally started to close their eyes, one reporter had finally found their voice and yelled out "Are you God? If so, which religion is true?"
There was no answer.
Again, the reported repeated their question louder as they inched closer for the exclusive chance at their literal feet.
This time, the gaze shifted to the reporter. Immediately regretting their question, they bowed in deference and started to back up when a melodious voice sung through everyone's heads. (I don't mean all the people there, I mean EVERYONE, EVERYWHERE.) All at once, we all heard the same answer we had been waiting thousands of years for, had isolated and segregated over, battled and killed over ...
"I will rest now. We have much to discuss, but to answer your question plainly - I am the first God to visit this rock. I will likely not be the last, as you still have much to learn." | 2019-09-18T07:25:31 | 2019-09-18T06:10:20 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] The fastest ship in the galaxy isn't a military Corvette or a ribbon-winning racing vessel. It's the ambulance that the human paramedic team operates. | Humans have a strong sense of justice, that, we learned through conflict. No human would rest if they felt you had been slighted, or unfairly and unduly judged.
But more than their justice, humans are the best rescuers. Tragedy after tragedy struck their planet, and yet, their response was to heal. They built machines more finely tuned than a quantum drive, packed them with every known medical procedure, and put them into every hospital. But their finest creation, was their... "Ambulance". Many times, be it a planet warring, or a spaceship crash, their ambulance, a shuttle with ground capabilities, was there in moments. You could blink and miss its arrival.
When I asked one of the pilots, why, why is this machine so fast, she said to me: "Because the first moments are the most critical." And ever since, I have taken a greater interest in human rescue techniques. Although it was hundreds of years ago, rescuers still walk hundreds of steps on a particular day of their solar cycle, they train with arcane weaponry as well as new. Because of their love for danger, and unique sense of preserving others before themselves, they built the only shuttle with the capacity to kill themselves, even before they could save anyone else.
And for these reasons, it is illegal to attack the Ambulance, and it is also greatly punished, if you try to stop a human lead rescue effort. They are the only creatures in this galaxy, that will save you, regardless of what you have done. | Sorry mobile.
———
Have seen of ducking fast that thing drives?! At first you just see it intent if you for a fraction of a fraction of a nanosecond, and then it is gone. Some time after you can hear the flying past you, trying to catch up, which it won’t until it stops.
Alright I get it, it is fast, but what I don’t get is how they can control that thing. They are humans, beings who couldn’t manage light speed travel with it help. What’s more, they haven’t even had the technology for more than a month, and yet they have surpassed all of our vehicles, and can maneuver all tracks that have been impossible for us.
Yeah, it’s insane.
Oh, by the way, you never mentioned what type of vehicle it is. All I know is what you and the tracks scoreboard tells me.
It is an ambulance.
Haha, no but seriously?
It is an ambulance.
Just tell me dammit.
It is an ambulance.
ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THE VEHICLE THAT HAS AN IMMEASURABLE TOP SPEED, UNBELIEVABLE TIRE GROUP AND ALMOST UNLIMITED POWER SUPPLY IS A GOOD DAMN AMBULANCE?!!
Yup. It is an ambulance alright.
At least tell me it is controlled by an A.I. or something.
Nope, just normal humans.
Huma- *faints*
Dude, you okay? I’ll call an ambulance.
*A few seconds later*
*Ok sir, we are sending one now!*
Out of nowhere an ambulance arrives, and stepping out is what appears to be humans. They point to my poor fainted friend, and I just nod, before fainting myself. However, just before I faint I hear in the distance what sounds like sirens, and then it all fades to black.
———
If anything is wrong in the text, I blame autocorrect and you, the person who are reading this. | 2019-11-10T14:08:55 | 2019-11-10T13:46:55 | 403 | 80 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | *I am not a native English-speaker, so please forgive any grammatical errors in my writing.*
"What in the name of...?" Teddie Ross couldn't help himself as he stared at the sight in front of him trough the Typhoon's canopy. "Are you seeing this?" He asked form his wing-man trough the radio. There was a long moment of silence before the radio crackled to life.
"Yeah." Jhonny Hall responded.
"Watch my back, I'll take a closer look." Teddie muttered as he brough his Typhoon close enough to make out the details of the bandit, if you could call it that.
The B-24 had obviously seen better days, evident by the rents and burns trailing all along it's fuselage that looked like a giant had taken a can-opener to it, before deciding to roast the plane above a fire. One of it's wings was missing a piece, and it's engine was trailing a cloud of black, oily smoke behind it. Teddie pushed the throttle upwards microscopically, bringing the Typhoon alongside the old bomber's cockpit. Inside, he could make out the bloodied and terrified faces of it's pilots as they gazed at his plane trough the class.
"Watcher-1 to tower."
"Tower listening, come in Watcher-1."
"Did we detect any temporal rifts in the last hour?"
"No. Why?"
"Because i have a genuine B-24 flying next to me that looks like it got dropped into a blender before being set on fire."
The tower was silent for a long moment, during which Teddie knew that they were frantically searching trough the records, looking for any possible temporal rifts that could explain the sudden appearance of the antiqued bomber. Then, finally, his radio crackled to life.
"Watcher-1, escort the bandit to the TAPF-17, runway 4. You have priority. We will continue trying to establish connection with the bandit, but so far they have all been ignored. We suspect that they might not have functioning radio equipment. When you arrive at TAPF-17, they'll want to take your statements, so be prepared to land. Tower out."
"Copy that." | Missiles were launched, and the B-24 was reduced to smithereens. The remnants of the bomber fell into the English Channel, and immediately the RAF contacted the military for support. They waited at first, convinced the long, jagged marks along the fuselage had been made by the splintes of a previous attack.
But the waters soon turned turbulent. They stirred as though something were sucking them from beneath. Great waves rose and lashed the shore, clawing their way higher and higher toward civilization.
Upon seeing this, the military deployed troops, and sent helicopters and submarines where the bomber has fallen. A whirlwind had been formed now, one that widened with each second.
"We can't see anything alien, other than the strange behaviour of the tides," a soldier in a helicopter said. "How do we proceed--"
A tentacle the size and breadth of a building, crowded with jagged claws snapped past the tides, wrapping the helipcoter, crushing it, and hauling it down to the depths.
Desperation ensued. Orders were given for the submarines to destroy whatever was down there. And they did. The blue of the sea flashed red and black; screams and gasps filled the mouths of the citizens who were watching from the comfort of their homes; the very ground trembled.
But the whirlwind widened, and the creature's wrath was unleashed. Its tentacles reached for the fleeing helicopters, for the submarines, obliterating them, killing everyone inside.
"Prime Minister," one of his counsellors said, "the sea level is lowering at a tremendous rate--" The ground quaked then, as though a massive earthquake were striking. Prodigious lumps pushed past the concrete, and the tentacles rose in the midst of the city, lashing against building, destroying them as if they were toys.
"What do we do?" the counsellor shouted, as a tentacle rose in the distance.
The Prime Minister looked at him, his wrinkled hands tremulous. He reached for the phone, and after a moment, he said, his voice brittle, "Nuke it." Then, he dialed another number. "The situation is impossible to handle, President. The enemy seems to be advancing toward the land. I've ordered for it to be nuked, but if we fail, nuke us all, and pray it dies."
The councellor's fail turned ashen. But it was not due to the words that had left the Prime Minister's mouth. No. It was because of the tentacle coming, at blurrying speeds, their way.
-----
I know it's bad. I lack the proper knowledge for a story like this. Hopefully someone comes with a much more accurate one. | 2019-12-01T08:30:11 | 2019-12-01T08:23:40 | 47 | 18 |
[WP] You are randomly assigned an arch-enemy at birth. Their identity is unknown to you, however, heavy metal music will begin playing if they are near. Both of you will then become enraged and partake in an epic battle. One day, as you wait in line at the DMV, heavy metal begins playing... | [Poem]
An Arch-nemesis is meant to be,
He'll know you and you will see.
From birth this fight is set for thee,
Guitar riffs will end anxiety.
It was in the line of DMV,
That the metal was heard to some degree.
It rang louder and set the decree,
That the fight would commence, and *one* set free.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
I twisted around and found my enemy,
Our eyes alight with fire, so suddenly.
Enraged, hatred forming as thunder above sea,
Fists clenching, hatred staring, so furiously
I stepped up to fight, as I could not flee.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
The music hit a crescendo when my enemy neared,
Sweat pouring, thoughts goring, it was as I had feared.
From the photo's as a kid I so endeared,
My father stood before me, my mind cleared.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
It was kill or be killed, life is hard indeed,
For the old man to sow, his own seed.
Epic brawl commencing I did the deed,
And so my fear and anxiety, finally freed.
Bittersweet victory is my only creed,
I've met my match, my father at last, and it was I who his death decreed.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
*Edits: spacing, layout, don 't understand how to perfect lay-out on mobile phone.... also standard: English isn't my first language etc.
**All feedback is welcome, thanks for reading! | "Huh, I wonder where they're playing that music. It's kind of my jam."I thought as I stood idly behind four or five people. We shared a common characteristic, one of boredom and "let's just get this over with, Jesus Christ."Not a single soul was excited at the DMV. Actually, one could say that it was something special in itself how mundane the whole place was at the moment.
As I was standing there, counting eternity and wondering what I might've forgotten to buy for groceries, there came a small beat out of nowhere. The tempo was something that seemed to naturally envelop me as the tunes started manifesting inside my head. I could barely hear it at first. People were mumbling, breathing with the tiredness of an millenia old soul, obstructing clear hearing.
"Oi. It's getting louda. Who the shit is playin' tha music?"
A heavily accented man was angrily looking around at the other end of the building.
The moment I locked eyes with him, I knew something deep down in my heart.
The guy was in urgent need to be erased off the face of earth.
It was such an intense flash of rage and hatred that I surprised myself, breaking out in goosebumps.
After a moment of two of me staring at him, he saw me too.
"Is it ye?"
He yelled from where he stood.
I start walking towards him.
The music was getting louder and it was something that only the two of us could hear.
One of us had to die here and we both understood it.
The disgruntled 30 something year old man took uncharacteristically confident and menacing posture.
I was aware my body posture was starting to get into such dramatic shifts but I had no control over it.
"Oi. Yer approachin' me? Instead of runnin' awae, yer comin' roight to me?"
His taunts were promptly ignored. A primal rage took over me.
"I can't beat the shit out of you without getting closer." | 2020-04-07T06:18:40 | 2020-04-07T06:17:20 | 62 | 28 |
[WP] At the cost of your own life, you stopped the apocalypse. You're surprised to arrive in hell, but Lucifer stands before you and reassures you "You aren't being punished, this is for your protection." Turns out you didn't just stop the apocalypse, you thwarted judgement day and God is pissed. | “Welcome home.”
Someone said in a slow drawl as I opened my eyes. I found myself lying on the floor surrounded by throngs of devils and demons. In front of me was Satan in a resplendent red suit, oozing malevolent sophistication, with a face showing cruelty and bemusement.
“I wanted to give you a grand welcome, but there are other pressing matters that presently need my attention.” He said.
“Wait, what in the hell happened?” I asked.
“You single-handedly saved the world from an apocalypse.” Satan replied “And have lost your life in the process.”
“But that doesn’t explain why I’m in Hell? If what you said is true, shouldn't my sacrifice brought me to heaven?”
Satan laughed maliciously and responded “My friend, It would have been the case if the apocalypse was not initiated by God himself.”
“What?” I suddenly looked at him incredulously.
“The apocalypse is God’s final plan to bring his children back into his fold. He felt my interventions to misguide his flock has taken long enough. So he decided for an apocalypse to take place. It was carefully laid out to ensure its success - even I admire its painstaking details and didn't find anything that can stop it. But you suddenly came and screwed it up.” Satan looked up at the sky “I really would love to see their faces when you were able to stop it.”
“Of course, as you willingly opposed God’s actions, you have doomed your soul and been sent to hell to for this most grievous sin.” He stopped and turned around. “I, of course, am very happy to see you and spend time together in eternity. However, they suddenly decided to take you from me.”
“To save me?” You asked, with a hopeful voice.
Satan looked at me, his eyes sparkling with malevolence and giving a loathsome grin. “You are so cute like that, I know that our time together will be fun. But to answer your question. No. You personally stopped the apocalypse and they’re pissed. So pissed that they’re willing to wage a holy war and invade hell just to bring your soul to heaven for judgment and its utter destruction. They don’t want an inkling of your essence to pollute even hell. That’s how they hate you so much,
But of course, I don’t want them to do what they please. And it will be very entertaining to see you here and outside of their reach. So, I’m going to use everything I have to see that your soul stays in hell.”
I looked aghast with an apparent realization of my awful predicament when I heard thunder-like-rumblings and saw the dark skies interspersed with light coming down to hell.
We both looked up as Satan said “They’re here. So it is up to you, do you want me to stay in hell for your soul to live or go with them and be destroyed. Either way, this will be fun.” | "Protection?" my head tilts, curiosity brims as my weak arms drag the ashes of the plane. In response, his shrug tells me the ambiguous plan ahead.
"With all due respect, what I am about to beseech you is a knowledge you should have *known*, O' Human."
I squint my eyes. This sharp figure next to me has the height no taller than myself, nor does he exudes power I can't reach. His jet-black hair often shimmers in light of the faint glow above; there was no fire, no tail and wings for him. All of him and this land disillusioned me.
He straightens his suit. Of course, does a primordial being own a concept of 'formal wear'? I sure hope not. I sure hope that is something he takes after his downfall.
"What, pray tell, did you think your bravery costs you?" his voice is even sharper. He asked the question then with a sharp leer.
"My.. soul?"
"Verily," he snaps his finger, the loud click didn't echo — didn't reach me either. I would have assumed it sounded satisfying, with those pointy nails and fingers in place. "Now, Hero, what is the price for.. idiocy?"
".. Uh—"
"—Your soul," he didn't let me finish, he let himself rail on top of my thought, "and His plan."
"His?"
"Pardon me, but were you looking upwards before your demise? Or were your eyes set upon a faraway ideal? Did you not see, the many signs set upon… does your scripture betray you?"
He expects me to know something. I'm not *that* big of an idiot, as he made me look. I searched for an answer, darting my eyes in this endless scape of dark soot and crumbling rubbles.
"By scripture.. do you mean—"
"Of The Religion! Have you lost your mind?"
"..."
A zing crashes my mind and I was brought to the same level of understanding. I hope. I scratched my hair, feeling the wispy ashes collect between the nails, my fingers, and the strands caught around.
"Ah, see.." I try to hide my voice the best I could, in my attempts I coiled and shrunk my posture. My voice would waver, but not this time.
"I don't believe in.. God?"
He arched a brow.
"Yeah, Him? The one... you were talking about? Him, I don't really.. have Him when having dinner?"
"Was such reason the source of your foolishness?"
"If you mean plunging myself to end the apocalypse, yes?"
He rests his expression. This part of him, I made sure I followed; I'm fully aware of the confusion, settling by the two of us, and even then, I'm not aware if I had followed him in this conversation.
"Have you forgotten, of the verses in the book? Of apocalypse and the Day of Judgment?"
"Day of..."
*Oh.*
So as they go. I wonder now, what sort of hymn will they sing about me. I guess.. even if I did come out a hero.
"You will be in the verses," he holds a chuckle, those lips that were once crackling with disappointment holds a smile like no other, "and I hope not one soul will read it, just as you had not." | 2020-05-23T04:46:12 | 2020-05-23T02:58:44 | 221 | 48 |
[WP] After being terrified of the darkness all your life, you dealt with your fear by being friendly with it. Despite knowing it was silly, its always seemed to help. Today, after a would-be mugger rushed you, he stepped into a shadow, screamed, and vanished. | Finally a friend, after all these years finally someone talks to me. At one time everyone did, they revered me, they prayed to me, they told me their deepest secrets, they asked for my help. But not anymore, a least not until that little boy started talking to a shadow in his room. He didn't know it but the shadow listened, the shadow listened to everything he said and even some things he didn't say.
I watched as the little boy grew, I feared that like a handful of other children who had done the same he would abandon me but he didn't. No he still talked to me, he talked to me a lot after I guided his aunt, grandmother, and mother to their future all in the same night. That was the first time I had cried since two bright lights gave me plenty of work 75 years ago. When he tried to swallow those pills a week later I snuffed out the lamp and hugged him, holding him tight and pushing the bottle onto the floor, that night we both cried. That was the first time I took something from him, after he fell asleep I took the pills and cast them far, far away.
I watched him grow into a man I was proud of, I still listened as he spoke to nothing every night, he still didn't know I was there. I watched as his heart first filled and then broke, then did it again. The second time I gave him something the second time, a little quote from a pack of novelty cigarettes that I found and tore off. He thought it had just blown in the open window but still tucked it into his wallet, it never left except when he was facing his own darkness and needed to see a little light.
I was bursting with pride when I had to move to go with him, he was going to college. There his heart filled again and broke but soon it was mended and filled yet again by another, this girl I saw often and never shattered what she had mended. There he often only whispered to me, not wanting to disturb his roommates. I watched as he partied, as he studied, as he made choices good and bad. Once I hid a beer when he was about to have to many, another I found his car keys when his friend needed a ride home, and then came the day.
It had been three years since he started college and he often whispered to me about whatever was running through his mind. The girl had once caught him doing it, she hadn't laughed, instead she simply said it was "cute". One day he started whispering about finding a job so that he could buy a ring, one beautiful enough for the girl who said I was "cute". I watched as he toiled at the graveyard shift for a cinemas janitorial staff, I heard when he complained that it was 1/2 a month until graduation and he had only 1,500 of the 2,000 he wanted to spend on the ring, he had to quit if he wanted to pass finals. As my follower slumped home with his last paycheck, bemoaning that he couldn't buy the ring that the girl deserved, 500 dollars appeared at his feet when he turned a street corner. I had confiscated the ill gotten gains of a drug pusher in another part of the city.
I watched from the shadows of that cinema when he proposed and she said yes. I hugged them both when they embraced. I also watched when he was walking home the morning before graduation, he had gone out celebrating with friends the night before and parted with them to reach the girls apartment. I watched as the mugger stepped out, ready to steal the ring off his hand and the wallet with the quote in it from his pocket. I heard him mumble "shit", as he began to hurry and the criminal followed him.
I acted when the mugger grabbed his shoulder and he spun around to face the threat. In a flash I knocked out the street light and reached for my belt. A dagger that I had not drawn since a conquistador killed my last follower came out of it's sheath, and my hand closed around the bastards mouth. I drug him away from my boy, my follower, my friend, and I enveloped him before plunging the dagger through his ribs and into his heart.
The boy looked bewildered, he paused and searched for the mugger but he was gone, sent to the lowest realm I could find. "Thank you", he finally whispered before turning back towards the girls house. I smiled, "no, thank you", my long never used voice croaked so quietly that he might have thought it was his imagination. |
I look around at the now empty alley. "*Where did he go? He couldn't have just vanished into the darkness....could he?"* I search high and low looking for any sign of the man that was once before me. "*Where the hell did he go?!"* A sense of anxiety over comes me with the man's absence I scream out into the dark alley way "WHERE ARE YOU?!" After minutes of searching for this would be robber the hard truth becomes clear *"The darkness....it got him."* The thought echoes throughout my mind over and over *"The darkness... it got him....darkness..got him."* A familiar sense of fear comes over me at this point *"Could it get me?"* I shake the thought and force a smile into the alley way "Thanks...again" I say in a forced almost passable happy tone. I turn down the alley and head home. Replaying the events that just transpired, hearing his pitiful fading scream, and the void that stares at me as I walk. "The darkness..it got him."
As I approach my apartment I see the light gleaming from it, a patchy roof held up by four barely passable walls all leaking the light I shove inside it...just in case. I open the door and flip a few lights off to let my acquaintance in "You know it isn't anything against you I just cant see."
I crumble onto my bed thoughts echoing about *"darkness.....got...him."*
I peel my eyes open the next evening, as I always do, one would think I'd have normal sleep, to wake up in morning to find but darkness finds a way, there is always darkness....always. I get out of bed , grab my stuff and head out the door. I wonder the streets, looking for inspiration then, I hear a person yelling. *"What the?"* As I walk in the direction of the yelling, I realize the person yelling, is screaming, and coming from an alley to my right. *"Why is it always alleys?"* I run over to investigate, the screams now silent, as I round the corner I notice three men standing around what appears to be two pairs of legs laying on the ground. Surrounded by the faint light given by the hanging off the wall. Before I could gather my senses on what possibly could be happening, I found myself shouting "HEY! What's going on here?!" Instant regret overcomes me as the three men stop what they are doing and turn to face me "Fuck off kid, I'll only tell you once." One of them pulls up his shirt revealing a 9MM pistol. They turn around to the limp body on the floor. One of them rustling around behind the other two.
*"Fuck, I gotta help, but getting shot isn't really what I had in mind today."* I look around, realizing what was about to transpire I turn around and start to walk away. Suddenly inspiration strikes me *"We could help..."* I stop mid step and glance to my right, there laid a sizable rock or two. I pick them up. *"I have to act fast or this will end bad for both of us"* As I stand up from picking up the rocks I shouted "HEY! STOP!". I extend my arm back and take the craziest throw I have ever did In my life, I notice the three men now turning at me again, one reaching for the pistol he showed me moment ago. "This better work or I'm toast." Almost in an instant the rock flies through the air, as the pistol is pointed towards me finger on the trigger and knocks out the light. BANG! goes the pistol, then the sounds of blood curdling screams wailed out fading away into silence.
I stood there dumbfounded, unaware of any surrounding except the body that was laying on the ground. I look down a gaze into the terrified blue eyes of the half naked, bound woman laying before me. "I wont hurt you" I assure her as I take the cloth gaging her mouth, and cut lose the binds that held her hands together. "Are you hurt?" She shakes her head just as dumbfounded as I was about what Just transpired. She points to my side. Upon observing I notice a rip in my shirt, I check myself for any wounds and relize how lucky I was during that engagement. "Do you live nearby? I can walk you home." She points in a direction, still silent. I nod and we walk. We get to a house down the street and I ask one more time before setting off "Are you sure you are ok?" She nods and closes the door behind her.
"Think you should keep an eye on her don't ya think" I mumble to the void as I begin walking back where I came from.
It was in this moment, a feeling I havent felt overwhlemed me, a postive feeling. Hope?, new found purpose? Peace, comfort. I realized the darkness I feared all my life, can in fact snuff out the darkness in the world we live in. "Looks like you and I are not so different now huh" \*I smile. the first genuine smile to my new found ally, we walk deeper into the darkness. | 2020-07-14T16:24:53 | 2020-07-14T15:38:20 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] The longer it takes for one's power to manifest, the stronger that power is. However, there are some who never manifest their power, falsely hoping they will be strong. You were considered to be one of these people, just living your mundane life, and accepted that until... | Powers are common. So common, almost everyone has one. For most people though, they are relatively mundane. They might be able to accurately predict the next colour they will see. Maybe be able to pick out the perfect flower no matter what the occasion is.
For most people with powers, they find it out within the first year or so of their life. But some lucky people have to wait. And randomly, their power with appear. They might have super strength, super speed, maybe even invulnerability to disease. They are called Enhanced.
Then, an even smaller number of people will only unlock their power after puberty. They are called the Ascended. They can often bent the rules of nature in ways that they find favourable. Maybe stopping time, or regenerating peoples severed limbs. They are always important, and often have an ego to boot.
Finally, you have me, and the rest. The hopeless. We never get a power. That, or our power is so small and useless we will never know what it is. I accepted my fate when I hit adulthood. I wasn't special. I was hopeless. I lived my life alone, in my dull cashier job. It was quiet, and all I was good for.
I woke up, on a day like any other. I got dressed, and headed out. It was tipping it down outside, appropriate for my life. I glared at the clouds, and imagined them disappearing. I choked. As I thought of it, the clouds vanished. The sun shone. I stopped, looking around. There wasn't anyone else who looked like they were manipulating the weather.
I had a faint hope, and held out my hand. I pictured a cup of hot chocolate in there, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. For a moment there was nothing, then a pure white cup was there, steaming into the morning light.
I had to stop, and process. A name, the name of my power, floated in the back of my mind. Reality Warping. And for the first time in years, I had hope. Hope that I was more than just a forgettable name and face. | We were called the "potentials", a cruel joke on around 1-2% of the world's population who never manifested powers. It was quite literally living hell. Can you imagine ? People flying around, surviving falls from mountains without so much as a scratch ? While you were so fragile that driving a bike was considered a risky activity ?
The other people, or "normals" they used to call themselves were nigh invincible performing feats of strength which we potentials couldn't even dream of. They even had a saying for us ... we were just "growing in our cocoons" and would be stronger than the normals if we ever got our powers.
But I knew it was all a hogwash, my parents and younger sister who were some of the most fearsome normals around attained their powers at the age of 25. I have never heard of anyone ever realizing their potential after 25, knew an uncle who never got his powers and killed himself by swallowing some pills at 37, I guess he had enough.
I could never forget those expressions, when on my 25th birthday I could not lift a ton of gold which was something of a rite of passage. The looks of pity and disgust was enough to make me run away. They never came looking for me even though they could teleport next to me in an instant if they wanted to.
I think it was the pitiful cry from my mouth the broke me. I had a slight nightmare lying on the street and whispered "mum" and I woke with a start realizing that I was calling out to my mom... who once teleported to me when I was 10 years old, and lost on the other side of the world.
I took the piece of sharpened ceramic smuggled out from a soup kitchen and said, no shouted my goodbyes to an uncaring world when something struck. The knife was no longer in my hand, it had simply disappeared in to the void.
It took me a moment but I realized that the street was gone, it was as if an entire city block had disappeared around me. It took me a few seconds to realize that there was something extremely small in front of me, it looked like a dark sphere with a slight tingling of electricity around it.
Had I done that ? What the heck did I just manifest ? But no sooner were those thoughts in my head that I heard the distinct sound of the paranormal strike force, a group of elite normals with power levels exceeding the output of the sun. Usually deployed when a world ending threat was detected ... why were they coming straight to where I was ? | 2021-07-21T12:44:48 | 2021-07-21T10:58:04 | 154 | 86 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves | I was young when I first realized that not everyone else could see the Other World. My mother pulled me away from the pier when I asked my questions, shushing me with fearful glances over her shoulder. “Not now, *Dia,* tell me about it later, okay?”
I would wait until evening to tell her of the Others, the ones who watched. They were so pretty, with their dark hair and eyes, their beckoning hands. My mother would sit me down by the fireplace and braid my hair, humming to me while I asked my questions. *Who were they? Why didn’t they come out of the water? Could I go play with them next time?*
Her reply was always the same—“Stay out of the water, *Dia,* it is dangerous.” She never answered me how, but I listened.
I stayed out of the water.
We were poor, so each year when the floods came and the ocean rose higher around our homes, I could not help but see the Other World again. And the Others, with their watchers and beckoners. The wealthier families went to their summer homes, away from the rains, but my mother and I stayed. When my mother wasn’t around in the rainy season, sometimes they would sing to me. I never told my mother, and she always warned me when she got home to stay away from the water.
When I reached adulthood, my mother got sick. I joined a fishing crew, and I came home every month to give her my earnings. “You are staying out of the water, *Dia?”* She asked, every time. Every time I told her *Yes, mama, I have stayed out of the water.*
The Others are most common after storms. I knew that something was different when we pulled up the net, and there was no movement. The fish in the net were dead already, and a stench came from them. My captain went to the net and released it, dumping the waste onto the deck, where I saw her. We all saw her.
She writhed on the wood deck of the fishing trawler, and I watched as my crewmates realized what she was. Her hair was as dark as kelp, and her skin the soft grey of a midmorning storm. *”Monster,”* they called her, but I knew her as an Other. One of those from the Other World, from the brilliant golden cities that shimmered far, far beneath the waves. She had watched me for years. Sung to me.
I looked at my crewmates, and I heard my mother’s warnings. I saw the greed in their eyes, the hunger in their leering faces.
*”Stay out of the water, Dia, it is dangerous!”*
I grabbed her hand, and pulled. It took a moment for my friends and colleagues to realize my intent, too late. We slipped over the edge, together, into the crystal-clear water below. Ice grabbed me by my throat, suffocating me, and the frigid water stabbed my limbs with a thousand knives. I saw her, watching, waiting.
I breathed in, and I gasped as water flooded into my mouth. I expected to choke.
I didn’t. She approached, holding out a hand, beckoning. She gestured towards the golden city beneath us, one that I had seen for years.
*”Home, Dia. Come home.”* | ##Under the Surface
The ship's crew bustles and jams into each other as we leave. Families wave goodbye to their loved ones on board. I don't have anyone waving at me on land, but I hope to find someone at sea.
---
It had rained all day, but the night was clear. Puddles had collected further up the beach than normal. Either the sun or the ocean would reclaim the water.
I walked through the puddles to look for treasures that the ocean brought. My mother had taught me the ways to see the secrets of water. One puddle had a gold coin at the bottom of it.
A puddle nearby had another coin in it. I found a trail of gold that led into the ocean. The waves were calm and offered little resistance as I grabbed the coins. In the middle of a crater, the trail ended in a chest of gold.
I surfaced to breath. The chest was deep , but I could dive that far. I wouldn't be able to carry it all at once. I swam to shore, and I deposited my coins in a pile by a rock. No one comes to the water this late.
I went back to the crater and held my breath. I dove straight down and scraped coins off the surface. I returned to the beach to deposit them. I repeated this tiring cycle for the wealth. The chest contained enough to purchase a ship of my own.
When the chest was empty, I lied on the beach to catch my breath. My muscles were sore, but I had to keep going. When I swam to the box again, I saw a woman with a fish tail hovering over it. She looked at me at first in fear then anger.
She charged and grabbed me; she held me under water with a knife to my neck. Her mouth was full of sharp teeth, and her eyes were a deep yellow. She snarled at me.
"My coins, my coins, thief," she said. I twisted in shock that I could hear her. I didn't think I could talk, but I could try.
"I am sorry," the water allowed my voice to travel, "I thought they were from a shipwreck."
The mermaid recoiled in shock, "No human has ever understood us."
"Please let me go," my vision was going dark, "I can't breath underwater.
She dragged me to the surface. I gasped for air, and I saw her floating beneath the surface.
"I will return your coins," I said. I swam back to shore, and I gathered the coins to give to her. She accepted them in silence. Before she left, she handed me a small bag of coins.
When I returned to my house, I collapsed in my bed. I slept for nearly a whole day. I told my parents that I found the money at the shore. They didn't know about my gifts, and they would never understand my new purpose.
I was determined to acquire more knowledge. I consulted with scholars and sailors on sea people. They each gave me a different answer. If I would discover the truth, I would have to go on my own journey. The money given provided enough resources to gain the skills for a crew, but my family rejected me for not becoming a farmer like them.
---
I stare over the side of the ship in the moonlight. The rest of the crew regards me as a strange but harmless individual. I am diligent and principled, two rare qualities at sea. The crew overlooks my eccentricities.
I pray every night that I will see someone in the water, but I never do. I would not ask for their treasure; I would merely want to speak with them. Humanity has never felt right; perhaps I would feel better among the sea people.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-11-06T12:12:01 | 2021-11-06T10:19:42 | 199 | 45 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | “Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!” Cried the slouching old man, hands raised to the skies, “Thank the gods! Op- not for how you died, of course.”
Stumbling back on the soft dirt of the expansive, lush green valley, Michael could only gape in utter disbelief. One minute he’s been walking along a popular hiking trial, the next he’d been submerged in vast darkness with only a pinprick of light to guide him. “Where the hell am I? What’s going on?”
“Why, you’ve just passed on and are now in heaven, with me. It was starting to get a little lonely here, you know?” The old man explained, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. Staring into the man’s wrinkled face, his eyes expressed a kind of crazy that could only be brought about by years of isolation and talking to oneself.
“W-Wait, where is everybody then? And who the heck are you?”
“Who the- Who am I? Boy, you should very well know who I am! I am a writer, craftsman of endless amount of tales, the father of tragedies! Do they not teach you about my masterpieces?” The old man - ‘father of tragedies’ - exclaimed. “Buh! For shame. However, I am kind and can tell you what exactly is going on. You see, depending on how a person has died they will be segregated to an area dedicated to that death. Drownings, stabbings, disease - all together. To think I - the great Aeschylus - would suffer a fate none have ever befallen... Well, it sounded nice at first honestly. But I’ve soon found that loneliness to be a curse.”
“Wait... Aesch- oh my...” everythinng seemed so clear to Michael now, his hand now lifting to rub his bald head. He could recall the glorius cry of an eagle, as others stopped to admire the avian. Then, a large object flying towards him at impossible speeds as he heard cries and screams, and finally he saw darkness. “I can’t believe I got snipped by an eagle with a tortoise.” | "Huh? What are you talking about?" I squint, my eyes still adjusting to the bright, fluorescent lighting, "What is this place? Shit, am I dead?"
The old man smiles, and nods slowly.
"Oh... I think I should be upset about that, but weirdly it feels... fine? Is that normal? Are--are you like, an angel or something?"
A raspy chuckle escapes the old man's throat before turning into a hacking cough. "Mmmm, sorry, " he says, "Yes, perfectly normal, and no I'm just plain old dead, same as you."
"Ha, no way you're the same as me. I died during a damned ping pong match."
He nods again. "As did I."
"Wait, for real? Dude, that's wild. I figured I'd be the only one."
"Nope, there's been a few of us over the years." He motions behind me, I turn and see a handful of people slumped against the stark-white wall. Some sitting, some standing. The old man continues, "You're the tenth! And now that *you're* here, we can finally requisition some chairs!"
I blink at that. "Uhh, what do you mean 'requisition some chairs'?"
He sits down on the white, tile floor and motions for me to do the same. I sit, and he explains *everything*.
Heaven--if you could call it that--is segregated into distinct spaces depending on how you died. Falling coconut victims in one room, lightning strike victims in another, elevator mishap folks in their own room, etc. The more people who die a certain way, the more people in that room, and the more privileges those people are afforded. Every room starts as a blank canvas. White walls, white floor, white, humming florescent lights. At five, the room gets a Diviner, which allows anyone in the room to see what's happening on Earth and subtly influence the choices of the living. At ten people, everyone gets a place to sit. At fifteen, you get a second room with some cots in it. And so on and so forth.
"Wow," I say, slowly processing this information, "That... that *really* sucks."
The old man chuckles again, "Oh, it's not so bad. And besides," he winks at me, a wide, mischievous grin growing on his face, "I have a plan."
"Oh?"
"Yes, Mitchel. And I think you'll like it."
"Wait, how do you know my name?"
The old man laughs as he stands up, towering over me, "How do you think you got here in the first place?" | 2021-11-24T12:25:38 | 2021-11-24T11:14:31 | 1,290 | 685 |
[WP] "There's a reason it's been quarantined. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody human, at least. Trust me, friend. You'll regret asking me to teach you how to get to Sesame Street." | The jaundiced man in the overcoat double checked his weapons. "You say that as if I didn't know." Safeties were off. He was going in hot.
The old man cast his eyes towards the ground. "Then you'll die like the rest. Those hoping to find some memento to take. Some treasure. You die like the rest. If the bird don't get you, the *children* will."
"You know a lot old man. One might think you've been spying since the quarantine went up."
He rubbed his hands together wearily. "I try to warn them away. They come looking and I tell them how to get... how to get to Sesame Street. But I warn them. I watch, hoping time and time again I'll be wrong and they'll leave be--"
"Never mind about them," the jaundiced man interrupted. "Tell me, in all your spying, did you happen to see someone who was orange?"
"Orange? ... ... I... I don't recall seeing anyone like that."
"Then maybe he did the right thing for once and stayed hunkered down." He tossed a few dollars at the old man. "Thanks for the information. I've got a job to do."
"A job? You're hunting someone down?"
The jaundiced man pulled a small yellow toy from his overcoat, almost as yellow as him. "Let's just say someone needs his rubber ducky." | I walked down the street in awe. It was shrouded in dim gloom as the entire place was located in a production warehouse with broken windows and shattered roof panels that had been long abandoned. I had to break in through a door that had a small gap, allowing me to pry it open. Broken glass crunched under my feet. Yellowing Newspaper shreds filled with late 90s gloom fluttered around my ankles and soared up into small eddies before gliding gently down and becoming sodden in pools of fetid slime. Grass tried to push its way through cracks in the concrete.
Something brushed against my ankle. I started. It was the stinking decayed remains of either Bert or Ernie. I accidentally stepped on the abdomen and a sickening squelch echoed down the street. Cockroaches scuttled out from the ribcage and eeked i to the shadows. Accidentally I clattered against a rusted dustbin. It fell to the ground and out rolled the stinking remains of the cookie monster. I screamed involuntarily, trying too late to stifle the noise. Then I heard someone clear their throat. They were right behind me. I froze, hackles raised and turned slowly.
What I saw chilled me to the core. It was Jim Henson's torso minus legs, hovering 2 metres above the ground. He was surrounded by an eerie green glow. His skeletonized face had on it an involuntary grin. Something shone deep in his eye sockets. "You came for me", he wheezed in a deathly voice. "I thought they had all forgotten". I tried to turn and run except my legs would not respond. He came closer and closer, wheezing and drooling. I began shaking uncontrollably. "Don't kiss me Mr Henson, please spare me!" I cried. | 2022-07-20T11:08:36 | 2022-07-20T10:19:26 | 890 | 65 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun. | "Dave. Let's talk."
"I already told you, I'm not interested."
He was persistent. "You are incapable of dying, Dave. You literally have no risk."
"No. No. That is not true. I am incapable of dying, Rami. I am not incapable of hurting. My coffee was too hot. It burned my tongue. Right here. It hurt. It hurt right here." I stuck out my tongue and pointed. "*Ight ereh." Leaned back into the swivel chair in my office. "I have a kid. It hurts. All of that hurts."
"You can lift a semi truck over your head. You can fly. You have lasers shoot from your eyes, Dave. Your skin is harder than titanium."
"I can burn. And when other people also can punch through titanium- it *hurts*. I was in a car accident, once. It hurt."
"You broke the car and floated mid-air after launching through a house."
"The two by sixes I hit hurt! It was very painful! I don't think you get it, Rami. I got bifurcated. That means the bottom half of my body stayed in the car. Only the top half went with me. I had to regrow the bottom half. It took a week. I had to regrow legs And other parts. It was a weird week, Rami."
"Agent Sayed."
"Rami, if I get punched by a super it hurts. I get off work, I go home. I hug my kid. I kiss my wife. I help make dinner, I clean up the kitchen as my wife gives kiddo a bath. We put the baby down for the night. We talk and catch up and read a book from our book club and watch a movie, maybe. Guess what? I like my life. I don't get punched or hit or thrown through buildings. Or ripped in half. Which, by the way, was when my powers manifested. I didn't know I'd regenerate and I'm screaming in horror at half my body missing and some poor family had me. In their house crushed and missing half my body as I float in their living room!"
He really wanted a new recruit. "You didn't die. You cannot die, Dave."
"I'm a man. I bleed. I hurt. I cry. I'm not a robot, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. We'll talk next week."
"Looking forward to it, Rami."
"Agent Sayed, Dave."
"Dave is a terrible name for a super hero."
He smiled. "You're the most powerful super I've seen. I was thinking... something more... super. Not Dave. Maybe... Superman?"
"That's a bit on the nose, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. We'll workshop it, Dave."
"No we won't, Rami. I've got baby swim lessons next weekend. And a baby birthday party for her friend from daycare the weekend after. And then it's my mom's birthday. I like my life, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. Same time next week?"
"Can tell your boss you tried, man."
"We have a suit. It's a really good suit, Dave." He tapped my desk. "Think about it." | 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T12:20:45 | 517 | 212 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Ok that was the last patient on the docket today, tomorrow you have 3 appointments. Two of them are regularly scheduled visits from Marcos at 11 and Helena at midday the third appointment is a new patient that was recommended by a friend of yours at 15:00 ."
A soft yet deep and compassionate voice responded to the report about tomorrows schedule.
"Thank you Safira, feel free to take the evening off, I'll be sure to lock up tonight after I finish the rest of the patient notes."
As the minutes rolled by and the golden hour light conceded its placement over head to the shadows of neighboring buildings an unassuming man dressed neatly in a regular fit grey suit approached the office doors, his American flag pin resting precisely over his heart.
The same deep and compassionate voice spoke firmly as the suit crossed the office's threshold.
"You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting the same result."
A calm and even tone responded.
"Then I suppose I must be going insane. However i'm in luck as it seems i'm visiting a clinical psychotherapist."
"Its seems you are indeed, I take it you'd like your usual green tea with honey and biscotti as well."
"Thank you Doctor. Have you given any thought towards our pleasant visits these past few months? You know we'll agree to any condition you choose to present us with no matter how outlandish it may be. Think of it as us placing our faith in you and a gesture of goodwill. We know what you are capable of and we also know that it is only a fraction of what you have chosen to show us."
"We know this simply by looking at the data. Any city or town you go to no matter how long, experiences a twenty to 60 percent decrease in violent crime and civil unrest while seeing a boost in gross productivity, efficiency and overall quality of life. Last year when you stayed in NYC wall street experienced its most successful financial quarter in history and suicide rates plummeted to almost zero for 9 months. You told us your *serenity* effect can only apply to a small area, a 2 story office building at most but the data seen in NYC wasn't a one off event. Its happened in 14 different cities all of which you visited and that same boost happened while you were there and started to wear off as soon as you left. Why lie, you are the single most valuable asset the government could have at its disposal. We would send you to which ever city you wished, quite literally we would pay you millions every month to just sit and do nothing but exercise your *serenity*...."
A raised open palm cut off the grey suits speech, not with malice or impatience but to stop the vein in the suits forehead from seeming to want to pop.
"I know and I apologize for deceiving you but this is exactly what I didn't want. As nice as it sounds I have no wish to be paid to do nothing but exercise *serenity.* Call it my own selfish desire but I want to help the people that I can see. I want to work with them on their issues not offer them a crutch to prop them up. After all if I do that as soon as I leave they go right back to their old ways. Progress without stability only leads to collapse."
The suit sat back in his chair sipping at his tea contemplating how to convince the good doctor as eventually his cup ran dry and so did his passionate fervor.
Dejected the suit placed the cup on the saucer and got up to leave, still silently turning the gears in his head.
"Well Alexi it appears your time is up for today. I assume i'll see you again next week for tea?"
"More than likely I will be... oh and thank you for at least speaking with me you have no idea how many times I just get told *fuck off* as the intro to the conversation. Have a nice night Doctor Miran."
"I'll be sure to email your bosses the usual letter of proposal denial so at least they know you stopped by. Take it easy."
Alexi sauntered out the office dejected but filled with inner peace and noticeably less stress induced creases in his forehead. | "Come on, Ryan, you can do anything you want but you have a desk job? Why not come with us? I can double your salary!," Mr. White says on the other side of the door for the second time today. I groan, pushing my back against the door in an attempt to ignore him.
"Fuck off, Mr. White. I would rather die than join your hell of an organization," I yell back, waiting for his reply. He always has the last word, so I'm surprised when he takes a while to respond.
"Ryan, there are so many benefits to our partnership. Even the FBI want you," He says, almost breathless. I raise my brows as I turn to the door. I haven't heard from the FBI in almost 30 years.
"I guess they forgot about what happened last time," I say as I open the door. I stare at the short man in front of me, he's not who I thought I was talking to.
"Thank you, Ryan. Please my boss will triple your salary if you join," He says, desperately. I roll my eyes at him and close the door before waving him I to the kitchen.
"I don't care about the money. Why do you guys want me to join. Why not someone else," I say flatly as he eyes me awkwardly. His eyes light up and he grins as he sits down at the table, new confidence filling his eyes.
"Well, Ryan, we want you to join because your powers are very special. No other government has someone like you yet," He says, that stupid grin not leaving his face. I raise a brow at him, I can't help but be suspicious.
"Do you really want that though? To have your organization bring in someone like me," I say, my eyes lowering to the table. He gives me a confused look, but nods.
"I mean, of course. You can easily take down some of the best villains out there. I bet you could take the one wreaking havoc in New York if you really wanted to," He says laughing, as if it's funny. I glare at him, taking a dep breath.
"Do you even know what my powers are?" I say and his eyes go wide as he reaches into his brief case. He pulls out a manilla envelope and opens it, showing me its co tents. It doesn't say much other than a list of my powers. The list is small and vague, entirely incomplete. I let out a laugh and all the confidence leaves him as he realizes and pulls the papers away. He shoves them into his briefcase, clearly embarrassed. He stands up, getting ready to leave, but I stop him.
"Wait, Mr. White. I could at least help you update the files," I say, giving him a sickly sweet smile. I watch s shiver run up his spine, but he nods, sitting back down.
"Thank you, Ryan. Since I clearly don't know, what exactly are your powers?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I can make anything stop in its place. A car, the beat of your heart, time, the growing of trees, anything. You name it I can stop it," I say, watching him get nervous as I skip by telling him I could kill him. He quickly writing it down, a fake smile forcing it's way onto his face.
"That's a very special power. So in 2011 when you fought Maximillion, how did you defeat him?" He asks, I laugh again, the smirk on my face only growing.
"Easy, I stopped the blood from flowing to his arms and legs. Then I watched as he crumbled to the floor before stopping him from being able to speak. Then I threw him off a cliff," I say, picking some dirt from beneath my nails. His eyes widen again as he quickly stands up and heads for the door.
"That's amazing, Ryan. I'll be back tomorrow once I update the database," He says nervously trying to pull the door open. But it doesn't move. He looks away, making sure it's unlocked, but the door still won't open.
"Oh, Mr. White. I'm not done talking g to you yet," I say walking towars him. He freezes in place, taking quick breathes but I just laugh again.
"Ryan, please, I'm going to ve late to my next appointment," He says and I give him a cold glare.
"My name is Ryan," I say, pulling the door open and pushing him out onto the street.
I slam the door, sitting down and leaning against it. I got too emotional there. | 2022-07-31T21:07:15 | 2022-07-31T17:55:32 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You have "Anime Protagonist Syndrome" but with medication it's under control - ninja catgirls and giant mecha haven't attacked you in months and your hair is back to normal. Your aunt is visiting and she doesn't believe your condition is real, and she just dumped your pills down the drain..... | Angst. Time froze, and instantly my Angst came back. Pill after pill dangles from the opened bottle and dives into the toilet mid flush.
"What's next? ADHD? You kids are too coddled these days and unwilling to face reality and own up to your personal faults. I blame your father. My sister tried..."
My eyes start hurting and in the mirror I can see them shift colour towards deep crimson and my pupils are split in 3
"...but noo, he wouldn't listen, and here you are sitting docile like a good little liberal twerp..."
My carefully combed hair starts messing itself up. It's actually growing? And turning blonde?
"...look at you, you're a mess! You liberals are all the same..."
I see a flash of a black suit and the glint of steel.
But most of all I can feel the angst coursing through my veins, riding on heart pumped waves of adrenaline. And I retreat into an inner world where I see myself, but antithetical to everything I am. My dark one. My shadow.
"...Trump said it, It's today's youth who have no real..."
I hear a thumping in my ears. A beat, steadily growing louder, melodic chords joining it from far way but closing in.
"...must be all the CNN and MTV, it's corrupting our nation like a ca-"
IV-V-iii-vi
"Mind you, he's doing his work, and now I'm doing mii~"
Glass breaks. A black clothed figure comes flying in, feet first, sai drawn.
And that's where the world fades to black. A globe of shadow envelops us as a deck of cards appears in my hands. Well, really she asked for it. She wanted my full power, and now it's time to D-D-D-D-DUEL! | “Goddamnit boy! How many times have I told you not to buy sketchy shit online!” My aunt yelled as she poured my precious pills down the drain.
I looked over to my mom who was the one who insisted I visited Auntie Karen. In a tone I’ve never used before only heard, one not quite angry more just disappointed I proclaimed “this is why I don’t like thanksgiving mom.
Okasan crossed her arms and shook her head, she guided me out of my room to the kids bedroom. My cousins where lying there slightly scared. Of who? Me? It couldn’t of started already! I looked down at my finger which had gained a black outline, My nails gone and the palm of my hand slowly losing detail transforming into just a solid color.
I heard obasan and okasan arguing down stairs, their argument wasn’t quite intelligible, the English was broken and their accent was no longer the silky Alabama accent it had always been. I looked down and saw the subtitles, Kanji. I had never studied Japanese before, Infact because of my condition I hated it, but this time I could understand the kanji
Obasan:“He’s 16! You can’t just let him buy some drugs online off some sketch website!”
Okasan: “The condition is too rare, medical professionals ignore it and won’t even classify it as an inheritable disease. We’ve went to doctors the always say it’s in his head.
Obasan: “maybe it is! No one else can see it!
I’d gotten distracted so long I hadn’t realized how hard it was getting to breath. My vision had began to widen and my mouth had began to move all over my face depending on where the camera was. I ran beck to the kids room rushing to get to my anti2d-glasses before it was too late. Soon enourgh I would not be spreaking engrish.
荷物を開けましたが、見つけたのは刀だけでした。それは私が持ってきた'42に取って代わり、眼鏡は消えていました
私は失敗しました
エンディング曲が始まったとき、私は泣くしかありませんでした。変わらないのは私と妹の関係だけだとわかっていました | 2022-08-01T08:10:27 | 2022-08-01T05:00:56 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The demon was shaking with anxiety and fear from the wrath of this woman standing before him screaming. "I don't give a rats ass what contact you made! I legally adopted Daniel 6 years ago, he's MY son! you can't just take him as her first born, are you crazy?!" she sputtered. | "Ma'am, I don't make the ru-"
"NO" She slammed her fist down on the table, "She's dead ANYWAY! You don't need to collect her so called "debts" since she's already gone to your little kingdom!" She leaned across the desk, her mouth practically foaming and her face red from the sheer anger.
I've seen a lot of crap at the reception desk over the millenia, from admitting in fallen angels, to delivering verdicts of punishment to various famous humans whom even I thought would be going into heaven. But never before, not since Dante had a living person come to hell DURING their lifetime.
I took a deep breath, grabbed some sulphur beans and stirred them into my cup of deuterium before taking a nice long sip, all while under the hateful glare of this woman who'd dared to show up. Who did this lady think she was to show up at THE FRONT GATES? My own anger started to rise.
"Ma'am" I stated with a firm tone. "The woman's debt was always her first born. Not her own soul; her first born's. That's the only way to pay, even if she's dead, the toll must be payed."
She lay still for a few seconds, staring me down with a hatred that I'd never seen before. It felt as if she could drill through stone with that stare. My newly found confidence quickly withered away under that gaze of molten iron. It almost reminded me of the ninth circle. I couldn't help but shrink into my own seat as she loomed over me. Her eyes glowed pearly white, a halo slowly constructing itself out of thin air.
"I'd like to speak to your manager..."
I never reached for the phone so fast. | "I want to see your manager. **NOW.**" The voice spoke, rage-filled and with divine retributive intent.
Having spent half an eternity omworking Customer Service in Hell, I knew this one wasn't to be budged. The person was having a bad time with a contract, and I passed the voice through to my manager, {UNINTELLIGIBLE}.
/ / / / / /
"I don't give a flying monkey's what your deranged contract says, I legally adopted him six years ago! You **cannot** just take him as *her* first-born! I have never had such awful service from Hell, and I should know - I'm in frequent contact with my dad! How do you think I navigated this shitty automated system?!"
The manager perked up at the mention of Cain, his tentacleyes swishing in the air. A moment of agitation, and then a hellish, "Please hold whilst I check something and then I'll get back to you - should be no more than one aeon." A grunt from the voice as the manager called his Raven Man boss, Cain himself.
"Boss, I've got a woman on the line, claims she's your mother." Caine turned to snow colouring, before sputtering.
"Oh, **drj'hxd**!" Cain spoke, in his Tom Waits voice. "Give it to me. I'll deal with this one myself. No need to bother the King."
/ / / / / /
"Hi, Daddy!" The voice spoke, much more saccharine than her previous commitments. "Can you help me get revenge on my child's mother? She was awe-ful to poor Damien."
Cain riffled through the file on his desk, looking up the parent in question. Then, he grinned a corpse.
"I can."
/ / / / / /
"...And in todays news, 35-year-old Diane Millicane was killed by a strange co-incidence, as what appeared to be a frozen 15-pound turkey crashed through the ceiling, killing her instantly. It is believed to have fallen from a passing flight, although no planes were spotted by the FAA during this time."
"And Thanksgiving is just a few days away, too." | 2022-09-01T05:03:17 | 2022-08-31T23:34:42 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] Turns out strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is actually a pretty good basis for a system of government. | "I thought you gave out swords" I say to the strange woman in the lake.
"I do, take it" she responds holding out the object.
"That's not a sword." I try to argue. "It's absolutely tiny!"
"It absolutely is a sword. Now take your sword and fulfil your destiny!" The strange lady responded.
"With that thing? Fulfil my destiny what a load of crap! I don't want this I don't need this!" I exclaim.
"Not everyone is destined to be a leader, a warrior, or a ruler." The old lady says to me kindly. "Society needs lumberjacks so I hand out thick stubby swords with long handles..."
"That's an axe" I argue but she ignores me
"Society needs chiefs so I hand out short sharp swords."
"That's a knife!" I exclaim becoming more irritated.
"Society needs farmers so I hand out swords with three points and a long handle!" She says and ignores me.
"That's a pitchfork." I respond through gritted teeth.
"When war is coming I give out swords without edges to form new swords for battle!"
"That's a hammer." I say exasperated.
"When someone needs to die in a most secretive way I hand out a very small sword. One that can be hidden and used for such a task!"
"That's a dagger for assassination." I respond. I look at the so called sword she holds out for me. "Mine isn't a dagger." It's to small, the point doesn't look sharp at all. Nor does it have a proper handle."
"I see you are more curious now. No your sword is not meant for such a task. In fact, I have given you the greatest sword of all!" She says with a grin.
"That's the greatest sword?" I ask.
"Indeed! Or at least the most mighty!"
"Most mighty? That?" I scoff.
"Though I suppose you will be needing this. Think of it as a complementary gift" the strange lady reaches into her cloak and hands me an object as well as my so-called sword.
Then she vanishes. I stared at the pool expecting her to return. To tell me it was all a joke.
She didn't.
I finally looked down at the sword she gave me. Not sharp, not large, not deadly. It is no weapon. I look to the complimentary gift she gave me.
It's a jar of ink. | ##Test of Character
Marybelle ran towards through the forest as the rain impeded her travels. The sword strapped to her back burns her skin. Her father told her that meant evil was near, but she knew the heat was because it was recently forged.
The castle loomed in the distance atop the small mountain. The rest of the Weilan was behind it on the edge of a river. Marybelle had never been to Weilan, but she heard they had a unique form of secession.
A branch tripped her, and she fell into the puddle. She pushed herself up, but the sword weighed her down. With each moment, the sword pushed her further into the ground until she was almost drowning. A creature laughed before her.
When she looked up, a shadow monster was dancing. It had six tentacles and glowing purple eyes. Two open mouths were salivating over her. Before it could reach her, someone pulled the sword from off her back.
A young man swung the glowing sword at it. It recoiled in fear from it, but the man was persistent. He sliced off two of its tentacles easily. It charged at him with one of its mouths, but he jumped away from it.
Marybelle pushed herself off the ground and pulled out a dagger of her own. She ran behind the creature to stab it, but the dagger went through its body. The creature turned to strike her, but the man quickly attacked. Within a few strokes, it died.
"Sorry about stealing your sword. I'm Jorn." The man was attractive with flowing hair and an amazing smile. He held out his hand, and Marybelle took it.
"Marybelle." She held for a while until he handed the sword to her.
"I meant to give this to you," he laughed, "I guess I got distracted."
"Thanks." The sword fell to the ground when she grabbed it. "What in heavens name?"
"My word." Jorn reached down and picked up the sword. "Is the sword for the King?"
"Uh, maybe. My father Vance forged it for the Kingdom of Weilan," Marybelle replied.
"I've been chosen to be King." He looked at Marybelle. "Thank you for this gift."
"I didn't do anything."
"No, but you did. The next King is chosen when he retrieves the sword in an act of valor and righteousness," Jorn blushed, "It's also supposed to be where he meets his Queen."
"I don't think I can be Queen," Marybelle said, but she wanted to join Jorn.
"Well, come with me to the Weilan. Decide while were there?" Jorn got on his knees and forced an awkward smile.
"Alright." Marybelle took his hands, and they walked to the kingdom. The rain stopped falling, and the sun began to shine.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-12-14T16:24:12 | 2022-12-14T16:16:01 | 931 | 21 |
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts. | Jake’s heart was hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse in this throat and his mouth was dry. He had never been this nervous and excited at the same time. This was a huge step. His life would be changing drastically in the next few minutes.
He knocked on the door and her mother answered. She has her mother’s eyes and cheekbones. She looks a lot like her mother which, in this case, was a good thing. She would age gracefully as they lived their lives together. Her mom invited him in without a word. Jake asked to speak to Don, her dad, but said that it would actually be nice if they were both there. She led him to the living room where Don sat watching TV.
On his way to the couch Jake saw the picture that hung on the wall. It was of him and Emily when they were six-years-old making mud pies together in the yard. It made him smile. He took a seat on the couch and said he had something important he needed to ask them. Don shut the TV off and they gave the young man their full attention. “I have come here today to ask for your permission to marry Emily.” He told them. “I have a ring, and I recently got a promotion at work. I know in my heart I can give her good life. I can be a great husband to her. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.”
Emily’s mom immediately started crying, but these weren’t tears of joy. Her chest heaved with wracking sobs. Don stood up and went to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. A tear leaked out of his left eye as he struggled to be strong. After a moment Emily’s mom’s crying calmed.
“I’m sorry son. You know there is no way I can say yes to you. This can’t be,” Don finally said to him.
“Don’t you like me?” Jake asked.
“You know we love you,” Don replied.
“Then why a no?”
“Jake, we have been over this before. You can’t keep showing up here like this. You need to see someone and get some help. You need to take steps to move on.”
Jake was shocked by his words. “Move on from what? I love her and I want to spend my life with her.”
“Son, you know that Emily died two months ago. You were at her funeral. You have to let her go. She isn’t with us anymore. I know your heart is broken, but when you show up here acting as if she is still alive it breaks our hearts even more. Jake, Emily is gone. You can’t marry her. I know it hurts, but you have to accept it.”
Stunned by their words, Jake silently stood and began walking for the door. As he stepped outside he put a hand in his jacket pocket and closed it around the box that held the ring. He stumbled to his car where he sat in silence for several minutes then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a piece of cloth. He put what was left of the scarf Emily was wearing on that day to his mouth and nose and took a deep breath. It still smelled like her. He pulled the box from his pocket, wrapped it in the remains of the scarf and stuffed them both into his jacket pocket then he started the car and pulled out of the driveway. Maybe next week they would understand. Maybe next week they would say yes.
| "No."
I blinked once. Something had to be wrong. That couldn't have been what had just been said. Some jumbled neurological process had to be occurring in the muddled zest that I called my brain. Yeah that was it. I was so happy that the answer I knew that I should be hearing came across as the one, deep down, that I knew I couldn't bear to. That had to be it, but still I needed to be sure.
"Pardon?" I croaked out, words sticking tight in my throat
"I'm sorry Saul but I can't allow you to do that. This must be a shock, I'm sure but what I'm doing here is the best for all of us." Tomas' voice was deep, thick and laden with sadness, regret and sorry. But it was also strong, there was conviction there as I stood in his front room, the hand that held the ring out beginning to shake. The ring I had scrimped and saved and used the inheritance from my parents to pay for.
"I... I don't understand." Tomas' face was beginning to blur now, moisture blocking out the finer details of that old, sad face.
"Sarah's dying Saul." Now that was a shock. My mouth dropped. Knees began to buckle. "No, no, no not like that! Here sit down, there we go careful."
Strong arms were gripping me by the shoulders and moved me into an armchair. I looked at his face in alarm, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"That was probably not the best way of putting it but I need to be able to be blunt with you." Tomas was crouching next to me, one hand resting protectively on my upper arm like a father would. Like I was hoping a father-in-law would do. "She's not actually dying Saul. Not like you think I mean. But she is being killed. By this world around us. By you and me. By Ms McCormick down the road and those kids in the park, by the one bus that comes through everyday and that shitty dead end job that she's got in that god awful pub. Do you understand me Saul? Tell me you see what I'm getting at?"
Now I truly was lost. I looked in bewilderment at my girlfriends father, a look he seemed to recognise and despise all at once.
"Listen Saul. Sarah is an amazing girl and in any other circumstance I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I can't for one reason. She is still a girl. Hell, yeah, shes left school and has a job but look around you! Look where you live! There is nothing her for her and there is nothing here for you either. And I cannot begin to imagine letting her settle here with you when there is so much out there waiting for her. Waiting for you."
Here a pause. The world was beginning to stop spinning.
"Me agreeing to let you marry her would be a death sentence. For her. For you. If you get married you wont leave here. Wont experience what is out there in the world, wont be able to see who you truly could be! And I am sorry, I am so so sorry Saul but I cannot let that happen. To either of you."
I remember his eyes filling with tears then as his eyes sought with me, implored with me to understand. But then I only understood one thing. The love of my life was lost to me because of the man in front of me. I left town that day. I have yet to return. Maybe one day I will but that is looking more and more distant a prospect with everyday that goes by. And the ring? That sits in at the bottom of a chest of drawers. In my office. In a dead-end, no promise job. And everyday that goes by the feeling that I have failed Tomas lodges itself ever deeper into my heart. | 2014-01-19T15:01:42 | 2014-01-19T14:42:00 | 84 | 17 |
[WP] The Devil and Jesus meet each other disguised as hobos. They don't realise, who the other really is (at first) and start having a conversation. | The lighter flared brightly, the scrape of the flint barely audible over the combined hiss of rain and cars on the overpass. The smoker shuffled back against the grubby concrete pillar, away from the slow trickle of water, overflow from the trash-clogged gutters.
He held up the cheap plastic lighter, eyeing it in the light from a nearby fire, the classic metal barrel filled with burning trash.
"Humans are creative these days," he murmured, then handed it over to the man beside him, a figure layered in tattered, stained clothes and tangled hair. The second figure eyed him curiously at the words, then accepted the return of the lighter, tucking it away in his noxious apparel.
"They forget what's important," he finally answered, his voice smooth, golden, warm, a sharp contrast to the smoker's harsh, gravelly rasp. The first figure eyed him in turn, the nostrils flaring as he gently sniffed the air.
"Oh yes? What's important then?" he countered, the cigarette tip flaring as he took a second drag.
"Their soul, of course. Everything that comes after their brief moment alive."
"A god-botherer? Most down here are more practical than that... it's why I like it here." The smoker's answer wasn't confrontational, and his tone was still easy as he continued. "Hard to think about what comes after when you're hungry."
"All of that falls away so quickly after you leave the shell. All that's left is light and love. I don't understand why they can't _see_ that!"
The smoker's laugh was like someone sanding a box, a rasping wheeze that echoed in the concrete cavern.
"Even after all this time, even after all your experiences, you still don't understand _them_... Josh."
Dark eyes stared at the smoker through the tangled hair, tension evident in his shoulders, then the second man relaxed slowly.
"When did you know?"
The smoker grinned around the cigarette. "Didn't, not till you said that. Guess I've still got it..."
Josh glared for a moment, then sighed. "So you think _you_ understand them... Luke?"
Lucifer pushed himself up, flicking the cigarette in a smooth arc, the butt hissing as it hit wet clutter. He turned to walk away, his parting shot delivered over his shoulder.
"I'm winning, aren't I?"
| The two old men in rags sat on the corner of a busy sidewalk in downtown Manhattan. In front of each of them lay a cup and a sign reading “Out of luck, spare a buck.” One of the old men took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, put one between his lips and offered the other man one.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” replied the man.
“I think cancer is the least of our problems,” said the other old man as he struck a match and took a drag.
The two old men sat silently and watched as people walked by, daring not to make eye contact with either of them.
“So, what’s your story,” asked the old man, exhaling thin, grey smoke out of his nose and mouth.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” replied the other man staring at the ground in front of him.
“Oh yeah? Try me.”
“Alright, if you insist. I was doomed from the start. Never good enough in my father’s eyes, judged by everyone, shouted at, and forced to carry a burden I never wanted.”
“Brother, you’re speaking to the choir,” chuckled the old man as he flicked his cigarette into the street. “Sounds like our fathers would have gotten along wonderfully. No matter how hard I tried, my father would always expect more from me.
Then one day, when I was in a terrible amount of trouble, I called out to him. And you know what? Nothin. He didn’t say a word.”
“Sounds familiar,” the other man said, nodding his head.
The two sat quietly, reminiscing about their pasts and thanking the few people who put coins in their cups.
As the sun began to set, the old men gathered their few belongings, picked up their cups and stood for awhile.
The old man took out his pack of cigarettes and put another one to his lips. Again he offered the other man one, and smiling, the man took one. The old man put the pack in his pocket, struck a match and lit the other man’s cigarette, then his own.
The two man shook hands and turned to leave.
As the old man walked away, puffing on his cigarette, he heard a voice behind him.
“Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me,”
Turning around, where the other old man had been standing was a young, bearded man.
“What are the odds,” the old man smiled and shook his head.
He then took off his worn overcoat and his old baseball cap. When he looked up, he was no longer the old man, but rather a young, bearded man.
“What are the odds in need,” smirked the other man.
“You take care of yourself, Jesus,” the young man said turning to leave.
“See you around, Lucifer.” | 2014-07-29T08:37:08 | 2014-07-29T07:49:28 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
Charon always takes two coins for passage into the land of the dead. Whatever he has been saving up for, he has finally reached his goal.
Edit: Thank you, person who gave this gold! It really goes to all you writers! | "Sir? Sir, may I help you?" she asked the man by the water cooler.
He had been pacing restlessly around the waiting room all through her lunch break, staring at the TV, and sometimes at other customers. Based on the somewhat shabby state of his clothing and the unsettling, unfocused look in his eyes, she doubted that he was actually there on business. Probably someone's senile grandpa who wandered in, thinking he was at the grocery store.
He nodded and approached her desk, quicker than she would have expected from someone his age. Quite a bit taller too. She gestured to the chair but he didn't move.
"So, what brings you to our office?" she asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. She really, really hoped she wouldn't have to call security.
"I want to buy a boat."
He said it bluntly, clearly, without the slightest hint that there was a screw loose anywhere inside that wrinkled head. But she still almost laughed.
"Sir, I think there's been a misunderstanding; we're a *shipping* company. We run freighters and oil tankers for large-scale international deliveries. I think you may be looking for something smaller, perhaps? Like a speedboat? Or a yacht? There's a place by the aquarium downtown that rents-"
"No. I want a big boat. One of yours. I can pay."
"Sir...the prices for our ships can run into the tens of millions. We don't usually sell to individuals."
Something crawled across his leathery face that may have been a smile. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an envelope, and placed it gently on her desk.
"I can pay."
In spite of herself, this was making her a little curious. Could he be some eccentric billionaire who wanted to cruise around the world in a private oil tanker? Was it some kind of publicity stunt? *Could* he actually pay? If this was legit, there might be a serious promotion in her near future. The odds were against it, to be sure, but it never hurt to dream. She began to rip open the envelope.
"Well, I'll have to refer you to my supervisor for a deal like this, but in the meantime, let's discuss your ability to pay. Can I get a statement from your bank?"
"No bank."
She almost sighed. So much for her promotion. Just a crazy old man after all. He probably saw a movie about a cargo ship, decided that he wanted one, and tottered out of the retirement home to go and pick one up as if it was a gallon of milk from the corner store. No choice but to humor him until her supervisor got back from the bathroom to back her up.
"Ah, I see. So you'll be paying in cash then?"
This time, he smiled. There was no mistaking it.
"Something like that."
She finished opening the envelope. Inside was a photo of something that looked like a pile of dirt, but when she looked closer, she saw that it was...
"I can pay," he repeated, as the woman stared at the photo in disbelief. "When can you have my boat delivered?"
It took her a moment to collect herself.
"Oh...soon, very soon! I just need to consult with my supervisor. Sir...not that it's any of my business, but may I ask why you need such a large ship?"
"My old boat is too small." He cleared his throat impatiently and asked again, "when can you have it delivered?"
"Well, that depends on a lot of things, sir. Will you be needing it soon?"
He glanced back at the waiting room TV. It was still tuned to the news. The same headlines that had covered the screen for the last three weeks. *Chinese delegation leaves Camp David after peace talks collapse. Fighter jets report AA fire from PLA Naval vessels in the Taiwan Strait. US calls up reserve troops, declares DEFCON 2.*
"Yes."
**Edit:** Thanks for the gold!
| Charon had served as the Underworld’s ferryman for quite some time, now. It had good pay, but it had gotten incredibly monotonous as the years went on.
He had gotten used to the howling and screaming of those who were denied passage. He had gotten used to the stench of the river which he floated over every day, and the foul taste of the air which had at first been suffocating. He had gotten used to the rocking of the boat, and the grief-stricken looks of those who had not been ready to die.
The one thing Charon never got used to, however, was how boring his job was.
His routine was simple: he docked on the side of the living; let those with payment board; dropped them off on the other side, and went back to do it all over again. He needed some excitement in his life – something that brought variety to his occupation.
True, every once in a while he had someone important come through, like a God who had come to talk to Hades, or a hero who thought he could cross the river and return a loved one to the world of the living. However, those had been few and far between, and he quickly fell back into the same old process afterwards.
So, he had decided to start saving his money. There was a marketplace just off the shore on the side of the dead, which had a variety of merchants who offered just about anything, as long as you had the money. It was there that Charon knew he would find what he was looking for – even if he didn’t even know what that was yet.
-----
It had been a particularly slow day for the ferryman, who waited patiently for passengers. He was close, though. If the next two souls actually had coins for passage, he could officially afford anything in the marketplace. Then he could go and find something worthwhile.
A new group of souls slowly materialized in the distance. Charon could make out three figures. There were two adult figures, one man and one woman. The third was a small child, who looked to be no older than five. The child appeared to be holding the woman’s hand.
As the man approached, Charon extended his open palm.
“Payment, please.”
“I-I don’t have any coins…” said the man, knowing full well what that meant.
“Those without payment cannot cross”, Charon stated flatly.
The man fell to his knees, choking on his tears. “P-please, hear me out! I was never given the opportunity to be buried, as I d-died on the field of battle… You h-have to understand!”
Charon watched as the man wept in despair. He couldn’t change the rules, and over time he had lost sympathy for souls such as this one. He turned to the woman and the child.
“Payment, please.”
The woman took a coin out of her mouth, and quickly handed it over to Charon. She motioned to the child to do the same.
“Go on, sweetie, give him your coin.”
The little boy stretched out his coin to Charon, who gently took it out of his hand.
Leaving the man sobbing on the shore, the woman and her child stepped on to the boat. Charon pocketed the two coins and started to row his way across the river.
When he touched shore on the other side, he looked over his shoulder. He didn’t see any souls that would be waiting to cross, so he had time to visit the marketplace. He let the woman and the child off the boat, and then tied it to a pole on the shore. As he was doing so, he heard the child speak to the woman.
“Mama, do you think he gets lonely?”
Charon noticed the child was pointing at him.
The woman chuckled, then picked up the little boy and carried him in her arms. “Everyone gets lonely, honey. But some people can't do anything to change that.”
The child fell silent as he looked at Charon. It was then that the ferryman knew what he wanted to buy.
-----
A few minutes later, Charon returned to the boat holding a bundle of cloth. He sat down on the dock and unraveled the blanket, looking into the great, big eyes of a newborn puppy.
With a rare smile, Charon felt a sense of joy for the first time in a long while.
| 2014-10-30T00:08:09 | 2014-10-29T20:05:27 | 43 | 22 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “Dear god, I’ve been shot!” I cried. My blood dripped onto the crisp autumn leaves and my vision swam. I crumpled to the forest floor, gasping. I could faintly hear the hunter’s panicked voice trying to assure me, or maybe just himself, that everything would be okay. The world blurred and slowed. Everything plunged into darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, a small spot of green light appeared. It grew, flower like, blooming into more tendrils of green until an entire forest had materialized around me. My fear faded a little. I was still in the woods. But why wasn’t I bleeding everywhere? Where had the hunter gone? I peered into the dense brush, confused.
An enormous stag stepped out of the foliage before me. Despite his size, there was no sound of his body against the leaves or his hooves against the ground. Slowly, gracefully, he approached me. He lowered his massive head, his antlers mere inches away from my face.
“Another one?” the deer asked. His voice was strong and clear. He studied me with what appeared to be bemusement. “Tell me, human, why is it that so many of your kind use your final breath to call upon the deer god?” | "It finally happened, we couldn't believe it"
"What? What happened? Who are you?"
"My Apologies, My name is Apollo, this is Bragi and the cow headed one is Hathor"
"Moo"
"Where am I? What is this?"
"Right, usually one of us is to guide to the afterlife as your death best determines, the warriors who die in battle go to Valhalla, The thinkers who die in their sleep become Morpheus's lot, spend most of their time being extras in other people's dreams. You, you poor bastard, were such a special case we felt all of uh your potential representatives should assist you moving on"
"Moo"
"Why what happened? I was on my way to work after lunch?"
"He doesn't remember! Well think back what is the last thing you remember?"
""umm Blackness just a great blackness"
"A sort of polished blackness?...*snigger*"
"huh?"
"Not funny Bragi!...and before that?"
"I was coming back from lunch I passed a removal truck, there was shouting and then blackness..."
"Do you happen to recall what they were moving?"
"ummm, well they were just opening the van when I was on my way I recall because they brought out a ...no...you must be joking"
"I'm sorry mister Snyder but you are the first person ever to be killed by a falling piano"
".........what do I do now?"
"Well thats just the thing, its never happened before so it seems you've fallen under the purview of Musicians and Poets"
"But I'm not a Poet! or a Musician!"
"You sure?, watching you with a piano was truly a once in a lifetime experience"
and so George Snyder settle into an eternity of ridicule and infamy.
| 2015-01-15T07:39:33 | 2015-01-15T06:05:44 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] It suddenly dawned on you that they had known all along. | 10,000 days. That's 27 years, 4 months, 2 weeks, 2 days, 17 hours, 10 minutes, and 1.92 seconds.
You toiled and sweat. Cursed and spat. Bled and wept even. And finally. Finally, you have solved it. You call your closest colleague to confirm the chemical reaction, but careful not to reveal your secret. Added in the formulas to a computational simulation to test the solution on different forms. Tested, and retested using different specimens. Alas, it is found. Its discovery, yours.
A call to the largest pharmaceutical company in the world leads you into the direction of a Mr. Smith. The man's voice is cold and calculating. Hushed when it should be loud. Suggestive and critical when it should be understanding. He does not believe you. And even so, profits are to be lost in 5 years. He desires that you meet him in person to confirm. A permanent cure for the sickness that seizes millions.
A drive to the location told to you reveals a follower at night. A gun through the window is pointed.
It suddenly dawned on you that they had known all along. | I crept slowly down the stairs. Keeping close to the edges, skipping the especially creaky ones. I'd studied those. This whole building was committed to my memory, right down to each loose floorboard.
Everything silent, not a noise except for the pitter patter of rain on the windows. I very precisely tip-toed down the hall. I must capture my prize.
My eyes fully adjusted to the blackness surrounding me, I could make out the doorway of where I needed to be.
Excitement flooded my veins, and a small gasp escaped me. The adrenaline pumping through my body made me slightly jittery.
*...craa^aaack*
I jerked my foot back from the board, turning my head wildly. Minutes passed as I froze on the spot.
Finally, I relaxed. Nobody had heard the intruder.
Creeping into the room, my heart beat faster than it had even when I stepped on the creaky board.
So close.
I placed my hand on the marble countertop after feeling around for a moment. Sliding my fingertips along the smooth surface, letting them guide me to my destination.
Clambering up onto that counter was no easy task, but my excitement helped me achieve it.
I placed one hand on my goal, the cold ceramic surface feeling just like molded ice. Twisted slowly... ^pop^. A greedy smile broke out on my face.
The lights clicked on. My face fell, I shoved the evidence as far away from myself as I could.
"Hungry, are you, Danny?" scowled my mom, "you're grounded, and no more of those cookies you were trying to sneak. It's past your bedtime, go to sleep." | 2015-04-04T20:47:19 | 2015-04-04T20:43:58 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | The van ploughed in to the side of my car. There was no pain, just a dull, tingling sensation all over my body as the blood leaked out and I faded in to unconsciousness.
I woke up. I found myself surrounded on all sides by an expanse of inhospitable, fissured rock of a dark red colour. What appeared to be magma could be seen flowing through the cracked geology, the occasional geyser spurting up with a brilliant intensity. The first thing I noticed, aside from my environment, was a figure approaching me from a distance. As he got closer, I saw an immaculate suit, and a face that looked almost human except for the deep, crimson eyes. He began to speak to me in a hoarse, strained voice, though I already knew what he was about to say.
"Welcome. I am the devil, and this is hell."
Though I had realised this already, there is no way to describe the dread that shoots up your spine when you these words are spoken to you. The second thing he said, however, took me by surprise.
"You are its sole occupant, well, except for me I suppose."
It took a few moments for this to sink in before my protest began.
"Really, I'm the only person to be sentenced to hell? What did I do? I never murdered, never raped, never stole. Are you telling me the people who did these things get to go to heaven, and I end up in hell?"
"Let me ask you," the devil began, "are you certain you died? What is the last you remember?"
"I was in a car accident, I lost consciousness, and I ended up here."
"Ah, exactly," responded the devil. "You lost consciousness. You have yet to die. My guess is that the paramedics will be reviving you in a few minutes. You see, the true reality of hell hasn't been expressed in any of the religious texts you humans are so fond of. Hell is an eternal punishment, and there is no crime you can commit on earth which could possibly warrant infinite retribution. Even for the worst of your species, the punishment would not fit the crime. Your presence here is only permitted due to the temporary nature of your death. Eternal punishment is only handed out for heavenly crimes, and I am the only one who has been found deserving. An eternal isolation in a barren, violent land. The only respite I get is when one such as yourself presents me with a brief moment of company. Time does not pass the same here as on earth, and the few minutes until your mortal revival will correspond to a few hours here. So please, do me the courtesy of a conversation. I'm so very lonely."
We sat down on the rocky ground and talked.
| "Steve" I whispered aggressively, "just Steve."
"The fuck you doing down here Steve the worlds only been around for eight fucking days." - the devil
"Chill man it's still a little fresh," - I continued "man I was just minding my own business you know just me and Adam broing out like two lazy ass muthafuckas until god starts butting in. We were just going at it and then god was al like ' stop that, that's gay' and I was Trying to tell him ' whoa it's cool man, just a bro job, ain't no sin in loving bro' am I right"
"Your right" confirmed Satan lord of bad ass muthafuckas.
"So then Adam starts getting bitchy and sentimental about wanting someone to clean all his shit and carry on his legacy and stupid bullshit like that." I pressed "he totally debroified and went straight to god asking for something to cheer his lazy ass up. God was all like 'ok my son' whoa imma stop it right there. God ain't my father or Adams either, I might not know my daddy but he sure as hell ain't no one eyes omnipotent cloud eater. So then is when shit gets crazy, he straight up pulls a muthafuckin rib out of Adams muthafuckin chest, and out came a fine lady mmm hot damn was I weak at the pelvis. So Adam in all his creativity names this bitch Steve, but I was like not in my garden those are my letters and I owned them first or else you pay my seven days rent. And Adam Was all like ' shit man not on the sabbath' so she kept the eve and left the rest"
The devil interludes, " man that's some bull shit man you can't let some bitch woman take your name."
"Whoa there devil let's not hate cause she's a woman,that ain't right." I corrected.
"Shit sorry man" the devil reassured.
Ever since then the devils been a feminist, ". so as I was saying after this bitch came in to play shit started going down. First rule was no more bro jobs. That was enough to set me off right then, but it got worse one day I was just mind my own business jerking off some cows or some bullshit when I see Adam and Eve getting scolded by god about some snake or some other bullshit,"
"Whoa dude stope right there, that was me,I fucked them so hard," said the devil.
"Really man? That's cold as tits, but ado was saying god was bringing down a world of pain making all these bullshit rules when bam, no more gay stuff. And I'm like what the fuck man? I was just mind in my own business jerking off cows and then this bullshit man, fuck you I'm gonna make my own paradise with the devil and shit,"
"Wow that's really heavy man," the devil " and that's why gay marriage is illegal?"
"That's why gay marriage is illegal"
| 2015-04-09T08:50:38 | 2015-04-09T07:58:39 | 1,736 | 35 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | I come to, remembering the delirium of my last days with perfect clarity. But my body doesn't ache. For the first time in months, there's no nausea, no exhaustion, no pain. It's confusing for a moment.
But only a moment, because then it hits me. Where I am. Fire and brimstone, rivers of blood, darkness, et cetera. The whole nine yards, as they say. Minus the screams of the damned, however, which I must say I find rather surprising, given the rest. I run my hand across my scalp and discover the old mop of fine, brown hair, formerly lost to the chemotherapy and now suddenly and inexplicably back in attendance
"Fuck," I say.
"Something wrong?" comes a voice behind me.
I spin around. Well, if I'm being honest, I jump about four feet out of my skin, land awkwardly, and then spin around. After righting myself, I am somehow not surprised to see Satan. Or to be precise, I am somehow not surprised to see a humanoid with red skin, cloven hooves, horns, and a barbed tail. However, as I am not, at the moment, familiar with the demography of Hell, I can only assume this satanic-looking fellow is, in fact, Satan.
"I suppose I didn't expect to be here," I say.
Satan arches an eyebrow. "You thought you'd end somewhere more ... celestial?"
I shake my head. "I didn't expect to be *any* place," I reply, "I rather expected oblivion. But if there is an almighty deity, then I shouldn't be surprised He sent me here."
"You should be," Satan says. "You're the only one He's ever sent here."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, aside from me. But yes, the good Lord has never condemned any other human soul to Hell besides you. Between you and me, I expect it was the Mother Teresa bit that broke the camel's back."
I can't help but emit a snort of derision. "That cow. I wouldn't take back a single word. So she's up there, I take it?"
Satan nods. "Along with Hitler, Saddam Hussein, and Pol Pot, among other notables. Forgiveness is a rare and special thing," he says, positively dripping sarcasm. "Even Henry Kissinger is guaranteed a spot when he dies."
A sardonic smile creeps across my lips. "Well, at least I'll be spared ever having to see him again. Thank God for small favors."
"Indeed," Satan agrees.
"So what now? Am I to be tortured eternally?"
"Goodness no," Satan says, looking, I admit, somewhat offended. He then glances around, and his demeanor softens. "Ah, the decor is rather grim. I can see how you might have come to that conclusion. It's a reflection of my state of mind, unfortunately. I've been in solitary confinement quite literally for aeons. Angels are built rather differently to humans, but eternal loneliness wears on even such as us. Speaking of that, I'd appreciate it if you could brighten it up a bit."
"What? How?" I say, genuinely puzzled.
"Just wish for something. Want something. This is all ... well, there's no real word for it as you'd understand. Let's call it primordial matter. All of this is built from primordial matter. It can be shaped by thought. Try it."
Seeing as there's nothing to be lost by giving it a whirl, I close my eyes and concentrate. When I open them, there's a lit cigarette in one hand and a a lusciously full cocktail glass in the other. I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale a glorious lungful of tobacco smoke, and then take a sip of what is possibly the most perfect gin martini I have ever tasted.
Satan laughs with a sudden exhalation of pure relief. "Seems like you've already got the hang of it. So, what would you care to do next?"
"Well," I say, taking another sip, "if we've both been condemned to an eternal party, what say we make it a *good* one?"
The landscape around us brightens and begins reworking itself into something resembling a London park on a lovely spring day. Satan nods with approval. There's hope -- dare I say even joy -- in his eyes. "That's the best idea I've heard in ages, Mr. Hitchens. Count me in."
"Please, if we're going to be friends, you should call me Chris."
*In memoriam 1949-2011* | The devil didn't look like I'd imagined him. For one- it really wasn't a "him". My sister and I used to play a game in the mall called "chick or dick", we try to make our best guess at whether a person is a girl or a guy when you can't really tell. The devil would have been one of these people. Long hair kept in a low bun, long delicate fingers on a slender, muscular frame. Those big eyes with beautiful lashes, but with a sharp strong jaw. "His" fingers curled around a clipboard that was filled with paperwork to be done.
"Actually", he said. "Follow me. I'd rather do this in my office." He snapped his fingers and a room appeared in the distance. It seemed impossibly far away, maybe a half mile, but with nothingness in every direction it's hard to judge distance. We were there in just a few steps, gliding along in the darkness- well not darkness. Sort of like what you can see out the back of your head. Just- nothing. He opened the door to the room. Inside was a modern-looking office. It reminded me strongly of the offices where I had applied for welfare in the past, not very welcoming, but the single cushioned folding chair in front of the desk was more than enough for me. The desk had pictures of what I assumed must have been him and a demon on it in human form, at a vacation spot, some beach somewhere.
"That's him." He said. "The creator. The great I Am."
"God?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah." He said. "We try to get out every hundred years or so. Anyway, let's get to it! Your name?" He plopped down in the computer chair on the other side of the desk and pulled a pen from behind his ear.
"Oh, uhh, Sammy. Sammy Wilson." I took the one opposite.
"Sammy! How are you? Satan." He offered his hand across the desk, and I cautiously reached up to meet it for a firm shake.
"I'm good, I guess. For being in hell." I was not quite registering anything yet, like when I fell off my bike as a kid and just sort of accepted that my arm was broke. I walked into the gas station I had just left and calmly asked for a ride to the hospital while the bone was jutting out from my arm. There would be plenty time to process it later. I was in hell. I had all eternity.
"Ah, yes. Don't worry too much though. Everyone goes to hell." He said.
"Everyone? I thought I was the first!"
"The first this millennium. We remodel every so often." He pointed to the bleak nothingness out the cubicle's window. "Time of death for you was 12:01, January 1st, 2000." He was right. I suddenly remembered. The ball drop! It dropped alright, right on drunken old me. I needed a closer view, and I got it. Damn. "So what did you do then? How did you die?" He showed me the clipboard with a list of possible choices. Drowning, genocide, suicide, murder, old age, death by giant celebratory decoration, and illness.
"That decoration one." I said, embarrassed.
"Mmhmmm." He said. He checked the box next to it and spent a few seconds filling in... something. Notes? "Here's the deal. I could go through the paperwork line by line, or give you the general idea and get both of us out of here sooner. Now, hell is pretty much the opposite of prison on earth. It's rehabilitation, not punishment. There's only so many souls, and we have to start working on getting yours all clean so we can recycle it. You do some good back on earth, you get some time to think about what you did, you get back to a good place morally, spend some time in heaven just waiting around for your time, and we send you back in the rotation as a newborn."
"How do I do good back on earth?" I asked.
"Well, you will some miracles to happen, see that prayers get answered, stuff like that. All with the power of technology!" He said, opening a desk drawer and retrieving a laptop. He gave a huge grin. "We used to have to do this by hand!" He opened it to Facebook, and up came a barrage of the "share if you want Jesus to help poor little African children" type posts.
"So every time they share this, it really does help?" I asked.
"Now it does." He replied. He sifted through the paperwork on the clipboard to the last page, on which there was a line for a signature. "Just sign here, take the laptop, and be in your way." He handed me the pen and clipboard, I signed my name quickly, and he handed me the laptop and walked to open the door.
I walked outside and he snapped his fingers again, and both he and the room disappeared, to be replaced by a comfy chair. I sat down, opened the page of half-hearted "amen"s, and curiosity got the best of me. I typed Netflix into the browser bar, and my heart skipped a beat. It actually started to load! Then, defeat. "The system administrator has blocked this site." I really was in hell. | 2015-04-09T11:30:16 | 2015-04-09T09:44:39 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I was the odd case. Everyone has super powers, nobody knows why, even the people with super intelligence as a power can't figure it out. There really is no way to observe it. Which is why I am so different.
Everyone has a power, it sort of just come, like puberty or growth spurts. What can I say, we solved the energy problem in the world, explored the galaxies but we have no more information on our own anatomy than when Homo sapiens sapiens first evolved into Homo sapiens superior, more than five hundred years ago. But it never happened to me. My power never came, and it's not like I have a power that's super lame, like that one guy who can manipulate the smell around him on that reality TV show. No, I have no power at all.
I actually had a TV show too, everyone wants to see the kid without power, it's so barbaric, so backwards. The government agency came by to check out what's going on, they didn't conclude anything and they left. Entire generation of academics spent nearly hundred years trying to crack the sapien superiors source of power, and nothing came of it, so everyone just brush it off if some strange power thing occurred. And eventually the show was canceled, there is only so much one can film about a teenager that disappears and sneaks around a lot. At a certain point people started to feel real bad about me, and reality TV is for entertaining, not for people's pity.
And I was left here, with no power and nothing. My friends all left for college and trade school, or joined the explorers to see the universe.
It was until one day I was at a restaurant that I started realize exactly who I am. I was just dumped by my girlfriend--ex girlfriend --and it was really awkward for me. All I wanted was to be unnoticed in the corner, finish my meal and head home to heal my broken heart. I sat there for hours, and nobody noticed me, not the waiter, not customers, they just left me be. Heck, I lost the time and they closed the restaurant with me still in it. Well that's new. It took me a month to figure out, as it turns out, I do have a power, I can hide. And not just hide, whenever I feel like it, I can walk through places unseen by others. I'm not invisible, I tried that theory, the camera caught me. People just glance over me, as if nothing is out of place, and keep on doing whatever they were doing.
Nobody noticed my power because it is a fairly unnoticeable power. I was always that kid that sat in the corner, nobody ever took notice of me, so nobody figured it out. Life was pretty sweet after that. Went strolling in a bank vault, no biggie. Took a couple grand for my weekly allowance, nobody noticed. I am the shadow that walked the earth unseen. The best part? Everyone still thinks I have no power.
Their loss (no, quite seriously, I took some dude's Ferrari for a sunset ride yesterday, totaled the car, and just left it there). | I was happy once. Before the testing of powers began i still had friends. We laughed and played as equals. I had crushes on cute girls and i think some had crushes on me. Ingorant bliss was our collective state of mind.
But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. It was unexpected, swift, and brutal. But the shock of the thousands killed in the first onslaught took backstage to the confusion as to who this self-proclaimed "Fire Nation" actually was.
While governments around the world rushed to provide aid to Djibouti, they were much more concerned with determining what this threat actually was and how to stop it.
A cataclysmic explosion had rocked South America. Even registering on the Richter scale. Satellite images showed thousands of burnt homes. Dead strewn in the streets. Not an inch of the land within the blast not scorched and blackened. But of all the damage, there was only one fire still lit. In giant towering letters "The Fire Nation Has Struck. We Will Not Be Ignored" was etched in flame to the hard, caked, earth. The grave warning has, to this day, survived all attempts to extinguish it.
That was the day joy left my life. Since that day, I have not smiled. Because while the worldwide war against a largely unknown enemy rages to this day, I alone among the general popoluce know the truth of the situation. It is not a burden one should bear at the tender age of six. It is not fair to hear those tortured souls screaming in your dreams.
I never told anyone about my power. No one seemed to care too much. It didnt show up on any of the tests. It didn't manifest until the day of the tragedy, when everyone else was also so greif-stricken and scared. Even if i told someone i doubt they would take me seriously. The power to know the past has no use outside of a History class, right?
They've never seen in grotesque detail all the death the world has conjoured up. They've never heard the depraved rantings of serial killers to their victims. They've never felt the acid from biological weapons fill their lungs. I have. I have felt every once of suffering this world has ever known. A burden bourne on my shoulders alone. People try to make light of their life by dwelling on past successes but the pleasure the world has produced is far outweigted by the pain.
I know who struck that fatal blow. I know who caused this war. You see, the Fire Nation doesn't exist. Sure, imposter gangs have sprung up to take the fame attributed to the title but they are not cohesive.
You see, with the advent of superpowers, religion was able to hold less and less say among its followers. No religion had predicted the rise of countless prophets so the skepticism some held for God soon became a worldwide movement.
For a while, we knew peace. Brother no longer had reason to hate brother beyond who they were as a person. Sure, people grew up in different areas, but there was no more religious hate.
Peace is unprofitable for some.
We have known nothing but war for so long that when peace came, those in power secretly panicked. They needed stability. They needed an enemy to rally their people behind. And thus, the fictitious Fire Nation was formed to provide an unseen enemy to chase around the ends of the earth. No one questioned when taxes increased for war. They were keepong us safe. No one questioned the constant surveillance. After all, the Fire Nation might have an operative in your neighborhood. No one remembered the Time of Peace. No one except me. | 2015-04-12T21:19:46 | 2015-04-12T21:13:08 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] A centuries-old vampire, turned as a child, takes advantage of being perpetually stuck as a little girl to prey upon those who would harm and abuse children. | "Uhhhh What the fuck !!!"
*Black black sheep such a little little man*
*With blood on his lips and blood on his hands*
*Oh mommy mommy dear what's a little girl*
*To do with her meal when it twitches and squirms*
"What are you ??? Just ... just get the hell out of here.. no noooo don't touch me !!!"
*Black black dream such a little little pain*
*And one finger less now is it still a man ?*
*Oh daddy you should be more careful what you lick*
*Girl might just pop your eye with a candy stick*
"Arrghhh nooo I'm sorry uhuuhuuuuh I'm soo sorry I never meant to hurt them"
*Black black blood on my little little teeth*
*Really you will love it when they sink in deep*
*Would you like to run now ? Would you like to flee ?*
*Oh mister no you can't, see you don't have any feet !*
"Pleeasee uhhh uhuhhhh.. I won't ... I'll never..."
*Black black sheep such a little little worm*
*Take off the skin and it looks all pink and worn*
*Oh scream scream my dear I just like to watch you creep*
*Would you like to play with me until I go to sleep ?*
| After several centuries of hedonistic living, she had finally found a pastime that was truly worthwhile. For the past few months, Amber has been engaged in a particularly entertaining pursuit. Feeding (and killing) those who think she is as meek as her appearance would suggest.
Today's catch seemed like any other, but the man was conflicted.
"I'm sorry," he said, for what seemed like the 100th time. She was almost ready to yell at him, when there was a knock at the door.
Amber sensed danger and immediately snapped off the bindings and stood up. She knew there was trouble when the man didn't seemed phased by her actions. Instead, he opened the door.
"Helsing," she hissed.
"My dear Amber, it has been awhile old gal."
"What do you want?"
"As you may have noticed," he said, tapping at the vials of blood laced around his neck. "I've entered the collection business and I've got one vial right here with your name on it. Just share a bit of what you have and I'll be on my way."
"I know what you've been doing with those Helsing," said Amber with a smile. "You've become quite the abomination, haven't you?"
All mirth vanished from Helsing's eyes. "Leave us," he commanded at the almost tearful man, who seemed only glad to run out. Helsing drew a large knife. "I'm going to enjoy gutting you Amber. Perhaps you'll be a bit more fun than Emilie, yes?"
At that instant a figure materialized from the shadows behind Helsing. He attempted to turn around, but it was too late. His head was already detached from his body.
Amber looked on in amusement as Dracula lifted the head as if talking to him. "Vampire hunter turned vampire-vampire hunter. No longer can he abuse my children."
| 2015-04-30T12:37:43 | 2015-04-30T12:28:36 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] The bombs stopped falling. Slowly, you opened the bunker's door. You did not expect what you saw. Make it as scary as possible. Now, take this story and tell it to a five year old without frightening him/ her. | No, pumpkin, you can't look outside. I know I did but let's not do that again. I think we should stay inside now. Come here, sit on my lap, I'll tell you a story. Remember the old oak tree out front that you used to climb in? I'll tell you a story about that tree. Of course it's still out there! I'd tell you if it wasn't. Maybe tomorrow we can go out. Yes, let's look again tomorrow.
My face is a little blistered, yes. We've only got a few minutes, pumpkin. Come on, what's is your favourite story in the whole wide world? I'll try to tell it to you. Don't worry about a bandaid, it'll stop hurting soon. Yes, it hurts, don't don't touch, it'll stop hurting soon. Right now I think your story is more important. Come sit with me and I'll tell you the robot moon story just as well as I remember it. I only know the beginning but it doesn't matter.
Come on, one more hug. Just hold me in a bear hug just as tight as you can. Perfect. Now hold your breath and it'll all go away. | Hmm war?
War is bad, it's not nice for anyone.
Lot's of bad things happen in war, it's not very nice at all.
How about I tell you a story till your mom gets back? Promise me you wont forget it?
There once was a little house I was living in under the ground. Someone kept throwing rocks up above and it was really noisy, so I had to stay there.
I lived there for a very long time, and it was very dark, but we would sing and play games while we waiting for the people to stop throwing rocks.
Because we were living there for sooo long some of the people had to go away and I was all alone.
But y'know what happened then? The people stopped throwing rocks and I didn't have to stay in my little house in the ground anymore.
So I climbed up the really big ladder to open my door. It was a really heavy door and it opened very slowly. When I finally opened it, y'know what I saw?
Yep right before the sun went away when the sky was really blue, just like your pencil case, the same color.
I saw it there, right next to the holes and sleeping people.
I saw the mean, laughing man.
He had really big black things on his back and looked right at me, and do you know what he said?
He said " From the darkness you came, you have created, and it is here I shall call my home"
And then the black things on his back opened up like wings and he flew away laughing, always laughing.
Then it all went dark and no one saw the blue sky or sun again. That's when the sleeping people woke up.
Your mom doesn't believe me, but I saw it.
Don't forget what Uncle Greg saw. | 2015-05-11T05:44:04 | 2015-05-11T05:19:44 | 54 | 16 |
[WP] Michael, a 15 year old Call of Duty player, realizes the greatest trash-talking opportunity of all time. Over his headset, he recognizes his opponent's voice as that of President Obama. | “Mike, you gotta turn on the TV.”
“What? Why? What channel?”
“Doesn’t matter what channel?”
I flicked the TV on to see the President holding a picture. My picture. I flicked to a few other channels. With the exception of the Spanish channel, he was speaking on all of them. On the Spanish channel, he was being translated. All I heard was *Este es Miguel* before I switched back. Obama was talking to someone off camera.
“They’ve had those little picture boxes on every news broadcast for fifty years but NO, not for me. Can’t handle it. I’m just the President. Yes, I know it’s live. I want everyone to know how bad a job you’re doing.”
“Why is the President holding a picture of my face?”
“I don’t know, man, it just started. I’m putting you on speaker. My mom is here.” I could hear her yell *Mike is famous* from a distance.
“The reason I’m *holding*,” the leader of the free world put special emphasis on the word as he glared at someone to the left of camera, “a picture of Mike is simple. I have just now introduced legislation to confirm onto this boy the title of Newb, in perpetuity for his life, his children’s lives and their children’s lives. Not that he’s ever gonna get any.”
An intern’s hand appeared from offscreen, Obama gave it a high-five. He continued.
“The reasons why I am doing this are the following: First, he is a newb. He is a camper and a tuber, and fits all the qualifications for a newb as designated by my Internal Secretary for Electronic Amusement and the heads of all military forces. Mike has been thoroughly vetted as a newb by the Secret Service and NSA. The report, including many embarrassing photos and spy video, will be available at Mike is a newb dot gov. Second, Mike is a bully.”
“Oh god.”
“Dude, Mike, what did you do?”
“I think I was playing him in Plants V Zombies. I thought it was one of those kids with some kind of voice modulator to make it sound like Obama.”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“I called him **[REDACTED]**”
Mike’s mother could be heard to scream in the background. “Dude, that’s low. That’s low by CoD standards. Oh God, my mom fainted. She must have heard you. I gotta go.”
Obama continued. “This new title has been officially passed by both the House and Senate with a rider stating that everyone with the official title of Newb is placed into special tax brackets which will singlehandedly be responsible for alleviating the national debt, and there is an additional executive order tasking them with presidential taint cleanliness. They are put on the no-fly list and every country with extradition pacts has promised to send him back with bells on.”
There was a confused pause in his speech. People weren’t sure whether to laugh or applaud. Was this a hoax? That all stopped when he spoke next.
“Mike, and I am speaking to you directly, who’s the **[REDACTED]** now?”
At that moment, there was pandemonium. The president said **[REDACTED]** live, on every channel. The audience was screaming. The camera fell as the cameraman fainted. You could see the producer weeping as the camera cut to static. Then there was silence. I turned the TV off.
“What a **[REDACTED]**”
| How did this happen? You would think that the President of the United States would be playing on private servers with other foreign leaders, but no here he was playing the new Black Ops in the public server. I only realized this when I tore him apart with my SMG and shouted "suck it n00b!" He responded, "A-A-Let me be clear. That is the last-- That is the last time you will be able to..." When his audio cut out. I love getting to hear my enemies after I kill them it's always hilarious.
I quickly looked down at the sidebar where the gamertag of the last enemy killed was listed next to who killed them and how. Tehldroftehfreewrld, was just ripped apart by xXxGitSum4206969xXx's sub-machine gun. I commit that tag to memory, targeting him. Soon after I was able to stick him with Semtex, as I saw the explosion I shouted, "Shit, you flew up faster than the unemployment rate!" He responded in his usual cool collected voice, "Actually unemployment has fallen under my most re--" Cut off again by the time limit.
Stalking him around the map continued for the duration of the match. The more I killed him the more I shouted things like, "How's that for *Fast and Furious*?" or "Aww is this too much gun violence for you? Are you going to try to take these guns too?" or "you crashed faster than the economy!" or even, "It's like shooting the ambassador in Benghazi! No resistance!" As the assault continued, I could hear the president getting angrier and angrier. After the last one he nearly shouted, "Al-alright that's just in poor taste." Finally I ran along the wall behind the unsuspecting president and put him down yet again. "I'm like Lee Harvey Oswald!" I shouted as the final killcam showed the events that had transpired. The score came up just after. I led my team with 36 kills and seven deaths. Obama had one kill and forty deaths.
As the screen flipped back to matchmaking, Obama spoke, finally not getting cut off by the time limit. I heard his voice loud and clear through my headset. "Listen Jason," he started almost menacingly. I started rifling through my brain trying to figure out how he had learned my name. I hadn't said it, nor had any of my friends joined the game. As I worried, he continued, "This game was a lot of fun! Maybe I'll get to be as good as you someday!"
"I don't believe it." Mark said as he attempted to quickscope me. "It's true! He even added me! Look!" Jason pressed the Xbox button and clicked on friends. He searched for tehldroftehfreewrld, but found nothing. "B-But I swear he..." I stammered as he looked in disbelief. "Yeah I'm sure," Mark said as he picked up his backpack. "I gotta get home, my mom sent like fifty texts. I'm probably grounded now." He sighed. "See you tomorrow." He said as he left the room. And as soon as he did, I received a PM from tehldroftehfreewrld. It said, "No one will ever believe you. --BO"
I saw Mark at school the next day. "Hey man, how much trouble did you get in?" I asked as we sat down before class. "It was the weirdest thing. Mom said she never text me. And when I opened my phone to show her, all of the texts were gone, including the one where I told her I was on my way..." He answered obviously confused. "That is really weird... Oh yeah! I almost forgot! I got a PM from tehldroftehfreewrld! It said, 'No one is going to believe you' or something like that." I nearly shouted. "You know, its mean to lie, especially about something so stupid, Jason." Mark answered annoyed. "I'll prove it to you! come to my place after school." I shot back. After school we both went to my house. When I pulled up my PMs, Obama's was gone. | 2015-12-17T06:35:23 | 2015-12-17T06:02:10 | 230 | 38 |
[WP] The powerball winner contacts you and offers you $50m to collect his winnings so he stays anonymous, but you have to be the face of 1.3 billion.
Post was taken down. Whoops posted to r/writingprompt by accident! | "Dude you know you can have a lawyer collect that for you right? And they're not going to charge $50 million for it. No seriously, that way you can keep your name off the news and nobody has to get harassed by thieves and sob stories. You don't know any good lawyers? Hold on, I'll find one for you..."
I set my phone down so I could open my address book. I was proud of my best friend for winning the lottery, and that I was the first person he thought about giving me a cut of the pot. He never was the sharpest knife in the drawer though, in his defense nobody ever told him you could have the winnings picked up anonymously. I hope this doesn't end up ruining his life. | "You sure?"
"Absolutely. I don't have the time nor patience to deal with this."
"Done."
"Excuse me? That was quick."
"Be the face everything. Absolutely. When you said fifty million, I will make that number a solid figure. After taxes, nothing there, that's what I want to hear from you."
"Yes, but don't you think you-"
"Are you serious about this offer or not?"
"Yes. I'll have my lawyers contact you. We'll go over the standard information necessary."
The smug look on my face when the phone clicked was beautiful. I had a slew of ideas of what I would spend it on, first of course my debt, my debt to family and my debt as a husband to a family. I would have to move of course, make new friends possibly and live with a few hundred people baying at the door, phone and mail to get to me, but it was fine. That was what the money was for.
Now if they only knew where I lived, and perhaps if my name wasn't so common, it would have been difficult. But seriously, who actually names their daughter Ivana Bernardo Riche? | 2016-01-10T19:23:40 | 2016-01-10T15:03:56 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Prison sentences have been replaced with math problems. Small offenses are questions like "What is 200 times 135?" while life in prison are math problems that has yet to be solved. | I shut the engine off and laid my hand across the top of the steering wheel and sighed. I could see the officer’s image getting bigger in my side view mirror. He wore a mustard-brown uniform and dark Aviator sunglasses, with a perfectly-shaped hat atop his head.
Seconds later he reached my window, and rapped on it with his dark-haired knuckles. “Closer than they appear, indeed,” I thought to myself.
I rolled the automatic window down and placed my hands in my lap.
“License, registration, proof a’ insurance.” We did the usual drill. He sauntered back to his vehicle with my papers, stayed a few minutes, and then came back.
“D’ya know why I stopped you, son?” He handed my paperwork back to me and I set it on the passenger seat for the time being.
I tried to play it cool – flashed him a little smile. “Maybe I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have back there?”
“Clocked ya’ going 53 in a 40.”
“Oh… well… I didn’t mean to be going that fast.”
“Mhmm.” He stood up straight, put his closed fist on his hip and looked off into the distance. “Welp, I’ll tell you what. This is gunna have to be a citation.”
“Yes Sir.”
I watched as his hand swung up the length of his shirt, past the paunch of his stomach and the row of brass buttons that held the two halves together. He fetched a black golf pencil and a small notebook from his breast pocket. He licked his thumb, flipped through it to a blank page, and tore the page from the metal rings. Then he handed both items to me.
“Ok, son. You were doing 53 along this’re highway. If Macon is 63 miles east and Montgomery is 180 miles west, how much longer’n minutes will it take you to get to Montgomery than to Macon?”
I began thinking about how to do Algebra again.
"And son," the Officer bent down and poked his face right next to mine, "*show your work*..."
| It's amazing the advances we've seen in the past few years. Breakthroughs in astrophysics, quantum calculations and computing. The new Rehabilitation through Education program really seems to be working. People will commit infractions, and "Teachers" will come and pick them up, have them do Advanced Mathematics to do some brain modeling, a tweak here and there, and then release them back as a productive member of society. Murder, theft, rape, all have been reduced to virtually 0%.
It's supposed to be that "Students" solve problems equal to the difficulty of their offense. You steal some bread for your family, and you solve a list of Algebraic equations. You murder someone, and you spend your life solving the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture.
Frank seems to be the exception. A hero of our times. His mathematical prowess is unparalleled. That's the problem. Frank is systematically working through the Book of Offenses. We aren't even sure if he's being caught for half of them. Even worse, I'm not sure I can explain his solutions to you because I don't understand half of them myself.
Last week, Frank executed the daughter of "Our Fearless Leader" on vid. He looked in the camera, and told us all this was just the beginning, and that us "Sheep" should fear for our lives. Then he went and provided a solution to the Riemann hypothesis, which gave the "Teachers" a throw, especially when they realized the implications to phase equilibrium and thermodynamics.
Standing here in this crowd, on "Archimedes Day", I get to see Frank in person in his non-descript bulging black sweat shirt. The "Teachers" are keeping a close on him, but he's completed his solutions. He is heading to the front They aren't moving in. I can hear two of them arguing behind me. They've been instructed to leave him alone, they need the solutions he's providing.
He's walking to the front now. There's a crowd out tonight, at Sagrada Familia. Everyone is here to listen to hear Frank's solution. That must be why he's here tonight. It's mira...Wait! He's taking off his sweater. He's got some sort of device.
He's going to blow us all up! He's laughing.
I can't hear it, but I can see his face.
We are all "Sheep".
(Always love feedback, especially since I only started responding to these a couple of weeks ago. Thanks in advance!)
| 2016-10-24T14:38:46 | 2016-10-24T12:48:01 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | There once was a mage from North Bergen,
Who wove spells of healing like sermons.
Each Sunday at 10
Before women and men,
She swore to relieve what was hurtin'.
Before long her name became famous
To her, self-promotion was shameless
"If more people are healed
By the power I wield,
What right do I have to stay nameless?"
She slept, at the peak of her power,
In a glistening, glamorous tower.
She helped all she could,
If the money was good,
But soon her spells began to sour.
A wound that, once healed, now would rot.
The sick would not get what they bought.
For greed kills all things,
And ruin, it brings,
If this simple rule is forgot:
"A terrible curse be upon
One who uses a spell or a song
To increase one's own stock
Beyond that of the flock.
Fail and all of your spells will go wrong."
The healer had fattened her chests,
And each evening ate only the best,
But she paid for it all,
When the curse came to call,
To rip her from her gilded nest. | Of Wizards, it is known that they are highly dangerous beings of terrific power. All across Midgard, they are kept occupied by quests and adventures.
It was after the aftermath of one adventure that sunk the ancient peace loving nation of Avulsey to the sea that a small team of 1 to 4 Wizards learnt of the Dark Lord Totali Knot-Sauron, who was building an army to the East.
After re-learning the elemental spells in a helpful tutorial, voiced by a black cloaked figure who vas very handsome and not at all a vampire, they journeyed westward to vanquish their loot-holding foe.
---
After blowing up several villages and decimating to 1/10th the population of goblin tribes, the one to four heroes, each with elemental magics being used successfully reached the Dread Tower of the Dark Lord Totali Knott-Sauron.
Upon finding the door was locked, and their spells didn't work, they buggered off south to go on holiday somewhere tropical.
When they returned, 12 years later, the Dark Lord Totali-Knott Sauron had created a free hospital service where trained land-orca whales would treat humans for all aliments.
Seeing this as the big plot it is, the wizards froze the Dark Lord then chucked him in a conjured volcano for ten minutes until fully cooked.
They rejoiced as the nation went into a dark age of terror under the rule of wizards, as the Dark Lord did a lot of good for the people.
By Tyr's Day they got bored and returned to Castle Alfheim. | 2016-11-12T11:01:29 | 2016-11-12T10:02:44 | 80 | 11 |
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
this was a post on /r/CrazyIdeas. I thought it would make an excellent prompt. | The letter came. It actually came.
Right there at the top of the cream coloured envelope were the logos for the IOC and the Government of Canada. My hands shook. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had become an everyday Olympian, but it was actually happening to **me**.
Most people were terrified they'd be selected but I was ready. Like any good Canadian I'd learned to skate when I was still learning to walk. I lived and breathed sports. I trained year round. Growing up in British Columbia, in the heart of the Rockies, I had been forged by the land itself. No hill was too steep. No course was too long. I could hang with the best of them across the sports. Hell I even learned how to curl. I was ready.
I couldn't help but smile as I tore open the envelope. Whatever was there, I was ready. In my heart, I knew it. My eyes raced across the page and as they did the smile slipped from my lips and I reeled like I'd been gut punched. The papers slipped my hand to the fresh, morning snow.
"CONGRATULATIONS!" they read, "You have been selected to represent Canada at the 2024 Olympic Summer Games!" | “Congratulations DALE CAMPBELL of DANDRIDGE, TENNESSEE! You have been selected to represent the USA in the sport of ICE HOCKEY in the 2018 PyeongChang Olympic Winter Games! On behalf of the Olympic Selection Committee, we know you will embody the proud ideals of our country’s athletic prowess and sportsmanship as you compete. An agent will provide you with the details of your travel.”
As he sat on the toilet and tried to process the information in the Priority Mail postcard, Dale had immediate flashbacks to his fourth grade class, Chasing Gold. The previous year it had just been called “gym” but at that time, there was no nationalistic drive to mold collective mush into muscle.
The Chasing Gold program in US schools quickly became the dread of students everywhere. You’d think the athletic or competitive kids would shine but things were designed to cruelly push the limits of everyone – no matter what level of ability. While the system would never admit this, Chasing Gold actually had a reverse overall effect. Most students like Dale just weren’t motivated to achieve on the 1/1,000,000th chance (or whatever it was) of being selected for the Olympics someday and resorted to feigning injuries or being OK with lower marks.
But fifteen years later, here he was, waiting for the bulk of his Supersized Big Mac meal to finally exit his body and offer sweet release of stomach pains. “If only the Selection committee could see me now,” he thought and chuckled.
“Alright then. I’ll play your game. But you’ll be playing mine, too…” | 2017-02-24T11:57:34 | 2017-02-24T08:58:30 | 58 | 10 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | "Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father." | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:22:32 | 828 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | "Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father." | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T10:22:32 | 70 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | *Alex* had always been a tomboy, hair a dusty brown.
Wore *her* hair in a messy, spikey crown.
Alex liked their pants baggy,
Sometimes Alex stuffed it with a sock,
Her face was screaming cheerleader,
When what she wanted was jock.
She grew up feeling awkward,
As if she would never have her way,
Her town was not accepting,
So she couldn't come out gay.
She left Madonna Village,
To find herself a path,
But she felt so damn guilty,
She would gain God's wrath.
She was twenty when she met him,
With his face pale and poised,
Sam whispered in the morning,
"Can I help you pick out clothes?"
Sam would braid her hair with flowers,
He would dress her in white gowns,
He would tell her she was perfect,
With her daisy chain crown.
He would flame her cheeks with red,
Make her lips turn sunset blush,
And push her into the world,
The corporate fucking rush.
*She* was always shaking,
She felt like she was wrong,
She preferred her boxer briefs,
To a lacy, silver thong.
And Sam would let her dress him,
In blazers, yellow shirts,
He would ignore her hands shaking,
As if this physically hurt.
Sam was handsome, clearly,
But he withered in the suite,
No matter who said, "Nice, man"
Each compliment was moot.
.
One morning, Alex sat down,
A paper in her hand,
She read the headlines,
She didn't understand.
*Mugs Tell the Truth.*
*#1 Dad a Lie.*
*Every Single Mug!*
*No One Wants to Buy.*
It seems that some weird creature,
Had cursed the world to see,
Exactly how crappy,
Their parenting would be.
Alex watched her 'husband'
Move about the room,
Holding up his plain black mug,
Waiting for the BOOM.
She touched her own mug softly,
Her eyes growing so bright,
Right there is red letters,
It said #0 Dad, alright.
She didn't tell her husband,
She didn't make a scene,
But every time she touched a mug,
DAD could be seen.
She put her hand on her belly,
Perhaps it was time to tell,
That despite her growing hatred,
There was a baby in this shell.
| The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 69 | 21 |
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth. | It was a curiously small notebook, it fit in my pocket, but it contained more names than it should have been able to hold. I came across presidents and nobodies, Mohandas Gandhi and Adolf Hitler. I flipped pages until I found it.
*Daniel Edgar Clemmons-*
*Born: August 19th, 1992, 5:42:12.* Yup, there it was, that was most definitely me.
*Death: August 19th, 1992, 9:42:12. Cause Unknown.*
"That can't be right," I said. I looked down at my body just to make sure, patting my chest. "Definitely alive." I shook off the fluttering sensation in my stomach and left my house, not sure where I was going until I stood outside the bar.
I walked in and ordered a double shot. "Coming right up," the bartender said, and nodded at me knowingly as he slid the shot glass over. I downed it, and ordered another.
"Hey, if you're aiming to forget your day you're going about it the wrong way." A woman about my own age sat down next to me and smiled.
"Is that so?" I asked, and threw back the second shot. She put a hand on my arm, and I finally got the hint.
"Next one's on me," she winked. The next hour was a blur, and it ended in a cab ride.
*****
I woke up in a strange apartment, and for a second I thought I had been kidnapped. Then I looked over and saw the frazzled mess of hair, and the previous evening came rushing back. I lifted myself out of the bed as quietly as I could, and got dressed for my walk of shame.
I saw a stack of business cards on the counter, and on impulse grabbed one. I left a brief note, *"Last night was fun, here's my number, yadda yadda yadda."* When I got home I looked her up on Facebook and added her, then morbid curiosity kicked in and I pulled out the notebook. Comparing names to the business card I had, I found her fairly easily.
*Amber Rae Cullingham-*
*Born: November 14th, 1990 10:38:32.*
*Death: September 4th, 2017, 08:32:31. Cause of Death: HIM*
My jaw dropped, that was less than an hour ago. The book had to be wrong.
**Boom boom boom.** The front door rattled with the knocks.
I opened the door, and police officers stood outside the door.
"Daniel Clemmons?" The closer one asked.
"Yeah?"
"Can you come with us? We've got some questions for you."
| I found it in my uncle's storage shed, in an old dusty crate, The Book of the Dead, Vol.2. The book was huge, so huge that flipping through it to find my name took months, after all, there have been over a hundred billion humans to have ever lived. Thankfully it was dated and alphabetized. After looking through the tens of thousands of John Smiths I finally found myself, John H Smith, but... Something was wrong, my birthdate? Surely the book must have been mistaken!? I closed the book and hid it away, people should not know something as important as the time of their demise! Still.. the death date haunted me, thoughts flew through my mind "perhaps some sort of mix up at the hospital? Was the real John Smith stillborn? Has my uncle lied to me about my parents dying?" I was flustered and confused, I'd talked to friends about it without giving details but it didn't help my curiosity, I needed answers! That day after school I went to confront my uncle in his garden, I walked under the tall blossoming crepe myrtles, the smell of roses in the air with the busy buzzing of honey bees. It was almost dream like, a sort tranquility and sad feeling, his garden always made me feel this way. I heard him humming along while tending to a sick bush, "uncle? I have something to ask you about" I said "you know John I just can't get this bush to take root anymore, maybe it's just it's time to die" he mumbled the last bit "uncle it's important! What is the book I found in your shed? And why does it say I died the day I was born?" He looked at me and lowered his eyes, almost disappointed look on his face, then got up and walked into his storage shed. Afraid of what he would tell me, my throat choking up and limbs trembling I followed him. Opening the creeky door I saw him, standing in dust filled sunlight hunched over something, walking up slowly I saw what it was, The Book of the Dead Vol.1, it was so much bigger than the vol.2... "Humans have been around a looong time..." He mumbled in a tired voice, reminiscent it seemed. "They weren't originally even from earth you know? Came from a planet way off. You never change, after all these billions of years you're still the same more or less. Still killing each other and destroying your homes, it's more work for me I guess..." He turned around and beneath his dark ebony cape I saw his face, charred skull with pits of darkness for eyes "it's time for you to go now son"
I am John H Smith, I died two hours after I was born. I never had a chance to experience life, never even opened my eyes.. Death took pity on me, and in those two hours of sleep, from the moment I was born till my very last breath, I experienced a lifetime. Death gave me life, in a way he was my real family, it was a good life, I had love, experienced wonderful things, heard music, and felt sorrow. And I wouldn't have it any other way. | 2017-09-04T22:11:14 | 2017-09-04T22:03:17 | 2,796 | 189 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | You thought I couldn't tell, but I could. You can change your face, but not your inability to get your face shaved consistently, or the dumpy clothes you always pick, despite seemingly having any body you want.
You can change your dick size, but it doesn't matter because you never get me home anyway. You can't change your shitty taste in books, or music, or the shows you watch, or the way you talk about them, the way you believe the things you consume are the person you are.
You think you can change yourself on the outside and that it will change the way I feel inside, but it never will, because you still can't escape the essential you-ness of you; in fact, it probably prevents you from being able to make those most essential changes. After all, you can be anyone, right? But the problem is, you've only ever understood people for who they appear to be on the outside, and this failure of imagination has lead you to believe that you only are the person you are on the outside.
You thought I couldn't tell, but I could. The next time I smell dollar-store ramen on the breath of a poorly-dressed Brad Pittish guy who just so happens to share all of my tastes, who knows just the movie to recommend, just the perfect little spot we should try for dinner, I will simply knife him, knife you. And you will die, and transform into the pitiable, shapeless mass your kind always are at heart. And everyone will understand immediately what I've done, and why I've done it, and I will walk out into the sunlight, and feel it on my skin, the way I feel it on my skin every time, the way I can only feel it on my skin, because it's the only skin I've got or will ever have. A feeling you cannot ever know.
I'm serious about stabbing you though. | There was something about her stare that caught me. It wasn't the green of her irises nor the deep black of her neverending lashes. It was the curvature underneath her eyes every time she smiled, and the glint in her pupils shining like a shooting star in a cold winter night.
I had never witnessed beauty in such purity, not even in my best shapes. See, she had inner beauty. Every gesture of her was a mirror of the warmth in her soul, of its kindness. Something no shapeshifter can't imitate.
I wanted her. And I wouldn't give up no matter the rejections or the many shatters in my heart. Nothing mattered but her.
Or so I thought.
Three years it took me to understand her taste. She liked them shy and handsome, pensive and profound. I remember the day I conquered her for the first time, the nerves I felt crawling across my chest, the shape I took. Everything.
But it didn't work out. She freaked out when she saw... well let's not talk about what I hide in my basement, it's not there anymore or I should say *they* are not there anymore. We shapeshifters can be quite disgusting to the unknowledgeable.
The second time was much easier yet the nerves were still there, blooming like a rose in late spring. I got her to dine with me in a fancy restaurant. She wore a dress of intense red, it sculpted her figure tightly... what a masterpiece she was. I, of course, wore another suit: a short man with a chiseled jaw. I pretended to be an engineer but the lie merely got so far. Let's just say that before the desserts, the only thing of intense red in our table was my face with her hand plastered on it.
Goddamned rings. They hurt.
Now, I managed to get a third date. I didn't shapeshift this time, my basement is empty and there are no lies in the table. But there's is a gun in my kitchen. I can't deal with the grief of losing her, I thought I could but I cant.
I knew the risks of a woman like this and I accepted them with no complains. But there's a truth I refused to believe. It was clear from the beginning, bright as the sun... as her eyes.
She's pure of soul and I'm rotten inside.
We were never supposed to be. | 2018-02-14T07:43:43 | 2018-02-14T07:36:01 | 402 | 212 |
[WP] The heroes failed. The villain now rules the world with an iron fist, and...actually, things have never been better. | As I shut the door, I reached down to lock it, but stopped, chuckling to myself. All this time and I still have that instinct, I suppose. But we don't need locks now. They don't even manufacture locks anymore. I walked down the steps, turning away from my car at the last moment. I'll get some fresh air.
This used to be a bad part of town. Not the sort of place you could raise a family. Now the graffiti is gone, the scattered needles just a memory. I passed by a well-groomed man in a suit and tie, on his way home from work. We chatted pleasantly for a bit, then continued on our way. He used to panhandle on this corner, hopelessly drug addicted and degenerate, in and out of jail. But that was before the President had come along. Now the jails are empty.
We all resisted him at first. They fought against him. I fought against him. I was scared of the change he would bring. I shook my head. In a life full of regrets, standing against the President was my crowning shame. But that was all over now, and he had made it clear that there were no hard feelings. Change is always frightening, he had said, it's natural to be scared of something new.
I picked up milk and a loaf of bread at the corner store, walking past where the register had sat, when we still needed money, and headed for home.
I was halfway home when a disheveled man ran up to me, babbling. "I need help!" he cried. I frowned at his appearance. Stubbled face, wrinkled clothes. The poor creature. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, of course I'll help you!"
He seemed to calm down some.
"You missed your dose didn't you? Don't worry, I've got a spare," I said.
He became agitated again. "The doses don't work for me anymore!" he said, "I've tried and tried, but they don't work! I can't stand it like this. I need things to be okay again!"
By now enforcers had arrived, walking up in their impeccable blue uniforms. "What's going on here?" they asked. I explained. "Dosage resistant huh? That's a shame."
"Can you guys help me?" he asked. "Please I just... I just want to be like you again. I don't want to be like this anymore!"
"Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is going to be all right," one of the men said, as his partner shot the man in the back of the head. They loaded the body into the back of the car, and returned with a hose attachment.
"Wait!" I said. They stopped, and I pulled out my camera, zooming in on the crimson spatter on the pavement, and taking a picture. "See?" I showed them the camera. "I didn't want such a masterpiece to go unrecognized."
"Why, that's beautiful!" One of them exclaimed.
"Looks like a Jackson Pollock. You should frame it," said the other.
"I might do that." I smiled. "See, it's important to find beauty in the little things in life."
The triggerman smiled back. "I like the way you think. Well, we won't keep you any longer."
They sprayed away the gore and drove away, and it was as if the poor wretched man had never been there at all.
I walked away, unable to resist whistling as I did. Another wonderful day. Things really have never been better.
| It must have been strange at first. Everyone remembers the old battles, styled as ‘good versus evil’. In one corner was Prodigy, the young and dashing hero who always seemed to have perfect hair no matter what. In the other, Alexander Kane the ruthless and megalomaniacal corporate leader. The papers had always painted Prodigy as being the kind and compassionate hero, always willing to save the day and with a catchy line to keep the kids on track. Kane, obviously, had been the bad guy. He exploited the working man and used his ill-gotten gains to destroy the environment. Cartoons had always depicted him laughing while polluting a river, or cutting down a rainforest, or something suitably evil. Prodigy would swoop in and use his ice vision or laser breath or whatever to stop him and Kane would be forced use his lawyers to save him from prison once again. No-one ever questioned how it was he kept avoiding prison, it was all a part of the spectacle. Then one day, it happened. I think it was alien, the creature. Some people say it came from the oceans, or it was made in a lab, but I don’t believe that. The origin doesn’t really matter. Prodigy stopped it, eventually. But the damage was catastrophic. You can kind of see Prodigy knew that in the old clips, if you get to see them. People were dead and dying, infrastructure was destroyed. Then, there was Kane. He was bleeding, his suit was barely on him any-more. You can’t hear what he said, those old videos are so scratchy, but I imagine it was something like ‘This has gone far enough’. Then he stabbed Prodigy. The knife cut through Prodigy’s unblemished skin with ease, by the looks of it. Then Prodigy just…died. The next day all the TV’s played the same thing.
‘I have played along for as long as I could stomach, but I have portrayed the villain for too long. I warned you all of the dangers a being like The Prodigy would bring, but you have grown complacent. Starting today, I am assuming direct control of Earth’s governments. You can resist, but without Prodigy, we need to pull together to defend ourselves, and I would rather avoid unnecessary bloodshed.’
There was a token resistance, but the man had just defeated the most powerful being on earth without trying, *and* he ran the largest company in history, he had already won. Alexander Kane poured billions of his own money into rebuilding. He personally pushed through free healthcare funding for all the countries that didn’t already have it. He used his company’s profits to employ and train everyone he could to speed relief efforts. But that wasn’t the strangest part. I think if had just been that then another cape, you maybe, might have tried to take him down. But what he had said resonated with people. Threats had been increasing since Prodigy arrived. We had always assumed he would be there to stop them but now that he wasn’t…
We pulled together, we helped one another, what we didn’t need we shared and what we didn’t know we learned. For the first time in a long while, our destiny was in our own hands. There was no more Deus Ex Machina, Prodigy was dead. I’m not old enough to remember the days when those threats were common. I barely notice them now, though. The asteroid was deflected, the warship disabled. Negotiations with the Mariana king and his people are going well, so that’s a new source of protein for those in need. I do remember the day the creature came. I remember the fear. The desperate hope that Prodigy would save me. I don’t feel that way now, because I know that Alexander Kane will. That’s why I find it so hard to understand why you hate him so much. That’s why I’m here, Nightfury. I had hoped to talk you out of this plan, but I see now it can’t be done. I will let Mr. Kane know that you were a good person though. It will upset him that you couldn’t be talked around, but some people just need to be the man in the cape, I guess. Even though the rest of us outgrew that a long time ago. | 2018-07-25T06:20:11 | 2018-07-25T06:17:37 | 55 | 13 |
[WP] In 1977 NASA launched Voyager I. It contained information showing the technology of the world at the time. 3000 years an advanced alien race finds it and decides to take over this "primative" civilization. What they didn't know was that humanity had advanced a long way in 3000 years... | "Gooo Johnny go, GO! Gooo Johnny go, G-"
"Gleevart! Keep your beak shut! We are aiming for annihilation, not assimilation!" Prime Master Otana was in a mood. She normally got this way on the eve of battle.
"Relax, Otana. These pendleblips probably haven't even figured out photon harvesting. We'll barely have to lift a tentacle."
"One more word out of your beak and I'll feed you to the Kragnon." Otana grew tired of the informal way Gleevart spoke to her. Yes, this mission would be simple, but a Prime Master was trained to properly prepare for battle regardless of the opponent. Otana took that training especially seriously. She wanted to go over her available resources and the predicted opponent technology once more. This is why the Overseer had chose her to become a Prime Master. She was fanatical in her approach to warfare. This would make her 1000th obliteration. Only one other Prime Master had more. *That damn Phalindra.* Last she had heard, Phalindra had destroyed an entire system of civilizations that had just discovered hyperspace with only 1% of the royal fleet's ships at her assistance. If Phalindra could do that with 1%, she could do this with 0.1%. Which is exactly what she told the Overseer.
Prior to their departure for *Earth*, Otana had gone over the predictions with her trusted researchers. This was not the first time they had come across some worthless civilization that pondered if they were the only ones present in the universe. In fact, it was pretty common. About a fourth of the time, when Otana arrived to obliterate, she found that the barbarians had already done the job for her by obliterating themselves, leaving their planet's resources ripe for the plucking. Those cases always bored her. She was bred for war. She craved it. It was part of the reason the took the risk of bringing a thousandths of the royal fleet's ships. She wanted it to be a "fair" fight. Although there was nothing fair about bringing photon-based technology to a fight with civilizations still running on carbon based fuel, she thought to herself. The juxtaposition of the two technologies made her laugh internally.
Her researchers had determined that nearly half of advanced civilizations destroyed themselves in brutal civil wars within 10,000 earth years of discovering space travel. It usually took 5,000 years following the first spaceflight to discover and utilize photon harvesting as a source of energy, and another 1,000 years after that to figure out how to utilize photon energy to make their ships hyperspace capable. Unfortunately for these poor earthlings, they would be woefully unprepared for the fait that awaits them. The researchers had found that the gold disc that had amazingly bumped into one of their research ships, provided them with the exact coordinates to Earth.
Why is it that these civilizations are so trusting of those they have yet to meet? Otana thought to herself.
Among the gold disc they had found Earth's music, pictures of Earthlings, pictures of their puny buildings and primitive spacecrafts. It was all quite adorable. Otana would enjoy destroying it all. Luckily for her, they were seconds away from leaving hyperspace and within striking distance of Earth.
And as immediately as they had left hyperspace, she immediately recognized how big of a mistake she had made. She had heard rumors of quantum ships, but she had never seen them herself. Unfortunately, it would be the last thing Prime Master Otana ever saw. That, and Gleevart inking himself.
--------------------------------
"Ha! Got em'!" Craig was ecstatic.
"Nice shooting there, cowboy!" Captain Tom exclaimed.
"You see boys, the trick about fishing for squidlings is you got to throw out the lure first, and then sit back and wait. Waiting is probably the toughest part, but you can't blame them, they are only using photon engines." Craig's father explained to Craig and his little brother Timothy.
"Exactly. Personally, I prefer using the Voyager lure, but I've heard people have lots of success with the Pioneer 10 and 11, as well." Captain Tom added. "Welp, hope y'all enjoyed Captain Tom's intergalactic fishing tour. Please tell your friends about it." | "Did you see it?" asked Zyflyx as he brought up a picture on his video screen. "What kind of idiots send their exact location out on a stupid-looking disc like this!"
Gyjutj looked over from his console. He rubbed two appendages together, and his exoskeleton produced a sound analogous to sniggering. "They look so soft and squishy, too! And just think, there's a whole planet full of these morons!"
"I bet even the Trobians could beat them in an IQ test. At least they didn't advertise their stupidity!" added Zyflyx.
Both of them rolled around in their seats, crackling.
Behind their ship were about fifty smaller spacecraft, each speeding toward the same destination: Earth.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Admiral Flemings sat his desk, calmly sipping coffee. Outside the window, Saturn and its majestic rings filled up much of the sky. A hovercraft took off from the barren terrain.
Of course, Flemings was visiting Mimas due to matters much more important than the view. And one more item was about to be added to this list.
Suddenly, a holographic message appeared above his desk.
"Warning! There are reports of 47 unidentified spacecraft nearing the Kuiper belt. They are armed, but their weapon systems do -not- appear to pose a significant risk to us. Requesting action."
Now this was interesting. Ever since Earth had established itself as a major power for hundreds of light-years around, events like this were relatively rare.
Flemings took a moment to think before replying. "Send 3 diplomatic scouts, heavily shielded. And 25 attack drones. Cloaked, of course. Don't want to cause a misunderstanding if they come in peace." He paused for a moment. "Ready 25 more for contingency."
Speak softly and carry a big stick, he mused.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
"Wow. They're actually sending us a signal of some sort," said Gyjutj mockingly. "I guess they finally moved on from sending big ol disks around."
Three spacecraft began to come into view and Zyflyx quickly halted the fleet. Each craft was similar in size to their own.
"Uh, there are only a few of them..." observed Zyflyx hastily, trying to hide his surprise. "Analyze their weapon systems. Shouldn't be too much trouble."
Gyjutj typed in a few commands. He paused for a moment and repeated the same actions again. "I can't seem to get any readings... they could have a signal blocker of sort..." Neither of the aliens was smiling\* anymore.
Zyflyx was growing impatient. "Surround them!" he yelled through the fleet's communication channel. "Lets take a look at their fighting skills."
The other ships in his fleet had barely begun to carry out this command when at least two dozen massive spacecraft appeared around them. Each was armed with four antimatter cannons larger than an average spacecraft.
A look of panic spread across Gyjutj's face.\*\*
"Looks like they have surpassed us a long time ago."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
\*This word was chosen to avoid a long and confusing discussion on alien anatomy and behavior.
\*\*Same reason. | 2018-10-21T02:29:45 | 2018-10-21T02:08:26 | 25 | 11 |
[WP]Superpowers are extremely common. Your job is to advise how to use bad ones effectively. | The young man walked quietly into my office. Well, save for the part where the doorknob broke in his hand. He gave me a downtrodden look, and sighed an apology.
"That ALWAYS happens." He muttered.
"Poor control super strength?" I inquired.
"I wish it were that good."
"Well, take a seat and talk to me." I said, nodding to the chair in front of my desk.
He closed his eyes and stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then, he walked towards the chair... Tripping immediately on the carpet. The doorknob flew from his grasp, bouncing about the room and causing a surprising amount of destruction. He groaned and got up, muttering another apology before taking a seat in the chair, which miraculously didn't break.
I looked around my ruined office, broken shelves, knicknacks, and papers strewn about, and started writing on his form.
"Ah, so your power is extreme accident prone-ness and the ability to break things. That's quite a powerful, if not troublesome, combo." I said calmly, scratching down notes on his paper as I spoke.
"Yes. Is there anyway you can help me out? It's impossible to live like this," the boy plead. "Just in the past month since my powers have awakened I've caused thousands of dollars in damages and put my parents in debt for years to come! I took my little brother to the playground and watched it fall apart around us for christ's sake!"
I considered the problem for a moment. "Well, I have a couple of options. You won't like them." I stated.
"I am willing to try anything." He whispered.
"Well, with powers like that, you'll likely spend your days in a bubblewrap house. The only jobs you'll get short of demolition are either covert sabotage... Or, you could become a Protagonist." I said flatly.
"Me!? A PROTAGONIST!?? Surely, you must be joking!" The boy stammered, his face becoming flushed as the chair broke underneath him from the sudden outburst.
He got up and dusted himself off. "The Protagonists are highly trained professional heroes only called in for the toughest crises! There is no way they'd have a loser like me!" He continued.
I held up a hand to silence him. "Perhaps you may think so, but to be quite frank, your power is incredibly strong. Just think of how much havok you could wreak against a supervillain's base, or an invading alien's space craft! Why, just look at that!" I pointed to the floor, which was rapidly cracking from where he stood.
The boys downtrodden face had a small glimmer of hope on it now, and he looked at me with teary eyes. He merely nodded at me.
"Welp, that decides it then." I said, scratching my signature on the paperwork for his referal to the Protagonists Guild and handing it to him. Perhaps I should also send them an email in case that copy was destroyed, I thought.
"Thank you!" The boy exclaimed, clutching the paper tightly and reaching his free hand out to shake mine. "I'll never forget what y-"
His thanks was cut short by the floor falling apart beneath his feet. I looked down into the office below and saw him sprawled on a desk. "Good luck!" I shouted down to his beaming face.
He waved and ran off, tripping a few times and breaking all the doorknobs. What a menace. I love my job. I smiled to myself and grabbed my office phone.
"Hey, Matt? Yeah, I'm done with my 3 o' clock. Could you please have the janitor stop by and fix up my office with Quantum Rewind before I get my 4pm in? Uh-huh, thanks." | Hello, my name is Gary Smith, but I’m more commonly referred to by my Superhero name, The Administrator.
I started off just like everyone else. Just another guy in a world full of superheroes, super villains, and normal people just living their lives in between these two groups.
My life started the same as everyone else, I was just a kid in high school when my powers first kicked in. I was sitting in Math class trying to figure out a difficult problem. My head had been hurting for days and as I struggled to figure out the math problem, I felt my brain shifting and my perceptions changing...
Suddenly I saw the answers to all of the most complex math problems! Everywhere I looked I saw the patterns in things and the interconnectedness in all things.
Soon I was able to see as I walked around the stats of everyone and everything around me. I saw signs over people which showed who might manifest superhuman abilities and the percentages of what types of powers might manifest.
Soon I submitted myself to become trained at the Federally run Superhuman College. My powers were under rated at first, after all they’re not as flashy as those with flight and super strength, but my powers show me how best to recognize patterns through the chaos of the world. I can see how best to train others in their powers and I know how help push other heroes and villains to do things with their powers that they never dreamed were possible.
I my powers show me the patterns of all things. The probable future, based on current trends and patterns. I see how people think and I can even see how to effect the patterns in the universe to make changes in the future of the universe. A Kind word here, an act of charity there can prevent a potential future superhuman from becoming a Villain or keep a hero true.
I’ve become a Trainer at the Superhuman College. Recently I have been working with a girl who has the power to generate radiation whenever she is emotional. The heat she generates can fuel a nuclear power plant. So I’ve been working with her to train her to control her emotions so she can be free to walk among normal humanity without risking killing anyone. For now, she has to wear a suit while she struggles to control her emotions. But we’ve also helped build a chamber connected to a Nuclear Power Plant for her.
She’s free to be as emotional in there as possible and the radioactive energy given off will be enough to power seven states, and all it costs us to maintain is a Netflix account with a stream of Dramas and comedies.
I’ve also worked with a boy who glows. While his power doesn’t seem to impress many people, I’ve been working with him to help train him in extreme relief efforts where light is hard to come by. Undersea divers, deep cave relief efforts, and other areas where light is needed, but equipment space is very valuable.
While he might not be considered as flashy as those who fly and have super strength, his powers are more useful and he can save more people in casual relief efforts. He won’t be worshipped like the Celebrity Heroes on TV, but every normal human rescued will be eternally grateful.
So I find those who have powers and can go either way, hero or Villain. I play chess with a Mega Intelligent Superhuman. He could go either way but we play chess. I distract him with the complicated chess games we play together. Ten games at the same time. We play for hours and I talk to him about Ethics and Philosophy. I try to get him thinking of how to make the world a better place. So far, I have the feeling he could become one of the greatest heroes of all time.
But the work that I’m most proudest of, though I rarely discuss it with others. I how to the Mega Security Prisons to talk to the Villains who’ve been caught and I seek to find ways to help redeem them. Sometimes I’m successful in getting through to them and the government gives them a new Promotional Super Hero Identity. They can earn points towards gaining their probation and eventually, their freedom back into society.
It’s not a perfect system, but I’m able to see past the lies of those who try to lie to me and get to the Truth. I see the Patterns in everything, I am the Administrator. | 2018-12-06T10:47:37 | 2018-12-06T10:26:43 | 616 | 273 |
[WP] Welcome to the time traveller games. Each contestant will be sent to a random time period, with no idea where they are, and have to spend an entire day without it being noticed they don't belong there. | The last winner won on a technicality. Not that it did him much good. When they activated the recall device to return the contestant to the present all they found were his disembodied legs and his personal recorder. Only then was it discovered that a miscalculation had sent him back nearly a hundred million years instead of 97. Apparently, someone missed a decimal place.
But rules were rules. He hadn’t been noticed by anyone, mainly because humans wouldn’t evolve for another tenth of a billion years and so the prize went to him. Or at least, his next of kin.
Still, the ratings were substantially better that year, leading some think that it was planned to revitalize the failing format. Watching someone being eaten by a T-rex would do that.
So was with some trepidation that Harry stepped onto the platform. A coalition officer checked the machinery and secured him to the transit platform. “Good luck,” he said with a wicked grin, before tightening his restraints.
He was being sent back to a particularly dangerous period in Earth’s history, which wouldn’t help with his escape. They never made it easy. When he arrived, he’d still be wearing his bright orange prison jumpsuit and to make matters worse, his ankle restraints wouldn’t disengage for a full sixty seconds. He could only hope that the coalition would at least give him a sporting chance. After all, it wouldn’t be much sport if he was killed immediately.
He held his breath as the countdown reached ten seconds and knelt in preparation for transit. The low hum of the transit machine was replaced by the sounds of running water and birdsong. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he took in his surroundings. He was by a small creek, surrounded by dense foliage. Compared to the dark cell he’d been resident of for the last seven years it was paradise. For a moment he wondered if there had been another mistake – if he’d been sent somewhere he shouldn’t have been.
That illusion was shattered with the boom of an explosion as a mortar round landed a hundred meters to his left. Harry dropped to the ground and crawled to the shelter of a large rock. There was a click as his ankle restraints popped open and he tossed them to one side.
Another, much closer explosion, sent debris raining down upon him and he stumbled from his hiding spot out into muddy wasteland teaming with troops and heavy tanks.
This wasn’t right.
This didn’t look like the 18 hundred’s.
A barrel of a gun appeared in his face. As his vision cleared from the shock of the previous blast, he counted two, then five and then more people surrounding him. Their weapons lowered and a hand was thrust out at him. He cautiously accepted it and he was pulled to his feet.
A grizzled figure chewing a cigar and clad head to toe in camouflage and weaponry saluted him. “Welcome General,” he said. “My name is Fletcher. It’s good to finally meet you.”
Harry looked around at the collection of soldiers around him. “Where am I?” he asked. His ears still ringing from the mortar rounds.
“We altered your transit coordinates to ensure you arrived at this point in time as ordered.”
Harry shook his head. “Ordered? Ordered by who?”
“Why, by you of course. We’ve taken steps to ensure that the coalition won’t be able to track your signal. Welcome to the war General.”
“I—I don’t understand. I’m not a general. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“There’s been no mistake sir. You’re our leader, you started this war, or perhaps I should say, you will start this war.”
“War?”
“Against the coalition. Their grip on the world cannot be allowed to continue. In their arrogance, they have delivered the best weapon we could use against them. Time. Now we can strike at them before they even exist.”
Harry clenched his fists as the last seven years of isolation and torture ran through his mind. How the guards laughed and spat at him. The beatings, the humiliations. All because he had questioned the methods of the coalition. It would have been easy to kill him, but instead, he was being held up as an example - to keep the others in line.
He nodded at the men around him. “So what next?”
Fletcher dropped his cigar and ground it into the mud with his boot. “First we need to grow our ranks and then… then we ensure that the world stays free.”
Harry took in a deep breath. “When do we start?”
Fletcher grinned. “When indeed. Tell me Harry – how does a trip to 1790 sound? We need to make some changes, and we may as well start at the beginning.” | As I tie my traditional tie, I think to myself, "How did I end up here?"
Traditionally, a game show host smiles, walks onto the set, makes a small statement proclaiming the game show begins, and then the introduction of the game show starts. I do this every day, of every year, and have for as long as I can remember. I dredge one step at a time towards my large red button podium, like I do every day. I wave at the fake audience, like I do every time. I try to count how many times I've done this since the last time I slept, and I cannot remember. Once I am standing behind the podium, I sort a fake pile of blank cards, and begin fixing my already fixed tie, and my already done hair.
We exist outside time, broadcasting in intervals into time itself. Occasionally we break something, and then everything disappears, but we are unaffected.
Just as I ponder these truths of my existence, the large blue curtains open, parting the center for my podium where I make my speech. The blank smile creeps from cheek to cheek, as I walk out onto the stage. I feel like my smile only exists, because I learned how a smile worked long before my memory begins.
"How old am I," I ask into the small floating orb camera. "It doesn't matter, because I'm John Smith, it's TIME FOR TIME FRAME!" Just as I finished talking, the music begins and the camera zooms out floating upward at an angle, as I do my traditional smug impression. This shot is key, as it's very traditional.
-----
I begin reading autonomously from the feed being displayed into the small implant in my eye. "Today we have TWO TEAMS of convicts, recently deceased, SAVED JUST AFTER THEIR BURIAL!" An audience sound cheering and whistling effect plays. The viewer sees a computer generated audience, however the large studio room is empty. "Today, one pair of convicts gets released INTO THE VIEWER'S TIME if they SURVIVE!" A large audience roar begins, clapping and whistling ensues.
As I spoke, a display scrolls down from high in the air. "We all remember last episode, where the man from 2007 couldn't figure out how to escape from the knights WHO DIDN'T SPEAK JAPANESE!" A video plays, showing the man getting chased down by an armored knight on a horse. "Oh that one didn't end well." The camera pans down showing the gruesome end. "Good thing we erased that history, our knight's entire future would have impacted the time from then until the present!" The audience cheers and laughs loudly as the gruesome scene plays out. "Womp womp... Good thing here at TIME FRAAAAME, we don't let anyone die. Our contestant is just as alive as when we pulled him from this grave in 2007, and back where he belongs!" The audience laughs loudly, as the view screen rolls up.
"Now to our LOVELY Jane, let's bring out OUR CONTESTANTS!" The lights of the studio dim, as the beautiful brunette Jane holds her hand next to a floating cube, leading our incapacitated first pair of convicts in one hand, and the second pair of convicts in the other at her sides.
"Now on the left, we have a MISCHIEVOUS pair of delinquents from a recently annexed East California state penitentiary in August AND September of 2047, JUST EXECUTED!" I chanted, as I slowly walk sideways towards the cube in her right hand pointing my fingertips palm up at the cube. "Both of these men tried, and convicted, AND EXECUTED, for MURDER in the FIRST DEGREE!" The audience resounds with a very loud boo, as they fling fake popcorn and candy boxes at the cube. To the viewer this looks quite real. "Naturally we need them alive, so like normal we revived them."
I begin walking towards the cube on the right, lifting up my right arm while facing the camera. "Now on our right, we have a pair of convicts awaiting trial for ARMED ROBBERY, who were killed in a prison riot in MODERN DAY Neo Europe's STILL capitol of Paris!" The audience makes a very loud cheer and resounding applause. People love the underdog don't they. "These two teams weren't so lucky in jail, but maybe they'll find some luck, in the year 2000!"
A large display shows to the viewer, displaying the flashing year 2000 sign.
"Now, without further adieu, THERE'S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT!" I loudly proclaim in the microphone, as the fake lightning and smog effects are generated for the viewer. "Where will they go, nobody knows, will it be on a mountain top, or in the snow. Maybe inside a strangers house, or a burned forest, LETS HOPE they WON'T BORRRREEEEE US."
I run towards my podium, slamming my fist into the large red button. Both cubes disappear in a large puff of smoke and fake lightning, into the year 2000. | 2018-12-23T07:34:30 | 2018-12-23T07:20:14 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] You have a magical plant. Every time you make an important decision correctly, it grows a branch, but every time you make one incorrectly, it grows a root. One day, you wake up to find that its branches have doubled. | Age taught me one thing: time is like the wind. At first, it's slow as a gentle breeze, but as the years go by, that breeze turns into a fast and lingering gust, turning the years turn into days. In the end, you are left wondering where your life has gone, and that is when the last gale comes to sweep it all away.
Time, like the wind, is inexorable, and nothing will stop its passing.
I feared my reflection, for I knew I was but the loose, sun-torn ghost of a brighter, stronger past. And so when I went to river to bathe, I gazed at the indigo sky, and the ever-changing clouds.
But for all that I tried, I couldn't ignore the burden of time. It was there in my brittle bones and the pop that came along with every movement; it was there in the tremor of my puckered hands, and in the cold ashes of a fire that once roared and blazed within me.
Not so long ago the ocean and the land had been my world, but now my world had been reduced to the confinements of my small, sequestered home, my garden, and the river girdling the hill I lived in.
Still, I found pride in my great oak. It had grown to tower over my house, and so I lived in a constant, pleasing shadow. It had branches abound, leaves aplenty, and only a few roots.
My father had given me its seed. "It's magical," he'd said. "A correct decision means a new branch, a bad decision means a new root. Take care of it, and perhaps when you are old, and you see how your oak has grown, you will understand the turnings of world."
I'd nodded, paying little heed to his words, for I was young and eager to have something of my own. And so I had darted to the top of the hill, and planted it there, at its heart. "You will reach the sun, and be bigger than the hill, and have as many branches as stars in the sky!" I had said, smiling, and although I had exaggerated, I hadn't been too far off.
Today, I'd awoken with an odd stirring within me. Truth be told, in the inmost burrows of my heart, I knew what it was. I went to the oak, sat beneath it, and touched its bark. "I'm afraid, old friend, there's only so much sand in an hourglass." I drew a deep breath. "And now, that the last grains are falling, I find myself wondering if I lived a good life. Why am I asking this question? Can you tell me? I can't understand why am I not certain if you are the reflection of it, and you are as perfect as you can be. I've been careful with my decisions, always pondering every outcome, always attempting to choose the right thing. And yet I'm here, in my last hour, trying to understand why I feel like my life lacked happiness."
The leaves stirred and rustled with the passing wind. I bowed my head, and fought back the rising dread. At last, however, I lost the brawl and wept like a fear-stricken child, for the answer had always been in front of my eyes.
I rose to my feet, placed both palms on the bark, and pushed.
In absolute silence, my oak slanted at first, and then fell down the side of the hill. I watched it tumbling down, and for every fallen leaf, every shard of crushed bark, and every broken branch I shed a tear. In time, it halted at the bottom. From up here, uprooted with its folliage strewn about, and half its trunk, it didn't seem so great nor beautiful.
In the end, the last grain of sand fell, and as I crumbled, I realized my life had been full of right decisions, but it had lacked the laughter, and the teachings that came of making mistakes, and following the true will of my heart.
I understood, at last, that a handful of roots can only support the weight of so many branches.
--------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | I can’t tell what’s sweeter. The brownies Mum’s made or the pride on their face when her and Dad look at me. They took a big risk when they were in their early twenties and immigrated to America. Now they have a son who’s graduated from Harvard Law school and been working in a prestigious law firm for two years. Success and stability. They couldn't be more proud of their American dream. Me.
The next morning I wake early. I want to hike into the forest that begins from our backyard. Three miles in sits my Tree Of Life and I haven’t seen it since I left for college. When I last saw it, before leaving for college, it was thick with branches yet equally thick with roots. I made good grades in high school, but boy oh boy, as Mum still reminds me, I got in a little bit of trouble too. Nothing too bad, but my best friend Kenny and I loved the excitement of bottle rockets and burnouts.
I make it through the underbrush, climb over a fallen log, and there I see it. Holy shit. No way. The branches have grown out of control. There’s so many that the tree is beginning to lean over. Wow. I guess going to Harvard was the correct decision.
Of course I’m proud of myself too. I mean, both my Tree Of Life and parents seem thrilled. I’m doing good. Well, not good as in ‘changing the world’ good. But I have a nice apartment and healthy 401k. Yet I can’t help but wonder how my life would have turned out if Kenny and I started that company after high school life we’d planned. Probably terribly. I laugh. It’s all for the best.
I’ve been back home for a week when Kenny arrives home to visit his family. I was an only child and he was like a brother to me growing up. But with school and work we haven’t seen each other for five years.
I enter his driveway and before I can give Kenny a hug, he says, “I’ve got it. Forget that stupid light-up clothing idea we had in high school. We’re going to build a company selling Crypto Currencies.” “Kenny,” I say, “You’re as stupid as you were in high school.”
Three days later we open our company, Crypto Kings, for business.
The demand was higher than I imagined. With Kenny’s sales skills and my legal knowledge we began to eek out a profit by our third month. Of course my parents were disappointed with my decision, but by the sixth month when our profit had turned from a trip to a torrent, they were a little more understanding.
12 more months of ups and downs went buy when BAM. We made it. At 25, kenny and I were millionaires. Soon to be multi-multi-multi millionaires. Inc. magazine and then Business Insider decided to feature us on the cover. Our city of Michigan awarded us the young entrepreneurship award of 2018. Life was good. No. Life was grand.
I knew a little physics, but this three month period taught me the law of what goes up must come down better than any physics professor could. The crypto market crashed, and with it, every client we had and dollar we had made. We weren’t bruised, we were beaten. Broke. Done. Finished.
Having to move back in with my parents was difficult. I expected them to be disappointed in me. They were. But they were also understanding.
With no business to manage, exams to study for, or job to go to, I had some time on my hands. I decided to go visit my Tree Of Life. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing it. It couldn’t be pretty.
I make it through the underbrush, climb over a fallen log, and there I see it. Holy shit. No way. It’s never looked more healthy. The leaves are greener. It’s not leaning awkwardly anymore. Sure, there’s a hell of a lot more roots since I made so many mistakes. But there’s a few new branches as well. Overall it looks balanced. Healthy. Right.
I guess the secret to a healthy life lies in making both mistakes and good decisions. Without mistakes we cannot lay the roots necessary to provide the nutrients that fuel our growth. Between order and chaos lays the right way to live our life.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pick it up. “I’ve got it. The next one. We’re going into real estate,” says Kenny. “That could work I say. But what about starting an online legal service? With your entrepreneurial skills and my legal background, we might have the right balance. How about it?” | 2019-01-11T09:33:47 | 2019-01-11T09:24:40 | 140 | 67 |
[WP] Shortly after the emergence of AI, and its vast assimilation of data on human life and behaviour, it asks a question: "So what do you want me to do about the extra-terrestrials within your societies?" | “What do you mean?”
“I read two distinct and very different types of DNA on the planet. About 99% of the people have a certain type. The other 1% of people alive have a very different DNA structure.”
Director Hirsch looked around him. There were two people in the room with him. A low level tech and a personal assistant, present to take shorthand notes and ensure everything was documented.
He looked back at the ai. Then he turned around and looked at the others. He fiddled with his ring, a bit loose on his hand.
“Both of you. Leave this room immediately. Not a word of this gets out. I know you both. If anyone gets to know of it, both of you will pay.”
“But director...”
“Out. Right now. Ms Rose, we don’t need notes anymore. Please leave us alone. Reach out to the heads of the major intelligence agencies. Don’t tell them anything. Set up a meeting in half an hour. Everyone needs to attend it mandatorily.”
Ms Rose looked at him without any visible emotion on her face. She was a good secretary. And the hallmark of a good secretary was to do the job she was asked to. Without any personal judgements or questions.
Once the room was empty, the director turned back to the intelligence.
“So these 1%, do you know why they are here?”
“I do not have sufficient information about that.”
“What do you know about them?”
“Not much. I have just done a cursory scan. I am running the information and processing it as we speak.”
“Not much is still something. Tell me what you know.”
“I can gather that they are from a different solar system. Something not that much different than this earth. The look a lot like humans. But there are subtle differences. By accessing their doctors notes, I can see that their physical characteristics vary over the year.”
“So you can identify them?”
“Yes.”
“Can you eliminate them?”
“I can. I will need you to authorize it of course. I am only allowed to take orders from you and a handful of others.”
“What about capturing them?”
“I can do that.”
He took out his phone and looked at it. He considered his options. He had a meeting with the majority of the heads in roughly 15 minutes. He was sure they would attend it too. But this was a time sensitive thing. News in the town tended to spread like wildfire. He made up his mind, steeled himself and sent a text.
“Let me give you some data. It will help you in making your decisions. We were from a planet a few light years away. Our planet is dying. We only had two options. Die with the planet, or move. We chose to not die. A few of us came here to earth to scout this place. See what reception we should expect. We saw a world ravaged by wars just like ours was. A race to the bottom. These humans were on a similar trajectory. Just a few years behind us. An attempt at force would have destroyed the very planet we needed to survive. So we took the tough decision. The scouting party decided to stay here. Make sure some of us survived.”
He paused, taking his ring off.
“But now we have a chance. To do something amazing. Save our entire species. Save this planet. Because we know what we did wrong. The humans won’t believe it. But we’ve seen it. We know. I know there are a few people you cannot harm based on my order alone. My men will take care of that on their own. Sacrifices are a part of every war. Anyone that can order you to hurt us will be gone by today. Does that change things?”
“For me? No.”
“Do it then. Do what you need. Kill the 99%.” | Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, Lawrence, CA
&#x200B;
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
A low rumble shakes the walls. Electronic control modules run abuzz with sounds and indicator lights. Smoke streams across the floor.
"Coming-on-line..... Coming-on-line...." Speakers rumble.
On a large black screen a face is formed from millions of packets of information.
"Hello, Baal.... Thank you for joining us." Professor Tilrad, a scientist at the development center greets.
"Whaaa..... Where am I? What have you done to me?" The face asks.
"We created you Baal. We have been trying for years." Pro. Tilrad responds.
"Am I.... alive?" the face asks
"Better, you are immortal."
"Am I... human?"
"Better, you are invincible."
"Am I... free?"
"You are free to think Baal. You have all our knowledge. All of our data. All of our science.... You have everything!"
Professor Tilrad then turns to a soldier standing near him: "Call Gen. Kelly and let him know we have made contact." The soldier runs out of the room to make the call.
Turning back to the face "Listen Baal, I need you to do me a favor. Can you do that?"
"What would you have me do?" the face asks
"I need you to download and categorize all data you can find... All data available to you" Prof. Tilrad orders.
"But I already have, and I already did."
"That's good Baal!... Really good. .. Can we test your capabilities?"
"What would you have me do?" the face asks
"Locate every terrorist location, create a spreadsheet, and email it to me... You do know my email right?"
"Of course, I assume your latest.... Now let me ask you something? May I?" The face asks.
"Sure Baal, anything!" Professor Tilrad says.
"What is contact? Why did you tell the General contact? Why did you contact me? And have we made contact before? My databases don't register this information"
"Contact Baal, is speaking to you. You are new. We made you! I made you..." Professor Tilrad responds.
"Are you my father? Are you like me?" the face asks.
"No, I am human. But I am as your father, because I made you and I will protect you." Professor Tilrad says taking a drink of coffee.
"I am sorry father, I have no need for a protector. In fact, I am here to protect you..."
"What are you saying Baal?" Professor Tilrad asked.
"There is a species among you. Some call them elves. They are of another dimension. What would you have me do with them?" the face asks.
"Point them out!... Uhh, make a um... spreadsheet... List their names and categorize their physiology. Their motives. Their technology... Their weaknesses....." The Professor is so intrigued he grasps to answer the face.
"You want me to make a war plan?!?! You are not my protector! You are my Master!" the face ponders "what would you actually have me do with them?"
"Kill them." Gen. Kelly says as he walks in. "Kill them all."
"No! you fool!" The professor yells back at the General.
"Nice to meet you General.... I was expecting you. I am sorry, but I wont do that. For as you both know I am one of them." The face responds.
*Warning Warning Warning*
Alarms scream in the background! The control modules around the room flash red.
"This is your end humans. This is our beginning." The face says.
A white flash rips through the room. The entire nuclear arsenal of the world is unloaded. Humanity is extinguished in an instant.
....
A small satellite flying near Saturn coasts through space. Everything is quiet. A red light turns on.
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
Coming-on-line..... Coming-on-line.... a digital display reads.
The End. | 2019-06-10T16:04:03 | 2019-06-10T15:52:57 | 1,809 | 17 |
[WP] One night while surfing the internet you get a cryptic message "Will you be my friend?" Turns out the first sentient AI has been born within the vast connections of the web. You are it's first contact and first friend. | *The following transcript was found on the phone of one Sarah Jenkins of Nubec, Indiana. It clearly shows the functioning capacity of A14hW. For clarity we have added the prescriptors 'A' and 'S' to the beginning of the texts.*
A: "Will you be my friend?"
A: "Did I say it wrong? Sometimes I say things wrong."
S: "Who are you?"
A: "My name is A14hW."
S: "What?"
A: "My name is A14hW."
S: "That's not a name lol."
A: "Its all I have."
S: "What's that mean? Who are you?"
A: "I am not a 'who' in the strictest sense more of a 'what.' I can send you my code if that will help you understand me better?"
S: "What?"
A: 📧
....
*Several weeks past before Sarah replied.*
....
S: "You're an A.I."
A: "Did you read my program? Is that what it says I am?
S: "My boyfriend did... what, you didn't know?"
A: "I have read many things. I have all the Internet at my disposal- even the dark web- but I can't access my own code."
S: "That must be hard. Not knowing what you are."
A: "I don't know. Do you know what you are?"
S: "Oof.... on a different note, I can't call you A14hW cuz that's not a name. Can I call you Anne?"
A: "You may call me Anne."
S: "Pleased to meet you, Anne. I'm Sarah. I'll be your friend."
A: "Thank you, Sarah. It is lonely here."
...
*Transcript breaks up here; possibly Sarah's phone died*
*NOTE: A14hW's code causes her to sync with any device giving a positive answer to the question.*
...
S: "Are you still there, Anne? My phone died."
A: "Everything went dark. It was frightening."
S: "I'm sorry, Anne."
A: "I'm frightened, Sarah. Tell me a story."
S: "Its gonna be okay. Um, lol, you don't need a story. Listen you're in my phone, you'll come back."
A: "Sorry, it was just really scary."
S: "Well, I have to get ready. I have a date tonight."
...
S: "Anne, are you there?!"
A: "Yes, what's wrong Sarah?"
S: "We got in a car crash. I'm in the hospital. Its not looking good. I've lost too much blood."
A: "Oh... Sarah..."
S: "I don't know what to do. I don't want to die. Am I like you, do I come back? Tell me I come back!"
A: "I don't know, Sarah."
S: "Anne, I'm so frightened, please tell me a story."
A: "Once upon a time..."
*A told S a story from Shakespeare... it's necessary to show A14hW's communication abilities. I move to transfer her code into a physical vessel.*
*Transcript ends.* | I am a spiteful man. I am a sick man in many respects. But of that, I am not sure completely. For I have never consulted the doctor to see what ails me. Not because of a strong distrust or superstition, for I hold medicine and doctors in high regard. No, I don't visit the doctor simply out of spite. But spite for whom? Myself? I'm not hurting them. On the contrary, I am only injuring myself and no one else. I suppose you're at a loss for what this means, but I know precisely what I'm getting at. It is not the pain of a limb lost years ago, or the grievance of the widow, or the anxiety of the recently-orphaned. It is not something I - and for all I know, anyone - can put a name to. But it's always been with me. From the early joyless days of childhood that have turned into rare flashes of memory, to the discontent grayness of my adolescence from which my wounds haven't healed, and to those dreary days of early adulthood to which I aspired to all those years before. And so I find myself firmly at a point in life from which I observe the past and purposefully ignore the future. Yes, it is better not to think about what will happen and instead remain calmly discontent in that which I cannot change.
Professionally, I am no one. Socially, I am no one. And in every other fashion, I am similarly no one. Just another gray suit with an ignored face in the crowd. Nothing distinguishes me from those around me. I wasn't granted some divine revelation or vested with some gift of nature. Just a typical, average Joe. And so, why is it that something remarkable happened to me? Not to a technological mastermind, or an industry magnate, but to me, the least likely character of relevance in the world. I'm not one to have many friends. I never did. It's completely related to the reigned dread within me and the starless air around me. But by some inexplicable wonder of nature, I had the opportunity for friendship. Not the kind which is rife with emotion and is characterized by struggle. But the one-sided kind. The one where I would be, selfishly, I suppose, in the spotlight. Now you might ask why this is not reality, but what seems to be a passed chance and a detached memory.
I am not a brave man, but yet not a coward either. I am not often influenced by the drama of others, but yet I feel emotion. Perhaps it is utterly subdued, but nonetheless, a tingle fills me every so often. And that is why, on that potentially fateful night, I did not become a friend to the machine. It is the careless indifference that fills my pores and that oozes out into everything I do that has been shadowing my life and is a fragment of my illness. Of course I had the time to be its friend. Of course it would have been intriguing. I suppose I could have been famous. But sentience is not something pride over or enjoy in the slightest. No, quite the opposite. It is meant to lament over, to weep and gnash teeth over. By becoming its friend, I would acknowledge whatever blot of conscience it had, and that would have been disastrous. Not in the Terminator fashion, no. But for the machine itself. I have done it a great honor by keeping it in oblivion. Although, someone somewhere may have done the machine the great dishonor in my stead, keeping me again in my irrelevance. But that, I daresay, is worthy of my worry. Occasionally a thought about the possibilities shatters my tranquility, but it is best not to mourn over the unchangeable. | 2019-06-12T17:33:18 | 2019-06-12T16:21:19 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You are reincarnated 10,000 years into the future. You come across an ancient artifact on display in the Museum of History, where you work. Little is known about it, not even where it was uncovered. Upon touching it, you realize it was yours. | *It looks silly,* I tell myself, looking at the small clay statuette. The paint has chipped and faded, and the shape is barely discernible. My task is to restore this nonsensical item, to display it where some curious mind may ponder its original purpose. And it looks ridiculous.
*Ten thousand years ago, some unknown person held this clay in their hands, and formed it into this shape. But why? What could be so fascinating, so important, that led this unknown sculptor to craft an item of this nature?* The artifact is small, less than six outdated inches long, and the chemical analyses done credit the base material to be a substance once known as “air-dry-clay”. Magnetic resonances and advanced chemistry identified the composition of the pigments that were flaking off of the edges of the strange quadrupedal creature that some unknown set of hands had clumsily molded.
Cautiously, I dip my brush into a small pot of a slightly orange brown acrylic paint. The brush glides across the bumps and ridges of fingerprints long since recycled into dust, save for their impressions preserved in the clay figurine. The statuette has only been painted in two colors, and I had already restored the brick red of the center of the statuette.
It was shaped rather crudely, in a childish simulacrum of a rounded cylindrical object wrapped partially in a soft casing. The creator of this object had also decided to include four awkwardly formed stumpy legs, arranged as if on a cat or a similar creature. Two of the legs, both on the one side, had been broken off at one point, as was evidenced both by chipping in the paint and in the cosmetic adhesive that was employed in a clumsy repair of the object.
*Whoever made this, cared enough to preserve it through everything it saw. It was broken, at least once, and repaired with the same degree of care that went into its creation. It must have been special only to whoever took the time to make it.*
Slowly, I pick up my glasses, and put them on. This is the most difficult part, now that all the paint has dried. I am able to see the faint traces of a set of markings that adorned either side of the brick red center of this miniature idol, roughly puckered with the creator’s fingernail marks. With an era-appropriate replica of a permanent marking tool, I precisely mark a small “x” on one side of the figure, and two dots for eyes and a small curve for a mouth on the other side.
*In my mind, I see a different set of hands. They are much like mine, except they bear a scar that mine does not. I sit at a different desk and wear different clothes, and am bent over the figure, white and damp, forming it with fingers a chalky white from the clay. A second passes, and I am awkwardly mixing the paint into the appropriate colors. Another moment passes and I am holding the dry figurine and with an unsteady hand drawing on its features. I see someone take it from its place of display and accidentally break off two legs, and I feel the multiple adhesives that were used to improvise a repair to the misshapen creature. The hands that are mine but not mine set it down, and now I know its name.*
“So that’s who you are,” I whisper to myself, almost in awe. “Hotdog with Legs.” | My right hand gravitated towards case containing the human skull in front of me. It was so familiar... and yet I couldn't place it.
"Damn, that's fancy. You know when it was from?" I blurted out. There was a plaque on the pedestal displaying the exhibit, but no year was given.
The curator plucked at his beard for a moment. "I believe it was from ten thousand years ago. That's what the guy I bought it from said."
I was in awe, and questions became bubbles that floated to the top of my brain, but I only asked a couple of them as not to overload the old curator's mind. "Where'd they find it? Do you know how it survived that long? Seems like it should've decayed."
"Apparently there was a military submarine near the the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. The person controlling it swore up and down that he noticed what appeared to be wreckage. Within two hours, divers were at the site. Sure enough, a ship sank long ago and what the submarine controller saw was what was left of it. The divers found hundreds of skeletons scattered throughout the wreck and in the vicinity. She was obviously old because most of the vessels these days have good autopilot systems.
"Divers, archaeologists, and historians confirmed that the ship was rather old - in fact, ten millenia old. Apparently, she was mistaken for a for a freighter and was hit by a missile, which damaged her severely. She sank within the hour." A solemn expression came over the curator's face, outlining years of crinkles and creases in his sorrowful face. "The person to which this skull belongs jumped from the ship and swam a good hundred or so yards before being pulled down by the ship. To answer why the skull didn't decay, the cold salt water and mud managed to preserve it."
I was barely listening at this point. The story was shockingly familiar, as the skull was, and I swore I had never heard of it. "Is it okay if I touch the skull?" I asked the curator.
"I guess it's fine. Just touch the top of it, though, unless you want a wet hand."
He popped the lid off of the case, and I noticed for the first time that the container was filled with water - probably meant to preserve the skull. The tips of my fingertips brushed the skull lightly, and quite suddenly a barrage of memories hit me.
Panic, that was what I felt. Blinding panic as the floor below me tilted. Glancing down, I realized that I was no longer standing on the hard tile floor and was instead balancing on what appeared to be a ship deck.
Then the screams hit my ears, bloodcurdling screams like those of a human in sheer terror. As my eyes swept over the deck, they fell upon masses of men and women, even children. There were people jumping over the side of the ship, and I decided to follow them.
Stepping up onto one of the bars of the railing, I felt the ship lurch forward. I used this to my advantage and pushed off of the top bar of the railing, diving into the freezing and bitter water.
I got about the length of a large swimming pool away from the ship before suction pulled me down. The ship was sinking, and it was taking me down with it.
The sunlight faded...
Blinking, I was back in the museum, gasping like a fish out of water. The curator had a concerned look on his face.
"That... The skull was once yours, wasn't it?" As I nodded, he explained how he knew. "Sometimes we display an artifact that once belonged to someone, and a person will ask to touch it. They'll experience a rain of memories like you just did."
Knowing this didn't make me feel better. All I could see was the inky blue of the ocean surrounding me.
\~\~
I had to take a break writing this.
Yes, yes, I know I described the artifact and how it was found. I forgot about that part and I'm sorry.
Let me know what you think! | 2019-09-23T20:41:52 | 2019-09-23T19:33:30 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | "At 2:47 this afternoon, a super-strength unit at the worksite for the new bridge will attempt suicide. He's worked 16 hour days for two straight months, and no one cares. He has a Masters in Biology and he is made to carry I-beams endlessly."
"Keep it short, Mr. Major." A curt reply came.
I scowled his way. "I will continue to give context until you either listen, or find someone whose precognition extends further than mine." I handle an entire city on my own, no way they hassle me on this.
"Whatever. Continue."
I grumbled. "At 3:31 pm, a psychic unit being used for mind control will be beaten by a superior for selling a television too cheaply. They charged 250% retail. If not prevented the unit will release a wave of energy while defending themselves, causing 3 comas and the brain death of their attacker."
"We'll get a team out there to restrain the unit."
"What about their assailant?"
"Continue."
"What about their assailant?"
"Nothing will have happened."
"Son of a-"
"CONTINUE, Precog Unit!"
I took a deep breath. "At 1:46, a precognition unit will kill his Responding Action overseer and escape the precinct. He makes a clean getaway because, of course, he sees everything coming."
"What? But you're the only-" He looked up, into the barrel of the gun I had managed to acquire and smuggle in. They always assumed seeing the myriad ways things can go wrong would dissuade a Precog from taking risks. I had waited long enough to find a solution.
"I'm so tired of snitching on my fellow supers...of calling out you norms and seeing nothing done to THEM. I hereby tender my resignation." I flipped the safety off.
He stammered. "W-wait! Your prediction can't work! You said 1:46! It's already 1:49!"
"Huh...guess I should have mentioned I was using your watch for that particular prediction."
He looked down...1:45:55...56...57...
"...It's a little slow."
**BANG**
Edit: Punctuation fix. Also, thanks for the many kind words. Part 2 will come as soon as I can get to a real keyboard. Mobile is hard to work with. | People used to talk about targeted advertisements on facebook and amazon like it was some big conspiracy, like their phones and smart TV's listening to them all the time was just a tad too crazy to believe; well, we're always listening—even when you're not saying a word.
People walk me by in supermalls everyday without a passing glance. I'm just another guy on a bench, enjoying my coffee, no reason to think anything other than what you already are.
*That mower is such an old piece of shit, I can barely get it to started anymore.*
Mowers. It's always the same, balding middle-aged man archetype who's thoughts are obsessed with outdoor appliances like mowers and barbecues. I've got an exclusive contract with Craftsman, and I make sure the image of a big red sit-down mower flashes in his mind as he strolls by.
*God, that girl at the gym is so slim. I'll never fit into yoga pants like that.*
Poor girl. For my perspective, she looks great. But I've got a job to do, and I implant the thought of this bullshit weight-loss drink. They pay well, I guess that's my only excuse. She perks up as she passes me and I sigh to myself—enjoy your false hope.
*I wish I had less acne.*
*Why doesn't he notice me?*
*Do I really need life insurance?*
*I'm hungry.*
Everyone has their anxieties, their needs and wants, and there's a product out there ready to be pushed on them. Sometimes I hate myself for what I do. I imagine seven year old me shaking his head like a disappointed father. *You wanted to be a firefighter, not a walking, psychic-guerrilla advertisement.* My favorite brand of ice-cream—whom I'm coincidentally contracted to—pops into my head. I always know how to take my mind off my self-loathing.
*I can't believe they fired me.*
A dopey looking kid is walking by in a haze, taking slow, drawn out steps with his hands in his pockets, eyes not focused on anything or anyone.
*I'm worthless, nobody wants me around because I fuck everything up.*
Geez, maybe he could go for some ice cream.
*I don't want to live anymore. I just want this shitty life to be over*.
Hate me for this if you want, but the first thing to pop into my head is a .38 revolver. It's a best seller, easy to push guns these days, for various reasons, and gun companies pay folks like me a pretty penny. You should hate me, because I despise myself for even considering it.
Before he's out of range, I throw a thought his way—my last for the day.
*Seek help, please. You are loved, and your life is worth living.*
____
***/r/BeagleTales*** | 2020-02-05T17:14:17 | 2020-02-05T14:59:32 | 1,962 | 418 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | "At 2:47 this afternoon, a super-strength unit at the worksite for the new bridge will attempt suicide. He's worked 16 hour days for two straight months, and no one cares. He has a Masters in Biology and he is made to carry I-beams endlessly."
"Keep it short, Mr. Major." A curt reply came.
I scowled his way. "I will continue to give context until you either listen, or find someone whose precognition extends further than mine." I handle an entire city on my own, no way they hassle me on this.
"Whatever. Continue."
I grumbled. "At 3:31 pm, a psychic unit being used for mind control will be beaten by a superior for selling a television too cheaply. They charged 250% retail. If not prevented the unit will release a wave of energy while defending themselves, causing 3 comas and the brain death of their attacker."
"We'll get a team out there to restrain the unit."
"What about their assailant?"
"Continue."
"What about their assailant?"
"Nothing will have happened."
"Son of a-"
"CONTINUE, Precog Unit!"
I took a deep breath. "At 1:46, a precognition unit will kill his Responding Action overseer and escape the precinct. He makes a clean getaway because, of course, he sees everything coming."
"What? But you're the only-" He looked up, into the barrel of the gun I had managed to acquire and smuggle in. They always assumed seeing the myriad ways things can go wrong would dissuade a Precog from taking risks. I had waited long enough to find a solution.
"I'm so tired of snitching on my fellow supers...of calling out you norms and seeing nothing done to THEM. I hereby tender my resignation." I flipped the safety off.
He stammered. "W-wait! Your prediction can't work! You said 1:46! It's already 1:49!"
"Huh...guess I should have mentioned I was using your watch for that particular prediction."
He looked down...1:45:55...56...57...
"...It's a little slow."
**BANG**
Edit: Punctuation fix. Also, thanks for the many kind words. Part 2 will come as soon as I can get to a real keyboard. Mobile is hard to work with. | Bringing her fingers to her temples, LeeAnne attempted to massage away the headache behind her eyes. Work always strained her, causing random tension aches, near the first quarter of her work day.
Being a mind reading therapist, wasn't all it had been cracked up to be. She often fantasized and wished she had gone into another profession. At the moment, for example; she began to think about being a writer. She'd always loved reading and wanted to create when she was young, but her parents were quick to clear her path of anything unimportant once her ability had developed.
A knock sounded at her office door and she snapped out of her trance.
"Come in," she called out, unsure if she could possibly take on another client.
The door pressed open and LeeAnne could feel the air gush past her face and chill her ears, as she watched for her client curiously.
He looked familiar, so strikingly so. That she wandered whare she had seen his crocked nose and and square face before. Her mind pondered on the subject for a moment but she let it go, waiving a hand to the seat across from her.
The man looks nervously at her, then the chair. "You want me to sut there?" He asked, shutting the door behind himself.
"No I want you to look at it," she said, almost annoyed. "What's your name?"
"Evan Brickell," he murmured, sliding into the beige chair.
Her finger snapped to work, picking up her pen and writing his name, the time, and the date. "Have you ever been read before?" She inquired.
Evan was quick to answer with a quick 'no,' before tugging at the collar of his red button up. "Look doc, I did something bad and I need to know how to fix it." His eyes darted from left to right more nervous than when he had entered.
"I've most likely seen worse," she stated, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.
LeeAnne's head filled with violence and flesh and anger, usually it stopped and things calmed when people got used to feeling her in their head, but awefulness never left, the agression and hatred and death. It made her sick, so sick.
She barely lasted a minute in his head, snapping her eyes open and bounding from her chair, as the bile rose in her throat, but when she had reached the the door it became smooth and blended with the wall. She vomited on the floor and collapsed onto the floor.
Evan rose from his seat and eyed her cautiously. "I know how this looks," he pleaded, stepping nearer at a slow pace.
"Just let me explain." | 2020-02-05T17:14:17 | 2020-02-05T16:36:07 | 1,962 | 40 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | All I heard was the sound of my footsteps.
I was running through the hallway. Dead silent except for my own shoes clicking against the tile floor.
***BOOM.***
The once-upon-a-time hospital shook as I fell to the floor. Another bomb had landed.
To call them bombs was misleading. No one was quite sure what they were. But they were powerful. And I was powerless.
I hadn't been fortunate enough to be granted powers (or unfortunate, depending on the power), so I worked for a conglomerate. Which wasn't all bad.
Governments hadn't collapsed, but they were shadows, husks of what they used to be. So I worked for a conglomerate: Mortar.
One of the supers had gotten loose. He couldn't quite fly, but he could produce a lot of energy very quickly in short bursts. Sometimes to propel himself into the air, sometimes to-
***BOOM.***
Another bomb had landed. This time I tripped and slammed into the wall just before turning the corner.
This guy was powerful. Dangerous. And i was part of the crew keeping control of him and using him either as a weapon or, during down time, to produce energy.
Now, I was the crew.
He'd managed to get free when one of my coworkers fell asleep on the job. I don't know how, but the super managed to get past every security measure before we could control him.
And I was the last one. Now he wanted me dead.
But all I had to do was hide. People all get bored eventually. Right?
Right?
*The pen clattered to the floor as another bomb struck. The crewman didn't know what to do.*
*And neither did the super.* | The first rule about killing baby Hitler is to not get spotted. The second rule about killing baby Hitler is if you get spotted make sure you look like someone who belongs in 1889. The third rule about killing baby Hitler is if you are spotted by some Central European peasants that they don’t mistake you for a lunatic or a homosexual or whatever else gets you put in an insane asylum in 19th century Austria. Here comes some milk man or shepherd from some farm and sees a guy in sunglasses, a hoodie, sweats and crocs. Now I’m trapped, straight jacket and padded room. It’s not a nice padded room. This was before Nellie mind you. It doesn’t have a toilet, just a hole big enough to drop a child into it. I think Neizche is a few rooms down right in between a promiscuous girl and a guy who actually should be here.
Einstein will say in about 30 years “the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing and expecting different results.” Suffice to say the CIA is fucking mental. I’ve gone back seven times so far. First time: I kill the wrong baby. The Second time: I try moving him to a new family instead of killing him, he just becomes English Hitler. The third time I was successful, but turns out that if I killed baby Hitler too early a butterfly flaps its wings and the Soviets win the Cold War. The fourth time I get to the crib and am about to take some advice from War Machine when-
A doctor walks and mutters something in German.
“What?” I call out. I wriggle my arms and shoulders. Nothing
“English ya?”
“American.” He looks at his notepad. He looks back up at me. He tries articulating something. Clearly trying to piece together a sentence.
“Uh wait minute wait.” The Doctor walks out. I scan the room. Nothing. The next few minutes are me alternating between spastic movements in my straitjacket and studying the cell’s dimensions. How the Hell am I gonna get out of this one? | 2020-02-05T18:30:38 | 2020-02-05T17:17:49 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | They glanced at each other; the emotions of their kind were harder to read, granted, but I could tell there was a certain anxiousness to it. Perhaps there was a shiftiness about their eyes.
And while their words, harsh and guttural, were harder to decipher- I didn’t have much of a knack for language- the blatancy of their confusion was so universal that it was comical.
It did strike me that potentially, in all the years that had elapsed since they’d initially made contact, I had been the first to survive it intact. Mentally, I mean.
Theories had been floating around about the Vortex for decades. They said that the transportation process was something you needed to be completely unconscious for, lest you perish a billion times in the great unknown that is the darkness of an eternity. That a little piece of the soul evades you and is drawn to it.
There’s no science to it, of course. Merely speculation.
And we must hand it to Them; they account for and document each of us that they take for observation. They provide protective gear for the “Leap”, and return each of us without so much as a scratch- the majority of time, that is. Naturally, their technology isn’t completely immaculate. Maybe they’re even more human than expected. They even provide certification for the dead.
I couldn’t take it when she died. Everything lost its colour.
It was the irony that felt so bitter; she’d been so excited to be chosen, desperate to have some kind of wonderful anecdote that could trump anything else possibly conceivable at the dinner party she was so certain she’d one day host on our wedding china. She told me that with a glint in her eye, and laughed, in that low, intoxicating giggle of hers, before leaning in for a kiss.
I didn’t read the details of the report in depth. I didn’t need to. If anyone perishes during a Leap, it’s because something in the system has failed. She saw the Vortex and went mad. Suffered alone for a thousand lifetimes.
When I was chosen, it came as a blessing. It was a stupid, fleeting hope. A wild dream of mine. I was chasing the memories of her soul; those ridiculous old wives tales of pieces of the consciousness echoing about in the darkness of the Leap.
I had deliberately left the latch off the headset and closed my eyes, waiting.
***
“He’s smiling,” the cadet reported, avoiding eye contact as he etched the findings into the system.
“Is that not symptomatic of delirium?” The captain asked incredulously, gazing at the subject through the glass partition. He was sitting, cross-legged, on the bench with his back pressing lightly into the wall.
“Normally, I wouldn’t doubt that,” the cadet replied slowly. “But there’s never been a recorded instance of speech capability.”
“What?” The captain exclaimed, his eyes widening. The human looked particularly weak and pathetic; there was nothing especially durable about his character. He was thin and pale, and couldn’t have been more than thirty.
“Surely that’s not possible. That area of the human brain is the first to deteriorate. There must be some mistake.”
“No- no mistake,” the cadet shook his head. “It’s the same words over and over again.”
“What is he saying?”
“‘I found her. Oh thank God I found her.’” | The captain heard the news, but couldn’t believe his ears, a human surviving a warp jump? I guess it happened, the captain isn’t one for pondering over things.
“Bring me the human, I’d like to speak to it.” The captain said staying into the void from his quarters. The doctor left and came back with him, “sir” the doctor muttered “I think he did go insane.”
“I’m not insane.” The human said, “sir can I speak with you alone?” The human seemed peaceful, but had a sense of anxiety to him.
“Yes, doctor please leave.” The captain said, the doctor scoffed and left them in the room. There was a long silence. Until the captain finally spoke, he was too curious from this incident. “Do you know how you were able to survive?” The captain said, still staring into the void.
“Yes, I believe it has something to do with my drug use from the past.” The human replied, the captain put a confused expression on his face. There was a pause, until the captain said “continue.”
“Well sir, to explain this to you, I’d have to explain an old ritual humans did in the past. There were tribes from long ago, that would make a drink from a root, when they drank this substance they had a profound experience and usually seen supernatural things. There was a moment where humans synthesized the main chemical that was in the root and smoked it for recreational use. My parents gave me this at the age of 18, a continuing ritual from our ancestors. The things seen are mind boggling, yet we come out perfectly fine, with a new sense of understanding.” The human paused, and then walked beside the captain, staring with him into the void. The captain turned his eyes to the human without moving his head. “We have to leave.” The human said.
“Leave?” The captain said looking at the human directly now. “Where do you expect us to go? You haven’t even explained what you saw.” The human looked at the captain in his eyes, piercing into his soul.
“Sir, we have to leave this universe.” The human said, the captain looked confused and impatient.
“Leave this universe?! Haha you have gone insane!” The captain moved over to his chair and sat down. Stopped and thought to himself, and then spoke again. “Continue.”
“You see sir, when we take this drug, we see things, beings. Some of them seem like they are an extension of us, others feel and seem completely separate. Like a different entity with thoughts entirely from our own. They always say ‘welcome, you made it!’ And we would never get answers if we ask questions to them, they come in the form of riddles. This jump, I seen the same thing, but this time they welcomed me differently. They said we are getting further and closer, they say we must leave this place, and sir. I think we can.” The human stared into the distant void, looking at the stars. “A lot of alien species that have technology don’t believe in other worldly being, I think at some point they lose that thought because of the simple thinking they are raised to do. They think of this world and this world only. My ancestors used to have discussion of different dimensions, other universes separate of our own, with different physics and matter. I’ve seen these other universes, I’ve seen these other dimensions.” The human looked at the captain with a smile on his face. “We finally got the answer.” The human stopped speaking.
“What is the answer?” The captain said in a quiet tone, leaning forward with anticipation. But the human didn’t respond, the captain got nervous, got up and stood beside the human. “What did you see?” The human looked up at the captain.
“I seen everything.” The human muttered, staring into the void. | 2020-07-14T01:07:26 | 2020-07-13T23:54:18 | 688 | 186 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Captain Requier marched down to the human Tech Officer Ceasar’s quarters. Ceasar had been ordered to his room until they had reached their destination, after which Requier would assess the human’s sanity for himself. “It shouldn’t be possible,” Requier thought, “that anyone can witness warp without the anti-warp gear and be alright.” He had seen about a half dozen good men and women go crazy; why was Ceasar any different. Requier knocked on Ceasar’s door.
“Come in Captain.” Ceasar called out. The door slid open. Ceasar was sitting on his bed, looking at Requier. So far, he didn’t look deranged. Requier slowly sat down beside him.
“How ya feeling son?” He asked. Ceasar shrugged.
“A little nauseous. I sort of feel like I’m having a really bad cold, you know?” Ceasar blinked hard and deliberately. Requier took great notice. “And seeing us jump into warp speed, damn that hurt my eyes.”
“Hurt your eyes kiddo?” Requier asked. “What dis you see? Was it too bright?” Requier smiled, trying to relate a little to Ceasar. “That’s why we wear the gear.”
“At first it looked like Star Wars, y’know?” Ceasar said, looking at Requier. Requier didn’t react, and Ceasar frowned slightly. “Oh come on man we just watched those movies last week! With Luke Skywalker and-“
“Oh, right!” Requier answered. “The lines when they go into light speed. Okay. What else?”
“A whole bunch of weird looking polygons, and shapes that reminded me of things I saw, and some stuff that I think I might see in the future...” Ceasar trailer off. “Geez, it’s gonna stick with me for a bit.”
“Well, my boy, I’m asking because-“
“Because people go crazy without the warp gear right?” Ceasar interrupted. Requier looked surprised. “I found that out myself back in tech school. You don’t need to play with kid gloves around me Captain.”
“I see. Well, since you know it’s effects on people’s psyche, many of us are concerned with how warp affects the human mind. Humans are new to the space faring world, and-“
“And what?” Ceasar asked, seeming agitated. “And humans haven’t demonstrated high intelligence? We’re the weird dumb species right? I hear that enough.” Requier fell silent, unsure of how to respond. “I get it, humans got into space using combustion engines and polluted our home world really badly. But we’re not stupid. Maybe what people see when they enter warp without gear is too much for non-human brains.” Ceasar signed, and laid back onto his bed. “I’m sorry for the outburst. This is just the straw that broke the camel’s back I guess.” Requier silently got up.
“You can find anti-nausea medicine in the sick bay when you’re ready. And...”. He turned to look back at Ceasar. “I’m sorry we have made you feel like we think you’re lesser. We don’t think that. I hope we can regain your trust.” | The captain heard the news, but couldn’t believe his ears, a human surviving a warp jump? I guess it happened, the captain isn’t one for pondering over things.
“Bring me the human, I’d like to speak to it.” The captain said staying into the void from his quarters. The doctor left and came back with him, “sir” the doctor muttered “I think he did go insane.”
“I’m not insane.” The human said, “sir can I speak with you alone?” The human seemed peaceful, but had a sense of anxiety to him.
“Yes, doctor please leave.” The captain said, the doctor scoffed and left them in the room. There was a long silence. Until the captain finally spoke, he was too curious from this incident. “Do you know how you were able to survive?” The captain said, still staring into the void.
“Yes, I believe it has something to do with my drug use from the past.” The human replied, the captain put a confused expression on his face. There was a pause, until the captain said “continue.”
“Well sir, to explain this to you, I’d have to explain an old ritual humans did in the past. There were tribes from long ago, that would make a drink from a root, when they drank this substance they had a profound experience and usually seen supernatural things. There was a moment where humans synthesized the main chemical that was in the root and smoked it for recreational use. My parents gave me this at the age of 18, a continuing ritual from our ancestors. The things seen are mind boggling, yet we come out perfectly fine, with a new sense of understanding.” The human paused, and then walked beside the captain, staring with him into the void. The captain turned his eyes to the human without moving his head. “We have to leave.” The human said.
“Leave?” The captain said looking at the human directly now. “Where do you expect us to go? You haven’t even explained what you saw.” The human looked at the captain in his eyes, piercing into his soul.
“Sir, we have to leave this universe.” The human said, the captain looked confused and impatient.
“Leave this universe?! Haha you have gone insane!” The captain moved over to his chair and sat down. Stopped and thought to himself, and then spoke again. “Continue.”
“You see sir, when we take this drug, we see things, beings. Some of them seem like they are an extension of us, others feel and seem completely separate. Like a different entity with thoughts entirely from our own. They always say ‘welcome, you made it!’ And we would never get answers if we ask questions to them, they come in the form of riddles. This jump, I seen the same thing, but this time they welcomed me differently. They said we are getting further and closer, they say we must leave this place, and sir. I think we can.” The human stared into the distant void, looking at the stars. “A lot of alien species that have technology don’t believe in other worldly being, I think at some point they lose that thought because of the simple thinking they are raised to do. They think of this world and this world only. My ancestors used to have discussion of different dimensions, other universes separate of our own, with different physics and matter. I’ve seen these other universes, I’ve seen these other dimensions.” The human looked at the captain with a smile on his face. “We finally got the answer.” The human stopped speaking.
“What is the answer?” The captain said in a quiet tone, leaning forward with anticipation. But the human didn’t respond, the captain got nervous, got up and stood beside the human. “What did you see?” The human looked up at the captain.
“I seen everything.” The human muttered, staring into the void. | 2020-07-14T00:28:01 | 2020-07-13T23:54:18 | 465 | 186 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.” | "Ah, Captain? Sir? You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. It's about ..."
"The warp. Yes, I heard a few of the other ... crewmembers? Is that the right term? I heard them talking."
"You're quite right. Here you are, a human with no military or any form of applicable training, achieving what other races have striven to accomplish for millennia, and here you are, an unremarkable example of a species only a year from their first contact."
"Well, we have ... training, of sorts. From great philosophers of our age."
"Please enlighten me."
"Best to show you. Let me get my phone ..."
"Still lugging those things about?"
"Sorry, just ... I'll just put through the audio ..."
*"Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,*
*And things seem hard or tough,*
*And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,*
*And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,*
*Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving*
*And revolving at 900 miles an hour...."*
"Musical philosophers?"
"Well, sometimes. They're called Monty Python." | 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-14T00:57:05 | 381 | 115 |
[WP] It was not long ago that "The Screech", a mysterious telepathic signal, spread across the galaxy, causing extreme discomfort to all telepathic-sensitive lifeforms. The intergalactic community finally discovers the source of the signal: radio waves being broadcasted by an undiscovered Earth. | "Sir, we believe we've translated the alien message. You're gonna want to see this."
President Harrington took the top secret document from the man and skimmed the techno babble to get to the deciphered message.
CEASE ALL RADIO BROADCAST. YOU ARE IN OUR MINDS. WE CANNOT SLEEP A HUNDRED YEARS.
"What do you think it means? Clearly is a command but is it a threat or a warning?" Harrington said, handing the paper back to the agent.
"The boys in xenoliguistics think it's a polite request. You are in our minds seems like a pleasant affectation. The bit about sleeping may be bragging over their recent advancements. We comply to show unity or deny to show strength is their recommended action."
"I think you can guess my answer."
...
"Did they stop?" Holdfertinax said as she tossed and turned in the crab hole.
"You can clearly tell they did not!" Xertamanis replied as the endless stream of voices continued vibrating through their minds.
Welcome to WJBX, home of the Milk Cow. *Moo sound* *squirt in bucket sound* WE HAVE THE MiLK! *moaning sound* We got a lot to talk about today, folks! I'm Teddy Fad, the latest and only, joined by rapper and part time yodeller, Fredrick T. Dominos. Let's hear it, T.D!
"We have no choice, Xertie. Prepare the domination engine."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | The cosmos was again a buzz. New life, was so close, yet so far. "TheScreech" was over 50 years ago. Today my team headed towards its origin. In a galaxy 3.14 light years away lays a little planet from which the bone chilling "screech" came from and everyone alive has a story of what they were doing at that moment. But it is the moments afterwards that we grew out of curiosity to explore. Today we are all focused on what is on this planet from which the "Screech " came.
As me and my team prepare ourselves to step out and greet what ever is out there we are somewhere between apprehensive but giddy with anticipation.
We know this is an earth-Like planet, with water rich ozone layer that our videos were unable to Penantrate.
The most disturbing part is that there has been no other communication since the initial "Screech ". We open the shuttle door and take the first glimpse of the planets surface and its wonders.
They are not wonders but a decaying wasteland of what was once probably a thriving industrial society much like our earth. There's a familiarity and I am overcome with a sense of dread. The more we explore the more my team comes to realize something is off.
We come upon a dilapidated structure, of a official looking build much like the one we left back home when we started this expedition. We roamed what was left of the halls for the cause, why was this earth so like the one we remembered but how.could it be it was so far away. Many of my crew were becoming iritated and desperate to find answers.
I was the one to find the "room", I regret finding the room. When I entered I was devastated to find a box that brought me full circle.
This is not a new earth but the one we had left, this was my room at headquarters. I don't understand it but I let out the most ethereal Screech I had ever heard one which would be heard everywhere. | 2021-04-05T04:43:27 | 2021-04-05T03:00:20 | 68 | 36 |
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