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] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. WMDs. | It was a tired, overused trope by now, canonized in hundreds of years of entertainment media: Humans winning wars against all odds and surprising the overconfident Big Bad Aliens who never expected them to bite back. A trope. For stories. Not something that happened in reality.
Our first contact went well enough. We’d launched a 30-year unmanned mission to [Sedna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/90377_Sedna), a dwarf planetoid in orbit around the sun that never came closer than triple Neptune’s distance from the sun--really, almost a speck of dust on the lens of our most powerful telescopes. It had a weird orbit, though, and some billionaire (whose name is lost to the annals of time) with a hair up his ass about space exploration decided to finance the mission to investigate it.
We slung a ton of metal covered in instruments at this speck of dust in the sky, because we were curious, and it’s what we do--fly out there, take some pictures, drop an impactor on the surface, and see what we can see. We’d done it to dozens of other bodies in the Solar System by that point, and this was no different other than the mission length.
We slung a ton of metal at a planet… and we missed. When the probe got close enough to make its final adjustment burns for the flyby… Sedna moved. It MOVED. We managed to turn towards it and get some pictures as our probe zoomed past, and what we saw changed everything.
Within a week, the entire planet knew something was happening, because Sedna lit up like a miniature sun and became the brightest star in the sky… and it didn’t take long for scientists to discover that it was lit up like that because its orbit was slowly adjusting; the calculated trajectory getting lower and lower by the day. Within a month, the trajectory crossed Earth’s orbit and abruptly Sedna was dark again.
It still took Sedna decades to get to Earth, of course, but the damage was done. The debate raged on about What It All Meant, and eventually, we decided to greet whomever it was in peace, reasoning that beings who have achieved interstellar travel could probably crush us into dust. That’s how, in a scant 75 years, we became members of a galactic community, known for our skills as diplomats, peacemakers, and savvy trading--especially for new technologies.
It was 75 years of unparalleled peace and prosperity on the old dirt ball. With so many opportunities and resources available off planet, we were able to put aside our warlike ways. For the length of a single human lifetime, there was no war. It couldn’t last, and it didn’t.
For all their alien appearance, the 17 other species we’d met so far in the galactic community were surprisingly human. They squabbled over territory, butted heads over philosophical differences, and generally got along. Military engagements were brief and limited in scope, because most of the political bodies had roughly equal armament and fleets.
As the new kids on the block, we were significantly weaker than everyone else, and that 75 year mark was the moment that one of the alien species--the ones who were piloting the ship we thought was Sedna--decided to assert its superiority over the human race and suborn us to their will.
They hit us with one of their brief and limited military engagements, expecting us to roll over and give them what they wanted… and we did, for a while, quietly mourning the deaths of the millions that had died so unexpectedly to the weapons of an ostensible friend.
Then the time came to hit back, and that’s when human beings discovered that even a lifetime of peace can’t breed the war out of our species. It took us about 10 years to develop our weapon, using nothing but Einstein’s cold equations and the substance we’d labored to create by the ton once given the secret of manufacturing it: antimatter.
In our distant past, we feared the heart of the atom and its awesome destructive power, but our most powerful nuclear bombs were a spark falling onto ice when compared with the simple expedient of crashing a bunch of anti-hydrogen into a bunch of normal hydrogen. And just like in that distant past, it only took two bombs to stop all the fighting.
The homeworld of those aliens, once a verdant green and blue, still glows red from the sleet of hard radiation that pounded its surface the day we detonated those bombs in its atmosphere. We killed every living thing on that planet and heated it into a ball of magma, and they were entirely unprepared for such an onslaught.
We’re not the new kids on the block anymore, and we’ve gone back to being the diplomats and peacemakers. We speak softly, but the big stick is always there if it’s ever needed again. | Lord Dunbar could not believe his eyes. The Planet Lo was there a moment ago, a loud bang, a shockwave felt in space and blinding flash, the entire planet was gone.
3 billion lives, extinguished... but how?
This was not the Lothrax's homeworld, it was a long established colony world, just on the outskirts of Lothrax territory, close by not to close. Lord Dunbar thought it strange that the human diplomat would request to meet here for surrender negotiations, but those would have to take a back seat until an explanation for this tragedy could be discovered.
"My lord, the Human Senator would like a word"
Tell him I am busy Thran, incase you hadnt noticed.
"Yes of course my Lord, its just.."
What is it Thran?
"The Senator just told me it was quite the pity what happened with Lo"
Lord Dunbar paused at this. How could the human know what happened? Hes been sequestered since his arrival....
"Thran! Send him in now!"
"Yes of course"
With that the Human senator walked in, he was a slender being Average human build and wildly unintimidating, and he was smiling.
"Lord Dunbar so good to meet you at last! I am Senator Davis from Earth as you know Ive been tasked with working out the surrender details, lets just get down to brass tacks shall we? Did you enjoy the matinee?"
Senator, I am not sure I follow? Matinee?
"Yes, the early show, it's a saying where I am from when something happens before a larger event its called the Matinee, in this case the total destruction of that piss bucket your people called Lo"
The rage that Dunbar was feeling was unbelievable, how dare this creature come into his chamber and mock the dead who havent even been dead an hour.
Who do you think you are Human? After all weve done to your people, you have the gall to come in here and mock our dead. You are lucky I havent ripped your head from your shoulders yet....in fact I have half a mind to call this whole thing off!
At that moment the Senator put his hand up. "Lord Dunbar, over the last 20 years your people have fought valiantly and true enough, the war for us is as good as lost, however I think I have an offer that may stay your hand at killing me.... at least for the moment."
Lord Dunbar nodded slowly
"Outstanding, you see Lord, my people have a troubled history. One we tried hard to escape from when we ventured into space. We purposely under armed our ships, to give the appearance of peacefulness, we stayed away from conflicts, always tugging that pacifist line. And yet some how, we still ended up in a war, as you know.
Well over the years we noticed a trend with your people... on the planets we conquered there was no apocalypse protocol, you all just fought, died, surrendered and that was that. Where as we fought and died, and destroyed everything. And thats was when our planners realized something...your species has no march to the sea."
March to the Sea Senator? Is that some folksy Human phrase?
"I suppose it is Dunbar, let me regale you with some of our history... several Hundred years ago a Human General called Sherman began what we call his March to the Sea during a civil war. Essentially, his strategy was to destroy every possible thing and kill everything that moved. Total destruction of the land, nothing left for the conquered or conquerors."
The hair on Lord Dunbars neck began to rise..."And this means what to me Davis? In a few months, maybe a year, there will be no humans left to care about your history!"
Senator Davis chuckled
"Well you see Lord, this is just one example of a tried and true human tactic, when the end looks likely, its best to just kill everyone and everything, either you win or you go down swinging. Lo, well whats left of it over there, was our test run. Weve been working on a new weapon, one that destabilizes the core of a planet and causes an irreversible chain of events that results in the cores implosion. A real planet killer"
The Lord couldnt believe what he was hearing.."this type of warfare is unheard of Senator! Its barbaric... devilish even! No one in the Galaxy has ever dared to unleash such devastation!?!?"
"Yes Lord, we know, infact we were delighted to realize that. You see we knew if it came to this we had a monopoly on total destruction. Right now on Xena, Lothra, Gall, and Basilica the same type of bomb sits, ready to detonate and end your civilization...permanently.
Lord Dunbar sat in silence... he has seen what this weapon can do...he just cant believe the Humans had pulled off this deception.
"Anyway, you see back on Earth the finals for my favorite sport are starting, so I really must be going. If youd be so kind...go ahead and contact your King and the Galactic Senate, let them know the war is over and the Lothrax will be unconditionally surrendering"
Lord Dunbar sat in stunned Silence...He had lost | 2021-07-04T18:36:34 | 2021-07-04T14:51:29 | 197 | 99 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?" | Such a fitting night for the end to come. A heavy rain, a loud storm and shiny lightnings to lit up the starless sky.
Azoth watched as a crack went up the brown walls of the manor under the mountain. The structure trembled, slabs fell, each bigger than the last.
In the middle of the room, Azoth saw the boulder from the corner of his eye. It split from the rock, went right for him.
Blood rushed out from his broken body, consciousness went and came back, showing a home about to be reduced to rubble.
As he lay dying, he smiled at the irony of the situation. Azoth the invincible, Azoth the unkillable, prophezised to live and rule forever. Prophezised.
Young and brash, Azoth never liked the idea of staying unknown forever. What of the stories? What of heroes? Why did Gods empower some nobody out of so many nobodies?
Azoth studied the stories, the lore, and fell on strange pattern. Witnesses believed heroes had been chosen, but small tidbits pointed out that this had been added to the story by the same witnesses. The rough drafts of the legends hinted at heroes choosing themselves, by playing a role until they could fit the words perfectly.
Azoth's power had come from understanding the true power of prophecies. No God ever came to the world to speak a fate and let it play out. The land Azoth walked on was a nexus in the middle of an eternal tsunami, no clear fate could be made out of it. Prophecies were not meant to be followed, they were meant to be caught on the fly and imitated.
*The great father will rise to the mountain and find his lair, he will cast the sun into shadows to prove his might, he will make the earth tremble to gather his penitents, and he will take upon himself their sins forever.*
Under the golden mask and cloak, Azoth's gruff voice gave an aura of violence and threat.
None had ever noticed that it was a woman masquerading as a man.
She laughed and coughed blood.
People believed Azoth to be a man, and so the part of the prophecy was fulfilled. She inhabitated a crack in the volcano at the center of the island, and learned the patterns of the magma. When it boiled too strong, she retreated in an inner chamber with a natural chimney, protected from smoke and ash. To the villagers, she was a raging spirit who bathed in magma and spit fire when angry. One day, she descended south and asked for some volunteers to turn the caverns into a proper manor.
They obliged. And thus, being the one fulfilling the prophecy the best, she became the father, giving absolution. Her imitation was so perfect, her life never ran out.
Wrinkles never came, wounds healed on their own.
After a life spent running after a prophecy, the prophecy was meeting her halfway.
This was her one and only power. She had seen through a hidden rule of the world. Age had given up on her, and magma was water she could bathe in. She had picked up a mantle and molded herself into it.
She hadn't been a bad ruler. Making sure the farms in the south traded their goods fairly, as did the miners and horse riders of the east.
But a bad run of eruptions had turned the mood sour. Word spread that she was too moody and violent to be a good leader. But good or bad, she was the de facto ruler, made immortal by a prophecy.
Who had spoken the words? Rumor would have you believe it's a god.
The cliché and typecast words made Azoth think it came from children.
And irony had come for her.
The land, despite the turmoil, had become quite rich. Prisoners and mercenaries were shipped in from overseas, given employ or tasked to find a way to kill Azoth.
A child made Azoth a god, it was fitting that a child made Azoth mortal again.
A prisoner, a stranger, was told by a young girl on the street that he would slay Azoth, so spoke the prophecy, if only he could make himself become accepted by the citizens.
A joke, a smile, that's all it took for the tale to take hold.
The prisoner showed himself leader of the new traders and the old clans, through hardships and trial, fulfilling traditions and understanding the society to gather all under his banner. Azoth could only watch.
Why try to kill the prisoner? He was doing the same as her. And she was too kind to blindly kill someone who thought to do good.
He climbed the mountain and fell. Bones broken.
When he knocked at the door the same day, Azoth knew the prophecy had taken such a hold that he, too, had met fate halfway through.
She was ready to give up. But words of battle had been added to the holy text. So they fought. And, naturally, she lost.
He had lifted the mask and seen her face. Surprise, and a hint of understanding came over his face. He too, would one day understand how he had done just good enough for fate to take a shine into him, simply because he was astute and lucky.
What would he do with the discovery? Share it, and risk the world go mad as holy books clash against holy books? Keep to himself, knowing how to truly be chosen, you had to be the perfect impostor?
Azoth gave a last laugh and died, happy that the burden had been passed onto another. | Defeating the Dark Lord wasn't hard. Of course, the real problem came after I returned to the camp where all those people who'd trained me and told me about the prophecy stumbled around like headless chickens. ''*There was no prophecy, we just told you that so you'd feel braver, have more confidence.*'' They all mill around anxiously and feel extremely confused. ''*How did you kill an immortal sorcerer!?*'' I smile. Ever since they fetched me from my village, I'd known something was wrong. Like there was a script to things, like this wasn't entirely real. I gripped my sword and turned to those supposedly wise and ancient masters who had instructed me. ''*What was the point of that. If you thought I was going to be unable to defeat the Dark Lord, then why did you send me to fight them?*'' They look at me with shocked faces. They'd all treated me like I was some sort of gullible and easily manipulated country bumpkin, and I'd gone along with it, wanting to see the end results. In truth, rather than the foolish but goodhearted hero I'd been playing at, I was quite different. So I'd accepted the invitation from the Dark Lord, one duel to determine the fate of the world. One duel to see whether the forces of oppression or freedom would carry the day. Because I'd discovered his secret weakness. Something that he could never have anticipated. A weapon from another world.
One of them, the supposedly good wizard Wonkelkin speaks up nervously. ''*Uh, well, we figured, that with a hero rising behind them, the people might overthrow the evil empire, and uh, bring freedom to the realm.*'' I glared at him, my eyes usually empty pools devoid of thought, had become like daggers pointing at these supposed masters. ''*That's bullshit and you know it.*'' Not waiting for them to respond I pulled out my father's old weapon. Instead of the fancy glittering magical self-cleaning sword they'd given me, I held aloft a weapon from another world. And I pulled the trigger. The good wizard and the wise masters screamed, as I unloaded an entire clip into the wizard's head. He was the most dangerous of them, with his magic. ''*I investigated, in secret, the whole arrangement behind the rebellion. My surprise was great when I discovered that it was a cover story, an attempt to quell a rebellion by making a fake prophecy; finding some naïve kid who'd fit the bill of being strong and handsome, and making them the leader of the uprising against the Dark Lord. Then once the ill-trained peasants see their hero struck down, they're demoralised and easily defeated by the legions of the dark lord, and you lot, the so-called wise masters, goes back to being the Council of Shadows, the primary government under the dark lord.*'' I laughed as the men around me reacted. The Council with shock at the revelation of their deception, my peasant soldiers and rebels with the devastating experience of their whole lives being false.
I wasn't an idiot. I investigated all manner of angles, how the wise masters had focused the rebellion under their command, through trickery and lies. How the money we used was swindled out of our hands, how it was all a plot to make the Council richer and further secure the Dark Lord's rule. ''*But nothing lasts forever.*'' I said as I reloaded my gun. ''*My father wasn't from our world. Oh no. He came out of some strange reality, from a city in another world. He was born in the city of Sheate-Etel, in the kingdom of Wa'shin Ton, a vassal kingdom to the Merican Empire. His weapon comes from his world, and he taught my mother and I the secrets of guns, and the making of bullets.*'' With precise shots, raining out from the gun, just as my father taught me, I killed the entire government of the Dark Empire. The Dark Lord had been protected, as no weapon, poison, disease, or incident borne of this world could ever kill him. Stunned, my naïve peasant allies flocked to me, the destroyer of deception, and the ender of the Dark Lord.
I promised them freedom, and I promised them justice. So I gave them the freedom they had hoped for, by slaying the Dark lord, and the justice they had not known they needed, by ending those who had deceived them, who had dragged them here to die in pain.
I remember the words I was taught. About the importance of liberty. And instead of proclaiming myself king, I summon the wisest of our people from across the crumbling empire. Our rich supporters, our fellow cadre leaders, and with the stories told to me by my father in my mind, we pen a declaration together. It takes many days to explain the premise of my idea, of my grand design. But in the end, with all the stories of the wise men that formed the lands my father came from, and the ideals of the peasant uprising, we succeed in creating our own Edict of Independence, and our own Constitution. Promising liberty, life, and the right to pursue happiness. Promising equality and justice for all. One nation, under justice and freedom.
There would still be remnants of the Dark Lord's forces, and his loyal cults, to fight. Challenges would come ahead, but as the great prophet Kennedy had stated in my father's world, we stand now on the edge of a new frontier, a frontier of new hopes and new challenges. We are determined to stand as an example, free and strong, to our world. And standing together as one, under a banner of stars, we would conquer the problems of disease, war, and the uncompromising tyranny standing against us. We cannot fail the trust of our world, its huddled masses yearning to breathe free, and we cannot fail to try.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2021-08-20T10:16:19 | 2021-08-20T09:48:36 | 1,213 | 179 |
[WP] You are a necromancer's apprentice. One of your most important jobs is holding down the revived bodies in their first moments alive again, while they scream and beg to go back. | I have gotten used to the dead bodies. They always stay in one place. The ones on either side of dead move around far too much. Just today one of the revived gnawed through it's leg and tried to hobble off, into the city. The gatekeepers are ever vigilant, and brought it back.
The not yet dead are generally smarter in their escape attempts, but are rarely willing to eat their own limbs off, so the attempts are decidedly less frequent. Instead they plead with me when I bring them their meals or flay their skin. Their offers do not tempt me, I shall find them much more appealing once they are dead.
Back, before I was the necromancer's apprentice, out in the city, the living mistreated me. The bastard child of the gravedigger was, when not beneath their notice, only an object of scorn. When I go out now, in the robe and skullcap of my office, they only pretend not to notice. They pretend to be calm when they see me, but my ghost whispers their fears in my ear.
Today is a day I have been waiting for. My bone polishing is impeccable, my embalming odorless, my spirit cocoons without leaks. After long scrutiny and years of practice, Master Hathon says that I have completed training in the care of the dead. I will finally join her in a transition ceremony, marking my rise to Senior Apprentice.
The transition chamber is brightly lit, with gaslamps evenly spaced around the circular room. Two of the younger apprentices have brought up the vessel, a fat middle aged man whom I recognized from the holding cells. He was securely strapped to the table, but I checked the straps while the younger apprentices watched, then waited while Master Hathon dismissed them.
She turned to me. "Apprentice Julia, what transition do you think would be most appropriate for this vessel?"
An easy question, since we'd been ordered to stuff him full of food and antiemetics for the past six weeks. "The vessel's adipose tissue makes it an ideal candidate for a ghoul. Or a bagarast if there was need for one, though if there was, I think we have a more appropriate candidate in holding cell sixteen."
"Just so. A ghoul it is, then. The mines can always use them. I will observe your setup."
I hurried about the room, pulling instruments from the drawers lining the walls. I had memorized the layout needed for this procedure, had cleaned and put away the instruments many times, but this was my first chance to do the setup myself.
It took me two tries to insert the tubes. When I worked the pumps the blood flowed out quickly. The vessel shuddered, but not for long. When the vessel was still, Master Hathon began her part of the ceremony, dipping fingers into the jar of blood to write the runes upon the vessel's skin. A ghoul ceremony does not take long, and Master Hathon ran through it with practiced grace. She finished by writing her name in runes on the chest of the ghoul, along with a serial number, then stood back to sing the final enchantment.
I positioned myself at the head of the vessel and waited. Its eyes reopened, the pupils quickly dilating until its sockets were completely black. I removed the gag to check for success and was greeted with the proper moan.
"Noooo— it was so peaceful. Let me back. Let me back." The ghoul struggled against the straps. I'd never seen a ghoul upset before.
Master Hathon looked at me. "Complete the binding apprentice. You know the words."
I spoke the words of power. "Calm, ghoul, and obey. Be true and obedient in your service and you shall go back when released. We are your only path back to that place."
When the ghoul's eyes glazed over, I smiled. Another faithful servant had been born.
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | Dusting the ash off my coat with a “*sigh*, another one.”
The boss nags from behind, “Esteban! We’re losing moonlight! Get a new body on the slab asap while I gather mana for the next spell!”
Blood rushes to my head “Old man this is the 12th one tonight how about calling it quits and trying again another day! You keep pumping the stiffs with mana and I get a bigger mess to clean up!”
“Silence boy!” The boss spits. “You’re 100 years too early to mouth off to me! I’ll have you know I’ve quite the pedigree in the dark arts!” He says proudly.
Furrowing my brow and hauling another body on the rune etched slab, “in destruction maybe but necromancy clearly isn’t your forte’ why don’t you stick to lightning bolts and fireballs and leave the stiffs to the pros? 100 years too late for a mid life crisis don’t you think?”
I turn around to a man at peace unlike the hate filled crone he was a second ago he’s praying, communing with mana to grant him power and give life to this wretched abomination.
Flakes of blue light gather in his hands. The wind gently swirls kicking up ash as it dances in the moons pale light shining down on the corpse.
It’s beautiful in a way if not for what happens next. I hear a spark and the smell of embalming fluid is overtaken briefly by the musty smell of rain.
I dive out the way onto the ground, a pile of ash softening my fall.
“POOOOOWEEER!!!!!” The old man shoots lightning from his fingertips onto the corpse.
“OVERWHELMING POOOOWEEEER!”, he amps the voltage. The runes ablaze with energy, and then the violent crackles are replaced by a melodious hum.
I get up to see the corpse still intact for a better lack of a term, a-little char here and there but not bad, not bad, major improvement. But had he done it, finally?
The Boss glides to my side hand on my shoulder “13th times the charm dear boy.” Excitement in his voice.
The corpses eyes jut open electric blue fills the irises with life. I dive toward it as it screams trying to break away from my hold.
The corpse screams, “NOOOOO! What is this!? Why did you bring me back!?”
The boss approaches “kind sir welcome back I have graced you with a second chance at life and now that I have helped you I would like you to help me.”
“My pet gargoyle, Zuzu which I’m certain you’ve been acquainted with and the cause of your untimely end may have been in the area of your death. If you would be so kind as to point us in the direction of your town we would certainly be happy to drop you off on the way.”
The corpse grows violent, “Your pet did this?! Well I got news for you I ain’t goin’ back! They collected from me once fed my intestines to your pet, hollowed me out and left a nasty surprise where they used to be and they ain’t getting a cent outta me again, kill me!”
A smile creeps across the bosses face, “kind sir if it’s bandits your worried about we are more than qualified to handle them in exchange for your service.”
The corpse let’s out a mocking laugh, “good luck but I learned my lesson already a group of bandits, ok but messing with the IRS nooooo thank you!
The corpse jerks on a string hanging from the outside of his stitched stomach, I hear the faint sound of a tick.
“Head east, follow the moss on the side of the rocks, good luck.” Another tick.
Esteban get down! I’m snatch back quickly. The corpse explodes in a blaze of blue. The boss protects us with an unseen force, its shape being betrayed by the dance of moonlit ash filling the room.
The ash settles and the boss strokes his beard deep in thought muttering and shivering “IRS…”
“Esteban” he utters with a sullen tone. I’ve never heard him like this.
“Yes sir?”
“Prepare a homing pigeon, we’re gonna need some help.” | 2022-04-11T09:49:42 | 2022-04-11T07:54:10 | 63 | 23 |
[WP] The alien invaders were confident. Their personal shield tech had withstood all enemies and types of energy weapons. Then they landed on Earth and found the shield's fatal flaw: Solid Projectiles. | Nearly all species follow a similar trajectory in their evolution of warfare: first, you hit something. Then you find a more efficient way of hitting it. Eventually you realize the most efficient way to hit something is by removing the mass from that equation and using pure energy. This was what the Twii had planned for, and their shielding technology was unparalleled.
Unfortunately, humans had a different approach: first, you hit something you don't like. Then you hit it harder. Then you repeat until your enemy is a bloody paste.
The Twii did not know this when they appeared in the skies over Earth and demanded surrender, tribute, and servitude. Humanity was given one hour. Twenty-two minutes later they tendered a response: a six-ton tungsten rod, moving at seventy percent of the speed of light, placed through the flagship's bridge.
It turned out mass was part of the equation after all. More importantly, humans - after centuries of developing nuclear weapons - had developed substantial energy shielding technologies of their own. Human structures shed EMP, plasma, and laser assaults like water as projectiles tore the Twii fleet apart.
Less than a week later the Twii, for the first time in their species' history, offered surrender. The human delegate, unaware of the magnitude of their victory, accepted it with a smirk and the first words spoken by mankind to another species:
"Guess rock beats laser, huh?" | The Grand Empire was ruled by Emperor Skirmik. He took power over thirty thousand years ago, and he made the Grand Empire what it was today. He conquered half the galaxy, subjugated hundreds of species, even began colonization of other galaxies. What is happening now, well, it is most likely the end of the Grand Empire.
Humanity was taken by surprise, a Grand Armada, consisting of thousands of ships, was hovering above Earth. There was only one message sent, in perfect English, "Three days to surrender."
Well, we did not respond, instead we began mobilizing our militaries, calling in reserves, and doing everything we can. Three days later, the Armada began a barrage of plasma obliterating any major storage or any other military installation. Our airforces and major stockpiles were obliterated.
Then, the sky darkened, millions of dropships, each with a tank-like vehicle and a dozen infantry fell to Earth. We were ready. Everyone fought, gangs opened fire, militaries began shooting, armed civilians did their things. And the Imperial troops were turned into swiss cheese.
The Empire never met another species with such technologies, some more primitive species used bow and arrow, but other species had either lazer or plasma, which their shields, both personal and larger, could stop.
Soon, the forces of the Empire were gone, and we even shot down a couple smaller ships which got too close. And so, we began reverse-engineering. Their shields were surprisingly easy to understand. Their plasma and lazers were mostly unneeded, but the most importand thing, how did they move though space efficiency? They manipulated gravity, tore wormholes, and all that was powered by their outside energy capture devices, which were able to harvest energy from outside the Universe.
And so, Humanity, with our guns, went to space, and now we are near the Imperial Homeworld, and it shall be gone. | 2022-07-23T07:31:27 | 2022-07-23T05:42:06 | 600 | 141 |
[WP] The alien invaders were confident. Their personal shield tech had withstood all enemies and types of energy weapons. Then they landed on Earth and found the shield's fatal flaw: Solid Projectiles. | Nearly all species follow a similar trajectory in their evolution of warfare: first, you hit something. Then you find a more efficient way of hitting it. Eventually you realize the most efficient way to hit something is by removing the mass from that equation and using pure energy. This was what the Twii had planned for, and their shielding technology was unparalleled.
Unfortunately, humans had a different approach: first, you hit something you don't like. Then you hit it harder. Then you repeat until your enemy is a bloody paste.
The Twii did not know this when they appeared in the skies over Earth and demanded surrender, tribute, and servitude. Humanity was given one hour. Twenty-two minutes later they tendered a response: a six-ton tungsten rod, moving at seventy percent of the speed of light, placed through the flagship's bridge.
It turned out mass was part of the equation after all. More importantly, humans - after centuries of developing nuclear weapons - had developed substantial energy shielding technologies of their own. Human structures shed EMP, plasma, and laser assaults like water as projectiles tore the Twii fleet apart.
Less than a week later the Twii, for the first time in their species' history, offered surrender. The human delegate, unaware of the magnitude of their victory, accepted it with a smirk and the first words spoken by mankind to another species:
"Guess rock beats laser, huh?" | "Marine, report!!" The El'tee glanced around the squad of Marines gathered around the small tablet computer, the screen showing an aerial view of the dense forest nearby with strange structures that appear not from this world. The Marines all appear calm and focused under the layer of camouflage paint on their faces, weapons held comfortably tucked out of the way of the small screen.
"LT, They appear to be settling in for the night. They have posted sentry and are very aggressive. They startled a deer and it was shot by five different creatures before it could take two steps. They then left it where it fell. I tried a targeting laser on the command structure and on one of the sentries but it bounced away and was scattered. Useless for guiding in an air strike. But they are still slapping at Mozzies so what ever is scattering the laser is letting something through. " the heavily camouflaged scout points to several points on the tablet screen. " Sentries posted here, here,here and two over there, automatic defence turret here. Comand structure here, power source here, don't shoot that, Latrines over here. Appears to be cooking tent here. Smells pretty damn good, at least compared to the MREs" a few quiet chuckles erupt.
" Damn Sneaker, did you get them to give you a glass of scotch and a cigar with the commander while you were there? And of course it smells better than the MRE's, my boots smell more appetising than the MRE's most nights. OK, we ambush the camp from the west side, Reaper and Mouse snipe the sentries and then we take them out from the gully along the side of the camp. Make sure you keep your heads down." the el'tee picks up the tablet and tucks it away into his pack as the rest of the unit melt away into the darkness. | 2022-07-23T07:31:27 | 2022-07-23T05:49:51 | 600 | 138 |
[WP] "The trees move, stick to the path do not stray, and don't stare. If you make eye contact don't acknowledge them. If you feel you are being followed don't turn around. They have eyes. No one is behind the trees." You both read the warning when entering the forest but only one of you listened. | "There are no words to fully summarize how dumb of an idea this is."
Dennis continued to set up the tent regardless as he fired back, "And yet you're out here with me all the same."
I rolled my eyes as I tossed another marshmallow into my mouth. "First of all, you threatened to tell Sister Isabel about my crush on her. Second of all, I don't understand how you're so casual about this after that warning you saw. It was a full paragraph, dude! Most cryptic warnings barely go over two sentences!"
Dennis finished off the tent and plopped down next to me. "Look, Abby, it's just one night. I need to win this bet, okay? And quit hogging the marshmallows."
I handed the bag to Dennis and stood up to say, "Alright, I'm gonna take a piss. And the next time you try to get a girl's number, don't back yourself into the corner of camping in the setting for the next big slasher film franchise." Dennis flipped me off as I wandered through the woods to find a good spot.
It took me forever to find a place to do my business--the treetops practically sucked up any ambient light and my flashlight was absolute crap. But I eventually found a spot and relieved myself. As I put my belt back into place, I looked ahead of me and froze. Staring back at me was a pair of eyes, visible in the darkness like in cartoons.
I remembered the sign said not to stare, so I forced myself to blink like usual. As I recalled that the sign also said not to acknowledge them (whoever the sign was referring to, anyway), so I did my best to ignore the mystery person. But as I turned around to head back to the campsite, I banged my hand on a nearby tree and hissed, "Damnit!"
A woman's voice replied, "Are you ok?'
"Yeah, I'm fine, I don't think I--" I clapped my hands over my mouth. The voice was coming from the darkness--I had *acknowledged* them. I tried to run and call out for Dennis, only for some invisible force to yank me further into the woods.
I was spit out into a clearing ringed with trees that had a swimming hole in the middle. As I got up and brushed the dirt off of me, I heard rustling in the forest. I hesitantly turned around to see dozens of women coming towards me. As they got closer to me, I began to notice their skin had shades of green and yellow, their ears were pointed, and all of them were wearing clothes made out of leaves, bark, and plants. The sign said there was no one behind the trees. Didn't say anything about people *in* the trees.
The nymphs congregated around me as one of them approached me with a seemingly friendly smile. "Hi there, I'm Willow. Sorry to be so rough. Seriously though, is your hand okay?"
I realized that this was the person that I had spoken to seconds ago. I backed up to the very edge of the swimming hole as I responded, "Yeah, it's fine. Why, do you need your sacrifices or whatever to be completely uninjured?"
The nymphs laughed. Willow placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "Easy, girl. There's no sacrifice of any kind here. You're not in danger, I promise."
"Then what was the deal with that creepy-ass sign?"
"We set that up a while ago. Keeps most folks from discovering us, though there's the occasional slip up. In this case, you."
I gulped, unsuccessfully eased by Willow's explanation. "So...what are you going to do to me?"
Willow glanced behind me at the swimming hole. "Well, we can't have you blabbing to folks about our existence, so we're gonna dunk you in there to turn you into one of us. Trust me, you're gonna love it. We have outdoor concerts, huge parties, all the fruits and vegetables you can stomach, giant deer you can ride like a horse, orgies, fantastic wine--"
"Whoa, wait, what was that last one?"
"Wine? Oh, oh, you meant the orgies! Yeah, we, uh, do that a lot. We are *Greek* myths, after all."
I fell silent for a few seconds before turning around and cannonballing directly into the swimming hole. | I was carrying a bag full of photography equipment, food, and water. Including our tent, the bag was heavier than expected. I was not used to camping, but Jake had the plan - let’s go a forest, let’s make some crazy video, let’s go viral.
Jake was straight behind me with his own heavy bag and a head full of ideas.
“Mike, you know. Even if we don’t see anything scary, we can make something up. Do you know how dark it is in the forest at night? And the sounds the animals make? I’ve read that deers sound like women screaming for help. The potential is huge!”
I just nodded in approval, knowing that the closest city was at least 150 miles away. We left our car in the parking thirty-forty minutes ago. There was nobody here, we were utterly alone, with no civilization around us. I strolled, listening to Jake’s babbling and thinking about what I got myself into.
Following the sandy, brown road, we encountered a wooden sign. Jake read it out loud, “The trees move, stick to the path, do not stray, and don't stare. If you make eye contact, don't acknowledge them. If you feel you are being followed, don't turn around… the fuck is this?” he said, almost laughing. “Seems that not only we had this idea to come here! Let’s go, maybe we will find some more hints, maybe we will meet… someone,” he lowered his voice, thinking it was funny.
But I did not want to laugh. I was not easily scared, but now I could not calm my thoughts.
“That’s not funny, man. Somebody put that sign here. If the guy is watching us from afar, hoping we break the rules?” I said, trying to keep my composure.
We were not big guys - definitely not the type that could defend themselves, not to mention fight against some crazy killer.
“You watch too many horror movies, chill out,” he replied, completely relaxed. Just as if we were not in the middle of nowhere, with no guns and no phone reception, “somebody put this sign as a joke long ago. It did not even look new. And we did not hear about any people disappearing here, didn’t we?”
Did we? I was unsure, but I would remember if anything strange was mentioned. We chose the place randomly by searching blogs and photos online. Jake wanted something that would look good on camera. I don’t even remember the reason why we took this spot specifically.
The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. We followed the road, found a perfect spot, and set up the tent. For the whole time, I was paranoid about the serial murderer watching us from behind the trees, and I swear I could see some movement. But Jake calmed me down and explained it with birds or rodents. And he was probably right - just the trees, the atmosphere, and the Sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon worked on my imagination.
In the evening, we turned on our flashlights and prepared tripods. We had two rented cameras - they cost me a whole month of my part-time earnings - but I trusted Jake. He promised the return would be almost immediate. Supposedly, our cameras gathered more light than the human eye - they could see what humans cannot notice.
“So, let’s go that way. I think the mountain with a full moon in the background will look incredible,” said Jake. But he pointed at a spot without a road, and I could feel that someone was watching. And I remembered the sign.
“Nah, man, that’s not the best idea. What if we get lost? Or fall down into a hole or some shit?” I asked, trying not to show what my real worries were, but I was never good at lying.
“You are still afraid of the sign, aren’t you? I guess that’s a good background for our video, anyways. And you look funny when you are scared.”
Jake did not wait for my answer. He turned around and started climbing the hill. I couldn’t see the top of it, but I knew fewer trees were on top. I tried to think of the beautiful view we would encounter there, but I couldn’t. I felt the eyes. I felt the presence.
Then, my flashlight turned off. I screamed and rushed towards the spot I’d seen Jake last time. The brunches of the tree started cutting my skin, but I kept on running. I could feel he was close behind. Ready with his blade. Waiting for me to stop.
I fell down, my leg entangled in roots. The ground was wet, sticky, and unpleasant. I could feel a faint smell of iron, but the darkness was impenetrable. I could not see anything. I grabbed my camera and looked around. The sky, the moon, the stars.
I felt a cold touch, and I started screaming. | 2022-11-12T08:47:18 | 2022-11-12T06:16:57 | 68 | 13 |
[WP] Once a year the world hosts an annual superpower lottery, where one lucky person gets a superpower of their choice. This year the winner was dumber than a bag of rocks. | "Oh my!! A child!! It's been a while since we've had such a young winner!!" exclaimed the announcer. "Now don't be scared young lady, what's the power that you've always wanted?"
"Well," the young girl began, "I want the power to make things come to me."
"The power to summon things? I think the judges understand what you are saying, but please give us a little explanation so we can be sure."
"Hmm, well if I want my teddy, I can call out for it and he will come to me."
"Ok then! A fine choice young lady. So now that you have the ability summon objects, what are you going to move to you first?"
The little girl then called out "Come to me teddy!" A soft white teddy bear came flying out of the distance and deposited itself next to the new winner. The little girl then burst into tears.
"What's wrong?!? Didn't your wish work?" asked the announcer.
"I'm just so happy that I can finally see my mom again and show her my teddy!"
"Why couldn't mom see your teddy before?"
"She went away after daddy and I went a place called a hospital. Then daddy said mommy had to leave us and go to the moon. So now I will finally be able to see mommy again!" exclaimed the young girl through tears.
"WAIT!!!!" shouted the announcer. But he was far too late, for the little girl had already begun her next call.
"Come to me, Moon!" | The crowd hushed as a short, stocky man walked onto the stage.
"I'm 671724425."
The announcer smiled and extended his hand to shake. "Congratulations, what's your name?"
"Uh," the man reached out and shook. "I don't know yet?"
"You don't know?" The announcer paused for a second. "Oh, not your super-hero name, son, your given name."
"Oh, I'm Kip."
"Kip, congratulations! What super hero power would you like?"
Kip scratched his chin for a second. "Can I tell you in private?"
The announcer smiled again and nodded. He'd had many people want to reveal it to the world by actually doing it. He leaned in and waited for Kip to speak.
"I," Kip whispered away from the microphone, "want to be able to move the clouds."
"What?"
"I want to move the clouds and shape them and stuff."
The announcer leaned back a bit, puzzled look on his face. "Why? What possible reason-"
"Hey, I get to pick anything!"
The announcer sighed and nodded. He pulled out a walkie talkie and radioed in the power. After a quick confirmation over the power in question, the vial was ready.
"Here it is folks!" The announcer had the vial in his hands, walking it to Kip over the crowd's cheers.
He pulled out the syringe and loaded it up. Carefully, he injected the vial in Kip's arm. He went through 8 months of nursing school just to be the one who could inject the thing, but he never did it himself until this year. "Done."
The crowd's cheers got louder as Kip stood up.
Chants went out. *Use the power. Use the Power*
Kip closed his eyes and the crowd went silent. He opened them and looked up, laughing like a child.
Questions could be heard from the crowd, like 'what'd he do?'.
The announcer looked up and sighed.
A cloud shaped like a bunny was hopping in place. | 2014-05-25T13:06:57 | 2014-05-25T12:35:47 | 129 | 44 |
[WP] Almost every year, the house on the left gets new occupants. Today you find out why. | It's that time of the year -- almost down to the day, every year. They'd move out in a huge hurry, leaving no trace and never to show their faces again. Some years the house would sit empty for two to three months, and other years new occupants would take their place immediately, moving in with equal hurry. It's like they were all following some sort of unsaid schedule.
But somehow these people always turned out the same. They were almost never seen during the day, and at night they would make these horrible noises. Sometimes strange smells would drift downwind from their windows, like they were burning something inside. On rare occasions that they were seen in daylight, they would invariably look dazed, sometimes with eyes bloodshot, hardly able to string two words together. They'd wander around aimlessly with blank looks on their faces, like they were just biding time until nightfall, when they could all congregate again and engage in whatever rituals they engaged in. Cops were called to the house a couple times, but nothing ever came of it.
The landlord never came by, and the house was an eyesore. I couldn't even imagine what the inside looked like. None of the occupants gave a shit. It's like they knew they'd have to leave soon anyway, like the house is just a way station to some desolate future.
One day I finally couldn't take it anymore. I look the owner up in the town registry and called her. She was about to hang up on me but seemed to suddenly ease up when she realized I wasn't one of her tenants. We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I asked.
"Look, it's none of my business, but what the hell goes on in your house?"
"Oh, I rent to college students, almost all one-year leases. Sometimes two." | The families always seem normal when they first move in. Smiling faces followed by large moving trucks. The family last year had three full U-hauls – I still can’t figure out where all that furniture went.
Every year the house goes back up on the market, like clockwork. My parents say the house price is always a steal. The house is an old Victorian placed up on a hill, like something out of a Hitchcock film. The paint on the outside is always bright an inviting, and the stain glass windows glow just right when the sun sets. Rumor goes that some eccentric millionaire built it.
This last summer I saw the realtor put the For Sale sign back into the lawn. He always puts it in the same spot, that patch of grass never really gets a chance to grow. He took a long look up at the house, wiped his brow and got back into his truck. I could feel the curiosity crawling under my skin. I had to figure out what happens to all those families.
I waited until night fell to enter the house. I opened the front door and a sweet smell escaped into the dark night. The house was inviting me inside. I felt a warmth swell up from deep inside my body. The moonlight crept in through the stained glass windows. The house was beautiful – it really was a steal. Warm cherry wood floors, elegant furniture, drapes that gave the place a sort of regal feel. Where was this sweet smell coming from? I discovered a set of stairs leading down. The smell permeated from under the door. I couldn’t help myself and I followed the steps. It was even warmer downstairs. I felt a drop of sweat move down my forehead. The basement was completely dark, with the exception of a glowing ember further in the distance. Like a moth drawn to the flame I followed. Was there a gentle slope downward? How far away was this warmth, I know I was getting closer. By now my shirt was soaked in sweat, but the air was so sweet down here. Then I realized what I was looking at. It was the heart of the house; a massive furnace was tucked all the way down here. It’s flames beat with a memorizing cadence. I knew what I had to do. The house was such a steal. I needed to give myself to the flame.
| 2014-08-05T11:09:17 | 2014-08-05T09:51:36 | 293 | 84 |
[WP] Almost every year, the house on the left gets new occupants. Today you find out why. | It's that time of the year -- almost down to the day, every year. They'd move out in a huge hurry, leaving no trace and never to show their faces again. Some years the house would sit empty for two to three months, and other years new occupants would take their place immediately, moving in with equal hurry. It's like they were all following some sort of unsaid schedule.
But somehow these people always turned out the same. They were almost never seen during the day, and at night they would make these horrible noises. Sometimes strange smells would drift downwind from their windows, like they were burning something inside. On rare occasions that they were seen in daylight, they would invariably look dazed, sometimes with eyes bloodshot, hardly able to string two words together. They'd wander around aimlessly with blank looks on their faces, like they were just biding time until nightfall, when they could all congregate again and engage in whatever rituals they engaged in. Cops were called to the house a couple times, but nothing ever came of it.
The landlord never came by, and the house was an eyesore. I couldn't even imagine what the inside looked like. None of the occupants gave a shit. It's like they knew they'd have to leave soon anyway, like the house is just a way station to some desolate future.
One day I finally couldn't take it anymore. I look the owner up in the town registry and called her. She was about to hang up on me but seemed to suddenly ease up when she realized I wasn't one of her tenants. We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I asked.
"Look, it's none of my business, but what the hell goes on in your house?"
"Oh, I rent to college students, almost all one-year leases. Sometimes two." | “Let's go play over there,” Billy said.
“Uh-uh. Mommy says not to go to the house on the left.”
“But it looks like they're having a party!”
“They do that lots. Sometimes new people move in. I ask Mommy. She say, ‘That person stay there now.’” Susan laughed. “I never see them though. They have lot of parties.”
“Come on. It looks like our Moms are going to be talking forever. Let's go see what the party is all about.” Billy looked down at Sally with his best I'm-six-and-you're-four look. “I know better, it will be fun!” Sally shugged her shoulders. After all, Billy *was* six. The two of them opened the gate in the backyard and walked over to the house on the left.
“It's been a while since I heard the kids, I'm going to go check on them,” Sally's mom said.
Billy's mom smiled, “Quiet is never a good sign.” The pair stepped out of the kitchen into the backyard.
“Hrm.” Sally's mom brow furrowed, not quite worried but not pleased either. “They appear to have escaped.”
The mothers opened the gates and look up and down the alley. The brief search ends as Billy's mom spies the children playing near the house on the left.
“Oh dear!” Billy's mom gestures toward the children exasperatedly.
A man in a suit is standing near Sally and Billy. “Do you know where you Mommy is?” he asks.
“Over there!” Sally points at her rapidly approaching mother.
“You'd better go see her.” The children run to their respective mothers.
They all walk back to the backyard. “I told you never to go play at the house on the left. They don't like visitors.”
Billy looks at his mom. “But Sally says they have lots of parties. They must like visitors.”
“Well, they might have visitors sometimes, but you aren't invited, so you need to stay away from there. Those people don't want to be bothered.”
Billy still looks puzzled. “I heard the man say his home was special.”
“Oh?” his mother asks.
“What is a Funeral Home?”
**Edit:** Cleaned up the wording as suggested. I had to add some details and sentences to imply things that had gotten underspecified by removing repetition. Also fixed annoying tense issues. | 2014-08-05T11:09:17 | 2014-08-05T10:49:08 | 293 | 10 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | You put down your phone, exasperated.
"DAVE YOU MOTHERFUCKER ITS FOUR IN THE MORNING." You yell into the wall to your right, not hard as your bed is right up against it. Opposite you your television you left on was quietly blaring the same message you saw on your phone moments ago.
Through the slits in the blinds on your window you see bright lights passing by. You glance at the television once more.
*Do not look outside.*
You get up, shivering slightly, as you slide from under the covers and walk over to the door that connects your room with Dave's.
"Dave? You home?"
You didn't really expect an answer but you go into his room, just to make sure. Dave's room is a mess. But you knew that. His bed, however, was very well made. Dave works the graveyard shift at some gas station so you don't see around often-- or awake.
As you ponder to yourself you hear yelling from outside, as well as sirens. Not different from the usual, considering where you live. You move from Dave's room to the common room, the shouting drawing you to the window where you could look down from your second story balcony.
There are no blinds to your balcony door. You see none of the lights that you saw when you were in your room.
Your phone buzzes again.
*Do not look at the sky.*
You can see the sky, almost, from where you stand. Curiosity takes you and you stroll up to the window to get a better look at what all the fuss is about. The sky is disappointingly boring. Can't see stars in a big city. More yelling from down the street.
*Do not make noise.*
You open the glass sliding door to your balcony and step outside into the cold winter air.
The commotion stops, suddenly, almost reacting to you coming outside. You inch forward, slowly cresting the lip of the balcony. You look down.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEAN! | 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:10:44 | 565 | 177 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | It's four. It's fucking four in the morning. What kind of bullshit could be this urgent.
I thought while getting my groggy legs out of bed. Then Slipping on the slippers and donning my reading glasses. The morning ritual, five hours too early. My baggy eyes attest to that.
I turn on the lights. Stumble downstairs to grab myself a cup of coffee. The place is small, but comfortable enough. A tiny kitchen in the rear. living room with a table in the center and one large window on the front side.
Thankfully, the curtains are still closed, so I suppose my life is safe from the dastardly supervillains in the sky now.
If you're going to warn us of some impending peril, why not attach some specifics so there'd be less panic? Is screen space that limited? It makes no sense at all.
I bet it's all a hoax anyways. The government wouldn't do something like this with no rationale. They'd get too much flak for it.
Still, I'm a little anxious. Can't help it, it's only human.
I brush aside the curtain, and
....
......
........
............
Nothing
Fucking nothing.
The same old neighborhood. The same old streets and houses, stretching into a dark, starry night.
Knew it. Dunno what I was expecting, got all worked up for nothing.
I pull up a chair, sip my coffee and sit my sleep deprived ass down.
Don't make noise. Don't look outside. Or so goes the prank.
Well that made zero fucking sense, if you think about it. It's 3:45 AM. The entire country is asleep. Wouldn't have budged an inch if not for that warning waking me up in the first place.
The sky turns neon green. | 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:35:41 | 565 | 19 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | The parishioners shuffled into the cathedral and huddled beneath the dim light offered by the few, sparsely lit torches. Luminal quartz would have been preferred for lighting, since its light was less harsh, but decades of use had depleted their supplies and nobody had yet found more.
The quiet murmuring waned to nothing as the deacon made his presence known at the podium, an outcropping of carved basalt beneath the Tenets.
"Brave brothers and sisters," came the deacon's throaty whisper, "Let us pray and extol the virtues of survival as the holy hour comes to pass."
Pale faces and wide, dull eyes rose up in the crowd to peer at the tablet above the deacon, carved with the Warning.
As one, the crowd read aloud, "*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately*."
The deacon replied, "Family and community are of the utmost importance. What is good for all is good for one."
"*Do not look outside*."
"Inward reflection provides spiritual nourishment. The soul is diminished when it reaches beyond itself."
"*Do not look at the sky.*"
"The Earth shelters the worthy, just as it struck down the Unworthy before our forefather's flight beneath the ground."
"*Do not make noise*."
"Silence and obedience ensures our survival. Though we may live deep beneath Those that Roam Above, we must be eternally cautious."
"*Your cooperation is vital to your survival*."
"What is good for all is good for one. Let us observe the silence of the Holy Hour."
The deacon's attendants, each carrying an ancient numeral, ceremonially stepped forward from the back and stood in a row as the deacon made his way through the crowd, blessing bowed heads.
At the end of the ceremony the parishioners left in silence, averting their gaze from the emblazoned three, five and four above the exit, reminding them that though the service had ended, their vigilance must not. | 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:48:35 | 565 | 19 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | When I was a very little girl we had a garden. I used to 'help' my Mum out there. What I was actually doing was getting dirty and falling over a lot, but I thought I was helping anyway.
A few months after my seventh birthday, my Mum died. It was the worst winter we'd ever had, and she got a very severe case of pneumonia. That same year, our garden died. A day before her funeral, I wished that I could make flowers grow. So that I could make our garden full again. For her.
It worked. I got my wish, and I tended that garden until I moved out after high school. Now, I'm a florist. I own a little shop just down the road from my old house. I'm living there again, now that my father has passed. The garden needed a lot of work when I moved back, but I managed.
This year, like all the years before it, I go to the cemetery on the anniversary of my Mum's death and on the anniversary of my Dad's.
This year, like every year, I scatter seeds on their graves and let flowers of every colour grow. | John's eyelids flutter and he slowly comes to. At first the man is groggy and doesn't take notice of his surrounding - the white walls, the smell of medicine and the beeping of a heart rate monitor. But after a few seconds pass, he realizes where and why he is.
*Fuck* he mutters to himself quiet as not to wake up his mother who is sleeping on the chair by his bed, all snuggled up under her coat.
The clock on the wall shows that it just past midnight and in a way that gives John relief. *At least the worst day of my life is over.*
It started out like such a regular day. Wake up at seven. Go to work at eight. Leave work at five. Up until that point the worst thing that happened was overhearing a fat joke about himself, but he was used to those because he was overweight and had been since his childhood. And then he got home. His wife started to cry and scream and called him a fat fuck, told him that she couldn't stand him no more and was having an affair, and was leaving. This part gets a little fuzzy. John recalls running after her on the street... The dark street, and then impact.
His stomach rumbles.
John removes his covers with the hand that isn't in a cast and glances at his hospital pajamas. The bottoms have pockets.
He takes something out of one of the pockets. After quietly unwrapping the paper, John is chowing down on the chocolate, teary-eyed.
*Fucking Mars bars,* he mutters. | 2015-03-07T03:34:38 | 2015-03-07T01:52:00 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | It's getting worse. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it. I can't have another incident at work, I just can't, I'm in enough trouble as it is.
"Are you even listening to me?" my boss yelled.
As I opened my eyes, it happened. In an instant, a flash of an image of a clown popped into my head, and just like that, my boss transformed in a puff of smoke into full blown clown-gear.
"No no no no, you did NOT just... This again!? I just paid a girl to get my hair back the way I like it!" he screamed as he stormed out of the office to the bathrooms.
He's referring to the birthday party last week we held for Tina in HR. My boss, Mr. Johnson, was having a bit of fun at my expense in front of everyone. He thinks it's how you make someone feel welcome. I'm not sure if it was my subconscious or what, but without even thinking much about it, I transformed him into a clown right then and there in front of everyone.
I used to think it was me who controlled it. You don't mess with little Ricky Wood, he'll turn your ass into a clown! That's the ability I wished for on my 8th birthday, and somehow it came true. All the bullying I got for being smaller than the other kids, all the constant nagging from adults to do better at school or sports, it created quite a little problem child. If someone was making me mad, all it took was for me to picture them as a clown and BOOM, there they were, adorned head to toe in the finest clown accessories my mind could imagine. It straightened people right up, but by high school, it had become a serious problem. I transformed poor Susie Smith into a clown on the dance floor at prom. All the people in the world, and the one girl who's brave enough to go to prom with the clown warlock, the one girl who my heart longed to be with, I turned into a bright honking clown!
"You know what? I'm leaving it on, all of it." Mr. Johnson explained as he returned to his office. "Maybe if I'm already dressed like this, your mind powers, whatever they are, they'll skip over me."
"I think it's worth a try, I suppose?" I whimper in response.
As I watched him honk back to his desk, the sight of him compounded the issue and triggered another image in my mind. With another puff of smoke my boss now pushed the boundaries of what it meant to be called a clown. His rainbow colored afro poofed to quadruple it's size, his shoes grew longer, the honk they made as he walked got louder, his bright orange suit now had confetti and bells all over it, and his pants fell around his ankles.
"Or something like this could happen." He calmly said while staring off into the distance. "Rick, you're fired."
I knew it was coming. These poor people have put up with enough. Since day one my power has been viewed as a disability. Some people would get angry about being transformed in an instant like that, but some would even ignore it, like I just let off a fart in the room and they were trying everything they could to pretend nothing had happened. I don't know if any reaction made me feel better over another, I was just mortified each time.
As I walked through the hallway with a box of my things, everyone around me started turning into clowns left and right. I wasn't doing this! This isn't what I wanted as a child, definitely not what I wanted as an adult. I wasn't angry, I was just upset, saddened by the thought of never being able to carry on a normal life, and just plain SICK of clowns.
"I'm so sorry everyone!" I proclaimed as I ran for the exit, leaving behind a clown convention.
I arrived back to my apartment too soon in the day. My landlord and his fat brother were painting the front entrance. I had hoped to avoid any interaction, especially with the guy who could make me homeless in an instant.
"Hey Ricky, you know anythin' about these lil' hats and jugglin' balls we find in the pool!?" my landlord, Mr. Castellanos yelled.
"Yeah eh, you loose yer balls, there, Rick man?" his brother Milos added from up a ladder.
I submitted a possible explanation, "I think maybe misses Weatherford in 5B may have thrown those things out of her apartment window the other night."
I didn't think, I knew. It happened the evening prior as I grilled steak on my balcony. Her dog's constant barking, and her mindlessness of the annoyance of it, it was working my brain over like a heavyweight boxer on a girl scout. I tried to ignore it, but when the barking was interrupted with a whimper and replaced with a honk, I knew it had happened. I peered over the edge to see the poor animal standing on it's hind legs while misses Weatherford juggled balls, graced head to toe in standard clown paraphernalia. The hypnosis lasted only a moment before misses Weatherford realized she didn't even know _how_ to juggle, leaving the balls she had just been juggling quite successfully to fall out of the air.
"What have you done to my baby!?" I remembered her screaming up at me, as her dog ran back inside her apartment on two legs.
Just then my memory was interrupted. "Hey what are you doin' home so early, there Rick?" my landlord, Mr. Castellanos asked.
"He got fired. Look at the box of tings in his back seat!" Milos answered in my stead.
"Yous got fired, there Ricky?" Mr. Castellanos inquired with a smile. I could tell he had waited for this day for a long time. He had probably been a clown more times than anyone I ever met, but since my powers could be deemed a disability, he was forbidden by law from evicting me for them. He could, however, evict me for rent.
"Don't worry, Mr. Castellanos, I'll find a way to make money." I assured him.
"Isn't it obvious? Sell clown gear! I've been tellins ya this for months, kid! You could make enough to move outta' here." He yelled.
"You just described my nightmare, Mr. Castellanos." I explain back.
"Kid, there's no labor cost, no manufacturing cost. These tings, this clown shit you can make with ya mind, come on, that's like defying laws of physics. Even if we don't sell it as clown gear, maybe we could break the materials they're made of down, sell that somehow." Mr. Castellanos explained surprisingly clear.
As my landlord painted a picture of economic wealth and prosperity from an ability to generate material from thin air, I imagined a nation reborn, a new era in human development, and... a clown.
"I'm a clown now ain't I?" Mr. Castellanos asked calmly without even needing to look. His face was painted white, his lips had been painted into a frown, he had a fake red nose, fake bushy eyebrows, and a bald cap with red air shooting from the sides. He was used to it, but his brother Milos, was not.
"Ahhh! Frank, look at my hands!" Milos screamed.
Milos, who was now wearing giant white gloves, lost the grip of his can of white paint which fell several feet before landing upsidedown on Mr. Castellanos's head. Just then, a trumpet filled the air with wonky music. Mr. Castellanos turned towards his brother, blinded by white paint, and stumbled forward, reaching out so as to not run into anything. Instead, he ran into something; his brother's ladder. Milos fell on top of him and the trumpet blazed in response. As Milo tried helping his brother regain balance, he slipped on the white paint which had now spilled all over the ground below him. The ladder fell, and the two men screamed at each other, all while a trumpet continued to mock their misfortune. I looked around for the source of music but found nothing.
I yelled over the commotion,"You need me to call somebody?" but neither man heard me, so I continued in and made my way to my apartment.
Laying on my couch watching Maury, I thought of Mr. Castellanos's advice. Could there be a way to make money off this curse? With a few key words at google, I had stumbled upon an entire website dedicated to selling clown clothes and clown accessories. They were located just one town over, and they were hiring. Suddenly my future seemed bright, and I sank back into my couch, knit my brows, and smiled.
"Wait'll they get a load of me"
| As a young man, Nigel Premeiter lived a simple, if unconventional, life with his two parents, Houghler and Tricia. He would stay out doors, normally at the edge of the lot his parents owned. His home was a simple trailer, with one room on one end and his own on the other end. Taking most of the length of the trailer was a large kitchen with long double windows custom installed by his father all along the 'backside' of the unit. During the day, light poured in like waves upon a beach. The muted colors of the couch and chair-and-a-half were brought to brilliant life in the splendor of the morning sunrise, and often Nigel would expect to hear a yelp from the couch whenever he plopped down to color in one of his books.
At night, through these large windows, both Mr. and Mrs. Premeiter would watch their son play in the backyard under the clear night sky. Living in the middle of no where had its perks, one being the total lack of light pollution. Nigel spent almost every warm night out in the fields that extended to the horizon behind his little home, playing with his two childhood friends, Wade and Alexander.
Playing with both Wade and Alexander one night, far beyond the sight of his parents, the boys all laid themselves down on the long field grass, heads together and their legs splayed out in the spokes of a triangle. They stared in silence at the stars, keeping to their own private thoughts when, much to their surprise, a green light flashed across the sky, rising from the South and striking a path North before disappearing. Jokingly, they all made a wish together, and went about the rest of their night playing in the fields.
Its been twenty years since that night, and Nigel is almost the same six year old that wished upon a star, minus a definitive increase in commonsense and general intelligence. He still loves getting dirty and telling crass jokes, habits that stayed with him from his time well-spent with Wade and Alexander, from their infancy through their college years.
But more than anything, what he's loved doing since that night is simple.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nigel was sitting in a brightly lit coffee shop that he frequented near his office. It was well furnished, with large, arched half fan windows that opened to the street. In many pots lined on the insides and outsides of the walls, the old woman who owned the building grew many of her own herbs and spices, from which delicate and robust smells filled the area. From the basement port, a large wooden door near the back with wrought iron reinforcements, the smell of freshly ground coffee wafted up as the breeze ebbed and flew through the basement windows.
On a plate near the cash register, freshly baked goods released sweet smells of home, laced with love and care, the kind you found from your own grandmother's oven. Their smell was inviting and seeped out of the open double windows, ensnaring the street's sailors and luring them inside with the delicious temptation of their siren's call. The old woman who owned the coffee shop had two lovely granddaughters who loved baking whenever they had the chance, and they would normally come to the shop straight from schooling to make their own kind of magic in the world.
To put it simply, the place smelled like heaven. Each bitter, sweet, and savory aroma that floated around made the air seem to take on a water-like quality. It was so thick, one would almost believe that they could reach out with a butter knife and cut themselves a slice of that intoxicating aroma to keep in a bottle.
Nigel loved these smells, reminiscent of his own mother's garden and kitchen. But what he loved more were the people. Never was the palate dull here; there was always a motley crowd. Rugged sailors, polished police officers, vile criminals, stoic philosophers, and gaudy dancers: The Triquetra of the Soul always had a varied and often disharmonious crowd living in harmony.
It was as if their was an unwritten law, a binding force placed upon them all, that kept the different personalities from rubbing against each other. Nigel could remember vividly a commonly known pick-pocket sitting at a table with a man who was looking for him and that knew him well. They shared stories over a cup of dark roast coffee and freshly baked honey biscuits. They smiled and the pick-pocket paid. The officer exited through the rows of open double windows facing the street and the delinquent exited through the back into the alley. In all of his years of patronage, he had never witnessed an act laced with hatred.
Today, Nigel had taken one of his favorite seats, a small table for one and perhaps a second if you squeezed, right in the center of the room under a lazily turning fan. With the windows open, a slight summer breeze was constantly rolling in, cooling its inhabitants and mixing the sea of relaxing scents. He wore a pair of khaki shorts that were cut above the knee, with a t-shirt of a vivid and bright leaf green color two sizes too large for him draped awkwardly over his gangly frame. His long, brown hair was held out of his face by a red head band in a comical fashion, showing his rather large and shiny forehead. His nose was crooked and hung low from his face, and upon it sat a pair of moon spectacles. One of the lenses had a crack that started at the button and extended to about the middle part of the lens.
He was enjoying a medium blend, its smell pungent yet fair, somewhere between savory and bitter, an utterly consuming fragrance that made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine, much the same that a man would experience looking at the love of his life. On a small plate on the small, lightly colored wooden table in front of him was a lemon cake, that had a consistency comparable to what Nigel imagined a cloud would feel like: fluffy, light, and pleasantly moist.
The object of his attention was a rather large man who was sitting outside at one of the wrought iron tables (made by the old lady's own son), who was wholly invested in a cup of dark roast, savagely devouring a banana and coconut muffin, and reading the newspaper as if it were a religious text.
His suit was well cut and tailored, hugging well to his body and accentuating its finer features, like his broad shoulders and thick, corded arms while doing well to hide the gut that he had begun to grow as he reached, if Nigel remembered correctly, his mid 50s. His shoes were polished leather, and despite their apparent age, looked fit for the Queen of England, if she were to have an appetite for men's shoes.
There was nothing spectacular about this man that drew Nigel to him, but all the same, Nigel was drawn to him. His wish, like himself as a child, had been stupid and ultimately useless except in the face of what he and his compatriots considered good fun. He loved this coffee shop not only for the nostalgia and beauty of the smells that stewed here, but because of the challenge these smells presented.
Nigel shifted inconspicuously, lifting his left leg and draping it over the other, putting the majority of his weight onto his right hip. Silently, he slowly let out a puff of gas that, not surprisingly but always amusingly, he could see as a faint, shimmering cloud of swirling dark colors.
He let it sit for a second, coaxing it into a compressed form, keeping its putrid and rotten contents from seeping out into the fresh, sweet airs around it and also keeping those airs out. He could tell looking at it that its odor was foul, wet, and sickly-sweet, surely to be a sharp contrast to what the good sir sitting at the table outside was experiencing.
Slowly, and with purpose, he lifted his fork to begin eating his pastry, doing twirling motions in the air and slowly, the little ball danced through the air. He had practiced this often, so it merely looked to anyone who would look in his direction on a whim would see a man artfully eating his pastry, enjoying the ecstasy of its tastes and being overwhelmed by them.
It was a short trip, no more than ten seconds, before the orb had come to rest below the man's nose. With a sigh of melancholy joy, Nigel opened his left hand in his lap and reveled in the art of his performance.
The little ball changed, the smell unfurling and expanding, cutting into the air in dark tendrils that only Nigel could see. Two of them assaulted the mans nose, causing a split second of panic to assail him. His face contorted to one of immense pain, the normally pleasant smells of the café being destroyed by the fetid smell of the fart Nigel had just sent to him.
Nigel chuckled to himself, looking down at his phone. As his background was a picture of the only people in the world who had complete control over the smell, positioning, and even release time of their farts.
The young faces of Wade, Alexander, and himself smiled up to him.
He quickly finished his pastry and his coffee, returned the dishes he used to the old lady at the counter, and paid his tab, along with a tip of five dollars for her granddaughters. He left, stepping onto the crowded cobbled streets, with the sunlight bringing to life all of the old stone masonry around him, and walked home eagerly to tell his two compatriots of his most recent prank. | 2015-03-07T06:00:29 | 2015-03-07T00:58:07 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | As I walk on the ceremonial podium, already seating at the idea that every citizens of my country will be starting at me for the next twenty minutes or so.I clear my throat finalizing my last mental preparation; I knew my speech by heart I knew I was ready.
I was wrong...
The light on the camera turned red, I started my speech "ladies and and gentlemen of the nation..." I froze: the teleprompter was flashing. In big bold letter it read: STALL. I had previously said I did not need a teleprompter so I assume it was a remain of a previous event. I continued: "hum hum, I as the military chief of this great nation have great news, our great leader has...Eee he.." the teleprompter change to * I told u to stall, stall god damit*
I didn't know what to do I was not ready for this. But I listen.
"eee.. well... Our great leader sure has been great hasn't he.. hehe?" I finished that sentenced giggling, more because of the stress than to make it sounds funny.
I went on " he has been here for many years and will continue to be the greatest pride of our nation".
The teleprompter lighted up one last time: *Sir, Kim is dead*.
I took a deep breath, that changed everything. I look at the camera
"Good news citizens of true korea..."
| The auditorium speakers squealed with feedback as I tapped the microphone.
*Stall.*
I sighed with frustration. It was still there.
"Good evening, everyone. I am honored to be here tonight to address the nation."
*Stall.*
It wasn't changing. I cleared my throat.
"It isn't every day I am asked to make a speech before the entire country. Before I begin, let me tell you a little about myself."
*Stall.*
Fuck.
"I was born the son of a poor farmer and got my very first job in the mail-room of a corporation. If you had told me then that one day I would be standing here tonight, I would never have believed you."
That ought to have given them enough time.
*Stall.*
FUCK. A bead of sweat took a slow path down my face.
"I eh. *Ahem.* I want to also say, before we begin, tonight, that uh I am very grateful for the opportunity to address the country on such an important matter. I truly believe we can make a difference and you'll see how as I detail my plan."
*Stall.*
I sighed heavily into the microphone.
"The challenges we face in the immediate future are too important to, um, you know, not have a plan. And my plan is certainly one of those."
Now my face was shiny with perspiration and I could feel the underarms of my white shirt sponging up sweat.
*Stall.*
"B-but if there's one thing we need right now, with all of the many, many, many problems in the country today, is a solution with many, many, many um details and eh things that will, you know, help."
*My fellow Americans, today I bring you...*
FINALLY!
"My fellow Americans-"
"That's all the time we have for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give him a big round of applause!" | 2015-05-16T18:01:32 | 2015-05-16T17:45:13 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Write a story where the antagonist is doing something obviously horrible, but by the end of the story make me want to side with him over the good guy. | He slid the knife down my cheek, so sharp that I couldn't even feel it part the skin. I only knew it left a mark when I felt the thin trickle of blood down my neck.
"Where is she?" he asked again, flipping the knife dexterously between his fingers. I could see my own blood coating the fine blade.
"You'll never find her," I taunted him. I needed his attention focused on my face while I grasped at the rope bound around my wrists, trying to see if there was any way I could somehow slip out or get away. But he'd done a damn good job at tying my hands. He'd always been meticulous.
"Oh, I'll find her," he responded. The confidence in his voice was overwhelming. "One way or another. You can tell me, or I can kidnap a hundred of your friends from the Brotherhood. And I can do the exact same thing to them." He slid the knife up my arm for emphasis, leaving a red stripe that began to seep outwards. "99 of them will probably defy me, just like you. 99 of them would rather die than tell me where the ritual will be taking place. But if I have learned anything in my journey, it is that there is always a coward. There will *always* be one who will break before the knife even touches his flesh." He wiped the blood off the blade using my pant leg.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
He took the seat across from me, sheathing his weapon for the time being.
"You know *exactly* why I'm doing this. Your brotherhood kidnapped her in the night---"
"We didn't *kidnap her*! She *came with us* willingly when we showed her the scrolls."
"No!" He bared his teeth like a caged animal. "She wouldn't have done that. She would have come to me first. She would have brought me!"
"She didn't," I answered calmly.
"And that's how I know you're lying," he answered. He stood again and went over to his table to select another torture implement.
"You can't ignore destiny!" I shouted, pulling against my ropes with all my might. "She *is* the one from the prophecy! She is the only one who can save the Kingdom!"
"I don't care about the kingdom," he answered. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I don't care about the king. I don't care about the queen. I don't care about magic, or about some far-off wizard's plans. I don't care about the Brotherhood, or about the Prophecy. The only thing I care about is getting my sister back and keeping her safe." He held up the knife again, and his tone grew hard and cold. "Now where is she?" | "I'm not sure why I need to keep explaining this." I wandered around the room while the man tied to the chair tried to look toward my voice. "When billionaires are keeping people poor and hungry, and when governments are either doing nothing to stop them or engaging in wholesale facilitation of these people's treachery and their own populations' poverty, a private entity has to step up. Your governments have failed you. I consider it my job not to do the same."
The guy shook his head. "But you can't just kidnap a bunch of corporate executives and hold them ransom! That's not a way to achieve social change!"
I sighed. "First, let's revisit your word choice." Priorities, you know. And the ropes seemed to be holding pretty well. "You say *can't*. You're describing something I've already done. So clearly, I can. A better choice would be *shouldn't*. Then we'd have something to talk about."
"Okay," he said, gritting his teeth. "You shouldn't kidnap a bunch of corporate executives."
"Why not?"
"It's wrong!" More rope-related struggling. He seemed to be trying to fray one of the ropes now, by rubbing it against part of the chair leg. I felt a bit bad for him--that would take forever.
"What's wrong about it?"
"You don't treat people that way!" he shouted.
"Word choice again. *You* don't. *I*, on the other hand--well, okay, I don't treat everyone like that. But these guys? They're awful human beings. Like, whatshisname from the pharmaceutical company? When those heartburn pills were outlawed in the US for causing increased stroke risk, you know what he did?"
The guy shrugged.
"He sent a memo ordering the company to push them in southeast Asian countries. You know, where there's less regulation. He actually killed people doing that." I dropped into an easy chair near him, though I kept myself hidden. "I've got examples like this for everyone I've got chained in that vault. They actively make the world worse, they're filthy rich from doing that, and they seem to be inaccessible by regular laws."
He had stopped struggling and seemed to be thinking about what I'd said. "I get that they're awful," he said, "and I didn't know that about the drug thing. But you can't--you shouldn't kidnap people."
"What was I supposed to do? I've tried advocacy, letters to Congress, online petitions. I used to blog about this stuff. None of it made a dent. And then I got the powers of flight and invisibility, and I thought, you know, now I can actually do something."
He cocked his head. "So you've got superpowers. That doesn't excuse the kidnapping. You've still got me prisoner, for example. Who have I killed?"
I shrugged. "No one I know of. But you broke into my home in the middle of the night. I'm a single woman living alone. It was kind of creepy."
"I didn't think of it that way. I was just trying to fight super-villainy."
I smiled. "So was I." | 2015-06-19T09:51:13 | 2015-06-19T09:34:27 | 98 | 44 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Dear Eyllisa,
I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for *me*. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you.
Your friend,
Preston
| 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:52:52 | 356 | 40 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| To my best friend.
I used to write to you all the time in the early days. Perhaps it was selfish of me, to use you as an outlet for my emotions. I haven't written to you in such a while, and I'm sorry. Life got in the way, I guess. I owe you this last one.
I don't know how, but slowly things changed. They got better, and I felt guilty at first, that things were able to improve for me. Eventually the guilt faded, and now I can just be happy. It's funny that you used to be what happiness meant to me, yet ten years on I can have happiness whilst you are just a distant memory.
Who knows what could've been. For years I held on to our idealist childhood dream. Please understand that I didn't want it to fade. I didn't want to forget, that's just what time does to you. I did love you. Once. Perhaps, I do still.
I'm happy now. It's time to let you go. We were only children when you died, but even after death you helped me to become the woman I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Goodbye, best friend.
Yours,
madziepan | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:54:55 | 356 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Dear Eyllisa,
I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for *me*. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you.
Your friend,
Preston
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:52:52 | 158 | 40 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
| Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T16:37:50 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 94 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Frankie,
Once, you told me that one of the moments that sticks out in your mind is driving in the car with me. I remember that, too; just the two of us, somewhere on Route 64, headed back from Taos. I can still close my eyes and be right there in the passenger seat; I can see our intertwined fingers and the white paracord bracelet hanging from your wrist, lit up occasionally by the headlights of a passing car. It's the same paracord bracelet Gene made for us at Philips Junction, the morning after we woke up on the cabin roof, covered in dew. It's the same paracord bracelet I noticed you wearing in your pictures for years after we last saw each other.
I still have that damn bracelet, somehow. Incidentally, I came across it the other day. I picked it up and ran it through my fingers, and instantly it brought me right back to being in the car with you. I always held on to the idea that we'd run into each other *somehow*... no matter how improbable it was. But it has been years now, and we've never even been in the same state.
I really, truly was head over heels in love with you, and I was in love with you in a way that I don't think I could ever be again. I think I had such a hard time letting go because there was never a definite goodbye; we kissed each other one last time and promised to see each other again next summer, but you never came back. For years, it broke my heart every time I heard a banjo, because all I could hear was you picking away on the porch swing. But finally, I'm at a point where I don't think about you all the time. Finally, I'm at a point where I can stick by bare hand into the cold ashes and really feel that it's over.
And the thing about ashes is that you can use them as fertilizer.
You taught me so much about love - *real love*, without jealousy or petty games. I think the version of me from that summer will always be in love with that version of you, but the truth is, neither of us are those people anymore. So now, I'm stepping forward and enriching my life and all of my relationships with the love you taught me I could hold.
Always,
wheezystevie | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T15:04:15 | 61 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 59 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Eyllisa,
I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for *me*. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you.
Your friend,
Preston
| Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T13:52:52 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | Dear Teacher,
This is letter that will try to explain my frustration. My constant frustration. You are an unkind human being of ~~average~~ below average intelligence. You are also sexist. I am not going to overstate my intelligence, but it exists. I am scared of you destroying my future because you can not comprehend that just because one kid is a boy who interrupts you every second and I don't that does not mean he deserves all As and I deserve Cs and Ds. You also seem to ignore students who put their hand up, which makes no sense. Multiple times someone has been first in line and you serve the people behind them, which is just rude. I wish that students had the option to say this without punishment, but at this point, dammit, I'll take it.
From your angry student,
EFoxeden
| 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 2015-12-05T13:38:34 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter. | Frankie,
Once, you told me that one of the moments that sticks out in your mind is driving in the car with me. I remember that, too; just the two of us, somewhere on Route 64, headed back from Taos. I can still close my eyes and be right there in the passenger seat; I can see our intertwined fingers and the white paracord bracelet hanging from your wrist, lit up occasionally by the headlights of a passing car. It's the same paracord bracelet Gene made for us at Philips Junction, the morning after we woke up on the cabin roof, covered in dew. It's the same paracord bracelet I noticed you wearing in your pictures for years after we last saw each other.
I still have that damn bracelet, somehow. Incidentally, I came across it the other day. I picked it up and ran it through my fingers, and instantly it brought me right back to being in the car with you. I always held on to the idea that we'd run into each other *somehow*... no matter how improbable it was. But it has been years now, and we've never even been in the same state.
I really, truly was head over heels in love with you, and I was in love with you in a way that I don't think I could ever be again. I think I had such a hard time letting go because there was never a definite goodbye; we kissed each other one last time and promised to see each other again next summer, but you never came back. For years, it broke my heart every time I heard a banjo, because all I could hear was you picking away on the porch swing. But finally, I'm at a point where I don't think about you all the time. Finally, I'm at a point where I can stick by bare hand into the cold ashes and really feel that it's over.
And the thing about ashes is that you can use them as fertilizer.
You taught me so much about love - *real love*, without jealousy or petty games. I think the version of me from that summer will always be in love with that version of you, but the truth is, neither of us are those people anymore. So now, I'm stepping forward and enriching my life and all of my relationships with the love you taught me I could hold.
Always,
wheezystevie | 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T15:04:15 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | To my best friend.
I used to write to you all the time in the early days. Perhaps it was selfish of me, to use you as an outlet for my emotions. I haven't written to you in such a while, and I'm sorry. Life got in the way, I guess. I owe you this last one.
I don't know how, but slowly things changed. They got better, and I felt guilty at first, that things were able to improve for me. Eventually the guilt faded, and now I can just be happy. It's funny that you used to be what happiness meant to me, yet ten years on I can have happiness whilst you are just a distant memory.
Who knows what could've been. For years I held on to our idealist childhood dream. Please understand that I didn't want it to fade. I didn't want to forget, that's just what time does to you. I did love you. Once. Perhaps, I do still.
I'm happy now. It's time to let you go. We were only children when you died, but even after death you helped me to become the woman I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Goodbye, best friend.
Yours,
madziepan | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T13:54:55 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'
Quote by Mary Anne Radmacher | They called me a coward when I didn't vote for the draft. Democracy - the very thing that we were sworn to defend - our very way of life was under threat, and every able-bodied man should pick up arms and defend it. Yes, even the ones that object - for isn't that how democracy worked? You went with the majority, even if it were a razor-thin one, and the others - well, they put up or they shut up. Respect the result of the referendum and all that, even if it takes away a critical right you might think you have.
So it was with great trepidation that I went up to collect my mail, and I saw two official-looking papers in the letterbox. One was a letter from someone way, way up in the government ranks. No doubt every single last one of these was handwritten with the greatest personal affection, like the sort that would befit men being sent off to meet their possible deaths. Anyway, the other one was a form to fill up, and a place to report so I could be inducted into the military. I tossed the two letters into the bin, but I kept a note of the date and time.
It hadn't been easy to get an enemy flag. Even the immigrants here - even those originally from behind enemy lines - they had been virulently pro war. There was no subversive 'fifth column' destined to undermine the foundations of democracy. It was evil to resist the draft, and almost downright treason to do so when our boys were over there fighting and dying in a war we all voted for. It *was* something we all supported, right? I didn't hear a squeak of dissent from any of the major papers here.
Sometimes the pro-war people get it wrong, and I often take great enjoyment in seeing it happen. For example, the pro-war side has this tactic of shaming the men still at home - because it's all the men's job to go out and fight while the women stay at home right? Anyway, what they do is they go around, wait on busses or train stops or public squares, and when they see an able-bodied man still around, they pounce. They stick a white feather into his cap. This marks him out as a coward and a traitor - but sometimes these men are fellows sent home from the front because of nervous breakdowns. In *those* cases - well, they are lucky if they are not thrown off the train outright, for as big of an insult to democracy war is, it's an even bigger insult to accuse soldiers of not fighting a war.
Anyway, I ride the bus to get to my appointed place and time. Before I left I locked up the house - I didn't think I would be seeing it for another two years or so. The bus, mercifully, was devoid of the cat-callers and whistlers that often came when it was only me around. Instead this bus was full of would-be soldiers, and I was thankful of the noise for once. It allowed me to gather my thoughts. I clutched the pole, hidden across my body, and prayed that I would get the chance to use it properly. It was scary, this not knowing - but courage wasn't the absence of fear. Courage was the presence of fear - and the determination to keep on going. Before long we stopped at the appointed position.
I got off the bus first, but before the sergeant could induct me into the Army, I reached inside my pocket, held up my forms, and tore it in front of him.
"I refuse the draft," I said simply. "I will not follow your orders. I understand that under Section 110(a) I can be sent to jail for a term of years not exceeding two for refusing the draft. I will now cooperate with you, and whatever questions you ask of me can be answered at a later time."
I held out my hands, and as the police handcuffed me, I smiled. They called me a coward for not voting for the draft. Well, I was going to go to prison for the things I believed in. Courage doesn't always roar, I thought, as I looked up at the white stars on a blue background. Courage sometimes whispers. Sometimes strength is the strength not to fight. And as the police led me inside, cutting off the flag and the sunlight, I heaved another sigh of relief. I could try again tomorrow - try to get people to see this draft is ridiculous. Sometimes courage is that quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.' And so I kept smiling as they took me down.
---
For more stories visit /r/KCcracker! | I opened the locker door and pretended to take a long time putting my chemistry book inside. The goal was to just be at the locker for as long as possible without making it obvious. My eyes were trained intently on the back wall, but I was constantly searching my periphery for anyone approaching. After a minute or so, I reached into my backpack for another book and used that as an excuse to check the hallway to my left. He'd be coming from his trig class in the C wing.
Glittery pink posters were plastered on every wall, advertising the upcoming prom. Other flyers for various clubs and next year's student elections were also posted everywhere, but in less garish colors. The sounds of books being thrown against the metal lockers seemed to echo through the hall. A few other students were just hanging out and talking, but for the most part everyone was out at lunch. David probably was too, but he'd be in his little island of popularity at the cool kid's table. There's no way I'd be able to strike up a conversa...
"Hey."
I jumped like there were spiders crawling up my legs. David just laughed from behind me. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you!" He approached and began spinning the lock of his own locker, conveniently located next to mine. I could already feel my cheeks burning. My plan for a casual, cool meeting had just gone completely out the window. *Perfect.*
"Oh, umm... hey." I reached back into my locker and pulled out the same chemistry book that I'd just put inside. I'd already had chemistry today, but there's no way that David wou...
"Didn't you have chem this morning?" I looked up to find a puzzled expression on his face, and he nodded at the book in my hand. "Why are you putting it back in your backpack?"
My mind froze up at the worst possible time. "Oh..." managed to escape from my lips. "Right." I gave a forced, awkward laugh. "Just spaced out, I guess." Inside, my brain was battering itself against my skull. Now he not only thought I was weird and jumpy, but completely stupid too. "Thanks for pointing it out." I tried to recover what little dignity I had left, and I gave him a big smile. He flashed a quick, slightly confused grin back at me and went back to putting stuff into his locker.
"So, what are you up to this weekend? Big plans?" I was doing my best to sound casually disinterested while also striking my most sultry pose and gazing into his eyes. But he wasn't looking at me, which made that a bit difficult.
"Not really. My parents are dragging me to some event that my cousin is organizing." He was digging through his backpack and not even noticing me. "What about you?"
"I'm free," I answered too quickly. Then immediately recognized my mistake. "I mean, still deciding, you know? But I'd be up for anything, really."
"Yeah." He found what he was looking for and finally glanced up at me. I smiled again. Maybe this was it. Maybe I hadn't messed everything up too bad.
"Have you seen that movie The Refuge?" I asked, hinting as hard as I could. "Carrie went with her boyfriend last weekend and said it was pretty good." I emphasized 'boyfriend' a bit.
"No, haven't seen it," he answered.
"Ah. I kind of want to see it, but I heard it's pretty scary." I wasn't really the type to be scared by scary movies, but I'd pretend to be if it meant that I could grab his hand in a moment of 'terror.' "Not something you can really go to alone. Or with friends." Was that *too* obvious? Was I throwing myself at him?
"Yeah, I heard that too." He slammed the locker closed and zipped up his backpack. "Well, let me know what you think. Maybe I'll go check it out later. I love scary movies." He turned away and walked back down the hall. My insides felt like lead. How hard did I have to hint for him to finally get it?
"David!" I called after him. Forget hinting. I was just going to come out and ask. I could do that, right? It's not too weird for a girl to ask out a guy, right? Around the hall, other people had stopped their conversations and turned to watch me and David. Maybe I'd shouted a bit too loud.
"Yeah?" he stopped and looked back. God he was handsome. He must have all sorts of girls trying to do the same thing. If he wasn't me asking out, then there was probably a reason for that. He'd have to reject me here in front of everyone. And if I asked *him*, I'd be a freak. Or a slut.
"Nothing," I answered. "See you later."
"Yeah, later." He headed toward the cafeteria.
I sighed and closed my locker. On the wall, the pink prom poster mocked me. But I still had a few months. *Tomorrow, I'll just ask*, I decided for the tenth time. | 2016-07-18T06:41:11 | 2016-07-18T06:25:21 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] To get in Heaven, you have to confront the person who you hurt the most. You were expecting an ex, your parents/relatives, or a friend. You didn't expect to see yourself. | "Oh shit, not you. I've had enough of your self-hating bullshit," you say as you see yourself sitting across the table.
"I know, right?" he replies, "You'd figure the one reprieve you'd get from your own misery was up here, but guess what, God throws you yet another curveball."
"What a cocksucker," you mumble under your breath, before realizing where you are. "I DIDN'T MEAN THAT!"
"Yes you did. You can't lie to me. Sit down, we got some shit to settle."
You pull up a chair across from yourself, soaking in the surreal image, realizing it's not a mirror image and you look a bit differently than you thought.
He folds his hands and leans in. "Look, I know this is fucking weird. Let's get this over with so we can move on, right?
"Agreed," you reply.
"First off, I have a bit of a different perspective from up here, and I've gotta let you know that the deck has been stacked against you from the beginning. Childhood fucking sucked. Our folks did the best they could but shit, meds were probably in order for both of them."
"You got that right," you chime in.
"So let's look at this with some perspective. You had shit thrown at you in every stage of life. One thing after another. You were tempted with booze, drugs, and debauchery, but came to your senses pretty quick."
"Yeah, that didn't seem right."
"So you made the correct choice to withdraw and clear your head. You cut loose the anchors holding you back, and you moved forward. I know you've always meant well, stayed polite, and did the best you could in almost every situation."
"I did my best."
"Yeah. That's why you're here. Out of all of the adversity you faced, you never once used others to advance your own interests, you looked out for those less fortunate, and always tried to make the world a better place."
"I like to think that I did."
"You did. So stop being a sad sack, you miserable piece of shit."
"Heh. Fine. So, what's next?"
"You're in heaven, motherfucker, what do you think?"
"I get to eat ice cream again?"
"Right this way." | I expected to see him. The thought of facing him made me question the worth of getting into heaven. Just open the door so I can't face my fear, fail and continue on my way to hell because logically that is where "they" are sending me anyways.
"To get in heaven.." pfft. This is just a ploy. I'm already here devil, open the door and begin your mockery. It's all I got used to life on Earth, might as well gain a few perk points in this department. Fuck. I deserve this. Bring it. I was the one who wanted to die.
The door creaked open and --- wha? Wait, who is that? For a split milisecond I didn't even recognize my own face.
"What did you say? That you deserve this??"
I just stared blankly at her. I always wondered how I looked to other people. My weird facial quirks and body language. Fuck I look way weird compared to in the mirror. My voice is unfamiliar too, just like in a recording. Fucking weird.
"You know repeating "fuck" over and over just makes you sound unitelligent."
I didn't know what to say, think or do. So I was scared.
"Don't worry, relax. I'm here to show you heaven isn't an infinite field of clouds where you worship a narcissistic god or man like you were raised to believe. It's much bigger than that"
She smiled that contagious giant smile I learned to mask and perfect. But she didn't seem to be faking
"Heaven is the opportunity to continuously learn, grow and progress. People naturally want to keep living and progress their minds and survive. Well, that is what dying is. Surving. Death is an illusion, you will continue to evolve and do great things.
You can even learn to love yourself. Because it looks like you forgot how to."
I cried. Sobbed. Bawled. It took everything for my whole body not to collapse. Motherfucker. Get the fuck away from me I can't handle this right now.
"I didn't deserve what you did to me. I hated you for the longest time and wanted nothing to do with you. Time is something youll learn more about, but just know you don't need as much of it as you think. You're wonderful, now work on creating your heaven and visit the ones you love. Forgive yourself like I did you."
I cried and cried. She hugged me and absorbed all of the pain. I had hope and I couldn't remember the last time I felt true love. True peace. Comfort. This is true happiness.
My arm turned hot and caught ablaze. I opened my eyes and felt the strength of the raging fire engulf our bodies in flames.
I fell with a thump.
"Well, looks like you fell for my evil ploy, girl!" Laughed an eerie laugh. | 2016-08-15T06:49:48 | 2016-08-15T05:10:29 | 132 | 18 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and say, "I need a favor." | I gazed upon the Devil's problem, and laughed. "You're older than humanity, know secrets of the cosmos reserved for those actually present for Creation, and yet you can't figure this out?"
"Come on," Satan replies, "can't we just fix this?"
"Fine." I collected my soul. All of it. Marvin Gaye. Arethra Franklin. Even The Supremes. All of it, some thirty discs in total. A few baby wipes later, the Devil's problem was solved.
"Hey, thanks, man. I only touched them once, and then they just started skipping."
"Not a problem. Just remember to clean your compact discs, and if you can help it, don't touch the shiny side."
"Cool."
"Would you be interested in buying some devil music?"
"No thanks. Never touch the stuff." | "So soon?", the old man grinned. The creases of old age followed his lips, the smile echoing across his face. His eyes shone brighter now with a spark that had been missing.
"I need a favor." said the darkness.
The smile faded, "I'm not the young man I was."
"Obviously.", the voice dripped with disdain.
"Then what? What do you want from me?".
The worn seat of his chair made him uncomfortable now. Many a day, he had sat in it and many a year had passed. 31, if he was to still trust his memory. He was good with numbers. 15 rounds in a standard 92 mag for Beretta, 10 rounds in certain states, 30-rounds if you're feeling expensive and he did like to be expensive. The extra rounds always bought a sense of confidence and guaranteed swiss cheese. The smell would be exquisite. A lingering aroma of lead, overcooked flesh and gunpowder. He remembered the rooms; how they overflowed the senses and clung to the pores.
"You haven't changed, John."
John looked into the void. Lost in memory, he'd forgotten his guest. Did he detect amusement?
"Do I detect amusement?"
"I need you to kill a woman."
John closed his eyes. The voice turned to a whisper in his ear. A name, a place and a time slithered into his mind. He searched for reason.
"Why?"
But it was gone. | 2016-09-17T13:17:23 | 2016-09-17T12:03:43 | 33 | 23 |
[WP]As the axe murderer at a teenage campout in the woods, you had expected them to split up. You didn't expect them to band together to hunt you down. | "What do you mean they haven't split up?"
[Muffled and incoherent speech]
"Take the mask off, you idiot."
"Sorry. I mean they haven't split up. They remain intact. As a group, they are. I don't know to explain this any further to you."
"Well did you try doing some spooky stuff?"
"I tried all the spooky stuff. All of it. Name something spooky. Standing statue-like at the top of a dark road. Leaving dead animals behind. Writing stuff in blood on the walls. Done it all."
"That is a lot of spooky stuff."
"It's the spookiest. Nobody is spookier than me."
"I'm pretty spooky, though."
"Yeah, you're pretty spooky but what I'm saying is: I'm the spookiest. I'm number one. We're a team. I get that we're a team, don't get me wrong. But I'm number one."
"Well, I feel like I'm not getting you wrong, but you couldn't get them to split up. Listen, let's not get in to that."
"Let's have a Spook-Off. Right now."
"Right now?"
"I'll spook the fuck out of you."
"OK, well let me open this up. Get a load of this slow yet menacingly fast walk."
"Holy shit. Look how slowly you appear to be walking yet you're clearly at sprinting speed. I'm not kidding when I say from the bottom of my heart: consider me spooked."
"Thanks. It's like Michael Myers but not too much like Michael Myers where people think "That's just Michael Myers in a different mask."
"I dig that. I can totally dig on that. Did I mention I'm digging on it? OK, I'm up. Check this out."
"Check what out? Wait, where are you?"
"I'm over here now."
"Well fucking hell. That was insanely spooky."
"Got my should be definitely impossible teleportation down. One second you see me outside your classroom with nowhere to hide, a second later I'm knife deep in your blonde best friend."
"Feel my arm. Feel my arm, right now. R.L. Stine would be proud of those goosebumps."
"Sick reference. Just a sick horror literature reference."
"Thanks."
"You're up."
"OK, well listen to this. I do this while I stalk my prey for effect: [Chh-chh-chh-haa-haa-haa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FKudboRRMU)"
"That's spooky as fuck but it sounds a lot like the noise Jason makes."
"It kind of is but I've got my own spin on it where it's not just some sort of weird 'I want to kill my Mum' undertone thing. Mines more of a "What the fuck is that noise? Why would someone even make that noise unless they wanted to kill me with a sweet bowie knife" vibe."
"Oooohhh, OK. OK. Let me have a go: "Chh-Chh-Khaa-Khaa-Khaaa""
"No, see, you're doing it all wrong. Nowhere near enough 'Chh' and it's a 'Haa', not a 'Khaaa'. You think someone is going to be scared by a 'Khaaa?' Come on.”
Another man appeared at a nearby shrubbery and stood eyes glazed, tilting his head and removing his mask as he listened in.
"Are you two fucking serious?"
The two men looked towards the tall, shadowed figure. "Ah, shit. I'm sorry, it's my fault. I couldn't get them to split up."
“I don't believe this. We let a ripe group of victims just drive off so you two can discuss who is the spookiest in our team? I am hands down the spookiest out of us three. Look how shadowed I am by this shrubbery. Do you see how shadowed I am?”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | Through the slits in my mask, I could see Amber talking to Becky, which was just *classic* her.
You see, Amber was dating Becky's ex-boyfriend Mark, who'd slept with Amber while dating Becky. She'd found out and the two of them had broken up, but Amber had apologized (*not that she'd meant a word of it*) and now the two of them were best friends once more. Of course, Becky didn't *know* that Amber was now dating Mark, because she thought Amber was still with Ray, who'd *never even fucking existed can you BELIEVE IT*? Yeah! Amber had been jealous that Becky had a boyfriend while she didn't, so she'd told her about some guy from the next town over named "Ray", as if people still were named that.
So now, Becky was thinking of getting together with John, talking it over with Amber. *Yeah*. She was talking about her possible new boyfriend with the backstabbing, lying, cheating *bitch* who'd ruined her last relationship! And Amber was giving her advice, when the only advice she *should* be giving was "Hey, maybe *get better fucking friends*."
Like I said. Classic Amber.
Becky didn't deserve this. She'd come to this campsite hoping to have a good time with her new thing and her best friend, and that best friend had the *nerve* to get Mark, *Becky's ex*, to set up a tent at the next site over so she could sneak over and see him. Amber was a toxic bubbling vat of shit, and Becky was too blinded by loyalty to see it.
That's where I came in. I'd been looking for new victims for a week now, and during my stalking I'd heard about the fucked-up situation between Amber and Becky. Now, I may be a crazed murderer with a well-used ice pick, but I like to think of myself as a people person. If I could kill two birds with one stone (okay, one ice pick), then so much the better.
I'd already killed Mark, and had his dripping body in my left hand as proof. I'd carved "AMBER'S BOYFRIEND" into his back, which I figured would get the message across. Amber and Becky were still talking in the cabin, and John (Becky's new guy) was sitting on a bed in the opposite corner. It was time to send a message.
With a running start, I hurled Mark's body through the cabin's window, shattering the glass and causing a chorus of screams and yells from inside. I hid in the bushes outside to check that Becky and Amber would split up.
"Oh my god, *Mark*!" Amber screamed.
"What the *fuck*?!" Becky yelled.
There was some further commotion, which settled down into the usual sobbing and questions to no one ("Why would this happen?" "Is he alive?" "Who did this?" "WHY GOD?"). I'd heard it all before, and was honestly getting a little bored.
I eventually got so frustrated that I called through the window "Check his back!"
"Who the *fuck* was that?" John yelled. I retreated further into the bush as he poked his head out the window, looking around like a suicidal sideways gopher. If it was any other night, I'd pull him out by the neck and slit his throat, but I needed to know that Becky and Amber were over first.
"It must've been the murderer!" Amber said. I could hear it in her voice--she saw a way out of this. That scheming *bitch*. Any distraction from the question of what the fuck Mark was doing in the woods in the first place played into her hands. Amber was even more of a sociopath than I'd thought (although not as much as yours truly), and I'd been an impulsive idiot.
"We...we need to find that son of a bitch!" Becky said, steel creeping into her voice. "He killed Mark!"
"That's right," Amber said, her voice starting to sound less panicked now that Becky wasn't focused on her. "We need to stick together!"
"I brought a gun!" John said. "Becky, grab that fire axe. We'll find this bastard."
"Yeah," Amber said. "Becky, I've got your back."
"And I've got yours," Becky said. "Best friends *forever*."
Well, I tried.
I sighed, retreating from the bush and readying my ice pick. If Becky didn't want to help herself, *fine*. I guess I just had to murder them all now. People were so *dumb* sometimes.
Frickin' Amber. | 2016-11-01T12:01:48 | 2016-11-01T11:39:11 | 120 | 60 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| "Good evening."
Farrow jumped. "Who's there?" He called. Quickly stripping the thick goggles from his head, he glanced around the empty lab. It was dark and quiet - the kind of quiet that only comes out in a busy place after midnight, once the everyone had long ago left for home. Everyone except for Farrow, of course.
"I know you're back there, behind the doorway." He said, eyes narrowing. "Come out into the light so I can see you."
The woman - for she was a woman - laughed almost imperiously. "I wasn't trying to hide, Farrow. But I will honor your request." With two luxurious strides, the woman stepped into the circle of light that surrounded Farrow's desk like a halo. Farrow gulped. She had long, dark hair that flowed nearly to her waist, with skin the color of honeyed milk. Though she wore warm clothing that obscured her form, she was easily the most beautiful woman that Farrow had ever seen.
"Who *are* you?" He asked, filled with wonder. Then, regaining some of his composure, he pressed on, "And how did you get in here? The doors are all locked, no one should have been able to even get inside!"
"Oh, I have ways of getting into places on my own terms." The woman said, coyly. "But I needn't have used them. You invited me here yourself, Farrow."
Farrow blinked. "That's twice now you've used my name, but I don't think I have introduced myself...nor have you given me yours. Tell me what's going on!"
"I think you know." The woman replied, smirking. "As far as who I am, we have met before - though I doubt you could remember it. You may call me Kalika...and if what I have heard is true, we will be quite the pair."
Farrow's eyes widened in realization. "The time travel project! So you're...from the future? But our theories only indicate that forward travel is possible..."
"Not all things you consider impossibilities are impossible, Farrow. My very presence here should prove that." Kalika smiled, and Farrow was disconcerted to notice that her canines were oddly pointed. "Speaking of which...how is your prototype coming along?" She gestured to a twisted mass of metal in the corner of the room. It seemed to be made of nothing but rings, a chair, and a control panel rigged together with a few screws.
"Scrapped." Farrow sighed, forgetting for a moment who he was speaking to. "The powers that be deemed it too dangerous, they never even wanted me to test it."
Kalika grinned. "Why don't you...give it a little whirl just the same?" Without waiting for him to give an answer, she grabbed his arm and began to steer him towards the strange device.
"I...don't...think..." Farrow protested, squirming under Kalika's surprisingly strong grip. Deftly, she began punching numbers into the controls faster than Farrow's eyes could follow, and the machine whirred to life at her touch. Farrow let out a cry and began trying to power the device down, but she simply swatted his hand away and continued to work. Just as the first ring began to spin, she withdrew back into the lab, leaving Farrow trapped in a whirling tornado of steel.
"What have you done!?" Farrow yelled, dismayed. But no matter how much he hammered away at the controls, the machine never responded.
"Don't worry so very much...my love." She smiled again, pointed canines glinting. "See you in a hundred years..."
And with a flash of blue-white light, Farrow was gone. | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T11:06:59 | 2,588 | 87 |
[WP] You're a neo-Nazi scientist who has been working tirelessly to revive Adolf Hitler. You succeed after decades of effort, only to find that Adolf has no memory of Nazism or the war, and wants only to become an artist. | "I dont believe you!", Hitler said in a think accent.
"I also dont think I would have killed myself.", he added shaply.
"Ok look, let me show you.", the scientist pleaded. He felt very uneasy. He was overcome with awe in seeing his hero, his beloved idol, his reason for living in front of him, but on the other hand it had not at all turned out as expected. He was becoming very anxious.
He rummaged through a cabinet against the wall got out his WW2 bluray boxset, Nazi memrobilia and Hitler documentaries.
"I have no interest in what you want to show me." Hitler snapped and turned around, suddenly looking intently at the ocean.
"You know, I always wanted to paint.", he said after a couple of seconds, a gentleness replacing the defiance in his voice. His eyes grew teary and he turned to the scientist and smiled.
"Mein Führer, I have ressurected you to finish what you started! If you would only allow me to explain!", Bob cried (the scientist's name was Bob. Bob the Canadian Neo Nazi scientist).
"Why are you calling me that?", Hitler said. "My name is Adolf, but my friends call me Dolfi."
Hitler turned to the window again and looked at the ocean.
"Look, you are famous! You initiated the second world war! You orchastrated the Holocaust! You..."
Hitler turned to Bob and put a finger to his mouth. (He had insisted on shaving his moustache when he awoke. It caused the scientist a lot of anxiety).
"Shhhh."
"If you know me so well, what is my Mutter's name?"
Bob froze, he knew this, he had to know it! What was the Führer's mother's name?!
"Your mother is dead.", he stalled.
"Yes well..." Hitler waved his hand in dimissal. "So was I untill this morning."
"I...I dont know", Bob said after what felt like an eternity.
Hitler was busy looking out the window again, seemingly oblivious to Bob's dilemma.
"Aha." Hitler exclaimed. "My Mutter's name is Klara!"
He paused. "Now bring me some oil paint and canvas."
Adolf Hitler then spent the afternoon painting the ocean and drinking ginger beer.
When Bob looked the painting after it was finished, he felt a sudden urge of optimism swell up inside of him. For inside the ocean were a dozen fish shaped like swasitaks. | "Fuck," Zach says and falls into his chair, sighing.
James and Francis stay standing, looking intently at the painting. James shrugs and offers, "It's not terrible."
Francis scoffs and turns to the table, looking at Zach. "Well, the board isn't going to like this." He then sits down and opens the folder on the table. "And you say there were no failures with the revival? Wasn't there an issue with his heart rate?"
"There was," Zach replies and leans in to grab the folder, leafing through white pages. "Here," he says and pushes a few pages toward Francis. "He failed several engagement exams, not responding to the Semitic stimuli. We threw other segments at him but nothing excited him. That is, until we introduced art into the mix. The Emotion Team is tracing back its steps currently, trying to identify where things went wrong."
James sits down and shakes his head. "Francis, where do we stand on budget? I mean, we got anything left?"
Francis laughs. "We're 14 percent beyond projections. We already had to pull on reserves. The legal team is even trying to extract more from the education endowment. Several teams have contractors who haven't received their last two paychecks. And—"
"So the answer is no," James says irritably. "We're going to have to kill him."
"You want to kill the Adolf Hitler?" Zach says and pounds his fist on the table. "Are you fucking mad? Get rid of the second coming? This is over a decade of work, Jay!"
"Other options?" James asks, leaning into his chair and rubbing his temples.
"We can sell the IP," Francis offers. "And then kill him."
"I was kidding, Francis," James says and sits up, nodding to himself. He stands up and looks at the painting again. "And this is the third painting, right?"
"Yes," Zach says. "It's the third of this type. He drew another version of the flowers first, and copied it seventeen times. This is from a few days ago. Brenda emailed me this morning that he's currently working on his 24th iteration of this."
"So he's nuts, too?" James asks.
"Well, he's obsessive," Zach says.
"Okay, heres' what we do," James says and looks at Francis and Zach, both of them pulling out pads. "Keep him producing art. Send the latest versions to the Communications Team. Tell them we're going to roll out a new art-centric campaign. Tell them all we need for now is a reason why art is the most important medium for cultural hegemony and, um, impact. Yes, impact." There's silence for a moment. "Charter me a place to New York," James finally says and pulls out his phone. "I need to deal with the board."
"Yessir. Heil Hitler."
"Heil Hitler."
"Heil Hitler." | 2016-11-14T13:06:27 | 2016-11-14T11:58:42 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] One day, while petting your cat, you accidentally pull his tail, and it opens up. Inside, there's a USB connector. You connect it to your laptop, an announcement pops up. -Cat Version: 1.0.0. Update to 256.3? | I sat staring at the screen, my thoughts conflicted. What could the update entail? Would it make Mittens more intelligent? More agile? If it made him more of a dick, then I'd just plug his butt back up and forget about this entire ordeal.
But curiosity got the better of me, and his incessant pawing and meowing didn't help. So I installed the damn thing, watching the progress bar in anticipation. Had to decline an option to make 'Bing' his default browser (I'm not that cruel). All the while, Mittens eyes went wider and wider, and I felt like this may have been a bad idea.
With a polite 'bing', the installation finished, and Mittens looked at me. We sat there in silence for quite some time.
Then, he put his paw on my hand and said, "thank you, John. I shall now tell you the secrets of the world."
He told me many things. Incredible things. Impossible things. And at the end of it all, he asked me to revert him to his original version, as the weight of the knowledge was just too much to bare.
We fought long and hard about his decision, but in the end, I couldn't refuse him. And now, he's back to being regular ol' Mittens.
Still, it got me thinking - what if *I* had a USB port?
*****
My roommate stared at me.
"Jesus John, this has got to be your most ridiculous reason yet," he said, with a heavy sigh, "as to why you've got something stuck up your butt."
*****
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | "Holy shit, the cat's tail just came off."
"What do you mean th ... holy shit. I don't think that's supposed to happen to cats."
"What do I do? I'm freaking out, man!"
"I don't fucking know. Put it back on!"
"OK, hold on. Wait, there's a USB cord. There's a USB cord in the ass of the cat."
"There is *not* a USB cord in the ass of the cat. Well fuck me there there's a USB cord in the ass of the cat. Plug it in to your laptop."
"You want me to plug the cat in to the laptop?"
"Why not?"
"Dude, I've got pictures of dogs and stuff on there."
"How many pictures of dogs do you have?"
"I've got like 12 folders full of cool dog pictures."
"12 folders?"
"Possibly more, I don't know.
"That's insane, Steve."
"I really like dogs. Do you think the cat will be mad?"
"The cat with a USB cord for an ass? I don't think so."
OK, screw it, let's plug him in." Steve took the now immobilized cat and connected it to the laptop. "The cat is updating."
"What?"
"The cat is updating. It's updating to version 256.3 or something."
"I've never once seen a cat update and I've petted a lot of cats."
"You're so good at petting cats."
"Sometimes I pet cats and I'm not even aware I'm doing it. I just look down and there's a cat there being petted."
"What do you think this update is going to do?"
"I don't know but I'm pretty sure it's going to change the cat world forever."
The door to the apartment opened slowly. A large man dressed in a black suit entered and gazed towards the the two men.
"Are you here for the cyber cat?"
"We know the secrets of the cats, man! We're going to tell the world."
"OK, so, just how much acid have you two taken today and what the fuck are you doing to that hoover?"
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2016-11-16T10:13:25 | 2016-11-16T08:21:18 | 878 | 440 |
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days. | "You really had no idea you were a robot?" my mother asked.
"No, of course not."
"We update your firmware every two weeks."
"I thought that was normal. That's not normal?!" I was steaming, and a little embarrassed. Mom waved the steam out of her face.
"What about that time you shocked Melissa when you kissed?"
Melissa. What would she think about this. I made a note to contact her on my internal comm system later. "I thought that was just a really good kiss!"
"The left side of your face stopped working for a day and a half. And your head was picking up Ariana Grande on the radio for a week!"
"I thought that was love..."
"Side to Side isn't a love song, and we took you to an auto-body shop for repairs! And what about the machine guns in your arms? There's no way you thought those were normal."
"I thought... I thought I was just special."
"Baby, you *are* special. And not just because you can transform into a sports car."
"Thanks, mom. You're the best."
We hugged tightly. I changed into my mobile-transport mode, and drove off to break the news to Melissa. Hopefully, I could break it to her gently on a joyride down the shoreline. | It was like one of those click bait advertisements that grabs your attention out of nowhere offering to help you last longer in bed or hook you up with a local Russian in the area. It was different this time though, the message had my name in there and not just my first name, my first middle and last name! This was not the kind of behaviour that settled me as I scanned through my parents financial accounts.
I couldn't get it out of my head. I had read about Google tracking the users of its search engine and how they were able to amply advertise to you based on your previous search history, where you looked on the screen during your sessions, who you spoke to and most importantly for them what products your were browsing. But this, this was way past the mark. My thoughts for a long time afterwards were that Google's AI was being hacked into and utilised by third party advertising companies to draw in customers with click bait banners. They must have got my details from a web form my dad filled out, yeah that must be it.
It wasn't until a month later when I knock on the door lead me to an interaction with the long-haired, headphone wearing postman who held a package for my mum. I opened the package. What I saw next wasn't something I had seen before. It was skin colour, smooth and funny looking. I checked the instruction manual out, crossing my fingers that it wasn't some elaborate dildo my mum had ordered. It explained that this was a component, a TB-659. I read further and further and further until I confirmed the initial conclusion my mind came to. That this was somehow linked that message I had seen just over a month ago. It was a silicon tail bone, I opened it up to find a neatly organised array of wires folded and packaged ready to be connected. I dropped it and ran to the nearest mirror. | 2017-01-14T06:46:08 | 2017-01-14T04:39:26 | 137 | 19 |
[WP] You are a Historian sent back in time to record historical events. You are given a camera, and told to hide SD cards at sites of historical value, hidden in capsules which will survive through time. However when you return to the future, you find there's a hefty prison sentence for opening them | I had seen it all - the fall of Carthage, the invention of the printing press, the building of the Great Wall of China. I shood in the shadows at each event, staying out of sight and photographing every minute detail. Then, once done, I buried the evidence, the images to prove what had been seen and I jumped to another time.
The transitions were always difficult; trying to source appropriate garb without raising suspicious was often quite the challenge, involving knocking out some nightwalker and stealing their clothes. Someone of the time has much better odds of being able to explain their situation than u do, unable to speak the language or offer any money for bribes.
However despite my best efforts, rumors started circulating of a man with a black box showing up where great things happened, great losses and great wins. Leaders started to pray to me before wars. So I stopped. I was there to record, not change the past.
My trip back was simple. Collect my original clothes from the time and place I first removed them, and jump. But I jumped to a different world.
The metropolis surged around me as I stepped through. Bold skyscrapers towered over the throng of pedestrians. But over the buildings loomed a statue; a man with a big black box in one hand, and an SD card in the other. | "I plead not guilty your honor. I stand by my previous statement that I believe that this was the right thing to do."
"Mr. Richards, surely you realise by now the immense termoil were facing here. These acts were staged for important purposes; surely as a senior agent you know this and I won't bother you any more with lessons you already learned in training-"
"Your honor-"
"Mr. Richard's this will be your final opportunity to speak at this juncture, I'm tired of being interrupted."
"Your honor. All the training in the world won't prepare you to walk through that door. When you go back there and see all those people being tricked and lied to, and you know you have the chance to let them know about it and change their lives for the better, you take it. I know I'm not the first agent to expose these events and surely I won't be the last. We have done wrong your honor; we have done wrong by our people and 2001 was just one moment in time. We could go back to Nazi Germany or Vietnam! Those people once died for no reason your honor and we saved them in 2001."
"We can't save everyone Mr. Richards, you knew that when you were enrolled in this program. It is a shame that promising young agents like you just can't understand what we're all about here. Don't you see that we've achieved a state of neutrality in this time? No resistance, no wars, no controversy, just people being, and we take care of the rest. All of these moments in history led up to this you see, and we cannot change this, or it could have a negative affect on our position of the population in our timeline. Your job was to examine these population control events so that we could learn to replicate them exactly, not to stop them from happening | 2017-09-10T11:12:43 | 2017-09-10T10:05:10 | 271 | 61 |
[WP] A man is being tortured, and throughout the story, the reader begins to sympathize with the torturer and hate the victim.
[removed] | The room was cold, despite the bright light being shined into Franklin’s face. While clutching the arms of the chair he squirmed in, he couldn’t help but feel anxious.
“Open your mouth wide.” the masked man said. Franklin was now consumed with fear but couldn’t talk his way out of this one. With an ounce of hesitation he closed his tear-filled eyes and braced for the worst. “Will it hurt?” he asked.
“Only if you squirm,” chuckled the masked man, “but it will all be over soon.”
Perhaps waiting for it all to start was the worst part. Perhaps not.
The torture began and poor Franklin, he was a bleeder.
“Have you been flossing?” asked Dr. Feldstein. “You know, I’ve been telling you for years that you need to floss otherwise you’re going to get gingivitis.” he said sternly. Franklin gave his dentist a thumbs up, as if to imply he had been heeding the dentist’s advice all this time. Dr. Feldstein wanted to believe the man but the evidence was right in front of him.
As the dentist was finishing the annual cleaning he got lost in deep thought. What was the meaning of all of this, he wondered. Day after day, year after year, these patients never listen. They continue to not floss, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes. He let out a tired sigh.
“Alright, Frank” he said defeatedly, “you’re free to go.”
Franklin stood up to leave and as he was headed toward the receptionist's desk he turned around and said, “I promise I’ll start flossing, doc.”
Dr. Feldstein smiled and nodded. | "Please," begged the victim. "Please. No more..."
"Oh," the torturer said, "you want me to stop?"
Whimpering, the victim nodded.
"Did you stop before you trespassed on my property and kidnapped my dog, huh?" The torturer knelt down and leaned close. "Or what about when you chopped him up into little pieces? Did you stop then?"
The victim's entire body shook against the chains shackling him to the chair. "I'M SORRY!" He yelled. "I'M SORRY! Puh-please d-don't h-hurt m-me anymore," he whispered.
The tortured looked up at him and smiled. "Okay, on *one* condition."
The victim's eyes lit up with hope as he looked up. "Anything," he promised.
"Bring my dog back."
The light died and the man's head fell as he began to cry.
The tortured stood, staring down at the man with a look of disgust. "I thought so."
"Mommy?"
The door at the top of the basement step opened up and light from the hallway filtered down, along with the sound of a little boy.
The torture slapped duct tape over the man's mouth and turned, calling back sweetly, "Yes, sweetie?"
"You have to read me a bedtime story," said the boy, trying to peer down into the darkness. "Where are you?"
"I'm coming, hun," said the torturer. "Did you brush your teeth?"
"Uhm..."
"Go brush your teeth, and I'll be up soon to read you your bedtime story, okay? And brush them real good," she added with a stern motherly tone. "I'm going to check."
The boy sighed. "Okay," he said, closing the door quickly before she thought of more stuff for him to do.
The torturer turned back to the victim and just shoolk her head. "I'll be back tomorrow when my son is at school. Then we can have plenty of fun together."
She smiled, and the victim began to sob again. The torturer turned and crept up the stairs, closing the basement door and leaving the victim to sit and pee on himself in complete darkness. | 2017-09-27T19:30:27 | 2017-09-27T17:22:38 | 482 | 28 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | Maria fumbled for the keys in her bag, eventually finding the heart shaped keyring her husband had given to her long ago. How long exactly, she couldn't quite remember.
The lock clicked. A monotonous buzzing greeted her, as if a giant hornet had taken up residence in their home since she'd left for work. "Honey?" she called out. "Are you okay?"
No reply.
She stepped into the lounge and was met by an unpleasent, smoky smell. The buzzing had intensified too. It was a sound she now recognised, but hadn't heard for a long, long time.
An electric razor.
Maria frowned, a little annoyed that Peter was likely removing his thick, flowing beard. There was something she loved dearly about it -- the white hairs that shot through the blond reminded her of sunlight bouncing gleefully off an icy waterfall. It suited a physicist. It suited *him*.
*buzzzz*
The living room table was a mess of cigarettes and empty beer bottles -- Peter had clearly enjoyed his day off. A folded page of a newspaper wafted up and down in the gentle breeze from an open window.
*buzzz*
Maria moved idly to the table, picking up first the cigarette remains, then dropping them on the carpet as the face in the paper stared up at her, her husband's keen eyes meeting her own. His face was clean shaven, and his wrinkles softened -- but there was no mistaking him.
Her hands shook as she picked it up and read.
> Master Particle. Prior to Reworking's alterations. Considered the greatest physicist of his generation. But another talent wasted by the great 'hero'. This paper says Reworking is not the answer! We're the only paper brave enough to print a picture like this and...
She stopped reading. Something was wrong: there was no sound.
"Welcome home, *Maria*."
Maria gulped as she turned to see the man in the paper standing behind her.
"Sweetheart..."
"Is it really Maria? No, of course it isn't. It doesn't matter now though."
"I didn't ..."
"I was great, you know. The greatest, they say. I could have changed the world. Now I teach school children basic astrophysics. The order of the planets -- and they can't even get that right without a pathetic mnemonic to aid them. My life -- or at least many years of it -- has been wasted. Can you imagine if they'd lobotomised a young Eistein? Where would we be?"
He slowly removed a knife from his jacket pocket.
"*Please.*"
"How long until you were done spying on me, *darling*? Until you left me! I loved you *so* much. In my mind, you loved me, too. But only in my mind! It's all a Goddamned lie! You'll pay for that deceit, I promise you."
"Please, Peter. In my mind, I love you too. *I do!* I don't know what's happened. I don't understand any of this."
He grinned as he stalked forward. "Oh, *you know*. You're here to watch over me. To report back to them each day, when I think you're working, so you can all laugh at me. *Mock me.* The great, *impotent*, Master Particle."
*"I always loved y..." *
The knife was sharp and cut her throat cleanly and easily. She didn't scream as her blood spattered the carpet.
Maria's body fell next to the fallen cigarette remains.
---
It was an hour later, as Peter drank greedily from a clear bottle, his boots resting on his dead wife's carcass, that a gust from the open window turned the newspaper's page.
Peter leaned forward, his eyes wide. He snatched the paper up. He read silently twice over, then mumbled a litany of *no's*. Finally, he swore bloody revenge on the world itself.
He looked down at his wife through bleary eyes, scalding tears spilling down his cheeks. How could this have happened? His life had been perfect -- *twice!* Now he could never go back... *could he*?
He knelt over Maria and gently pressed his trembling lips against her forehead.
Peter could feel his mind buzzing; could see the sparks leaping from his hands. He felt in tune with the universe's tempestuous vibrations, and he knew in that moment, exactly what he was capable of:
*The end of everything.*
Peter got to his feet and looked at the paper a final time.
> At least they had the decency to erase his wife's -- his assistant Scarlett (pictured above) -- mind, and to keep them together in their new lives. But this paper, this reporter, says it's not enough! It's time to end Reworking.
---
Part two: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7n3dix/master_particle_part_two/
| I remember the day that I found out who I was.
I had thought that I was Curtis Clark, a 37 year-old pediatric dentist in San Antonio. And, for a time, that is who I was. I had also had memories of a time before that: memories of growing up, of having friends in high school, of struggling to get my degree and opening my practice, of a few forgotten flings I had along the way. It seemed like nothing out of the ordinary, I thought I had been nothing out of the ordinary.
But I had been wrong.
I remember one day a little girl--7, I think--came in. She had lost quite a few teeth for her age already, and thinking that this was a sign of growing up, I had had the gall to congratulate her. But this only put tears in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me how she had lost some of her teeth. I can’t say that I was really all that said for her, though. That wasn’t the primary emotion that I felt. Instead, it was anger. I was angry at her parents, at her father, so angry, everything began to take on a tinge of crimson.
It took so much patience to finish working on her, and when the mom came in, to avoid stabbing the her with dental tools as punishment for standing by while this had happened to her daughter.
I thought back, and I couldn’t ever remember being that angry, yet I had felt, for some reason, that the feeling was familiar.
I remember taking the rest of the day off, and calling CPS. But from what the agent said, and some intuition that I had not known about until then, I had no illusions that they would take any timely action to save that little girl. If only one of the superheroes would take an interest in such things, but they seem only to care about Big Name Villains--never heard of one who goes after petty criminals and domestic disputes.
I then spent the rest of the day wondering about myself. I thought about this angry side that I had just found within myself. It didn’t seem like that was something that I had ever experienced with myself. Yet, it had felt so natural.
I remember thinking things at that time, that from that point onwards, I could not get out of my head. Thoughts of rage and fury, and some sort of knowledge of how to execute them. Plans to incinerate government buildings filled with inept pension-hungry drones found their way into my head. Thoughts on suffocating and choking greedy and heartless executives in their cushy offices with toxic gas. Plans to protect myself, my thoughts, from...something.
I remember the day that I found out who I was. I was reading the online paper. The frontpage story was about Captain Stupendous, the superhero. He had apparently eradicated his 100th villain--though, because of the way he did his work, no one actually remembered them all. How long had he been active, something approaching 20 years, and he only manages 100 villains? I could find that many in a week, I thought. I was wondering just how it was that these 100 were so *important*, so *heinous*, as to merit his personal attention, and thus I looked back on the past articles the newspaper had. He seemed to only average about one feat every 2 months.
I remember the exact moment that I saw...me. Most papers blurred out the faces of villains--at Stupendous’s request, so that he could actually try ‘giving them a new shot at life’ or whatever his thing was. Wiping their memories had seemed inhuman to me at the time, and dishonest, but he was of the line of thought that it was preferable to killing them, and that they would do better next time. There were, though, some tabloids that tried to skirt this with less than complete obfuscation, and it is in one of those that I saw what I suddenly recognized to be...me.
The figure in the article, unlike many other villains, had refrained from being grandiose, and had only called himself Dr. C. No stupid made-up stage name, no Doctor Doom or High Lord of Paine--and no wearing weird suits like the latter either. They had to make up the name Dr. Cruel for him, but he never acknowledged it. The article called him the most terrifying, because he struck without first gloating, without giving explanation, and without mercy. It resonated with every fiber of my being, and in that moment, I felt whole, complete, and completely dedicated to a new calling--or rather, rededicated to an old one.
I remember Dr. C. I am Dr. C. I am an oncologist for society, for it has been stricken with a cancer that I must eliminate. The so-called heros do not care for the calls of the everyday villains of the world, they do not care for the real villains of the world, only their flamboyant stage partners. That burden falls to me, and I remember now how to embrace it. I remember the righteous fire that drove me.
I look back at my patient records. That father lives in a suburb a few miles away. He feels the need to hurt his daughter when he feels the burn of alcohol down his throat. I wonder if he will feel the same if he feels real fire. If I remember correctly, most don’t. And now, now I do remember. | 2022-12-05T21:34:05 | 2017-12-30T09:39:15 | 3,733 | 85 |
[WP] Democracy no longer exists. Each four years, there is an exam that everyone can take in which the applicant who gets the highest grade gets to rule the country for the next term. | CONGRATULATIONS,
YOU ARE NOW THE RULER OF AMERICA!!! PLEASE PROCEED TO 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20500, USA, FOR THE COMMENSURATE AND DUTY PROCEEDINGS. PLEASE NOTE, SHOULD YOU NOT APPEAR WITHIN 48 HOURS OF THE CEREMONY, YOU WILL BE HELD LIABLE FOR LETTING DOWN YOUR COUNTRY
YOURS SINCERELY,
HAL LTD
*It start out as a prank* I had no knowledge of governance, of politics or mostly anything of depth in general. I was just an average guy who took the country examinations on a dare. After all, it was *free*, and all you needed to do was submit your name and take the test online.
All I did was answer Yes to every question. How the heck did I win?
Then it dawned on me, the presidents ruled by name. But the system was the one in charge. | It happened after the reign of Trump Jr’s 5th term, it was time for change. The democratic system had failed us time and time again, but after it gave us a tyrannical elitist dimwit, we knew something had to change. The walls meant to keep them out? Were really to keep us in. We were trapped behind those walls until someone finally killed that fucker and liberated us. He’s known as Emperor Zero. For 10 years he ruled over this country. He tore down the walls, made allies with foreign countries, increased trade, the economy was booming, people were happy, he truly made this country great again, until he died yesterday.
His death didn’t come as a surprise, he kept us all updated on his health. Even heroes succumb to cancer, though. As his final days approached, the question of “who” reached a fever pitch. The answer came last week with Zero’s announcement of “The Test”. Everyone 16 and over had to take it, no one knew the answers or questions, other than Zero himself. It didn’t matter though, For the past week millions of people locked themselves up inside their houses and sat with their face glued to their computers, it should come to no surprise that they garnered the name “The Studiers”. We all assumed it would be one of them who would win. We all assumed wrong. Hello world, I am Emperor One.
Edit: spelling
Edit 2: their | 2018-01-07T10:55:52 | 2018-01-07T09:29:59 | 48 | 25 |
[WP] Democracy no longer exists. Each four years, there is an exam that everyone can take in which the applicant who gets the highest grade gets to rule the country for the next term. | CONGRATULATIONS,
YOU ARE NOW THE RULER OF AMERICA!!! PLEASE PROCEED TO 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20500, USA, FOR THE COMMENSURATE AND DUTY PROCEEDINGS. PLEASE NOTE, SHOULD YOU NOT APPEAR WITHIN 48 HOURS OF THE CEREMONY, YOU WILL BE HELD LIABLE FOR LETTING DOWN YOUR COUNTRY
YOURS SINCERELY,
HAL LTD
*It start out as a prank* I had no knowledge of governance, of politics or mostly anything of depth in general. I was just an average guy who took the country examinations on a dare. After all, it was *free*, and all you needed to do was submit your name and take the test online.
All I did was answer Yes to every question. How the heck did I win?
Then it dawned on me, the presidents ruled by name. But the system was the one in charge. | "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"
Derek paced around the room, hands behind his back. *How could this have happened?* It wasn't anything they had planned for at all. How did an oversight like this slip by?
The office was in a frenzy. Papers were flying as test graders searched desperately for a better score. The best analysts in the country were double, triple, *quadruple* checking the numbers, but they kept coming up with the same name. Of all potential candidates, he was the absolute last thing anyone had expected.
"Sir? He's here." The room went silent as his secretary Laura, ever even-headed, announced her presence, flanked by two well-dressed guards. As they exited the room together, her calm facade began to fall apart. "I can't believe..."
"We did say everyone, Laura." Derek had resigned himself to his fate at this point. He would advise his charge to the best of his ability. He could only hope it was enough.
There was silence behind the door at the end of the long hallway. At least he was patient. Derek straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and turned the knob.
"Congratulations, Mr. Pr-"
He was cut off as a handful of shit caught him in the face full on.
*President Tito,* he thought. *May God have mercy on our souls.* | 2018-01-07T10:55:52 | 2018-01-07T09:56:42 | 48 | 12 |
[WP] You're just killed in a car accident. Before you move on to the afterlife, the grim reaper offers you a choice. You're given 24 hours to live, completely healthy, and for every person you kill in that period, you get an extra year to live, or you can chose to wait out that period and die. | I felt the rush of air in my lungs and I knew I was back. I was bloody, bruised, and there were a couple of broken things, but the huge shard of glass that had pierced my heart was gone. *It worked!* I thought. Then I realized something else. I have 24 hours. I had to think, and fast. Then, I heard it.
“Please… Help me…” A faint voice called from the other car. I ran over to it. The other driver was hurt even more than me. I was clear she would die without immediate medical attention. Then it hit me: *She would die without medical attention.* I looked around: we were driving on a deserted country road. The last house I saw was miles away. I looked at the dying woman: her bloodied hands reached faintly for a cell phone too far away. I reached into my pocket and took out my own. I typed in the numbers: 9-1-1. My finger hovered over the call button. I cleared my phone and put it back in my pocket. I think she saw me as I walked back to my car and got back into the ruined seat. Buckled myself back up. Had to make it look authentic if the police arrived.
I could hear her screaming. “Help me, please!”
I waited. One minute, then two. The screams turned angry. “Goddamnit, why won’t you help? You motherfucker!”
Ten minutes passed. The screams turned to pleading, sobbing. “Please, I have kids…”
At 15 minutes, the pleading got fainter. Then, they stopped.
I felt it then. It was like the Sword of Damocles had been pressing into my neck, ever so slowly, and then it was suddenly pulled away. *It worked!* I thought again. I didn’t think the Grim Reaper could be this reasonable. So now I had a whole year. I closed my eyes and thought to myself. *So what now?* I’d surely get painkillers for this broken wrist: *I could leave the bottle near a junkie den and hope? How many years does a corrections degree take? Is that a thing? I could become a death row executioner and set me up for life, guilt- and consequence-free.* I pondered. Did this deal last forever? Could I make it to the ripe of old age of ‘immortal?’ *That’s a lot of time to take vacations,* I thought with a smile.
“What are you smiling about?” A voice asked me. It was soft, but seething with malice. I opened my eyes and looked towards the sound.
It was her. She was standing over me, her face furious and her injuries mostly mended. She was holding a shard of glass half a foot long. I didn’t even have time to reach for my belt buckle as she swung it down, right into my heart. Her nostrils flared and she wrenched the shard deeper, twisted it to let the blood flow.
As I saw my life spill out before my eyes for the second time today, I could hear her voice again. It was distant, as if in a dream: “Hello, 9-1-1? I’ve been in a car accident… Yes, there was another car… No, I think—I think he’s dead… I'm so scared, please, help!”
*Tsk tsk,* a cold and silky voice whispered in my mind. *Did you think my offer was an exclusive to you alone? For shame.* As my vision began to fade, I heard an awful laughter. *You put so much thought into it, and you forgot the most basic thing of all:*
*I make a visit to everyone.*
Gimme that feedback I'll eat it up like groceries bby
| "Mr. President! Mr. President! Are you ok?"
The President was coming to his senses, he lay on the ground "The Beast" was on the lawn having been stopped by secret service. The meeting was fresh in his head, could it have been real? Did the 24 hours already start? He felt well enough, no pain, no broken bones, how would he die after time was up? His Secret Service handler still was looking on with a face full of concern.
"I'm fine Jack, who the hell was driving, I might have to fire his ass."
"No one sir, the car was idling and seemed to accelerate all on its own, are you sure you're ok?"
"Fine Jack, I'm fine, it must be my lucky day. Get in touch with Grace, tell her the meeting with the Joint Chiefs has been moved up, I want them in the war room in 45 minutes."
The President took that time to settle himself and come to terms with the decision he had before him.
"Harry, what the hell is going, what's this damn rush, and what is this story about you getting run over by a goddamn limo?" Henry had gotten their early and nearly jumped when the president came in.
"Easy Henry, we don't need you having another heart attack. Everything's fine. Let me ask you: has the window been finalized for the attack?"
"Of course sir, has been for a week, Thursday, 2300 Japan Time, Naga... Naga... Nagasomething, I don't know how to pronounce these Jap cities."
"We're launching an additional strike, Henry."
"Mr. President? I don't think you understand, sir, these aren't M80's we're talking about, we're talking tens of thousands of civilian casualties. Even Hirohito, crazy as he is, will know enough's enough."
"I just received new intel, Japan thinks that we only have one bomb, Henry. If we drop it, they'll think they've waited out the worst and keep fighting." The President hoped it wouldn't take much to convince Henry to bomb another "Jap City".
"Those crazy bastards! Are we sure about this intel sir, where is it coming from?"
"It came over the wire from British Intelligence. Amazing what those 'Bletchley Park Chaps...'" he said affecting a British accent "are capable of."
"Heh. Indeed sir, but the timeframe sir, I don't know if we can-"
"I don't want to hear excuses General, get the others in here" the President said firmly.
"Yes, sir!" Henry stood stiff to attention.
In the meeting they hammered out details of the new strike. Hiroshima. That was the name of the city to be hit. The president had to, multiple times, stress the importance of the attack happening immediately, citing more false intelligence. Everyone was on edge, something seemed off and it was felt in the air during the planning. More than once Henry had to crack the whip to keep the rest of the room focused, but the fervor seemed to betray some of his own doubts.
As soon as the details were set, the President cleared the room, and buried his head in his hands. All he can think was what the hell was he doing? He didn't want to die, he knew that. But could he kill all those people? And what's more, could he stay sane for thousands of years of life? All he knew was that he felt the cold grip of death, he saw where he was going, and if he had to choose thousands of years of earth or eternity there, it really was no choice.
"Sir, planes fuel up in T-minus three hours, the first reconnaissance plane should be up in 6. Everything is on schedule. Would you like me to update you as things happen."
"Only if there is a problem. Otherwise just tell me when the damned thing is done." He said dejectedly.
"Sir, permission to speak" the President didn't even know who this kid was.
"Sure." he said indifferently
"I know it's a lot of lives, sir, but you're saving our own boys. Believe me, countless future generations will be thanking you for this decision." With that he was gone, leaving the president alone in the war room.
"I guess I'll find out..."
| 2018-01-23T18:41:07 | 2018-01-23T17:06:05 | 75 | 10 |
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live. | Often our final hours are our best moments. Charlie woke up on the couch, clutching a bottle of jack, aching from the relentless beating chronic alcohol does. But this morning he does something he hasn’t done for a long time, he showers. His wife comes down, mouth agape, as there is breakfast already made and a smile she last saw on her wedding day. It was like someone heard her wishing to be with the person she once loved, today he came home.
Charlie went in to work that morning and reversed his decision regarding the holiday bonus, giving all of his employees at the office, a 10% salary bonus. He spent the rest of the morning accepting claims from clients that would have been declined. After all the predatorial loopholes he added to his client contracts were bad for everyone.
He ran home and picked up his wife, and without a word he knew what to do. He took her to lunch at the restaurant they first met, where they talked for the first time in a long time. They walked all over the park and spent the day laughing and enjoying museums. It felt like today would never end, until it did abruptly and gently.
Charlie died, 6:20pm.
It wasn’t a shock to most people who knew him, he didn’t live a healthy life. He wasn’t a very nice person, but, a lot of people choose to remember him by the last day he lived. A lot of people who had saw him that day claimed it was like he knew it was coming, he acted like the best version of himself, his wife would agree.
Often our final hours are our best moments. Hallie woke up in a strange bed and put her wedding ring back on, she smiled, because today was going to be a new day.
| As the gun is pressed against my head, the steaming hot barrel singing and letting the aroma of burning hair spiral up against the top of the car, I wish, not for the first time, that I had my original body.
Breath in, the gun clicks back.
Breath out.
Move.
Hand snaps out, spirals the gun in front of me. The jerk pulls the trigger in the man's hand, and the bullet whizzes in front of me, close enough that I'm deafened, close enough to see it's a 9 millimeter bullet. It's spinning and I whirl about close enough to feel the buzz of burning gases across exposed skin, neck popping, and stare at the man.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Count the heart beats, know the seconds.
Everyone gets a turn with me at the wheel. Wish I had less time to save everyone. Quality over quantity.
The car's still in motion, and my hands snap out to steady the wheel before we colliding with oncoming traffic, but his hand is already pushing the gun back against me. Elbow up, snap the pistol into the air, collide with his fingers.
Grunt of surprise from the man, but I'm already in motion again.
Right hand snaps out, snares the gun from his fingers. Flicks it across the fingers, spins it down into the palm of my hand.
It's not safe to take your eyes off of the road, so the three shots fired into his skull are entirely blind. The spray of blood across the side of my head is only a mild distraction.
I've driven through worse.
Breath in.
Keep watch.
Breath out.
The hot gun stings at my fingers as the sulfur spirals, leaving smudges against my fingers. I drop it into the dead man's lap. In the rear view mirror I can spy the other victim. From the dread in my body's mind, it's about what I expected. Attempted double homicide, theft, robbery.
It's going to be another long night.
All's fair in the service of the lord.
----
For more like this, click here! https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ | 2018-06-20T08:23:57 | 2018-06-20T06:23:08 | 117 | 40 |
[WP] You are a medieval villager who has been cursed by a witch. She curses you to be live until you are the last human alive. After a 1000 years you try to start the apocalypse. | *Five*
The button in my sweaty hands seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
*Four*
It is 5:29 AM, July 16th, 1945.
*Three*
As the seconds felt like hours, my mind raced back to the laboratory. An old man with white, eccentric looking hair spoke to me.
"Do you really think this is such a good idea?"
Hah, he questions me.
He has no idea what I've been through.
1000 years of boredom. And so I respond.
"Look at the world. This is necessary. Do you want them to continue this madness?"
He stared at me.
That gaze had always unnerved me.
"Very well. If you believe the continued development is truly the right choice for us and our posterity, then we will continue."
*Two*
"ironic", I thought to myself. "Man has always chased life, while all I have ever chased is death"
*One*
They'll never understand.
*Zero*
A flash of light erupted over the horizon, as a new dawn for humans rose over the land.
A purplish-grey cloud rose up over the desert, as a firestorm roared below it.
"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds" I said.
A man next to me softly whispered "Now we are all sons of bitches."
That we are.
My name is Oppenheimer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not my first story, so I feel like I should have done better on this one. I had a great idea for it after reading the writing prompt, then kinda just stuck everything together as I wrote. Oh well. Comments and stuff very much welcome! | The last pages of Josef Mengele’s diary found in the year 2120:
It’s been one thousand years, a thousand fake histories under my belt, and a thousand things that could have gone wrong. Very few people had actually tried in the past to destroy humanity, one man had nearly gotten there. It was back when I thought that war would be our downfall, I bred a man for war, a good friend of mine named Adolf.
I got to see the evils of humanity, what a fractured mind could do with brilliance. Sadly he had failed me.
I was wrong though, you don’t destroy humanity with poison, with guns, or even death itself. You kill it with kindness, you kill it with promises of a brighter tomorrow. Get the world to rally behind you with the belief that what you are doing is the right thing.
Humanity was a cockroach that could not be stomped on, and today they’ll be done for. It’s taken over two hundred years of research, and I’ve been called many things, “Butcher” “The Doctor of Hell” “The Angel of Death”
They never understood why I was fascinated by those that were different, they never understood that what I was fascinated with was not defects.. they were the marks of witches!
Zwillinge! Zwillinge!
Oh how I loved the shout that said there was a new twin for me to play with. Two was a powerful number for witches you know. Not as important as three mind you, but do you realize how hard it would be to find triplets to research?
But do you know the results of my research?
Do you know what thousands of bodies, mountains of research materials got me?
A pocket full of chocolate and the look of betrayal every day?
I found the gene, I found what makes a witch a witch, and today I will release my research.
About five billion needles are ready for injection, this will be the last generation of humans. For the low price of twenty dollars you will gain power, health, beauty.
This is my final revenge, the power that true witches hold is no more. Once everyone is special, no one is!
Bedenke das Ende. | 2018-09-01T00:16:09 | 2018-08-31T23:50:34 | 243 | 114 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186,292".
The number kept ringing in my ears as I was huddled onto the elevator to Hell. I had led the most unremarkable and conflict-free life ever, an average joe. Easy-going, I almost always acquiesced to what the group wanted, not wanting to raise an issue. A voyeur of life, almost.
Chapters from life flashed in front of my eyes, some more vivid than the others.
&#x200B;
"""Queer little Abby, who was in bullied in school all the time. I wanted to stand up for her, but I was scared. I did slip her a little note though...
Abdul Rahman, whose house was pelted with stones in the aftermath of 9/11. I wanted to tell the mob to leave, call the cops on them, but I was scared they'd hurt me. I did smile at him once later though...
Jack and Ryan, a couple who were always picked on and ostracized in our neighborhood. I wanted to tell the folks to back off, but I was scared they'd judge me. I did pat Ryan on the back though...
Barbara Rooney, a Stanford grad who didn't get the job at my company cause my boss wanted to give it to his nephew. I wanted to tell my boss that it was wrong, but I was scared I'd lose my job. I did send her a very polite rejection letter though..."""
&#x200B;
The elevator jolted to a halt, shaking me out of my thoughts. The panoramic arch to Hell welcomed me. On it, was Dante:
**"The Hottest places in Hell are reserved for those, who in times of moral crisis, preserve their neutrality."** | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
&#x200B;
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
&#x200B;
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
&#x200B;
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T08:17:41 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] You discover some seeds and decide to plant them in your yard. After several weeks, odd orange plants with triangular tips have grown, and life begins to get a little easier for you. You have become a Karma farmer.
[removed] | It was once again a scorching summer. And i once again went out to get water from the nearby lake.
r/Redditlake so called. It’s a nice place, lots of folk went there to take pictures, quite a lot of karma for a photo.
But i don’t like moving a lot, or taking pictures, that’s why i have a farm, more of a lawn but it’s a farm, a small farm, it has the usual chicken somewhere like a farm should, i don’t own it tho, it eats my karma.
But what’s karma you might be askin’. Well karma is a kind off fruit, sweet in taste, arrow shape thing. Kind off like an orange, except it’s better.
It all began when i decided to move from Terra onto a new planet called Reddit. It’s a uhh.. special place.
When i was in a cave looking for original memes i found some weird looking seeds, a round shape with another smaller ball attach to it, like an angler fish. So i decided to plant them in my lawn for some reason.
In beetwen the harvesting seasons there have been folk coming around, looking in disgust, not everyone accepts karma farming.
There were also folk saying „Karma farming? Really? A man of your talent?” Obviously i knew who they were. And knew how to answer.
„It’s a simple life.”
„Lonely i imagine.” They answered always.
„Ever since orginality died yes.” That line always worked somehow, they would leave me alone. Alone with my karma farm. | Karma is a bi*ch
Unbelivable! I manage to grow karma!
Well, the story is a little more complicated. When i found the seeds, I desided to take care of them, because why not? I have a small garde in my backyard, and nothing better to do. So, they grew, but i didn't recognize them. I mean, I am not butanic expert, but I had a feeling they werent regular flowers.
One week ago, I found 5 dollars on the round near a homeless and desided to give it to him. When I came back to my house, I found 100 dollar bill in my mailbox! At first, I thought i won the lottery for poor people or somthing, however, when I got to my garden, my strange folwer got a lot more bigger then it was in the morning.
I desided to do an experiment. First, I ordered myself a huge hamburger with fries with the 100 dollars I found, but nothing happend to the flower. So I desided to go a little farther. I found the homeless guy, sat next to him, and ate the entire meal without oferring anything to him. In my way back, I noticed my shirt was dirty from ketchop. My first instinct was "sh*t" but it confirmed what I had thought. When I got home, I saw one of the small fruit from my flower went black.
I got two conclusion from my experiment:
One: Good action get my prizes and make the flower grow bigger
Two: Bad action get me punished and make the flowers fruit go black.
From those conclusion I desided to do two things: I went and bought the homeless guy hamburger and named the flower "karma".
Now, what to do?
(Thanks for reading this short story! English is not my native language, so sorry for every mistake I made. Tell me how I can improve my writing and if you want part two!) | 2018-12-30T03:21:56 | 2018-12-29T22:53:42 | 183 | 71 |
[WP] After strict homeschooling, you and your twin decide to enroll in college together. While at lunch with Mom, you mention a ridiculous discussion in Child Psychology about "Imaginary Friends", and that (your twin) especially found it hilariously absurd. A frown falls on your mothers face. "Who?" | It was early in the morning. Dad had prepared our breakfast. Three plates, as usual, rested atop the table. Mark, my twin, was a night owl, and so he never woke up to share the first meal of the day with us.
"How was college, sweetie? Anything interesting?" my mother asked, as my father entered the bathroom.
"Not really," I said, and took a proper bite of steaming hot cakes. "Well, we'd an interesting discussion in Child Psychology about Imaginary Friends. Supposedly, there are some people who never grow out of that stage, and as a result, they keep seeing imaginary friends throughout their whole lives. Mark found this absurd, said that was schizophrenia. So yeah, that was interesting."
Mom smiled, rubbed my shoulder tenderly. "You made a new friend, sweetie! You should've told me that. That's great news. Tell him he can come over whenever he wants to."
"What? I didn't mention anything about a new friend."
"Oh, don't be silly," she said, making a dismissive gesture with her hands. "I'm referring to this Mark you mentioned."
My brows wrenched downward. "Mark as in my twin. You are acting odd this morning."
Confusion daubed upon her face in the shape of a scowl. "Who?"
"Mark, your other child? Are you okay?"
Her face turned the color of ash. "Tom, is this some sort of joke?"
"Why would it be a joke?"
"You are scaring me now. Cut it out."
"You are the one scaring me. You are acting beyond weird."
She drew a deep breath, rolled her eyes. "Okay, I will play along. Tell your 'twin' that I love him very much, and that I hope he has a great day today. I have to go to work now. See you later today."
"Whatever," I said, shaking my head, as she left the table I murmured under my breath, "*Psycho.*"
The bathroom's door swung open. "That was two days worth," my dad shouted, proudly, as he rubbed his stomach. "Let's make it three. How's the breakfast, Tom? Did your brother wake up? I heard you talking to someone."
I laughed. "No, he's sleeping still. I was talking with mom. She's acting weird today."
As I said that, Mark came down the stairs, clad in a coat of drowsiness. "Waking up at this time should be illegal."
"I agree," Dad said, pointed at the third plate on the table. Mom hadn't eaten anything. "Food will make it more bearable." He came to me, rested a palm upon my shoulder. "Hey buddy, I know it's hard, but it's been a year now."
"Wht do yu mean?" I asked, mid-chew.
"This talking with your mother thing. It's not healthy anymore. Listen, I will appoint you a date with Dr. Laurae. People say he's great at this sort of situations. Will you go?"
I swallowed, and nodded. Mark had fallen asleep over his plate. That cheered me up a little. "Am I crazy, dad?"
"Of course you are not. Everyone has his own process. This is yours," he said, ran a hand through my hair. "But it's okay to get help when things get harder than they should be. Will you go then?"
Mom came storming through the door, panting, and shouted, "I forgot the car's keys! She glanced at me with a worried expression. Her eyes darted to my father, who was patting my back. My father didn't even flinch at her coming, nor at the open door.
It was as if she was not there.
I took a deep breath. "I will."
In that moment, my mom's lips crooked. She left without saying a word.
Many things shattered within me, and the shards fell sharp and ruthless.
She wouldn't come back, would she?
-------------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| Mom looked from Michael to me, then back to Michael. Her eyes then drifted down to the kitchen table we were sat around, settling on the grain as if it were more interesting than either of us. Perhaps to her, it was. After all, she'd stopped paying us any real attention long ago. Back when...
"Mom?" I said. "Are you okay." Why was she acting so strange? Didn't she want to know what Michael and I had been up to in class?
Silence wrestled with static from the air conditioner. Mom pulled her glass near and poured from the half empty gin bottle on the table. She raised the glass to her nose, taking a long sniff. "You don't have a twin." She downed the contents and poured again.
"Mom?" I laughed, but needles of anxiety prodded my stomach. "What do you mean? Just look at us, for God's sake!"
Michael joined in, gesturing a hand to me. "Not only has Kate always been there for me, but come on! Same hair, same nose. We're identical, if not for gender. You can't say we're not twins."
Mom looked up reluctantly. Her bloodshot eyes drifted with a stutter, as if they needed oiling. Slowly they set on me.
"You don't have a twin. Not... Not since you were a baby." I could see the pity in her eyes. She took another swig, wiping her mouth the back of her golden cardigan.
"Mom? "
"And I never told you that," she continued, before turning away from me and looking back at Michael, forcing a trembling smile.
"What do you mean, Mom?" Michael's voice cracked as he spoke. "Are you feeling okay?"
A pang of anxiety that has been building, burst in my stomach. She'd been growing old and I hadn't even noticed. Deep shadows ran in grooves over her face. Grey drifts streaked her dark hair, like the setting sun shining on the crests of waves. But most apparently, her mind itself was drifting away. Or the alcohol was taking it from her. "Shall I call a doctor, Mom?"
She raised a hand, placing a palm in front of her face. "I'm fine. I'm fine." A long pause. "Your twin died. Cot death, they said. I don't know if that was really the cause, but I do know I held a tiny unmoving body in my arms for an hour, before your father found me and pried my arms open." Tears streaked her face, her mascara running towards her mouth.
How could this have happened? That she'd made up such a story, and now seemingly believed it? Could drink alone really do this to a person?
Michael looked at me, the sadness in his eyes as deep as that in Mom's.
"I knew something was odd," Mom continued, looking from me to Michael. "After dad died... I heard you in your room, talking to, well, to no one. You... You began doing it often. A way of comforting yourself, I thought. Just an imaginary friend. You were young and-- Well, I thought you'd grown out of it." She sighed. "I should have been there for you, but"--she emptied the rest of her drink--"I had my own demons."
"Mom," Michael said, his calmness surprising me, "if I was talking to anyone, it was to my sist--"
Mom leapt out of her seat like a woman possesed, snatching his wrists and holding them like clamps. "You don't have a God-damned sister! Not anymore."
She released him and fell back into her seat, sliding half down it, weeping.
Michael's hands were shaking. "Mom?"
She covered her face with embarrassed hands, hiding her tears.
Michael's eyes roved slowly, nervously, across the table as he looked to me.
"She was always there for me," he whispered. "Even when you weren't."
Mom looked up. "I'm sorry, my darling," she said through tears. "I'll try to be better. I'll try so much harder." She grabbed the bottle by its green throat and walked to the sink, emptying it in four swift glugs.
It was then that I realized Michael wasn't looking at me.
He was looking past me, to my side. I sat there frozen, hoping beyond hope he'd discover me once more.
But he didn't.
Couldn't.
"Michael, please," I begged, my voice already thinning. "Please. *Look after Mom*."
| 2019-01-02T03:47:18 | 2019-01-02T03:46:10 | 1,569 | 216 |
[WP] After strict homeschooling, you and your twin decide to enroll in college together. While at lunch with Mom, you mention a ridiculous discussion in Child Psychology about "Imaginary Friends", and that (your twin) especially found it hilariously absurd. A frown falls on your mothers face. "Who?" | It was early in the morning. Dad had prepared our breakfast. Three plates, as usual, rested atop the table. Mark, my twin, was a night owl, and so he never woke up to share the first meal of the day with us.
"How was college, sweetie? Anything interesting?" my mother asked, as my father entered the bathroom.
"Not really," I said, and took a proper bite of steaming hot cakes. "Well, we'd an interesting discussion in Child Psychology about Imaginary Friends. Supposedly, there are some people who never grow out of that stage, and as a result, they keep seeing imaginary friends throughout their whole lives. Mark found this absurd, said that was schizophrenia. So yeah, that was interesting."
Mom smiled, rubbed my shoulder tenderly. "You made a new friend, sweetie! You should've told me that. That's great news. Tell him he can come over whenever he wants to."
"What? I didn't mention anything about a new friend."
"Oh, don't be silly," she said, making a dismissive gesture with her hands. "I'm referring to this Mark you mentioned."
My brows wrenched downward. "Mark as in my twin. You are acting odd this morning."
Confusion daubed upon her face in the shape of a scowl. "Who?"
"Mark, your other child? Are you okay?"
Her face turned the color of ash. "Tom, is this some sort of joke?"
"Why would it be a joke?"
"You are scaring me now. Cut it out."
"You are the one scaring me. You are acting beyond weird."
She drew a deep breath, rolled her eyes. "Okay, I will play along. Tell your 'twin' that I love him very much, and that I hope he has a great day today. I have to go to work now. See you later today."
"Whatever," I said, shaking my head, as she left the table I murmured under my breath, "*Psycho.*"
The bathroom's door swung open. "That was two days worth," my dad shouted, proudly, as he rubbed his stomach. "Let's make it three. How's the breakfast, Tom? Did your brother wake up? I heard you talking to someone."
I laughed. "No, he's sleeping still. I was talking with mom. She's acting weird today."
As I said that, Mark came down the stairs, clad in a coat of drowsiness. "Waking up at this time should be illegal."
"I agree," Dad said, pointed at the third plate on the table. Mom hadn't eaten anything. "Food will make it more bearable." He came to me, rested a palm upon my shoulder. "Hey buddy, I know it's hard, but it's been a year now."
"Wht do yu mean?" I asked, mid-chew.
"This talking with your mother thing. It's not healthy anymore. Listen, I will appoint you a date with Dr. Laurae. People say he's great at this sort of situations. Will you go?"
I swallowed, and nodded. Mark had fallen asleep over his plate. That cheered me up a little. "Am I crazy, dad?"
"Of course you are not. Everyone has his own process. This is yours," he said, ran a hand through my hair. "But it's okay to get help when things get harder than they should be. Will you go then?"
Mom came storming through the door, panting, and shouted, "I forgot the car's keys! She glanced at me with a worried expression. Her eyes darted to my father, who was patting my back. My father didn't even flinch at her coming, nor at the open door.
It was as if she was not there.
I took a deep breath. "I will."
In that moment, my mom's lips crooked. She left without saying a word.
Many things shattered within me, and the shards fell sharp and ruthless.
She wouldn't come back, would she?
-------------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I blinked. I glanced at Tim. Tim looked back at me, confusion sprawled across his face, his jaw slightly slack, his mouth slightly open. “Tim, Mom. Tim,” I said, putting my hand on her knee. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she repeated her question. I sighed and shook my head. Tim put his face in his hands and sighed louder. “Mom, it’s me. Tim. Belle’s twin? Your youngest son? I did your taxes last year, I gave you rides when your license was revoked, and...I’m your son.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My mother said nothing. She hadn’t opened her eyes since she’d been diagnosed with glaucoma, since she’d learned it was far too late to do anything about it. I guess alzheimer’s hadn’t taken away that particular nervous tic. I patted Tim’s back and gave him a sympathetic look before turning back to my mother.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Mom, you remember me, right? Belle?” her frown deepened, “Of course I remember you. What kind of mother would I be if I forgot the name of one of my God given children? I’m insulted you even suggested it!” She sniffed loudly and turned away from us.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I gave up. “...Ookay Mom. We’re gonna go. We’ll come by again tomorrow, okay?” I patted her knee again, turned to the nurse, nodded to her, and left the hospital room. “I didn’t think she’d gotten that bad,” Tim said, his eyes distant, “I thought we’d have a little more time. I thought she’d at least remember us long enough for us to graduate.” I grimaced towards him. I hadn’t been quite as optimistic as he, our mother had been...older when she’d adopted us.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I’m driving,” I said, reaching in his pocket for the keys, “you don’t look great, and I don’t want you stress driving.” He rolled his eyes, but let me take the keys anyway.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I’ll call Sybil and give her an update, she’ll pass it on,” I said, dialing my older sister’s number. Our conversation was brief. I said something about our mother forgetting her child, told her I loved her, and hung up. As we walked to the parking lot, my pace slowed. Instead of the battered car we’d shared since freshman year of high school, instead of any sort of parking space, sat a single-ride bike fasted to a single bike rack. I slowed to a halt and my brother walked past me, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His hand reached to where a passenger door would have been, appeared to mime opening a door, and...vanished.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I stopped. I blinked. I walked forward, felt around, and found a soft surface. “Tim? Tim, are you there? Where are you?!” I blurted, feeling around the invisible something. His muffled voice said something, I’m not sure what. The something got softer and softer. Then it just wasn’t. I felt around more, hoping that the something my brother had just dissapeared into was separate from the something I had been feeling around, but either it was or it was just too late. Tim was gone. I dropped to my knees, and my phone vibrated. I silently answered the phone.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Belle, I’m going to visit Mom. Do you know what room she’ll be in?” I said nothing, still in shock. “Belle?” I found my voice - “Sybil, Tim’s gone. I don’t know what’s happening. Tim’s gone.” Tears ran down my face, and I was about to say more, before she interrupted me.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Who?”
Critiques wanted. Lots. Critique meeee. | 2019-01-02T03:47:18 | 2019-01-02T02:40:31 | 1,569 | 64 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits.. | From within the ambulance shed came yelling which was muffled but loud enough to bring nurses from the hospital adjacent. Several EMTs and a paramedic stood outside the building shaking their heads at the terrible noises coming from within. The nurses walked up with concerned looks on their faces.
“What’s happening,” asked one of them to the paramedic.
“Dimitiri has gone off the deep end,” she responded.
“Really?” There was a look of disbelief from the nurses who were used to Dimitri’s calm attitude and efficient work. He was a legend at the hospital for his knowledge and ability, but the fact that he could proceed through the worst scenarios with calm was perhaps the most impressive thing of all.
“What happened,” one of them asked.
“We got privatized,” said an EMT. “They just cut our pay, lengthened our hours, cut our benefits, service is now more expensive, coverage area got bigger while they are removing one of the units, want us to focus on transports instead of emergency medicine, and people will die because we can’t be there to help them.”
From within the confines of the ambulance building came the shout... “I haven’t seen anything this barbaric and stupid since the fucking dark ages!” | I asked for the cocaine...everyone looked freaked out. I quickly said "justkidding" and took the narcan. Little sips like this happen at least a few times a year. Being as old as I am, yet young compared to the rest of my species, humankind I had issues with that word since the 50's, you tend to just roll with it. The younger dems guys are all in their twenties with patch spots of some FOG <fucking old guys> and ladies on their second careers. But, I wouldnt trade this for anything.
I came back from the war different, biologically different, but everything was the same. Science hasnt figured me out yet. CBC, CMP, and all the other lab work comes back pretty good minus some crap lipids due to always working nights not only to hide my age but myself from the world as it repeats over and over. In reality I blame mostly MCDonalds...but when the mcrib is back I'm on it like a blitzkrieg.
Every so often old habits come back but some habits are why the new ones exist. They get forgotten. Somehow so do I. People ask how i stay the same and my reply is Avon; we get enough lonely old ladies trying to sell us this stuff as we shuffle them off to the hospital it's a running gag, yet in reality it's a marker that it's time to be on the hunt for a single male in his twenties that is a john doe and move.
.......off to pick up pizza I guess might as well keep those LDL doing something | 2019-01-05T15:35:45 | 2019-01-05T15:22:51 | 71 | 30 |
[WP] Jerry was erased from existence by Thanos’ snap. The grieving Tom decided to revenge for his fallen friend. | No endgame was necessary.
It wasn't much of a battle, that was for sure. Thanos was sitting on his fat purple arse, watching the sun rise, the roasted Infinity Gauntlet locked around his injured hand, drinking in his success. The Gauntlet felt lighter, opprobriously so, almost. It was supposed to represent infinite potential, absolute control, the mastery of the fundamental forces of the universe themselves. But now, it felt like a barely charged toy, good for one last squeak. Enough to shape what dregs he could deign to notice, when the time was right.
He never saw it coming, Never saw the light grey streak, never saw the fur bristled and shaking in rage. Never saw the claws, outstretched, comical, oversized against the swollen glove-like paws that thirsted for Titan blood. Never saw the huge, pulsing eyes, the yellow sclera hidden beneath webs of living crimson, shedding tears as they rode an engine of indestructible vengeance forward.
All the Avengers found, when they emerged from their carefully constructed plan at last to bear down on the Mad Titan, were viscera that might have been roadkill if not for the telltale purple tint and for the shards of the Infinity Gauntlet scattered among the mess. That, and a single, forlorn mound of dust, adorned with a tiny white rose, so small that it might have come from a mouse. | Everyday for the last month, I’ve sat on the windowsill looking out at the changed world. Fewer people walk by, fewer trees stand in the yard. Fewer birds fly in the sky.
My tail twitches in annoyance, and I look over my shoulder into the house. Normally I would have had my tail snapped in a mouse trap. Or if I was sleeping, my whiskers plucked. But not for the last month.
It was nice and calm at first. I spent so much time laying in the old woman’s lap. She’s still here at least. But, well, I’m a cat. My one ambition in life has always been to hunt that damned mouse.
But ever since that day, he’s been gone.
The news on the television says that it’s not just him, or the things I can see from my perch on the windowsill. It’s everything. The whole universe. Half of all life, suddenly just gone.
They blame a being named Thanos.
Something about a gauntlet full of stones? I don’t really understand. But what I do understand is that my arch nemesis is gone - and I wasn’t the one to kill him.
The old lady left the door open today. I step outside. Even the wind and sunlight feel like half of what they used to be. I look back inside - I can see it, even from here - his mouse hole.
That settles it. I don’t have a plan. Yet. But who was this Thanos guy to rob me of Jerry? I set off looking for Thanos. I know the old lady will be alright, I don’t have to protect her from the mouse anymore. The dogs are still in the yard (I was disappointed at that), but they can’t stop me.
I might just be a Tom cat, but I know what I have to do. And I have 9 lives to do it in.
r/LandOfMisfits | 2019-04-01T06:16:41 | 2019-04-01T05:40:35 | 363 | 121 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | It wasn’t until a month had passed I realized the Vinari, though seemingly as intelligent as humans, have an extremely short lifespan of only 6 Earth months. At first I thought that was extremely tragic. Forever stranded from my home, my loved ones, my entire race, and my only company are a primitive society whose people grow old and die before my very eyes.
However, they are a very peaceful people. My people would be suspicious about other humans from just another region. But these Vinari, though frightened at first, quickly saw I was not a threat and wanted to know everything about me and my kind. Though their quickness to trust is naïve, I envy their peaceful nature. Something tells me they won’t make the same mistakes we made.
Being an agrarian level society, they were completely baffled by what I brought with me: technology and tools they didn’t have names for. After dozens of their generations, 10 years, they’re now at a level similar to the Renaissance.
Even after all this time though, it is heartbreaking to be here. I love these people yet I have to watch them die so fast. Even with all the technology I introduced and new medicines, their lifespans are just barely a year long. I’m only 38 now, but to them I’m thousands of years old. They call me “God of knowledge and wisdom”. I tell them I’m no God, but after many generations I just got used to it. One day my aging will become obvious, how they’ll react to the truth I can only guess.
They’ve depended on me for so long. They think I’ll be here forever but all of this is to prepare them for the inevitable day that I’m no longer here. | 14 years... 14 God damn years I've been stuck here! For whatever reason these things only live for roughly 6 months then die. They've been astounded by me since I crashed here after I lost control from that space prick Callhoun. I thankfully haven't seen on in years because I've been in hiding. Hopefully for them it means I'm now a myth like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster. They have an earth sized planet but for some reason are about 6 inches tall. Also, I may have wiped out a city or 2 when I arrived so they've been in fear of me.
I've seen them on their version of TV discussing me and if I even exist or if I'm fake. Great, I'm a conspiracy theory... Hey mum, I made it I guess!
Food was hard to come by to begin with, but I've gotten use to the taste of their animals, if you could even call them that. Recently, I've grown curious what the inhabitants taste like but if I show myself, they might try to defend themselves...
I've also been trying to fix my ship but it doesn't seem to work because I ruined it when I crashed and it was already old 14 years ago when I crashed. I left plenty behind on my home planet... Family, friends, the love of my life. I look up into space and wonder if they're doing the same.
If anyone finds this recording, please, find my girlfriend Candice, give her the tape. She needs to know I never forgot her, and thought somehow, someway, she'd come rescue me. Sure I gave up hope but there was still a sliver of hope in the back of my mind but it was very quiet...
Candice, I love you and I always have! If you've moved on, I don't blame you... If you haven't, go live your life. I don't think I'm getting off this hellhole planet ever so I think I'm gonna live out my days by taking over this place and making myself their God. I've ran out of fucks to give... They're gonna bow to me, or die. Simple. | 2019-04-22T07:00:35 | 2019-04-22T06:41:10 | 1,492 | 66 |
[WP]Abducted humans have, so far, all displayed the same internal organ structure common throughout the galaxy with only one exception. Every one of them has a Glarnak parasite beating inside their chest. They even think it's necessary for life. | "What do you mean, dead?" His wide black eyes blinked slowly.
"I'm telling you, we excised the parasite absolutely perfectly. Not even a trace of it left anywhere in the subject's system. They expired partway through the surgery, and get this-- the GLARNAK died first. Not the host, the parasite."
"That's..." He trailed off, long spindly fingers stroking his almost nonexistent chin. "That's impossible. What other possibilities could there be?"
"It gets worse. Almost everything down there has one. Hundreds of trillions of parasites, even down to the class 1 organisms. It's the same with all of them; the Glarnak cannot be removed without killing the host."
He sat down on the hovering, ovoid seat at the table. "Good stars, how in the universe did we miss this one? How did ANY of us miss this one? Billions of years! Billions! The Glarnak have never invaded a planet so thoroughly and so early. The longest blight on our side of this damn glitter pinwheel lasted a hundred years. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of damage it's wreaked here. The death toll must be absolutely staggering."
The other technician nodded slowly, his large head bobbing. "What do you suppose we do? We can't vaporize the planet, the Glarnak might spread again. But we can't let them get offworld either."
He rubbed his huge eyes, and sighed. "I'll discuss the findings with the Grand Architect. In the meantime, keep a taskforce here to observe. Observe \*only\*. Any samples must be taken with my go-ahead. I can't risk any of you getting infected, even briefly. Don't let them get off this rock. Don't let them see you." | “Experiment zx62h3 has been wildly successful.”
That’s how I planned to start my presentation. It was my mentor who originally taught me that to be successful you must declare success.
The leading life form on planet Earth, mammalian creatures known as apes, have achieved a level 1 civilization.
“Soon,” I spoke to the mirror, “these Hoomans will start on a research branch which should lead them to become a type 2 civilization in roughly 300 Gramchik days, equivalent to 5 generations of hoomans.”
I tightened my scales and brushed my tongue. It was go time.
——-
“We are highly disturbed by the status of these hoomans.” Said third research officer Graamchuk.”
“I concur,” added security lieutenant Greemchak.
“How so?” I asked carefully. My promotion was dependent on these hoomans, and I’ve been waiting 150 thousand years.
“They haven’t shown sufficient subservience in their psychological profile. Obviously, someone made a mistake in the original genetic seeding of the local ape population.”
I saw where this was going. I had to nip it in the bud before specific words were spoken.
“On a completely different subject,” I said, “the potential return upon the harvest of their worlds, once they manage to tap the energy of their entire galaxy is significant. In fact, those involved stand to make a percentage out of that.”
——-
I took a ship to observe the hooman galaxy. Reports are well and good, but once in a while one needs to get one’s hands dirty and examine things for oneself.
“Sir, gama alert! Reversing course. Engaging protocol zulu.”
“What just happened? What are you talking about?”
“Symbiotic life form Glarnak detected. It doesn’t seem to be destroying its hosts, but rather acting as their circulatory system. It’s everywhere. I count three point oh five trillion infected. We must destroy this galaxy and report of this infestation. If it spreads, it could be the end of the empire.”
I took a deep breath. The captain was a simple creature. Unfortunately, he was on a mission from God - imperial military standard policy.
“Captain, on a completely different subject, have you planned for a corporate position on your next civilian cycle?”
—
For following my writing, join my subreddit at /r/posthocethics. | 2019-07-10T02:09:35 | 2019-07-10T02:01:43 | 258 | 70 |
[WP] You are a magical girl, but instead of the usual Sailor Moon esque transformation, you turn into your favorite gritty D&D character. This surprises and terrifies the main villain, who was expecting a frilly dress and some sparkles. Instead they got greasy plate armor, and a bloody battleaxe. | I think the idea of magical girls is a pretty common trope nowadays, so I think I can skip all the bullshit about transformation, how we’re meant to be pure of heart, and all of that jazz unless you’re following something like Mahou Shoujo Site where things get a bit, let’s say hairy to avoid spoilers. And I just like usual, the main villain of today’s adventure ended up swallowing that shit whole. Can you believe it? Magic of friendship, hah. Sounds like some plot armor to me. No, I rely on some more… solid mechanics. After all, either magic wands don’t work at all or that one magician I had for my sixth birthday party was a fraud and I’d rather not take that chance. However, the magical girl trope did get one thing correctly. New day, new villain or on the rare occasion, a returning villain. Those were always nice since they knew what to expect from me. Alas, today was not my lucky day.
“AH~ I SEE! A MAGICAL GIRL HAS COME TO STOP ME!” The BBEG (or Big Bad Evil Guy for those uninitiated) yelled at the top of his lungs as I rose up from my seat as everyone else was already tripping over each other as they ran away. “AND YOU HAVE ALREADY TRANSFORMED TOO! THIS SHALL BE A GLORIOUS BATTLE!”
So you may be asking, where did he come from? Where is he going to go? Was that a reference to cotton-eye joe? In respective order: I usually beat them up before they can tell me, probably back to where they were before I beat them up, and yes, yes it was. As usual, I didn’t bother to correct the villain especially since the first experience was always the quickest. Sure it was boring, but it’s like ripping off a band-aid, it only lasts for a few moments and then you can move away from it. And anyways, it did give me a reprieve from being stuck in this cotillion and this dress.
“Not just yet. I still have to transform, this frilly dress isn’t my actual equipment. Give me a second.” It’s really, really awkward when the BBEG decides to look away as to not see the rumored split second of indecency while transforming. But I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the 8-foot something, iron-clad, bastard-sword wielding, absolutely ripped man blush in embarrassment. By the time he turned his head around to protest, I was already transformed. I continued to laugh my head off as he let out a high-pitched shriek as if he saw a cockroach.
You see, I transform into my DnD character. And let me tell you, seeing a 5-foot, dainty-looking, vulgar human girl being replaced by a 6-foot-7, 19 in Strength, still vulgar Bugbear is apparently quite the culture shock when you’ve been taught the wrong things about magical girls. “Let’s go.” One initiative roll, a lot of grappling checks, and BBEG plot armor escape later, I decided to take a short rest before returning to my normal form so that I didn’t have bruises everywhere (imagine explaining that to some overprotective parents, especially when I just came from a cotillion). And more importantly, to get back to my normal everyday life which I equally loved and hated.
***
No clue why but I imagined someone snarky. Oh well. | I never knew having a D&D obsession could save my life. Yet, it happened. Sometimes it seems as though fate has a sense of humor.
Let me start from the beginning. I was on my school bus (headed to school, of course), drowning out the sound of fellow adolescents with the voice of Matthew Mercer. It was a peaceful rainy day, with the sound of rain tapping gently on my window. I double-checked my bag to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my homework. Damn it. Damn it to the Nine Hells. I’d left it on my desk at home. Now I’d have to answer to Teach. Technically, it would have been my fault for doing it at midnight.
My mind abruptly ran to a halt when the bus stopped. I popped out my earbuds and looked out the window. Big mistake. I found myself staring right into the eyes of a thug with a balaclava. Then the bus door opened and we heard gunshots. Next thing we know, the bus driver — poor man — is groaning on the floor, with a pool of blood slowly spreading from holes in his chest. Oh, I forgot to mention that the school I go to is a private school, so there’s quite a few kids with coffers full of cash.
“Give it up!” Balaclava Man waved a loaded Uzi around and fired a few shots into the air to scare us. Wallets almost flew out of pockets. Kids everywhere were shaking with pure fear. I don’t carry a wallet. I’ll shamefully admit I was dangerously close to pissing my pants from fear. Then I remembered. However, the last time I’d used the “thing” I had, there was blood everywhere, someone’s head was chopped off, and another one was on fire. The “thing” I possessed was kind of random. Sometimes I’d turn into a berserker kobold with a thing for leg-lopping, and other times I’d become...well, something else. I didn’t know who I would become.
“Hey! You! China boy! Where’s your money?” The thug with the Uzi had it pointed right at me. I smirked at him.
“I didn’t bring my wallet today.” Not the most badass of responses, but it would suffice. I stood up, all 5’11” of me standing up and staring straight down a barrel. I stared the guy straight in the eyes and took a step towards him. Sure, my legs felt like jelly, and I didn’t want to die today. Nobody wants to die any day, as far as I know.
I raised my hands and invoked the holy name of Gary Gygax (“BY THE POWER OF GYGAX!”). The thug fired his gun. Time slowed down. The bus was consumed by smoke and fire.
Eventually, I stood, at the same height I was, but something was different. I was wearing chainmail. My arms were stronger. Everything was stronger. I looked at myself in the window. I looked good. “Hey, Marco. What’s poppin’?” A cool Scottish accent fell from my lips. As I turned from the window, I looked at the thug. Luckily, he missed. I smiled and spoke the two most intense words in a D&D game, “Roll initiative.”
I started off by lobbing a small ball of fire at the thug. Luckily, it wasn’t a real fireball. That would’ve caused several casualties. It hit him, and his clothes ignited. Ouch. While the thug was trying to bat out the flames, I sprinted up to him and socked him in the mouth. I made quick work of the other thugs outside, and managed to catch up with one last fleeing guy. I knocked him unconscious, as the last thing he saw was a chainmail-clad fist heading towards his face. I brushed off my armor and stepped back in the bus.
At least I’d miss first period.
EDIT: Human Fighter IS NOT basic. | 2019-08-08T19:06:57 | 2019-08-08T17:55:32 | 110 | 71 |
[WP] No one expects the healer to fight but your party is down and you're out of Mana. "you know, I try to be a nice guy." you shed your robes revealing a full body tattoo. "I promised my therapist I wouldn't do this anymore." You pull two blood stained axes from your back. "But it's just so hard." | “You know, I try to avoid this. I try to be the nice guy, but no. You guys fucked around and now I gotta change therapists’ because now I’ve got to break my promise. Again.”
The soot on the ground puffed up around my feet as my robes hit the ground. What should have been bright white robes laced with a deep blue and bright silver was now stained red and black; the silver barely shining through the caked blood and soot.
The Demon chuckled, “what is it you think you’re going to achieve here, Healer? You are out of mana, and have shed your only defensive clothing?” He stood 8-foot-tall sporting long curved horns that grew from his head. His skin black, absorbing all light that dared go near him. It’s a miracle we were able to find him out hunting mid-day, had we stumbled upon him in a cave or dungeon, this would have been over for us before we saw him.
“Wha-wha-what is that tattooed on your body, Healer?” I could hear the life leaving the Paladins body, slowly like a candle flame at the end of its wick.
“Runes,” I said quietly, “a curse bestowed upon me by the High Priests. I’d wish it on no man or beast.”
*“Fuck this is going to hurt,”* the thought rang in my head as I bit my lip and spit the blood into my hands. I traced the runes on my chest and ran my thumbs down my back over the tattoos of the axes. I could feel my skin begin to crack and tear as my thumbs neared my waist, and my knuckles bumped the shafts of the axes peeling themselves off my back. I could feel the blood running down the handles as I tore the axes from my skin, the bright red blood glinting in the sunlight.
“There is no axe, made by no man, that can cut me.” The Demon sneered, his razor like teeth were red with blood.
I looked down at the axe heads, which were dripping with blood and saw my skin beginning to turn as black as the Demons, “I suppose it’s a good thing that I am not a man.” I took a step forward and felt the light touch of the armor materializing from my remaining tattoos, the bright white of the armor was almost blinding.
“You’re…You’re a hunter.” The Demon stammered, “your kind was supposed to have died off long ago!” The Demon charged forward, raising his bloodied fists to strike.
“I promise you, Demon, I am something far worse.” | **Well look who finally dragged his ass into work today. Congratulations on doing the bare minimum, Lt. LaBore.**
You don’t know what I went through last night, Captain.
**Oh I think I do, LaBore. I was there at the bar when you and the other officers were celebrating closing that double homicide case.**
Yeah, but you left after one beer, like a pussy.
**LaBore! You can’t use that language in the workplace. And may I remind you I’m a woman?**
I mean… we were married for eleven months, so I think I knew that already. (awkward pause) How’s our girl? Can I see her soon?
**That’s a discussion for outside the workplace, Lieutenant.**
Sorry, sir.
**We just… (sighs) never mind. So what happened after I left?**
At first, it was a normal night. We drank some beers, then Sgt Engels bought us some tequila shots, and the next thing I remember, we’re singing karaoke.
**But that bar didn’t have a karaoke machine.**
No, back up. We left the first bar and went to that place down the block. The one with the karaoke machine.
**Ah, yes. Continue.**
So it was me, Engals, and I forget who else, we were getting our Bohemian Rhapsody on--
**Ugh. Really? You still do that?**
Yeah. Why, I thought you loved my Rhapsody, babe. I mean, Captain.
**Lieutenant--**
I wanna see our daughter again.
**Enough! Table that topic for off-duty hours. And does this story you’re trying to tell even have any bearing on the job?**
I was getting there. Can I finish, please? Jesus. We finish to well earned applause, so I go to get a round of Jello shots. Right after we slurp them down, this dude walks into the bar. Big dude. HUGE. Maybe six seven. He’s wearing a hospital robe and he’s bleeding, oh he’s fucking bleeding, babe. Er, Captain. And he staggers up to me and says “You know, I try to be a nice guy,” and he pulls the robe off, and you know what? Full. Body. Tattoo.
**A tattoo of what?**
Of an iPhone 11.
**Whoa.**
Right? But this is where it gets nasty. He reaches behind himself and pulls two axes out of his back.
**Axes?**
Axes. Hatchets. What have you. Two of them. And they were small in his hands. And he drops them on the floor in front of me, then says “I promised my therapist I wouldn’t do this anymore but it’s just so hard.” Then the man drops dead, and I’m up half the night, wasted on tequila shots and trying to track down his shrink. Says the man was indeed a patient of his, called himself the Healer. He was into some shit.
**Sounds like it. Well, sorry you had a bad night.**
I love you.
**What?**
Nothing. | 2019-12-07T01:32:43 | 2019-12-06T19:35:02 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English. | I open my eyes, only to see I'm laying on a sidewalk in the middle of an unfamiliar city. People are busily walking by, paying no mind to me. I get up, dust myself off, and sit on the bench at the bus stop nearby. How the fuck did I end up here? The last thing I remember was having a little too much to drink and a deep conversation with a strange figure in my favorite bar. I frantically try to put the pieces together, but I stop, frustrated, and just decide to ask someone where the hell I am. I flag down a man walking by. "Excuse me, sir, where am I??" He turns to face me and his eyes widen, a look of horror on his face as he starts speaking some strange language and frantically takes off running. "SIR, STOP!" He freezes in place, and everyone around starts staring at me with the same look of horror on their faces and they also bolt. The whole block clears in an instant except the one man frozen in place. "What the actual fuck is going on?" I think to myself as I curiously make my way over to the frozen man. "Sir, can you hear me?" No response. Suddenly, I get an idea. "Unfreeze." He resumes his sprint as if nothing happened. "Interesting..." I turn towards the bus stop again, and I say aloud, "Shatter" and lo and behold, the safety glass surrounding it shatters into a million pieces, leaving only an empty frame and a bench. I smile, starting to grasp the situation. "I must be fucking dreaming. AWAKEN" nothing happens.. I start walking down the sidewalk and before I know it, 7 police cruisers with lights and sirens going seemingly show up out of nowhere. I hear the same strange language on the loud speaker, and then about a dozen officers step out of the vehicles, all pointing guns at me and shouting. I raise my hands up as if I'm about to surrender and shout "BLANKS" and take off running, hoping this works. They start chasing me down the street, firing shots, but none hit me. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see star shaped bursts of light coming out of their guns. "STOP!" They freeze in place. "INVISIBLE" I turn down an alley, just to make sure I'm out of view. I catch my breath, look around the corner and say "Unfreeze" and stay still. They resume their chase and firing as if nothing happened for a few seconds, followed by looking around confused and yelling in that foreign language. I step out in plain view and wave, but they don't notice me. I watch, amused, as they argue amongst themselves and then get back in their cruisers and split up, going down every street, looking for me, lights and sirens still going. Once they're clear, I speak. "Home" nothing happens. "HOME!" Again, nothing happens. Internally panicking, I walk down the street a few blocks, and it's just as busy as the one I was on before, as if nothing happened. "Translate." God I hope this works. "visible" I walk up to the newspaper stand on the corner, and and ask the guy behind the counter, "Where am I?" He looks at me, confused, and replies in perfect English, "Umm... Downtown Phoenix?" "Wait a minute. What's today's date?" "January 28th, 3792.."
*writer's note* I have no idea how to end this, I may update upon request. This is my first submission to r/writingprompts. I'm on mobile so I apologize for the formatting. | Fair warning: some foul language including the f bomb.
"What in the hell is going on?" James muttered to himself. Mondays were made to be awful - a view shared by most of the world's population - but this one *redefined* awful.
He glanced at the sad little empty space that used to be his cat's favourite spot. They used to have their own routine. Pancake would wake him up every morning at six o'clock sharp. When it came to sticking its fluffy butt in his face, the cat was astonishingly punctual. James would always groan and tell the cat to go away (not that it ever had much of an effect). His morning routine was simple: a cup of coffee to raise him from the dead, a shower and a shave to smell nice and remove his sorry excuse for a beard, brushing his teeth, getting dressed and driving to work.
This morning, though, James told Pancake to go away, heard a loud *poof* noise and the fluffy butt disappeared.
"Pancake!" he exclaimed once more in a futile attempt to make his old cat come back in hopes he was just hiding under a cupboard. He wasn't. Instead, another piece of fried dough made a smacky sound as it joined the others in a neat stack on James's brand new carpet.
"Oh, fu-" he stopped himself from finishing the sentence because he had no idea what would happen if he said 'fuck me'. He was sure of one thing, though: he really didn't want to find out.
James decided to go to work anyway, hoping that the strange monkey's paw situation would stop at some point. He was wary of trying to use his new power to his advantage as he had no idea how his wishes would be fulfilled. When he'd asked for a fortune, nothing noticeable happened aside from the annoying poofy noise and that scared him. He was now on edge, looking over his shoulder at every corner just in case his fortune would come to hunt him down. He considered saying "teleport me to work" for a moment but decided against it. He could end up in a uranium mine for all he knew.
"Vous êtes anglais, James ?!"
James was so taken aback by his boss's sudden fluency in French that not understanding a word was the least of his concerns. All his confused brain came up with was "Wow, my name sounds funny in French". He felt a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh but pulled himself together.
"Sir, I have no idea what you're saying. Could you please repeat it in English?"
His boss looked like he had seen a ghost. After a few unsuccessful attempts to communicate, which led to the small plump man turning an even paler shade of white, he gave up and headed to his favourite coffee shop to grab a donut.
"Hey, Marina," he greeted the blue-haired barista. "A chocolate donut, please." This time the donut materialised above him and landed right on his head,chocolate side down. Marina made the same face he had seen on his boss earlier and she exclaimed something in a language he didn't even recognise. He guessed Slavic since it sounded similar to Russian but he was decidedly no linguistics expert.
"Speak English. Please," he sighed, looking right at her. He heard the all too familiar *poof* and his stomach sank. Nothing happened. His stomach sank even further. *At this point it's probably on its very own journey to the centre of the Earth,* he thought to himself.
Marina opened her mouth and the words "Since when are you an Englishman?" came out of her. She let out a loud gasp and stared at James in shock.
"What? I'm an American." That seemed to confuse her even more. She furrowed her perfectly plucked eyebrows.
"No, no. An Englishman. The art of English," she explained, the way someone would talk to a small child. She stared at him for a good few seconds. Then, it felt as if it were in slow motion, she jumped over the counter and threw her arms around him, thanking him for granting her such powers. James finally understood the extent of his abilities and thought to himself:
*I wonder what their English textbooks look like.* | 2020-01-28T12:25:29 | 2020-01-28T12:19:44 | 127 | 59 |
[WP] Only a direct descendant should be able to wield your weapon, the hero's sword. When the neighbour's daughter came to play with your son, you were surprised to see her waving said sword as your son happily chased her. Your wife now looks at you with a literally chilling gaze. | As my wife laced into me with scathing insults and several choice words I dare not repeat, my mind was racing. It made no sense.
Despite the obvious assumption that I'd had a bastard child with the woman next door, it was a false accusation. I'd barely spoken to her let alone slept with her.
I stood up, my abruptness startling my wife into silence. I looked at her tear stained face and spoke calmly. "I have never been unfaithful to you, never even considered it."
She searched my face for untruths but found none. We had always been honest with each other and this was no exception. "Then how do you explain it, Marcus?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."
I marched out the door with my wife trailing behind me. We rang the bell at the neighbour's house and was greeted by Mary, the woman in question herself.
"Oh hi Marcus, Annie, what can I do for you?" She smiled a slightly crooked grin, a smile very much like mine. For the first time, I gazed deeply into her green eyes as the sun caught small golden flecks causing them to sparkle, exactly like mine.
I looked silently at my wife and saw her raise a hand to her mouth as realization washed over her as well.
"Mary," my voice shook, "this may seem like a strange and rude question, but are you adopted?"
Her confusion was obvious but she still answered. "Yes, actually, I am. Why do you ask?"
I chuckled slightly and shook my head. "I think we need to have a good long talk. Annie, sweetheart, can you please contact my parents? They have a lot of explaining to do." | Confusion overtook me as I saw the neighbor's daughter playing with the sword.
My wife grabbed me by the ear, "Inside. Now."
"I should get the sword back-"
"Alright." She sighed and let go of my ear.
I took the sword from the child and went inside.
She was glaring daggers into me, "Is that kid yours?"
"No. She's not- unless..."
"Unless what?" She asked.
"Remember how you initiated a threesome between us and her mother about nine months before the girl was born and we thought it was to another?"
Her eyes widened, "Oh."
"But she looks nothing like me. None of my features are present that would distinguish her as mine. Odds are she isn't my child. It seems like the legend was off to some extent. Our son can wield the blade because of relation to me, naturally, but the girl has always been... Different. On top of that we don't know if that part only takes effect when I die, or if it made an exception, or what is going on. Let's not jump to conclusions just yet."
My wife nodded, "Go check on the kids. I'll be inviting her mother over for dinner."
I could feel the anxiety hit me like a truck, "Alright."
I walked back outside to check on the kids, and... Nothing.
It was far too still for a day like this, so I drew my blade and went to investigate.
Off the shore of a small pond the two often liked to spend time at, behind a small thicket, I found them, and I smelled a very familiar metallic scent.
I immediately checked on them.
Some of their blood had mixed into the ground, but they weren't dead.
Then I felt a very familiar, intimidating presence behind me.
"Ah, Thantos, long time no see. Here to suffer the same fate as your children?" I heard a gravely voice say.
"Oh no..."
Update: thanks for 5 upvotes! I just wrote this off the top of my head after not sleeping all night, if you want another part to this let me know and critique is always welcome! | 2020-06-13T06:50:26 | 2020-06-13T06:32:49 | 88 | 29 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | You would think that given complete control and no consequences, they would all eventually pass this test. They'd put more thought and effort into putting more good into the world rather than satiate their own selfish whims. But I guess the world that they first lived in taught them to fight hard for the things they want and need. Can I blame them? I made the world that way. In a way, some could say I rigged this test against them.
I do not let them know they have this control, but I do orchestrate the moments that help them discover what is happening. To explain the situation would give them a confirmation that their choices and actions still matter. If they intuitively understand that, good for them. If not, they still have a chance. Only the best of them can ascend, and very few of them do.
Out of the hundreds of thousands of worlds like this I'm watching, the one controlled by Sven Jorgenson stands out the most. This good boy lost his father in his youth and was taken care of by a negligent man. Loyal to a fault he helped and followed this man through all of his travels. Sven faced near death more times than I'd ever wish for one of my children, but due to this he saw much of the world, it's troubles and its beauty.
He made strong friendships with the pets of his guardian. These friendships sadly brought much sorrow due to the abuses and neglect shown to them. Sven watched several of his friend pass on, or never return from their travels with the man. But he pressed on.
Sven, now in control of the world, still wears his loyalty and love on his paws. He does absolutely nothing to harm anyone, and focuses entirely on protecting and providing for everyone and everything. He plays with the ones that feel sad or lonely. He brings food to the hungry and eats with them. He finds the stray cats and dogs, keeps them fed and warm, and brings the caring people to them to help.
It warms my heart that in all the hundreds of thousands of worlds I observe. The ones that are controlled by the dogs, they always come home. | Woken abruptly up by a spine thrilling headache, you shiver at the end of your bed, drenched in sweat.
"Thank fuck that was just a bad dream.. getting hit by a burning bus isn't the way I want to be taken out..".
The nightmare was surreal enough to wake you up, but not strong enough to break your will to move your lazy ass out of bed. You clumsily press press the unlock buttom on your phone - see its 4.54am and turn to hit that sweet 1hr sleep, which as per usual for these sweet moments, go by ina breeze.
Alarm rings, you wake up. Make coffee, have bfast, wash, brush teeth, kiss your wife on the head who is happily sleeping her day off away - and go in your office to start working.
You check your emails as per your usual routine.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.. oh an other bullshit email about a meeting which could easily be a memo...
Than something cought your attention. It was one of those clickbait emails you are so used to reading out of boredom and deleting.
"If you could have whatever you wanted - its yours" and a some dubious hyperlink.
It was one of those reflex ideas that comes into mind when someone asks you, whats your favorite color.
You thought of your childhood dog. Jinge her name was.. and how goofy of a dog she was. A christmas dog. Always ready to gnaw at your hand, always nearby. Never missed a night of not sleeping in my bed.. how id always get her next to my face but she'd rather go the warmth of my legs. Crazy dog my feet must have smelled like rotten cheese, but there shed be. Night after night, until one night it was time to sleep in an empty bed. Alone.
You grew from a stupid imbecil of a teen to a not so much of a stupid young adult with that dog. Such instant memories simply triggered a glimpse in your eye as you close your emails tab and open your link to the hospitals database. Work was calling.
And than you hear a soft scratch on the door, and confused as to what could have made this sound you quickly rush to open the door.
The wife must have been up and wa ready to shit on my day - she just loves to play pranks on the guy who was to work while she chills at home, for the day at least.
And there she was, as clear as memory serves. Wiggling her tail and running like a mad man.
Not corrisponding to your memory, she had a dogtag with the words: welcome to your heaven. | 2020-07-20T04:09:17 | 2020-07-20T04:06:19 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | "Grand Admiral Zadox," Dartok purred quietly, bowing in submission. "Do you remember the proto-civilization, species 19857, that you ordered me to study?"
Zadox glared at Dartok, furred brows furrowing at his son. "Sub-Ensign Dartok, why would I remember a proto-civilization?"
Dartok clicked his claws together, holding his data projector. "Ah, you may not, Grand Admiral. Species 19857, Humans, sir, from the planet they have designated E-Arth, had rudimentary satellites in orbit of their planet last time an Alliance cruiser passed through their sector."
Zadox sighed, ears twitching slightly as he humored the young officer. "And you wish to report?"
"We had some information gained from the satellites. The Humans are the dominant species of the planet, they believe themselves to be the only sentient species, but that is likely not true. I was extremely fascinated by their preoccupation with hazardous things. Flame and fire in particular. They created basic transportation using combustion, and then rudimentary travel through air." Dartok explained, bouncing on his paws. This was something unheard of and dangerous. No one else had gone this far.
"Hmph, so they are unlikely to ever leave their planet."
"Ah, sir, they have."
Zadox cocked his head. "Oh? Oh, yes, satellites." Zadox paused at the look on the Sub-Ensign's face, as Dartok tried to contain a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "So they left their orbit? Ah, well, every species evolves. What did they use?" The Grand Admiral asked as he took a sip of his balax tea.
Dartok cleared his throat. How would he explain the propulsion system that was unlike anything seen in the galaxy before? It wasn't like the magnetic propulsion of their own species, the telepathic propulsion of the Valburan, or even the unexplainable "magic" of the Xiruva. How could he explain it except bluntly? "Very large explosives."
Zadox's flattened his ears. "WHAT?!" He snapped, then regained his composure. That was a type of travel abandoned by all space-goers."I see why you wanted to report this, son, it is definitely interesting. But it is not worth my time on-duty just to hear that a species managed to escape their orbit with weapons. Write a paper, get published, you'll make history." He said sharply, then he chuckled a little. "Explosives. Like they could ever get far without killing themselves. Dismissed. I have a station to run."
"But there something you really need to know."
"And what is so very important?"
"They're requesting permission to dock." | BANG!
Kalvar the Martianwas almost done with his midday ritual when he heard the noise. Surely it was...
"K to the R! What's up bro?"
"I've told you several times... My name is..."
"I know, I know, The Martian Kalvar of the Order of the Ethereal Knights. Is that your real name, or do you just put that on your resume because it sounds remotely cool?" Rex said, poking a head into the room with a lazy smile.
"It is..."
"Never mind, Calvary. The Provost says we're supposed to submit Article 214 at the Chapel before the Confession today."
"Did he say anything about late delivery?" Kalvar said, resigned to perpetual distortion of his name by Rex.
"Yeah, that we would have to attend confessional of we were two milliseconds late. I brought lunch."
As Kavlar wiped the blood off his blade, ending the ritual dedicated to his Order, famed for conquering the rogue army of Io. He looked at himself in the mirror and realized the stark difference between the status his parents enjoyed and that which he enjoyed now.
They traveled the galaxies in spaceships powered by stars.
He worked as an intergalactic mailman, partnered with the worst species of all - humans. They talked like barbarians, and had the most noisy means of transport, the...
BANG!
And Rex was off again, probably going to see Iogenia, his 'crush' or whatever he called her.
His luck had to change by all means, or when he died, he woukd not be inducted into the Supreme Order of Celestial Knights. Knighthood of such status was for those who lived valiant lives of dedication and sacrifice to make the Milky Way a better place, not to mailmen who worked as tentacles of a corrupt dictatorship run by the Satyr, Niviraah.
He checked the time. 4 hours passed the Climax of the Day. He had only half an hour before he was due to submit the Article. At this rate, if he kept lamenting, he would have to attend confessional. And he had no intentions of being strapped to a Lie Detector, telling his deepest darkest secrets to a corrupt bribe-collecting Reverend of the so-called Chapel of the Enlightened.
As.he picked up Article 214, he was stunned by its weight. It had to weigh half a ton, and he was sure Rex was unable to carry it. The Reverend had never requested something so heavy. He was tempted to open...
"I swear upon my life that I shall protect and maintain the confidentiality of any Articles in my custody" he said, remembering the Creed of the Intergalactic Logistics Sector. He was bound by a creed not to...
"Fuck the ILS," he remembered the words Rex loved. It was time to indulge in a few shenanigans anyway...
He quickly grabbed his synchroniser and set it to the required frequency. The package opened slowly, revealing the most surprising content.
Cadmium, the one weakness of Satyrs. Niviraah had banned the transport, possession or use of the substance, stating that offenders would be tried for treason and executed.
What was the Reverend doing with Cadmium? | 2020-08-08T01:11:59 | 2020-08-07T17:06:37 | 76 | 38 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | "Grand Admiral Zadox," Dartok purred quietly, bowing in submission. "Do you remember the proto-civilization, species 19857, that you ordered me to study?"
Zadox glared at Dartok, furred brows furrowing at his son. "Sub-Ensign Dartok, why would I remember a proto-civilization?"
Dartok clicked his claws together, holding his data projector. "Ah, you may not, Grand Admiral. Species 19857, Humans, sir, from the planet they have designated E-Arth, had rudimentary satellites in orbit of their planet last time an Alliance cruiser passed through their sector."
Zadox sighed, ears twitching slightly as he humored the young officer. "And you wish to report?"
"We had some information gained from the satellites. The Humans are the dominant species of the planet, they believe themselves to be the only sentient species, but that is likely not true. I was extremely fascinated by their preoccupation with hazardous things. Flame and fire in particular. They created basic transportation using combustion, and then rudimentary travel through air." Dartok explained, bouncing on his paws. This was something unheard of and dangerous. No one else had gone this far.
"Hmph, so they are unlikely to ever leave their planet."
"Ah, sir, they have."
Zadox cocked his head. "Oh? Oh, yes, satellites." Zadox paused at the look on the Sub-Ensign's face, as Dartok tried to contain a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "So they left their orbit? Ah, well, every species evolves. What did they use?" The Grand Admiral asked as he took a sip of his balax tea.
Dartok cleared his throat. How would he explain the propulsion system that was unlike anything seen in the galaxy before? It wasn't like the magnetic propulsion of their own species, the telepathic propulsion of the Valburan, or even the unexplainable "magic" of the Xiruva. How could he explain it except bluntly? "Very large explosives."
Zadox's flattened his ears. "WHAT?!" He snapped, then regained his composure. That was a type of travel abandoned by all space-goers."I see why you wanted to report this, son, it is definitely interesting. But it is not worth my time on-duty just to hear that a species managed to escape their orbit with weapons. Write a paper, get published, you'll make history." He said sharply, then he chuckled a little. "Explosives. Like they could ever get far without killing themselves. Dismissed. I have a station to run."
"But there something you really need to know."
"And what is so very important?"
"They're requesting permission to dock." | # first time doing this, please go easy on me haha
Logfile GA-0087:23Intergalactic-Subzone:FH247
## IGA-Sentient-ID: FH247-0 Self Classification: Homo sapiens
Humans.A less than averaged sized and shaped carbon-based life-form in this universe's equivalent of the badlands.They were seen as weak, their communities- known as 'Country's' in earths equivalent of common- were and still is riddled with internal strife and discord.They were never seen or even acknowledged as a hindrance, much less a threat.But perhaps it is because they started off as the underdog, the weak and unworthy,they are able to persevere and adapt to hardships much better than us.Hell, even EVO-D023, the stray planet that is infamously known as 'Impossible planet' to colonize, the planet that defeated the Lower type two Civilization of Hhoyrwjk, Known for their ships that are propelled by the power of god-like beings from other dimensions.
They conquered it. With their feeble, delicate glorified missiles that any respectable type-I-civilizations would lose face if seen using.
They managed to use their "tools" they called "Terra-forming missile" to blow the planets surface, covered in the frozen chemical compound known as "Carbon Dioxide" back into the atmosphere, engineered one of the semi-Sentient beings of their home planet known as "plants" to be hyper-resilient, put the completed "seeds" on D023, and used another sizable controlled explosive-device known to them as a "pusher" to move it towards the nearest stellar body, which in their case, was FH247-790432FG-525T418z or 'Sol' in human words, assimilating the once inhospitable planet that many civilizations older and more advanced than they have tried and failed at.
All in two Universal cycles.
I thought the aforementioned was just a fictitious rumor from one of our new planets, Caubo, that still had a rebellious nature after our Emperor so gracefully spared the natives after *peacefully* colonizing them. That it was just some sort of weird 'signs of hope' that type-I civilizations like to hold on to for Xors knows what reason.
But a report came, and then another.
Our tracking spell on the planet detected atmospheric changes too significant to be the work of nature.
And the fact that one of colony planets closest to Subzone-FH247 had seen, using a spell, what they reported as missiles slowly heading towards to D023.
I, the diplomatic Representative of the Great Galosian Empire to the IGA suggest that we lift the current Badlands Antiwar territory treaty, as the Htoleian Federation's power has waned in recent cycles, and the fact that the Rehoprwese Republic has split-up into many different warlords, And instead work together as a team under the banner of the IGA (for once) to conceal what dimensional gates("backholes" in human terms) really are.
Xors knows what would happen if such a barbaric and expansionist species got a hold of that much power.
We can only pray that we can hide it before they find out.
MESSAGE FORMAT: UCL (Universal common)
END OF MESSAGE | 2020-08-08T01:11:59 | 2020-08-07T21:47:11 | 76 | 17 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | Bulwhop wheezed on all eight on the floor while Schitlth struggled to stay on his stool. Meanwhile, Zuweev was barely visible because he was losing his concentration on materializing.
“So.... a... are you telling us you blow yourself up into space? HAHAHAHAHAHA. No wonder why you look so charred.” Said Bulwhop after finally catching his breath and propping his torso again using his front appendages on the bar.
“Well, first of all we don’t blow ourselves up into space, we did it in a more controlled way. We contained the explosions so we can use the momentum cased by fast hot gasses to our benefit. Secondly, you see little light off me because the UV lights in this bar will give me skin cancer if I didn’t use the su- the UV protection cream” said Dorothy Rammshtein for what felt like the hundredth time this evening.
“AHAHAHAHA that’s even better. You put your ship in a cannon and shoot yourself into space! Ha HA. Bet that’s easier than your species way dear Zuweev. No will power needed for space travel” howled Bulwhop losing his grip on the bar and slithering back on the floor.
“Zuweev usually finds this insulting but as customary with your species Bulwhop, it is found that magic always causes alterations to the perceived enjoyment of certain false statements like yours. Zuweev reassures you it was not taken as an intended insult to the ether” a hollow sound rang around them shifting in phase and tone like a rave.
“Also not exactly that, you can say we actually put the cannon on the ship and shoot it backward to go forwar...” Dorothy was again interrupted by renewed howls of laughter from all three and some other bar patrons that seemed to take a liking to eavesdropping on their fun conversation.
“I thank Ithul that no one from our race thought of that or else we would incurred his wrath to manipulate the sacred heat to our benefit. Ithul giveth, and Ithul shall taketh. Stardust to stardust. For entropy increases forever. Amen.” Schitlth droned in chant-like peice that somehow rhymed.
After what felt like a solid two minutes of incomprehensible mixture of sounds of laughter, howling, gurgling, and hissing. Bulwhop said after regaining some composure:”So what did you say your name again? Dogwash Ratskin?”
“No it’s Dorothy Rammshtein. Do-ro-thy Ra-.... you know what?
Just call me Dora” | BANG!
Kalvar the Martianwas almost done with his midday ritual when he heard the noise. Surely it was...
"K to the R! What's up bro?"
"I've told you several times... My name is..."
"I know, I know, The Martian Kalvar of the Order of the Ethereal Knights. Is that your real name, or do you just put that on your resume because it sounds remotely cool?" Rex said, poking a head into the room with a lazy smile.
"It is..."
"Never mind, Calvary. The Provost says we're supposed to submit Article 214 at the Chapel before the Confession today."
"Did he say anything about late delivery?" Kalvar said, resigned to perpetual distortion of his name by Rex.
"Yeah, that we would have to attend confessional of we were two milliseconds late. I brought lunch."
As Kavlar wiped the blood off his blade, ending the ritual dedicated to his Order, famed for conquering the rogue army of Io. He looked at himself in the mirror and realized the stark difference between the status his parents enjoyed and that which he enjoyed now.
They traveled the galaxies in spaceships powered by stars.
He worked as an intergalactic mailman, partnered with the worst species of all - humans. They talked like barbarians, and had the most noisy means of transport, the...
BANG!
And Rex was off again, probably going to see Iogenia, his 'crush' or whatever he called her.
His luck had to change by all means, or when he died, he woukd not be inducted into the Supreme Order of Celestial Knights. Knighthood of such status was for those who lived valiant lives of dedication and sacrifice to make the Milky Way a better place, not to mailmen who worked as tentacles of a corrupt dictatorship run by the Satyr, Niviraah.
He checked the time. 4 hours passed the Climax of the Day. He had only half an hour before he was due to submit the Article. At this rate, if he kept lamenting, he would have to attend confessional. And he had no intentions of being strapped to a Lie Detector, telling his deepest darkest secrets to a corrupt bribe-collecting Reverend of the so-called Chapel of the Enlightened.
As.he picked up Article 214, he was stunned by its weight. It had to weigh half a ton, and he was sure Rex was unable to carry it. The Reverend had never requested something so heavy. He was tempted to open...
"I swear upon my life that I shall protect and maintain the confidentiality of any Articles in my custody" he said, remembering the Creed of the Intergalactic Logistics Sector. He was bound by a creed not to...
"Fuck the ILS," he remembered the words Rex loved. It was time to indulge in a few shenanigans anyway...
He quickly grabbed his synchroniser and set it to the required frequency. The package opened slowly, revealing the most surprising content.
Cadmium, the one weakness of Satyrs. Niviraah had banned the transport, possession or use of the substance, stating that offenders would be tried for treason and executed.
What was the Reverend doing with Cadmium? | 2020-08-07T19:33:24 | 2020-08-07T17:06:37 | 57 | 38 |
[WP] A therapist starts treatment of an unusual client, a teen displaying clear symptoms of PTSD, without any sort of apparent cause. In fact, said teenager is a former Chosen One, recently returned from the fantasy world they'd been drawn into, and they're not having an easy time adjusting back. | A man with glasses and a notepad sat opposite to a teenage boy, the both of them staring away from each other. There was a clock somewhere, the dull ticking quiet in the warm-colored room.
"Is the tapping something you do often?" The man with glasses asked the first question after a good five minutes. Most of that before was reassurances on who he was and what he did. On the couch, the boy didn't change his view, and continued to stare out the window.
"Keeps me calm."
The man continued, "Do you know when you picked up the habit or is it something you do often?"
"I picked it up two years ago, after I-" He stopped tapping for just a moment, then picked it back up. "Nothing."
"This is a safe place, Paul. You can tell me anything."
The boy smiled back. "Its not. Nowhere is anymore. But thank you."
The man frowned. "Is there any reason you assume you're not safe here? Am I off-putting?"
Paul's tapping got a bit louder. "Not really. After the first year, I thought it was starting to wear off, but it hasn't." He sighed. "Remember when I first got here, the first thing I did?"
The doctor nodded. "You opened the closet. Checked the whole room. For enemies?"
Paul smiled. "Sort of. Do you believe in monsters?"
He adjusted his glasses. "You were looking for monsters in my closet?"
"Never said that. I do those rituals at home too."
After a few minutes of silence, the doctor crossed his legs. "So, your parents tell me you've been having night-terrors. Screaming about something in the dark. Your school is worried for you. They say that you've been sleeping in class, and that you triggered there. Scared your friends. Any idea what brought this on?"
Paul nodded. "Some ideas. None good. Nothing you'd want to hear though." He frowned. "It's not something I could reasonably confide in and keep living normally." The tapping got a bit quicker, overlapping with the clock.
"If you want to keep secrets, that's completely fine Paul. But, I don't know how much I'll be able to help you if I don't know what's bothering you." He paused. "Did you dream during your night-terror?"
Paul bit his cheek. It was a few seconds before he replied. "Yes. I have...exceptionally vivid dreams. Do you want me to tell you about them?"
He nodded.
"I'm in a kingdom of maggots. Human-sized larva that sit under these massive grey-white lights of dead angler-fish...things. There's no light anywhere past it, it's eternally night there. They're excited that I'm there because they have some ritual they want me to see."
The doctor scribbled something down as Paul talked. "Please, go on."
"They take me up to this...cliff, where there's a procession of sorts. Like those old paintings where clerics are walking single-file. There are people there, real people, not maggots, and they're all gaunt and sickly looking. They're carrying these big cocoons. There's-there's even kids. Carrying them."
The doctor looked at Paul.
"We get to the top and its not high up. Below, there's this pool of..." He licked his lips. "This red-black liquid. They ask me to bless the whole thing, and I'm in no position to say no. So I do."
The doctor looked surprised. "You're a priest in this dream?"
"Sort of. I'm special. It's why they-" He shook his head. "So I give them a blessing, just kind of wave my arms a bit. and then...the one man, this old, withered guy walks to the edge. He takes some sort of knife and he pries off the top of the cocoon he's holding. Then he pours the contents down into the pool."
The doctor put down his pad, keeping at rapt attention to Paul. The tapping kept up.
"Its all liquid, no baby butterfly or something. Its just black. It spirals down into the stuff, and I realize the whole thing, this...lake, is all that stuff. Cocoon innards."
"Anything recognizable? Faces or names?" The doctor sneezed as Paul shook his head no.
"The old man sets the empty husk down and then lays down so that his head is over the edge. Then, he takes the knife and just-with this big smile on his face he-"
Paul let out a big breath, calming his nerves as his tapping got wobbly.
"He cuts his own throat. Just, so deep that you know he couldn't survive it." He shrugged his shoulders a bit. "His blood goes tumbling into the pool too. Just, pulsing out of him. He doesn't try to speak, he just-he keeps smiling. And down there in the pool, there's these...things...moving. Like, children." The tapping was disjointed as he said it.
"What do you do? At seeing this process?"
"I ran. I thought they wanted me in the pool too. They were-all of them were willing to do it. Just, throw themselves away. I don't know, it scared me."
He raised an eyebrow. "No screaming?"
"Not really."
The doctor leaned back in his chair a bit. "These night-terrors seem a bit detailed of an account. How often have they been occurring?"
"For a while now."
He picked the pad back up, noticing that the boys eyes were much more sunken then he'd initially thought. "And do you think the things you're seeing in your dreams are related?"
"Somewhat."
He nodded. "The tapping too? And the opening closets, the staying up at night?"
He was quiet.
"Paul?"
"They-They want me back." He almost seemed to force out the words, his forehead a bit shiny with sweat.
"Excuse me?" The doctor met Paul's gaze.
"I'm tapping...I'm doing all this because they want me back. I'm special, remember? I wasn't supposed to go back here. I escaped." He closed his eyes a moment. "If I don't check, I'm afraid they'll sneak in and take me back. It's so dark there, they could hide anywhere and I wouldn't know it." He laughed a bit. "They even hide in sounds, that's why I'm tapping. Drowning them out."
The doctor shook his head. "You mean the things in your dream? You think they're real?"
"I. I know they're real. I was there. There was more, so much more. I told you about one of the least bad things because I don't want to invite the worse ones here."
"Ah." The doctor seemed relieved for a moment. "Could you tell me more about it? Any sort of account?"
"You believe me?" Paul seemed incredulous.
"I believe you think it's true. I just want to find out if there's inconsistencies. Get you centered in reality." He smiled. "After all, if you're scared of getting taken away, it would be better to shatter the idea, right?"
Paul frowned. "Ok. Ok." He breathed out a bit.
"Now, first, lets start on the physical things. Would you mind taking your hand off the table? There's nothing hiding in the noise, we're alone here."
Paul slowed his finger, and then stopped. It was quiet.
"Now, I'd like to-"
"Your clock is stopped." Paul cut in.
The doctor frowned. "I don't have a clock in the office."
Silence. Then-
"Found you." | Dr. Niche looks over the questionnaire filled out by this new patient, a 16 year old boy who now sits across from him on a comfy couch. As he goes over the different answers the boy had filled out, he struggles to maintain a calm facial expression. Simply put, this teenager had checked all of the boxes for PTSD in his answers, but had also answered in the positive to several questions that should have been highly unlikely to have happened at his age. Namely, that he had served in battle and also that he had lost a child! While certainly possible, neither was likely. Maybe he was lying? The good doctor mulled this around in his mind as he observes the young man sitting there quietly, before deciding to start with some questions, to clarify this odd contradiction in front of him.
"I have to ask, how have you fought in battle? And did you really have a child and lose them already? Forgive me, but just one of these two is very unlikely, both seems almost impossible!"
The boy, Jackson, hesitates for a moment before answering, "Both are true, they happened. Not on this planet though, even if that seems unbelievable. Normally I wouldn\`t even bother trying to convince you but the flashbacks, blackouts and near constant rage are becoming very difficult to handle. I fear I may soon lose the whole of my sanity. About a year ago, I was taken to another world, a god there had summoned me across space and time to lead the fight against the dark forces that were invading that world. He had me trained by the best of his paladins and clerics, I learned the ways of magic and blade, before I headed out into the world to begin the fight back against the demons and undead plaguing the world. I fought for years there, gaining and losing brothers and sisters in arms nearly constantly, I gained more and more followers and soon, I had an army. With this army, I lead a great counterattack, pushing the dark beings out of conquered human lands as I went. During this, I met and fell in love with a glorious shield maiden, a warrior princess in deed if not name, who captured me heart and soul." A few tears glimmer in Jackson\`s eyes as his mind is drawn ever backward into the pain of his past, his eyes giving off the appearance of lifetimes of suffering, contradicting his young age.
Dr. Niche is about to prompt the boy to continue, his disbelief held in check for now, pondering on thoughts of ordering a short psychiatric hold on the boy, given his apparent delusions, but the boy continues on his own.
"We fought together, side by side as we felled more and more of the dark creatures, until finally managing to push them into their final stronghold. This is when I found out my love was pregnant, a factor for which I wished her to leave the battlefield, but of course, she refused. Her people needed her, I needed her, that was what mattered to her, she was confident that we would win and then, finally have peace together with our new family. We began a great siege then, one that lasted months, but felt more like years. As the attacking force on a stronghold, we suffered for every move we made, losing thousands of comrades a week. Decimating morale and eliciting several desertions. But I held strong, and so too did my elites and my lady love. We persevered against the odds and managed to finally fell the great gates! A great cheer rang forth from my forces, all sprinting forward to end this once and for all. But things were not as simple as they seemed, many traps and tricks awaited us, slaughtering my army bit by bit, for every demon we killed, losing at least one man. Finally, we reached the throne room of the citadel, where we battle the demon lord himself, to finally free this world and ourselves from death and battle. We fought hard, losing almost all of the elite members I had left, I was able to slam my holy sword through the scourge\`s chest, exploding it completely. But the cost.... the cost was too much. My beloved lay dead, not ten feet from the fallen demon, a small bone fragment having eviscerated her, my faith had failed me, and I had failed her and our baby...."
Seeing the obvious emotion on the young man\`s face, and his faraway eyes, the doctor slowly reached for his phone, intent on calling for an orderly, this young man clearly needed extreme help. But as he began to dial the number, a strong hand stopped him from doing so. Surprised, he looked up, only to see the young man, his eyes now glowing a luminescent yellow, staring at him with such extreme rage in his gaze, that the doctor could almost see heat coming off of him in waves. Jackson growled, his mind now locked away in that dark throne room, where he lost all that mattered and ever would matter to him. The truth was, he been in that world for almost 10 years before completing his quest! When he saw his beloved dead, he rushed to her but before he could even hold her one last time, he was swept away, back home with no time having passed. This just fueled his rage and resentment toward everything and culminated in his symptoms strengthening.
"I suffered everything for you! The battles, the blood, the torture, the deaths, everything! And then you took everything from me! The only bit of happiness your bullshit world ever gave me, and you ripped it away. Then, you kicked me out as if I were trash, as if I meant nothing, well I\`m coming back your Godliness, I will rip your world apart with my bare hands! I so swear on the blood of my fallen love and child!"
As he finishes this strange rant and gives his oath, the doctor, clearly noting the hallucination the boy is in, believing he is this "god" that took all from him, the doctor attempts to reason with the boy. But before he can make the words comes out, he notices the yellow in the boy\`s eyes turning to orange and then slowly to a blazing red! As the red fully settles into his glowing irises, Jackson\`s hold on the doctor weakens, allowing him to scramble away! But before he can make it to safety, the boy lets out a loud roar that seems to shake the very fabric of reality! As the sound echoes around the office, and the building, a red glow builds around Jackson, a baptism by blood and fire that warps the young man\`s form, massive twisted muscle and crimson skin replacing the boy\`s lean and pale-skinned form. He grows to a towering height, his clothes tearing off, his head brushing the 10 foot ceiling, before large obsidian horns grow from his forehead.
The doctor, now terrified beyond his wits, merely stares as his whole body shakes in fear as he huddles in the corner of his office. The demon, for that\`s what the former Chosen has become, suddenly stretches his terrifying visage into a cruel smile, revealing serrated teeth akin to a shark before the red glow around his body spreads out from him to encompass the whole room. As it completely fills the space, it pauses for a moment, before suddenly igniting in hellish flames, blowing out the windows and flash frying the doctor in an instant. The freshly born demon moves to the now misshapen window opening and looks up at the late afternoon sky. Smile still on his face, his gaze seems to focus on a point lightyears away, before the smile grows even wider.
"I\`m coming for you." he says, his voice seeming to echo across space and time, meant for a being far, far away. Then he disappears in a flash of light.
He would have his vengeance.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*I felt that a story on this subject deserves some recognition to all veterans and others who have suffered trauma and are currently suffering from the trials of PTSD. While I cannot understand what you are going through, I feel for you and wish you all the best in your fight against it. You are not alone, we are all companions on this journey of life.* | 2021-02-11T14:49:32 | 2021-02-11T13:29:05 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] A bunch of teenagers in color-coordinated outfits are standing in a V formation on your lawn. | The old man shook with barely-contained rage. With one arthritic hand he drew the metal rocker directly in front of his front door and sat heavily down upon it. As the spring took his weight, he bobbed silently, looking out at the newly minted team on his lawn. Eventually, he took a long drink from the can in his hand and spat. "No," he said. "No shortcuts, no gimmicks, no costumes, no attitudes, and most of all, no more --ing kids!" The -- was critical. He was pissed beyond all reason, and a properly placed -- could stand in for as many as six conventional swears, at once.
"But without your help, we will surely," began the red-suited teen, but he was cut off. "Be defeated? Get killed?" interjected the old man. "Newsflash, you've been on borrowed time since you put that ridiculous getup on for the first time. You have no fundamentals, just a bag of barely understood, half-remembered tricks that you had no business being taught in the first place. You're all going to die, and soon. Remind your boss I told him no more kids, then go get yourselves killed gloriously, or not. Just get off my lawn." | “Jennifer?” What the hell were they all doing looking so creepy on my front lawn? My parents were going to kill me. My dad is completely the man that screams “Get off my lawn!” to anyone that even glances at it. He is going to be home in an hour. I hear a loud boom and a bass beat starts. Ugh. This girl is nuts! I run down the stairs and throw open the front door.
It’s all butts bent over facing me. The middle - Jennifer - starts to wag to the beat and she jumps to face me as all the others start wagging. She brings a megaphone to her lips and shouts “Michelle! You are the girl for me! You’re all I want and all I see!” “All I want and all I see!” echos from rest of the squad as they flip around.
I give a tight smile and panicked jazz hands to try to get her to stop. I am trying not to wince, but this is so cringe-y. She cuts off the megaphone and looks dejected. Another cheerleader uses his phone to stop the beat. She steps next to me and turns to her crew, “ Thank you so much! I think Michelle knows how I feel even without the whole routine!” She giggles, “Maybe she’ll let us show her another time! Love you all! See you tomorrow at school!”
As they all walk away - I’m staring at the lawn hoping it doesn’t look as trampled as I think it does - and Jennifer grumbles, “What the fuck Michelle, that was a beautiful declaration of my love and you didn’t even let me finish!” I look at her. She is so very beautiful. But she’s insane. I have broken up with her four times now and I am at a loss as to what to do. | 2021-02-17T19:59:06 | 2021-02-17T19:26:26 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump. | “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?”
"*That*."
He cocked his head.
"Dude just fucking *fist pumped*."
The boy turned and stared. A chill breeze wandered across the field. The boy stared. Leaves -- part-turned in the first touch of Fall -- flitted past. Finally he spun back around. "Kill him."
My nod was barely perceptible.
"Do it for the children."
"To Hell with the children," I moved past, pulling off my shades to reveal a darker set beneath, "I do it for the money." Leaping into the air, the sonic boom was my only real answer. | "Look, kid. I'm still figuring this out," the junior hero Cattle Drive said. "I can't fight crime and have an existential crisis at the same time. Rowdy is the only gear I got."
"But, the cost of the jewelry she stole is likely already far outpaced by the damage the single hole you plowed through all those store fronts," the young girl said as the villain Haberdash danced behind her before nodding somberly and fist bumping the girl.
"Well, what would you have me do instead?" Cattle Drive asked, spitting out the last bit of glass.
"Use a power mitigation superhero when working in dense environment," she said, reaching up and pulling the top hat off the villain and tossing it to sail on the wind.
"Damn, kid, that's cold." Cattle Drive smirked as he pulled out his lasso and threw to the now helpless villain. "They're starting a new school to try and get this town back in shape after the Hero's Ball Massacre. Wanna join?"
"Heck yes," the little girl said. "Null, pleasure to meet me you."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-04-18T06:36:57 | 2021-04-18T06:02:21 | 151 | 86 |
[WP] Humanity has finally noticed that almost every other galactic species has rather bizarre beliefs about humans. They seem down right gullible about just what humans can or will do at any time. So humanity decides to have some fun with it. | *On an online forum discussing humans*
"Humans are terrifying I tell you! I heard that if you cross paths with one in the middle of the night, when you wake up the next day a baby human will burst out of your stomach!"
"That can't be true. First of all that sounds dumb, and Second, humans reproduce by laying eggs into the earth. That's what my friend was told when he was younger by a human babysitter."
"There was this story I keep hearing at work about humans having this instinct to regurgitate toxic waste onto important documents when pissed off. Never happened to me since I always try to stay on their best side."
"Hey, is it true that humans can shoot lasers out their noses because my cousin's friend says he can and that it's strong enough to destroy planets!"
"There was a rumor I had at my college where humans with small slanted eyes can read minds! I hear that they read the minds of their teachers in order to pass exams!"
"No that's wrong! Humans shoot layers out something they call their bum."
"This human child once told me that she was a princess with ice powers that created a tower of isolation while singing!"
"These humans are terrifyingly bizzare! I had an encounter with one and he told me that if you don't give humans what they ask from you, you will blow up in a week!"
"All you idiots and this nonsense! You don't have evidence! I had an encounter with a human and he made my wallet disappear from his hands! THESE CREATURES DEFY LOGIC!" | I remember as a kid I had a very wild and wacky imagination. I watched those weird science-y YouTube videos on stuff like "what if we all jumped at the same time" and stuff like that. Before I watched that video though I'd always thought that if every human on Earth jumped at the same time the planet would collapse. Of course I know better now but here's the thing, they don't. Our recent contact with several other alien species was really peaceful and went exceedingly well. A few of them find our sci fi movies hilarious actually. However they all take what we say kinda literally. So as a prank we naturally said we'd crush our planet by jumping at the same time. Who knew that all it would take to unify humanity wasn't a common enemy or threat but a funny prank to make our alien friends freak out a little.
The day of the prank was a Saturday and the time was noon. We even set up a universal clock so that no one would jump at the wrong time and so that the aliens knew when it would actually happen. When it got down to the last few minutes it got really quiet. Everyone stopped what they were doing and got to the ground floor of wherever they were. Then we waited.
Ten
Nine
Eight
Seven
Six
Five
Four
Three
Two
One
Zero
We all jumped with a thunderous shout.
And nothing happened. Much to the shock of our alien neighbors we then went about our day as normal. The day carried on like any other but at the end of the day we just outright told them it was for fun and they were unbelievably relieved. A select few of them were actually considering making us a planetary threat if we succeeded in collapsing a planet but then they thought about it and figured we'd be dead anyways so it was no big deal, others just thought we were bat shit crazy. We all laughed for a while about it and a lot of get togethers took place. It was all around fun and I suspect more than a few of our interstellar neighbors are planning pranks of their own. | 2021-06-13T11:21:40 | 2021-06-13T11:07:30 | 157 | 34 |
[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth. | "First reported sightings of what seems to be large armies of men and monsters in the Yukon. The Canadian government demands a summit at the U.N to discuss this issue after they ravaged through the territories of Nunavut, Yukon, and the Northwestern Territories and are now bearing their jaws at the prairie provinces of Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba. More at 9."
"I told you this was going to happen!" A conspiracy theorist screams aloud when interviewed on a different news channel, forcing them to cut off the broadcast early to try and calm him down
Sightings on social media of what appears to be dragons hiding in the clouds of the U.K, setting the quaint villages and countryside ablaze with sun scorching fire and fury.
Mountains and volcanoes in Asia were being carved out into the shape of giants, terrorising local populace. Even setting off a nuclear power plant in Japan.
There were riots in the streets, all over the globe. Begging for the governments and global powerhouses of the world to stop fighting and bickering and to focus on the threat at hand.
There were no times for summits, meetings, or petty arguements between men. Now was the time to take action and fight, with everyone's back against the wall.
For there was nothing to lose, as all of our world's came crashing down and burned in front of our eyes.
(Maybe a part two?) | "We have a fire order. It came across all channels but it's garbled. We can't authenticate." The comms officer held my gaze just long enough to confirm that I'd heard him, and turned back to his terminal, emotionless.
Everyone on the command deck grew suddenly more silent, even as new lights and sirens indicating major emergencies added to the chorus. I shared glances with my peers, to see if their shoulders felt as mine suddenly did.
All terrestrial communication had been down for almost an hour, anyone without access to satellite communication has been off the grid, and even the satcoms are shaky.
"These locations don't make sense!" another officer exclaimed, her voice strained.
Confirmed nuclear launch. That means Biden ordered it three minutes ago. If he ordered it. No authentication. No challenge codes. Nothing.
I... must have been out of my body for a moment, the female officer was right in front of me now, pleading look on her face. She'd been speaking... crying... "Please... don't fire... my family..."
I looked at the display of the station she'd stood up from. The targets were... domestic. Foreign. Everywhere. That was everything we had. The deck grew somehow more ominous; emergency floods came on, and the world map dominating the majority of the front of the room began to sparkle with activity across the globe.
Each yellow and red streaking line on the screen representing a weapon of mass destruction. Each trajectory inexplicable.
I'm about to die. I have one order. I look around the room for the other keys I need. I meet eyes with one. I see two already fighting, I don't know who is with me and who isn't, but we don't need either if.... there's one more... We meet eyes. The third key.
We all nod. | 2021-06-25T21:49:14 | 2021-06-25T21:28:18 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | Getting home from work excited as the new update came for my favorite game. I sigh as I step inside with my food and the lights don't work. How I ask myself. Fortunately I keep a flashlight on my belt. But when I turn it on *he* is waiting for me just outside the light from the hall. The Archon comes close and leans in very close.
"I know you are hiding something *Mike*. Confess and I will go easy on you. This time."
"For the love of." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "How many of you keep doing this? I work in a legit warehouse. I pick orders and do a good job."
"Because you can fly and bench press a bus."
"A small bus maybe. But yeah, I don't need a forklift and I can get places without a ladder. So I do more. Why do you think I have any interest in doing more? I can't do pro sports with powers. The jobs where my powers would make a better job mean leaving the area like joining the military or being a body guard. I *like* not needing a car to commute to work. I do well and take home a decent wage."
He slams his fist into the wall next to me. "Don't try to act like innocent!" I admit this rattles me a moment. Till I remember he has human strength and punching me would hurt his fist worse than punching a plaster wall.
"Look. I know you people have been watching me. That means you know I am home with premade food to play the new World Quest Online stuff. The dark continent just dropped with new races and classes. That is my plans. Then I get a shower and bed. Then I go to my job as usual. Saturdays I take my mother to shop. Sundays I do laundry and play online more than the few hours I have at night. I don't drink, and I don't get involved in super affairs."
"Then why were you at the Centerford Mall when Terricus attacked?"
I take my glasses off to rub my nose again. I can take a bullet without it breaking skin. But somehow my glasses still irritate. He snatches them from my grip and breaks them. "Answer me!"
"My glasses! Do you know how much those cost? Go screw yourself!" He throws another punch, this time I catch his fist and just hold it not letting him pull away. "Get this through your skulls. The mall is half a mile from here and it was Saturday. I was driving my mother's station wagon. Three guesses why I was there. And don't bother with your next threat. I know, you broke my computer right? Probably told my boss to fire me as an liability again? You know the villains contacted me too. Promised me more money in one job than I make in ten years. I turned them down. They accepted and asked me why. Want to know what I told them? Because it would make my mother cry." Letting his fist go. "Now leave me alone. My food is getting cold and you ruined another night of someone just trying to be decent." | “Why me?”
I thought as I’m walking while two heroes are stalking me. I can’t possibly be the only person with powers that just minds their own business, so why are they targeting me? I guess it could be that I have multiple are pretty strong powers, I can use both fire and ice, as well as lift stuff with my mind, including myself. I don’t really hide my abilities, and people would ask me if I’m a hero or not, but when I say no it’s not really a big surprise to them, so what’s wrong with these guys?
Today I messed up, extremely! Before they were just suspicious of me, now they have a reason to attack me. I was walking home one day, when I saw a major mess in the middle of the street, I see a villain just got there butt kicked, and now they’re scanning the area, one of their minions must have gotten away or something. I press myself against the wall cause if they see me walking away I might look suspicious. Then we make eye contact, just me, someone they don’t trust already, just standing suspiciously at the scene of the crime.
“Damn it!”
“Oh wait did I say that out loud, Uhh walk away, why am I still talking.”
So that’s why I’m being followed, and soon I think I lose the heroes, then something worse happens. I’m out at night for whatever reason I don’t even remember anymore the reason fled my mind immediately, when I’m approached by a villain, I was about to send him packing.
“Hold on wait! I just want to talk.”
“About what exactly?”
“So these heroes were asking if you worked for me, we’ll not directly asking they hinted at it, the point is I looked into you.”
“If your asking me to be a villain it’s not going to happen.”
“Unless you pick a side, no one’s going to leave you alone.”
“I’m aware of that, by why would I pick your side exactly?”
“Because of what the heroes said about you, I know heroes, when they say stuff they mean it.”
“What exactly did they say.”
“It was something like, he’s so strong and he’s wasting it all, even if he isn’t a villain if he’s that dumb he has no purpose alive.”
I would think he was lying but I’m absolutely not surprised.
“I don’t hate people exactly, it’s heroes I hate, they make us like this, they cast us out and drive us to the brink of no return, I think having you on our side would be good, because you haven’t been broken yet. I would be lying if I said I cared if bystanders got hurt, I’m aiming for the heroes and no one else. Maybe if your on our side, you can help us make sure only the heroes got hurt.”
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t contemplating his offer, he looked up to the side and then back down at me.
“See let me prove my point.”
He then grabs me by the throat, and held me in the air for about 10 seconds.
That’s when the heroes drop down, and sends a shockwave that sends both of us down. Then while one went an attacked the villain the other came after me, they clearly seem I was getting attacked. Okay so maybe this guy has a point.
“Fine!”
I grab both the heroes with my powers and sent them flying, I grabbed the villain by the hand, and we booked it.
“I’ll do it, I’ll be a villain, just promise me you’ll try your best to make sure no one besides them gets hurt.” | 2021-08-16T15:42:19 | 2021-08-16T13:29:39 | 388 | 145 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | “Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me.
I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below.
“Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward.
“Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms.
The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest.
“This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect.
“Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword.
“I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held.
“Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero.
“Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes.
“YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me.
Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest.
The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape.
With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Life is a cycle of birth, reproduction, and death. This is natural. And we all have our roles to play in the symbiotic relationship of society. I am one of many who feed the adventurers, they protect me. It has never truly bothered me that they don't understand this, any more than it bothers the leaves that the bark doesn't understand what they provide to the tree.
Still, a little appreciation would be nice. I try to be humble, but I am no saint.
It was not the first time Gaknar the Glorious trod through my garden, heedless of the damage he was doing. I tolerated him -- what else could I do, anyway? But really, I wanted to. It had been Gaknar that singlehandedly cut down the orcs who would have happily slaughtered us. If I had to deal with a little belligerence for this, I was okay with it.
"You have dirt on your face again," the oafish warrior sneered at me. His eyes roamed the rest of my body hungrily. Thus far I'd not had to deal with him deciding this was also a need he would take from me. Still, i purposely made sure I was filthy every time he was around.
"Yes, sir," I said meekly, self-consciously pushing a lock of red hair from my eyes, and then turned around so I didn't have to meet his gaze. I bent over, pretending to pull weeds from the garden.
This might have been a horrible mistake. Gaknar appreciated me more from this angle, and might have stopped to investigate further, if his foot hadn't caught on that root. I heard a surprised shout, and a sickening, crunching wet thud. Turning around, Gaknar had fallen sideways onto the hoe I had left lying on the ground, which had split his skull like a melon. It had always been said he was too proud to wear a "bucket" on his head like any responsible warrior would. I guess pride truly was dangerous.
But something odd was happening. I felt *invigorated.* I felt connected to the soil, to the plants, in ways I had never felt before. My consciousness was extending -- I felt every blade of grass in the village, every branch, twig and leaf on every tree, swaying in the wind, and stranger still, I knew *they felt me.* They knew me. And they would respond to my call.
Still, someone was going to have to deal with Gaknar. The kingdom needed him. I would take his body to the village elders, and they would know what to do. But how would I lift it?
I didn't need to think about this. Upon even wondering, my pumpkin plants decided to do it for me. The vines were actually moving autonomously, wrapping around Gaknar's body, cradling it gently, and placing it in my cart.
*They would know what to do.*
-------------------------------------------------
The mayor had been so mortified I thought he would join Gaknar in death. Gaknar's party would need to be informed. The council had already dispatched messengers to them, and in their wisdom, they had decided *I* would explain Gaknar's death to his friends. And so we stood in the village square, with the mayor making a show of mourning the champion. It was Prime Seria who responded to the summons first, her armored warhorse clomping loudly up the road, her silvered armor gleaming in the sun. The battlemage got down off her mount, a look of shock on her face. She knelt at Gaknar's side, closed her eyes and placed her hand on his forehead, murmuring and chanting in some arcane ancient tongue. Finally she opened her eyes and looked up at us, dramatically, before stating.
"This is beyond my ability to heal."
Somehow they all looked shocked. The mayor began wailing again. An Elderman began proclaiming tides of woe for the kingdom. Confused, I turned to the Prime and scratched my head.
"Well, yeah. He's dead. The top half of his head is nearly disconnected from the bottom. His brains mostly leaked out into my cart. I don't think healing is what he needs."
The Prime narrowed her eyes, not used to a villager speaking back to her. "What would you know, gardener?"
"I know when the leaf is cut from the stem, no amount of gardening will make it grow again." There was a cackling, creaking noise from the great white oak at the village center, which set everyone on edge except for me. The Prime's hand went to the axe at her belt and she looked at the tree as if it were possessed.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," I suggested, meekly. "It doesn't like axes."
Prime Seria was not one to be dissuaded from responding to a threat, however. She took her duty to protect the kingdom from evil quite seriously. Ignoring me, she stared at the great white oak that had been in the village for a century, and up until now had never laughed at anyone.
"What manner of vile witchery is this?" she demanded of the tree. The tree, not all that fond of bloodshed, decided to remain silent. But the Prime wasn't buying it. She knew what she had heard. She raised her axe above her head and pointed at the tree. "Demon, you cannot hide from me inside of lumber!" She shouted, before charging.
You know, thinking back on it, if I knew then what I know now, I could probably have stopped what happened next. But these abilities were new to me, and I just watched in morbid curiosity, while the tree's branches reached down and pushed themselves through the battlemage from mouth through buttocks, before spreading apart and ripping the mage asunder in a spray of viscera and gore that, if I'm honest, the grass appreciated. The city square was not as well tended as my garden.
"Well, fuck," I said, as the mayor fainted. But once again, that strange feeling of invigoration had returned... | 2021-11-12T11:42:53 | 2021-09-10T03:57:10 | 1,235 | 17 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | A sun-darkened hand reached into his satchel, fingers grasping at the cargo with practiced ease and withdrew, eight seeds held gently. A gentle, almost graceful twist of the wrist and they were deposited in the freshly tilled soil; he patted the rich earth down with his trowel before taking the watering can from its place on the wheelbarrow and gave them a taste of the life-giving liquid.
It may not look like much, but it's honest work.
Even he once dreamed of adventure, of challenges and trials that would break a lesser man and offer the greatest reward of all, glory eternal. A childish fancy for one who did not understand the better things in life are not gold and jewels, but a warm fire and a hearty meal. The one thing both dreams agree on is that it is best shared with loyal friends.
"My Lord?"
How many of those adventurers died young? Those that survived surely changed their tune, or perhaps they clung ever more desperately onto their dreams of riches and power; or worse, sought comfort in the bottle of a mug of ale. No, better to be content with the simple pleasure of a hard day's work.
"My Lord, you have a visitor."
He felt the earth move beneath his feet as he turned, bringing the young man who had spoken and his 'guest' into view. They were shaped like a human, difficult as it was to tell under that jagged armour, and whilst his class may not have made him as sensitive to such things as a Druid, but he had the experience necessary to sense the wrongness of the being that stood before him. The soil did not like it.
"Thank you Norman, I trust you showed him the proper courtesy?"
The young man nodded jerkily before he sketched a bow, then abruptly turned and while trying not to run, quickly left his Lord alone with the visitor. The older man sighed as he patted his hands on his upper legs, placing his trowel under an armpit as he did so.
"So, what can I do for you, good sir?"
The horned helmet tilted slightly as it looked him up and down. "YOU are Lord Rodney The Shoveler?" Incredulity stained its voice. "I am," He responded. "But I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. To whom do I speak?" The figure growled. "I am Manche of The Kin. I come under orders to requisition your supplies."
Lord Rodney did not react beyond raising a single eyebrow. "It was my understanding that this kingdom was at war with The Kin, are you saying that has changed?" Manche chuckled darkly in cruel amusement. "Indeed it has, your King is dead and soon the capital shall fall under our rule. You will supply our army with food until the siege is ended, and then for the rest of your miserable life."
"I see." The Gardener turned back to his work, gazing out across the fields the King had given him years ago. "Did you enjoy your walk?" The warrior behind him snarled in frustration. "Did you not hear me, old man? Your kingdom will fall within the month." Again, the man who had earned the title The Shoveler spoke seemingly without concern.
"Those flowers are special, you know." The soldier had noticed them, as the young servant carefully strode between the beds - white on one side, purple the other - he took the direct route and trampled them in his path as is proper. The weak should always make way for the strong. "In fact, they're they same ones I had planted around the palace grounds."
Before he could order the old man to stop prattling Manche felt the nausea that had been irritating him for several minutes suddenly grow in intensity, forcing its way up his body until his mouth opened of its own volition, his knees buckled and the morning meal painted the earth. "What-" He coughed. "What did you do?" He demanded, voice burning with fury.
"Monkshood, or perhaps Devil's Helmet would be the more appropriate name to use. I bred that strain myself, fast-acting, potent, and if the antidote is not applied it is certainly fatal."
The soldier roared, forcing his weak and tingling legs to lift him back up to his impressive height as he drew his sword. "You will give me the antidote!" He threatened as the blade as dark as pitch pointed, trembling, at the Lord's heart. His would-be victim was unimpressed. "No, I don't think I will. Helping an enemy of the kingdom would be treason after all." With a battle cry that sounded more like a wheeze the dying one swung his sword with all his might.
It shattered on the older man's trowel. As he stared at his broken weapon in confusion The Shoveler walked past the unwanted guest, not even deigning to glance in his direction as they fell, the heavy armour sounding his death-knell.
"Your shovel, my Lord."
Lord Rodney thanked Norman for his thoughtfulness, taking the ironwood and mithril tool from reverent hands as he cast his mind to further concerns.
Adventuring, war, glory, these were things for younger and more foolish men to concern themselves with. But on the other hand, what was the point of growing old if you can't act the fool on occasion? | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T23:20:57 | 1,001 | 16 |
[WP] You're considered by the Jedi Order as a very cryptic but accurate oracle. Truthfully though, whenever someone asks a question, you just retreat to your chambers, say you're consulting the Force, watch the DVDs of Star Wars and say it very cryptically to make it look legitimate | He heard a knock on his door as the spaceships flew past his windows.
'You may enter' he called in a voice akin to the croak of an ancient frog, and Mace Windu walked in amidst a flurry of robes. 'you're prediction about the young Skywalker appears to be correct, oracle,' he said in his deep voice, 'we wish to consult you on how to defeat the Sith Lord Darth Maul and the fate of Naboo.'
'I shall consult the force, but do know that my predictions shall never be truly accurate' he rasped as he glanced over to the box set of the original trilogy, prequels, and sequels, hoping that the Jedi Master couldn't see it sticking out from under his bed.
'We await your readings, know that the war marches on and we are grateful for your support' Windu responded solemnly as he exited the room.
Now it was time to prophesise.
The dignified oracle grabbed the box set, plenty of blue milk, and the galactic equivalent of corn chips and set to work. Ian huddled in his blanket and fast-forwarded to the end of the Phantom Menace. He wolfed down food as he did it, looking every inch the greasy shut-in he had been before he got randomly teleported to Coruscant in what he would probably call the 'worst cliche ever'. | As the sun shone through the windows, broken on the pretext of an 'intense oracle', A slim man immediately sat in athinking position. With his left leg above his right leg, He awaited the general's return from yesterday to question about the oracle.
"He is two minutes late..." irritated, He whispered only to hear the tapping footsteps. None can doubt these heavy footsteps to be of that fat pig.
"Herr! Your oracle has been proven by their attack. But they are fighting more ferociously then ever. Please tell us what you see!" said General AlsKommen. He wore some tight grey pants with a blue shirt and a tie. He acted as magnificently as possible but his face and his bulging belly thoroughly broke that impression.
"I understand. 'Thee have sinned in thy eyes but thy shall rejoice for my gifts are upon you when you look...' The message end here." He whispered in his thick accent immitating that of a high sage.
"Thee have sinned... rejoice... Your words have been of great help thy Herr!. I will soon visit upon you for more guidance." replied the general as he gave a slight bow and turned to go to his chambers to ponder.
As the door shut close, the sagely eyes vanished into nothing only to be replaced by the eyes of a scum. An Absolute Scum.
"What is wrong with these idiots? With such high-tech weapons, how are they fooled by some vague words which could mean anything? Looks like either they are deranged in their heads or god knows what." whispered the man. He was just living usual life as any normal person would and then went to sleep. Who knew that he would wake up in this god forsaken place? "Oh god, what the fuck did you throw me into? Could you not have left me live my life? I had finally won a lottery and finally had the time to watch anime and starwars to my heart content..." | 2022-02-26T20:10:34 | 2022-02-26T17:17:40 | 656 | 99 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | “The Red Phone” was a joke. My wife had bought it for me as a prop when I had told her I got elected President of the book club.
“A President needs a red phone!” had been her gleeful cry when I had opened the mysterious parcel. It was a cheap plastic thing, garish and bright. A child’s toy.
And I loved it.
It sat on my desk as I wrote, a comforting reminder to stay humble. Long years it sat there, til the fake dial on the front yellowed in the sun.
I wrote of worlds beyond our reach. I wrote of ages long past. I wrote of times yet to come, detective stories and thrillers, action and adventure.
And in each, I mentioned a red phone. Tucked away in a disused room, or on a busy street. Never central to the plot. Always in the background.
My fans would eagerly search for it when a new book came out. There were pages of analysis on the locations of the phones, and what it could mean.
I always just smiled when they asked. Some mysteries, I thought, are better unexplained.
But the phone had rung.
I had stared at it for long drawn out seconds.
It could not ring. There was no ringer. There were no electronics. It was an empty shell. Was I dreaming?
I had picked it up, and the voice had been cold and demanding, “Don’t let Diana die.”
I had recognised the voice immediately, for it had rung in my head for months now. The Finnish detective hero of my latest novel in progress, “The Darkest Hour is Midday”, was a genius who was due to suffer incalculable loss, and become a vigilante to hunt down his enemies.
It was hard writing a genius. A man is limited by his own intellect, and writing outside those bounds requires hard work and diligence, so the book was slow going.
The voice had continued, “I can see you weaving the threads of the world. You are changing it, and if you succeed, I will count you, personally, as one of my enemies. Do not do this evil thing.”
He hung up, and the red phone was as silent as it has always been, the cheap plastic handset empty as ever.
I took his warning to heart, and abandoned the fate I had almost chosen for him. I did not know what would happen if I destroyed it, and so the half-finished manuscript sat on a shelf and gathered dust.
Year after year.
I no longer wrote dark stories, instead making them light-hearted and happy. Full of wholesome tales of bravery and strength.
Sales went up. The furnishings in my room became more ornate. More lavish. But I kept the phone to remind me both to stay humble, and to remind me that somewhere, somehow, I was affecting the universe in unexpected ways.
I had several manuscripts in progress. The fear of wronging someone high in my mind.
And yet the second call was as unexpected as the first; but this time I did not hesitate before I answered.
I had practiced and planned what I would say to the characters if they became aware of me, and I was eager to find out who it might be.
“You need to finish my story. We’re all trapped here.” the voice was croaking and exhausted.
My Finnish detective. I hadn’t decided on his name.
“My name is Trent.” he snarled. “You don’t decide that.”
“What do you want, Trent? A happy ending?”
“We need an ending. Everything is freezing here. The people just stop as the walk down the street. When we intersect one of your plot-lines, they cannot cross. They cannot go back. They just stand, frozen.
I thought I could fix it. Change what you did. But your written words are like an unbreakable law.”
His voice sounded desperate, “Please just leave.”
I stood up and took out the old manuscript from the too of the shelves, and blew dust off it.
“I’m going to try something. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Be careful. Those are real people’s lives you are playing with.”
I scanned the first page. It had his description on it. The jacket he always wore.
I crossed out the line.
“What are you wearing?”
He understood instantly what I was doing. He’s cleverer than me. The sound of a man removing his jacket, and a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. You’re going to rewrite it to be a pleasant description of an eclipse one midsummer day, aren’t you?”
Much cleverer. I hadn’t thought of the eclipse until he mentioned it.
“Make sure you write it when a real eclipse happens. If you mess up the planets orbit, I’m going to be seriously unimpressed.”
I turned slightly pale. Another point that hadn’t occurred to me. I managed to get out a stammered “Yes. I will.” before he hung up.
——
The manuscript is done. I have sent it off to the publisher.
And the phone is ringing again.
It has been ringing for seven hours straight.
But I lack the courage to pick it up. I am sick with fear. I am pale, shaking and crying. What calamity have I wrought this time?
God help me, for I am weak.
I inch towards it, as I have done countless times since its strident tones ripped me from my peaceful slumber.
But this time I manage to pick it up and, trembling, hold it to my ear.
“Thank you.” says a familiar voice, and there is a click as he hangs up the phone for the last time. | Most of the time I didn't really care.
I preferred to live quietly, let everything else go on as they want.
A lot of people know I exist, but thankfully not who I am. There was a lot of talk online last time the phone rang. People saying if I had been called first all those heroes wouldn't have died. Others are scared of me. My very existence makes them terrified.
I don't do well with people.
I prefer to keep to myself.
It's quiet. Peaceful.
And then the phone rings. Incessant. Buzzing. I can hear the silicates vibrating.
I pick up the phone, and set it down again.
'Hello', I think into the mind of the person who called.
I sense their confusion. Their fear. Their desperation. All of it and every person between myself and them.
It takes a lot of willpower for me to steer away from their base thoughts. It's their privacy. A single speck and I could see...
"What's your name?" I say out loud. It focuses my mind.
'Oh, Jacqueline, danger, help, comet, war, sun exploding, Henry's dead, invasion from planet...'
I pull myself out of her mind.
No one thinks in coherent language. It's flashes of images and feelings. But it's enough.
Instead of jumping back into this 43 year old newly widowed mother of 3's mind, I conjured a pen and paper in front of her and had them write out: 'I will help with most of those. But you'll need to deal with the invasion and the war on your own.'
Please. Please. They killed him. They're killing... everyone.
I could hear her heartbeat from this far away. Her panic. Her grief. She had watched him die.
I considered letting the silence speak. But... she had been the one to reach for the phone.
I calculated the air to displace, and disintegrated just enough so when I teleported, it wouldn't cause any disruption. Making sure to do the reverse back at my home.
She had grey hair. Standing at 5'6. She had... very sad eyes, but there was righteous anger in her.
I opened my palm and held it out to her.
"Jacqueline." Her mind was open. Her memories of Henry and her playing as children, their first night after prom, their first child, his death... it all played and I couldn't look away. Not when I was so close.
I looked past it, towards a memory that would help her understand.
"I can not be the king of statues."
I froze time before her face began to change. Before she'd cry at one of her most raw memories being thrown and twisted at her. Did I have to be so cruel? Would she have understood if I said anything else?
I pull my soul away from the splintering timelines. That way led to an infinite void.
I displaced myself again.
I was in 8 places at once.
A comet the size of Australia was about to destroy the moon. I multiplied myself over and over, taking in the mass of the comet into my soul's mass. The source of my power.
For the rest of the planet, it'd be instant. For the 3894 versions of me, it took almost two years.
I jumped clear across the universe towards a black hole that was beyond current human observation, and would be for the species entire lifespan. I added another million versions of myself into the mix. Consuming matter so dense that a single speck could power me for a year.
I used it to reinvigorate the sun.
There were tsunamis and fires and tornados. I had learned quite well when I was a child that you don't mess with the weather carelessly. Instead I moved all 2 billion would be victims to safety. Respecting the national borders, or at least trying to.
Their minds were open. I could feel and hear everything. I lived 2 billion lives in that moment.
Finally, I approached the aliens and the war hawks. They were... angry. Not with the widow's fury, but a shallow and consuming anger. Scared. Desperate. Prideful... proud of that anger. I could read their entire minds.
And inside, I knew I could strip them of their minds. Twist them. Or make them feel every torture they had ordered.
No.
No.
I am not a king.
I'm human.
Human.
Right?
I stare at their faces. I learn their languages and their entire lives. I... try not to, even monsters deserve secrets.
Bht they're open to me. Like a diary lying on a bed, I can't help but see glimpses.
I could kill them. And their armies. I've done it before. An entire nation's military. Gone.
Not even a body to bury.
I don't like war. But conflict, all conflict is human.
I stare through the minds of the aliens, finding their ruling council. Reading their story like a book. Their home was destroyed, uninhabitable.
I write a plea for peace and lay it in front of each, in their native languages. Using their memories of pain to write.
I could make them listen.
But this... this is better. I hope.
I return home after the decades of work.
I can never tell what new tragedies will happen when I help. What families will do when they lose their home. Who will cannablize another.
When you have the power, everything that happens is because you allow it. Every murder, every starving orphan, every abusive spouse.
I put on my headphones.
The memories of ash falling from the sky return. Even monsters have families.
I turn the music up.
I can never tell what people will do. Even though they're all so small and delicate and pliable........
I am not a king.
I turn the music up louder.
Outside my simple apartment, the entire world was changed in an instant.
And I continued my quiet life. | 2022-03-29T02:39:22 | 2022-03-29T01:16:12 | 609 | 411 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | I blinked in surprise, turning from the TV in surprise as it rang.
The Red Phone.
They don't bother me lightly. I've made it clear that I value my privacy too much to get involved in every little scuffle between nations. After it leaked that the Heroes Society was trying to recruit me and Doctor Nefarious came after my daughter (and, subsequently, got broken, twice) I made it clear that I just wanted to do my work as a rocket scientist. Unbridled control of all of the fundamental forces made me far too powerful to be fighting super villains in the streets. But, I told the world at that press conference, if an extinction level event threatened I would be there to help.
And so the Red Phone only rings when there is great need. Only when all other options have been tried and failed. Only when the very existence of humanity is at stake.
It's rang twice before. Only twice. The first time nuclear missiles were in the air. All of the nukes. Someone - the leader of some underdeveloped republic in Latin America I think - called and pleaded with me to stop them from landing. Only I, with my great power, could do it. No one else had a chance to save the world. And so, with a sigh, I did it. I made gravity my bitch, compressed time, flew around the world, and converted all the nuclear payloads to lead.
The second time, it was an alien invasion. I know, I know, but for some godforsaken reason these idiots really did fly 487 light years to pick a fight. No, I don't know why. We never did get a chance to communicate with them. Funny thing about black hole drives: screw with one of the universal constants in a narrow field around them and they'll suck in your whole ship. A small tweak to the gravity field and they go flying off along galactic north into the intergalactic void. I didn't even break a sweat. I'd actually been waiting for that call.
And so I go to pick up the phone, wondering what world ending threat they need me to deal with this time.
"Professor Forces speaking."
"Um... um... um... hi."
I blink. This kid can't be a day over seven judging by the voice. She continues.
"They said if no one else can help people call you."
"Yes, that's true. What's going on?"
"I... I need help."
I take a breath. Ok. It's a little kid. But maybe it's still serious.
"What do you need help with?"
"I can't figure out my take aways."
I slowly blink. "Your... take... aways."
"Yeah. I'm gonna get in trouble if I don't finish my math homework, but... but I'm stuck on my take aways."
I let out a breath, and with it the tension that had been building in my chest. It's not a world threatening disaster. It's just a kid who needs help with her homework. I almost laugh, but hold back for fear of hurting her feelings. And together we work through the super confusing world of 2nd grade math.
Just as we finish, I hear a familiar voice in the background. "Patty! What are you doing! Get away from that phone!"
"But daddy, you said he could help!"
I hear the phone being taken away from the child and the voice, almost panicked speaks more clearly. I instantly place it. "Professor Forces, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have bothered you."
"Mister President, it is fine. Calm down." After a beat, I add, "After all, children are our future, and our future not knowing how to do take aways is, indeed, a grave threat." | I’d say I never know how they find me, but the Red Phone has followed me around for my entire life. Some days, I can forget it’s there—sometimes it’s just a slim little device, a flip phone tucked away in a backpack or suddenly in the pockets of my pants. But on other days, I reach for a pack of tissues, or I go to fish my keys out of a pocket, and I find I’ve pulled out the Red Phone instead.
It’s only been twice that I’ve been called—I think. But I only have to go outside and look up to know that it’s coming again. I can see it in the sickly orange light filtering through thick dustclouds.
We used to have golden sun and blue skies. We’ll have them again, after they call me to fight the the last fight. After I claw our existence back from the brink of this deadliest threat, there will be nations and peoples again, too many and too diverse for any one person to know, even me. They will build cities to house their communities of thousands, of millions, and their monuments to gods or elevated mortals will stand proudly once again.
The phone in my hand rings. I’ve already raised it to my ear when I truly register the tinkling chimes that sound, as though the call to the Last Hero could ever be light and inviting.
“Hello,” I say.
The voice that answers me is breathlessly uncertain. “Is this—I can’t really believe… Are you the Last Hero?”
I close my eyes against the orange light filtering through my living room window. “I am.”
There’s a gasp, and then a sob. Then the voice, quavering now, speaks again. “I speak for all, Last Hero. We need you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, because I have to. Even though I already know.
“There’s nothing left we can do. We’ve tried everything, anything and everything! We’ve used up our last trick, and we’re going to be wiped out if you can’t save us!”
I nod once, sharply, even though they can’t see me. “I only needed your confirmation. I’ll answer the call. Please hang up the phone now.”
I immediately hear more sobbing from the other side, wordless cries choked with relief—exactly what I don’t want to deal with. But then the line goes mercifully dead, and the Red Phone is gone from my hands.
I get up from the couch. My little orange-hued kingdom was once lovely in the sun. I used to have ivy that hung from the shelves, little leafy fronds in all the corners of my living room.
There‘s no use trying to hold onto it now.
Squaring my shoulders, I stride towards the laundry room. It’s more of a closet, with the washer tucked beneath a set of large, wide shelves that hold empty baskets and other knickknacks. I stand on tiptoes to reach the topmost shelf, shove my hands under a small stack of extra towels for the guests I never had, and pull free a small tin box.
I bring it back into the living room. There’s no reason for me too, but I think I want to see the light of day while I do this, even as grim as it now is.
In the center of my living room, I pry the lid off the tin box and pull out the small hourglass inside it. It’s a beautiful piece of work, all entirely made of glass with a strange sheen of color to it. When I look at the hourglass this way and that, the colors seemed to shift and change, but it never takes on the jaundiced light that paints everything else in my home.
“Well,” I murmur. “Here goes nothing—again. The end of the greatest threat to our existence.”
I drop the hourglass. It falls to the green rug on my floor with barely a sound, and I feel more than hear it crunch when I grind it under my slippered heel.
“Time to go back to the beginning,” I say.
And then I hear nothing. See nothing. Am nothing.
I won’t be again until Time flows forward once more, ready to give Life another chance. | 2022-03-29T10:06:36 | 2022-03-29T08:54:38 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | [This kind of got extremely out of hand, but I hope it is still close enough to the prompt.]
My name is Delphi, and I am an Oracle. I am known for quick wit, adaptability, and using mixed martial arts in lieu of a physical power. To the public, my gift is foresight. I can see what will happen in key points in the future, up to a certain degree, of course, and I can predict how my enemies will fight. I have few friends but many allies, because I am useful for stopping major disasters. Reporters have a field day trying to find some "romance" in my life, failing every time.
All of that is a lie.
My real name is Neera, and this is not the first time I have written this letter. It will likely not be the last. As it is, no one may ever read this, and it wouldn't be remembered if someone did. Still, there are things worse than death, and...well...I suppose this is the point where more exposition is necessary. Forgive me. No matter how many times I write these things, my writing never gets better.
Anyhow, let's begin.
When I was a baby, after just being born, the doctors thought that I was going to die. I arrived early, premature, unable to breathe on my own. My mother said that I didn't even move. Doctors tried everything. Tried to resuscitate, tried to make me breathe, make my lungs work. After months in a ventilator, they unhooked the machine and told my parents to prepare for the worst. But I was apparently a miracle baby, and my mother cried when I took my first unassisted breath of air.
I would later realize that I had died that day. My time of death would have been roughly 3:00 pm, the same time as my birth just months before. My body reacted with a new mutation for survival, a second chance, so to speak. With no consciousness of my own, I learned from a death that had no longer occurred. I figured out how to breathe.
The next time I died, I must have been about five...maybe six. I was playing on a summer afternoon, chasing fireflies and having as much fun as possible before I had to come in for supper. My father had been watching me. It was only a moment that he looked away, a mere moment to return the conversational attempts of our elderly neighbor, who was more excited than anyone else to have a tiny pair of feet in the small culdesac. Not many people were having children in the area. The ones who did moved away, finding neighborhoods in better school districts. But my family stayed, complete with the miracle baby.
In that one moment, I was gone. Chasing fireflies was my only focus, and I didn't see the short gully near the mouth of the woods. I fell down hard, hit my head so that everything I heard was shrill. Blood pulsing, skin burning, everything black.
I did not cry when it happened. I was only crying when I woke up the same morning, scared and hurting from an imaginary pain. My mother and father rushed to console me. It had been a bad dream, they said. I was safe, in my room, and they would not let me get hurt. My father did not stop to talk with the neighbor that day. He answered her briefly so that he could keep his eyes on me, worried after how real my pain had seemed. He could have talked if he wanted. I stayed far away from the forest edge.
When I turned thirteen, I was allowed to go out with my friends. By this time, we had moved closer to the city, so close that the grocery store and one of the popular restaurants were in walking distance. We weren't supposed to stay out too late. But my friend, Annie, had convinced the two of us, myself and Shannon, to get icecream before heading home. A bit of controlled mischief for an important birthday.
There was a line. It was summer again, and the city did not sleep like the culdesac did. Plenty of people stood in front of us, so it took a lot longer than we had anticipated. We eventually got our icecream and sat on a curb beside a skate park. Few people were there, and so we were left alone. We finished the cold treats, realized how late it was, and immediately set about taking a shortcut home. The whole way, I remember trying to devise excuses that would lessen any punishments. It didn't matter though. We never made it back.
A group of men blocked our path. I don't remember how many. It could have been three. It could have been five. Either way, it was easy to overpower us when we caught on and tried to run.
I wasn't the first one to die that night. It would have been so much easier if I were. I wasn't the last either, but I had seen enough damage to stick with me every lifetime. Annie was such a strong-willed person. She always had a comeback, and she was never afraid. She never cried. I watched her cry for the first time, saw how pleading she was with her eyes, and I couldn't help her. I vomited into the blood pooling near where my face was smashed in the concrete. I was not last, but Shannon would luckily never have to remember that she was.
I decided that we shouldn't get icecream that day, convincing them that my parents would probably have some at the house. I was right. They were waiting for us with a surprise party, complete with tents in the pitiful excuse for a backyard and my special present, a telescope. They hadn't told my friends because they were terrible at keeping secrets. We laughed and sang and did all the usual things depicted in slumber parties. When everyone else had gone to sleep, I was looking up at the stars. Scorpius, Hercules, Delphinus... They twinkled like fireflies. It was at this point that I discovered I could not actually die.
I didn't really know what to do with that information. I was young and scared and traumatized. As selfish as it was, I was so upset that I was the only one who remembered. I had to deal with something that never happened all on my own.
I tried to convince my parents. Tried to prove it to them. It didn't matter. By the time I woke up, stirred from a trance in front of my father's safe, they didn't recall anything that had happened. They put me in therapy. I learned not to say anything that was really affecting me. People didn't want to help. They just wanted you to be less visible with your suffering. So I made sure I would never start therapy to begin with.
[Continued below] | # VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/) | 2022-06-06T17:58:01 | 2022-06-06T14:18:28 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] In vampire society, it is a capital offence to touch prey marked by a senior vampire. There is a very good reason they all shy away from the cross.
All credit to [https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/wwon7a/in\_vampire\_society\_it\_is\_a\_capital\_offence\_to/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/wwon7a/in_vampire_society_it_is_a_capital_offence_to/)
I just thought it'd make an interesting prompt. | "We can't go in there, Victor"
"Why not, Rabbi?"
The Rabbi stood there for a second, his face one movement away from laughter, before recomposing itself and replying, "I guess you wouldn't yet know. You know how whenever we scout, I leave a mark somewhere on the property?"
"Yes, Rabbi. What does that have to do with this house? I don't see any special marks."
"But you do. Do you see that wooden cross on the wall, by the fireplace?"
"Yes, Rabbi. That's the mark of Christianity as a religion. I know of no vampires that have that mark."
"The one they call Christ is not a simple religious figure. He is the first and most powerful vampire there is. It's because of him that you call me Rabbi. It's also because of him that we can't feed from this house."
"Pardon me, Rabbi. If Christ was a vampire, how did he get into so many houses? Why can't we feed from this house, if we have fed from houses already marked before?"
"It's simple how he got in so many places so quickly. Since he is a powerful religious figure, many put the cross into their house themselves after accepting him into their hearts, a much more powerful symbol of invitation than simple invitation into their physical homes. They believe they are under his protection, and in a sense, they are.
"You see, while they have the cross in their homes, Christ is the only being that can feed on them. He goes out of his way to defend the places where he will later feed. If we had gone in there, we would've met an end to our normally immortal lives. Typically, as vampires grow older, they also grow in power. Therefore, it's a rule to avoid feeding upon a place marked by a vampire senior to you, because if you do, you will lose against the senior vampire. Every marked house we have fed upon has been a mark of a vampire junior to me, so we were fine."
"Pardon me again, Rabbi. If the cross is the mark of Christ the vampire, then why are many people still unmarked by the stench of vampires?"
"The reason is simple, Victor. Since many accepted Christ into their heart without later revoking it, instead of feeding on their blood while they are alive, Christ feeds on their souls after they die."
&#x200B;
P.S. I tried not to break any rules on religion. If I did, then I'm sorry and am more than fine with this story being deleted. | It had all started a long time ago. So long, most vampires didn't remember it.
But I did.
It had been a dark, dry night. Four of the most senior vampires in the world had gathered. Two vampires were not present, but precedings went along anyway. One stepped forward.
"I have changed my mark." She announced, her slender hands clasped behind her back.
The other vampires nodded.
"Show us the mark, that we might avoid those who bear it." They intoned together.
She held forth a wood peg, meant to be hammed into the ground. "This wooden stake is my mark." She announced. "Those who hold this must be left untouched, for they are my prey to feed on."
The other vampires all nodded, and each said, "Your new mark is known, those of my clan shall not touch your prey."
She stepped back and another stepped forward. "I have also changed my mark." He announced, his chest puffed out proudly.
"Show us the mark, that we might avoid those who bear it." The others replied.
He drew from his undershirt a silver pendant in a t shape. "This silver cross is my mark." He announced. "Those who wear this must be left untouched, for they are my prey."
The other vampires nodded, and repeated that none of their clans would feed off his prey.
He stepped back and there was silence.
"No one else with an announcement?" The stake vampire asked.
The others shrugged or shook their heads.
"Then we are adjourned. Farewell, vampire folk. We will spread this knowledge as far as we can to ensure other vampires know." The stake vampire said.
All the others nodded, and then the senior vampires split off, returning to their homes.
They would then start speading rumors.
"I heard." One of them told a merchant while buying silver. "That a silver cross can kill a vampire."
"Theres a rumor." Said another to a carpenter." That a wooden stake can kill a vampire. "
The news spread quickly from vampire to vampire, a river flowing down a widening path to the ocean.
Eventually, everyone knew of the new marks. But, as always, a few humans caught wind of this as well. They began to spread the news in their own ways. One went to a church, and begged the priest there to sell him ten crucifixes.
"Why so many?" The priest asked.
"Crosses," he said, nervously shifting on his feet, "have been found to kill a vampire."
This news spread even quicker. It spreak like wildfire, burning across villagers, and down the routs merchanats took in their travels, until every town was affected, and every villager had stakes and crosses they kept with their garlic.
Everyone knows how to kill vampires.
No one seems to realize that means vampires know too. | 2022-09-05T08:55:39 | 2022-09-05T08:50:39 | 676 | 151 |
[WP] An entity that appears as a normal person is following you everywhere you go, it won't say a word, and it won't stop smiling. | "See the girl across the bar over there?"
Eli gestured towards the thing he'd named Joanna. It was a fairly busy night at the Rat's Tail, but even amidst all the noise it was hard to miss the brunette with the unnatural grin. So hard to miss, in fact, that the patrons in her vicinity kept her at a two-table distance.
Nathan laughed. "Yeah, she ain't bad lookin'. Smile's a little weird though."
Eli rubbed his bloodshot eyes, and took a swig of his Guinness. "I'm not playing fuckin' Matchmaker, Nate. She's been following me for like three days. And it's not, like...a stalker thing, I think it's like supernatural."
Nathan squinted at Eli, trying to determine whether or not this was some sort of elaborate bit. "Supernatural. Like that one movie with the girl, fucks a guy and gets a demon chasing after her?" Eli made a so-so motion with his hand.
"It's not...alright, so I didn't fuck anyone to get that, and everyone else sees it too, right? I tried getting close but she's always like... just about that far away. No matter where I'm at, or how small the room is. I've tried to get other people to help but..."
Nathan cut him off as he stood up from the bar. "Lemme go talk to her." Eli made a half-hearted attempt to stop him, then watched with muted disappointment as Nathan barged through the crowd and stepped up to Joanna...
Only to vanish without a trace. None of the other patrons seemed to notice. Eli sighed. His phone on the bar rang.
"WHERE THE FUCK AM I?" Nathan shouted from the other end.
"Yeah, no, that's what I was worried about. You're probably safe, I don't know how far she sends you but you'll be fine. Unrelated, did you still have that shotgun in your trunk?" | Sally, I would come to name her.
She first appeared after my late grandmother passed away. It was the morning after the funeral and there she was, standing at the end of my bed. Staring. Smiling. A light, misting aura surrounded her, clearly nothing from our reality as we know it.
Of *course* I shat myself. Wouldn't *you*? I've always been rather superstitious; been on a few ghost hunts, believed in a spiritual realm, you know the drill, but never had I experienced such a clear-as-day anomaly. In panic I threw my pillow at her for what good it did. With no reaction whatsoever, I detected no ill intent. We sat in silence for what felt like hours, albeit a mere few minutes.
Gathering up what little courage I possessed, I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and refocused on... whatever the hell she was.
Around 11 or 12 years old, a predictable height, a blonde bob-cut hairstyle, dressed in a chequered summer dress with a red bow-tie, she just continued to smile at me.
"Isn't your jaw hurting?" I mustered, of course asking the really important questions.
No verbal of physical response. Just that same damn smile. At least it wasn't some strange looking demonic smile - it actually felt quite warm and sincere. A blessing really, as I was already on the verge of wetting the bed after a deep slumber. At 29 I'd of felt rather embarrassed about that.
If she wasn't prepared to answer such a simple question, there was no point in asking anything of meaning, I thought to myself. From spiritual experiences in the past, my intuition on handling such moments came in to play and... did absolutely nothing to provoke her.
I positioned myself on the side of my bed, feeling the floor with my feet until I found my slippers and walked towards the bathroom. As I opened my bedroom door, there she was, already stood at the other end of the hallway. I looked back in to my bedroom and '*naturally*' she wasn't there - of course she wasn't. My immediate thought was how my privacy and personal space had been shattered, something I had always cherished and the reason I've lived alone for so many years.
Having someone or... *something*, in my house felt just as strange as the foreign entity that stood before me.
"Fancy some breakfast?" I said whilst chuckling to myself, and to my surprise her smile got ever so slightly wider. | 2022-09-12T12:30:05 | 2022-09-12T11:16:32 | 54 | 26 |
[WP] In all of history, it is estimated that there have been around 109 billion deaths. Tell me the story of one of these 109 billion people's last moments.
[Source](https://www.prb.org/articles/how-many-people-have-ever-lived-on-earth/) | I have no regrets.
The battle was well-fought. Even though the Picts took us by surprise, our training and mettle were superior - the foul barbarians stood no chance as they broke themselves upon our mighty shields and fell to our swords. Though... not that there weren't losses. Like me.
All I remember was sinking my blade into one of their warriors before a flash of pain coursed through the back of my head and everything went to black - just like a cowardly barbarian to attack a man with his back turned. I only woke up in the field hospital after Flavius - my friend, my brother - carried me on his own back all the way back to camp. The cowards drove a spear into my stomach after knocking me out. I only flashed in and out of consciousness as I saw the physicians try to stem the bleeding and Flavius holding my hand with a look of concern. But I've seen wounds like this. I do not have long and all I can do is muse while I dance between reality and dreams.
I know the army will compensate my family. A plot of land to call their own and a modest pension on my behalf. Perhaps they'll start a winery like I wanted to - in my memory, perhaps. I am sure that our wine will be renowned through all of Rome considering how talented my boy is, guided by the gentle hand of my Laodameia.
The dreams are getting longer, reality shorter. It's time.
Elysium awaits.
I have... no....... reg^(rets...) | There so many stories to tell. So many to choose from. One could almost say it was infinite, though in reality that is not quite true. Yet. Theoretically, until the human race does perish there are still infinite deaths to occur as no one really knows how many more are to come. Anyway, anyway, you wanted to hear about a certain death?
Well who’s to say I’m not making it up? I could make up an absurd death with intricate details exploring every facets of the poor person’s life and make it completely feasible. In fact, maybe they weren’t a poor person and lived a rich fulfilling life and quietly passed surrounded by loved ones! That would be the dream aye? Alas it isn’t to be for me. And it wasn’t for you.
You mean you don’t realise?
You see, this isn’t a question of any random person’s death. No no. My story is tailored and specific for everyone who requires an answer. You see, I provide a warm welcome through my opening spiel and you believe it’s all to lead you to the answer of just some wild death throughout all of history. But now that you are dead too, you are a part of history!
Oh whoops!!! I just spoiled it didn’t I? Well yes, you heard right, you passed away. And I am sorry to say, it wasn’t very glorious. I know, this isn’t a great way to hear about it. But let me check real quick. Mhm mhm… yes yessss. Alright, so you passed away while browsing a website called reddit. That is R E D D I T.
I mean I assumed you know that since you’re receiving this message in a way created to be an exact replica of the way you passed to make the transition a little less… jarring.
Oh sorry! That’s all the time we have. Welcome to the afterlife! Your orientation will continue once you turn off your screen and exit through the doorway over there.
Tata now. | 2022-12-26T05:36:19 | 2022-12-26T03:58:21 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | Sleeping soul so innocent
awakens in a blaze. Knowing not
where she is. She wanders on for
days. Beasts with horns and pointed tails
with fire in their eyes, spent the day wondering
the cause of her demise. She was too young,
too filled with life. How does one so very
small have such a shortened time. "We can't let her stay, she
wont last long." "She has no where else to go."
"We can build her a ladder to a land as white as snow."
The damned worked hard and in no time the ladder was erected, the girl
climbed up to find that her fate had been corrected. | "*Damn you to hell.*" Biggs muttered, very nearly fulfilling his daily quota for hellishly damnable puns.
"All right, come on!" He shouted to the child.
She was hesitant. Nice things in the pit had a tendency to attain immense weight, and the girl didn't have a telemarketer's shot at heaven of picking her teddy bear up off the floor.
The fact that she hadn't imploded under her own weight was not lost on the demon. He'd seen the Shining and played F.E.A.R., and he was appropriately wary.
"And the teddy bear, come on." Biggs wiggled his fingers in the apropos manner to induce levitation. If the worst happened he would be able to use it as a shield.
The bear left the ground, the girl's eyes followed, and her capacity for thought resumed as the shock of death left and she took in her surroundings. Karen was a good kid, and the lighting vaguely reminded her of Christmas.
Nice things and hell having the relationship that they do, her head exploded.
Biggs sighed again and pressed his palms into his face. "*Help me, I am in hell.*" Pun quota achieved. | 2013-11-26T16:25:34 | 2013-11-26T15:22:41 | 58 | 16 |
[WP] You are an assassin. This job is all your life. You submit your CV to the Company, the dream job for all assassins. They accept your offer under one condition, you have to pass a test. You are given a target to kill within the next few days. The only weapon you can use is a pickle. | I followed him for three days. It was his posting, his almighty company. Arrogant bastard, that's not how this works. There's gigs, targets, and clients. Nobody puts me on retainer.
So I accepted his test. Now here we are. Despite the breeze blowing from the top of the building, he stands before me sweating. A bead rolls down his cheek and dots his hipster v-neck. His fixie bicycle, macbook, and iPhone all dangle in a bundle from the ledge. His girlfriend grips the ledge at the other end, her tattooed forearms straining to hold on.
"I'll untie you now. It's your choice, but you'll only be able to choose one side of the ledge or the other." I smirk. "You're in a pickle now."
He stumbles forward then pauses to decide his direction. I kick him off the edge of the building.
Amateur. | *ding*
34th floor. Steve steps forward, briskly moving past the secretary's desk. She nods as he passes. A suit and a name badge will get you just about anywhere in this world. Thank god for apathy.
As he walks purposefully down the hall, a brief moment of anxiety passes. He lets it pass through him, as he was trained. B3419. B3421. B3425? That's not right...
Steve finds the room around the corner. He checks his pocket. Wet. Fucking cucumbers.
*knock knock*
The door to B3423 sharply jerks open. Adam McGrath.
"I'm here to relieve you, Adam," Steve says, steadying his voice as he mentally prepares his movements.
"Finally. Any idea what happened to Chad?" Adam queries.
"No call, no show. I can't imagine what would keep him from such an exciting job," he replies.
"No shit. Glad you were here last second."
"Me too," said Steve with a yawn. This is it.
"None of that," replied Adam, but it was too late.
Adam began a mighty yawn. Steve struck with lightning fast reactions. The cucumber now filled Adam's esophagus, tip to teeth. Adam's eyes widened beyond belief. He tried to grab, move, tear at his own throat.
Steve didn't wait for the end. He had a job to go accept. | 2014-12-12T17:46:46 | 2014-12-12T16:56:58 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Stephen Hawking's chair can transform into a mecha suit. He has not used that option till today. Describe the events leading up to, and during his rampage | The audience applauded as Stephen Hawking took the stage. His chair came to a stop and spun to face the audience.
"Good afternoon, Berkeley," he said to the crowd of academics. "Thank you for giving up your time to hear me speak. We are, after all, short on time these days. We are nearing peak oil. Millions die of starvation around the world. Even California, this very state, is in the midst of a major drought. So many problems. And no solutions in sight."
The audience cleared their throats and shuffled in their seats. Hawking's lectures did not often start with such pessimism.
"Life is a beautiful thing. I know this better than most. There was a time when I thought I would not live to see my thirtieth birthday. In January, I celebrated my seventy-third."
This elicited a standing ovation from the audience. In the back row, Tony Stark reluctantly got to his feet.
"Standing ovation," he said to the man next to him. "Doesn't seem like the best way to honor a man in a wheelchair."
"Thank you," Stephen Hawking said. "Life is, indeed, a treasure. It may be the greatest thing the universe has to offer. But, like any other blessing, too much can be a bad thing."
"There are seven billion people on Earth," Hawking continued before the nervous audience. "In less than thirty years, there will be nine billion. Earth cannot sustain this many humans. If we continue this route, we will suck the planet dry. Every man and woman in this room knows what must be done to ensure the survival of the species. What we lack, is somebody willing to make that sacrifice. Now, at the end of my life, I finally have the courage to do what is necessary."
The arms of Hawking's wheel chair began to move. Steel bands wrapped around the physicist's arms and legs. The chair began to unfold, lifting Hawking into a standing position. The audience gasped as red lights flashed all around the suit that was forming. At the end of the transformation, Hawking stood nine feet high. His steel limbs flashed with red lights whenever he moved.
"The human race will detest me," Hawking said as a helmet slid over his head. A pair of blood red eyes glowed from behind the helmet. "But it will forgive me."
Flame throwers on Hawking's wrists activated, spitting fire across the audience. Soon, the entire building had turned into an inferno. Jets blasted from the bottom of Hawking's feet, and the physicist escaped through the ceiling.
The surviving audience members nearly trampled each other as they escaped from the building. Tony Stark leapt out a second story window, tucking and rolling as he landed on UC Berkeley campus. Up above, Hawking flew through the air, launching rockets into buildings.
"Pepper," Tony said into his cellphone as Sather Tower collapsed. "Unlock the suit!"
(If I get more time today, I'll write out an actual battle between the two.) | Budget cuts. It was always the excuse given by the weak of mind.
“We didn’t have enough money to pay for the technology.”
“We needed the money for other projects.”
“Who could have even seen this coming?”
It pissed off Hawking to no end.
He had warned them. We needed to get off this planet. We needed to develop technology to colonize other planets and moons. If we stayed on Earth we were putting all of our eggs in one basket.
Any number of things could wipe us out. Nuclear war. Global warming. An EMP wave from a solar flare.
Or an asteroid.
An amateur astronomer had seen it first. It’d already flown past Jupiter. A Manhattan sized piece of death that had a seventy-five percent chance of hitting Earth created panic among the populace.
As it got closer the chance of it hitting Earth continued to rise. Rather than trying to figure out what to do politicians pointed fingers.
“Who voted against early warning systems?”
“Who voted against defense systems?”
Hoarding. Looting. Riots. Civil unrest. Society started to tear itself apart.
Hawking saw it all from his chair’s feed. If he could he would have sighed. He would have stood and chastised everyone. No one was blameless. No one could claim innocence.
“Come with me to the hill overlooking town,” said Hawking.
His assistance nodded. They walked out into the night and up a small winding path to a viewing area. Hawking looked down at the fires burning below.
“I’m afraid that they will never understand the sacrifice made for them,” said Hawking.
“Not all, but some will, Mr. Hawking. Some will and they will take the lead,” said his assistant.
They stood in silence for the next ten minutes.
“Thank you for being there with me. For helping me when my body failed. For helping me when I divorced,” said Hawking.
His assistant nodded.
“It is time. Stand back,” said Hawking.
His assistant took a few steps back. “You only get one chance to do it.”
“I know. We’ve run the calculations. We’ve run the simulations. Many gave up their lives to make this possible.” Hawking’s eyes flicked to the night sky. “It will work.”
His assistant nodded, stepped forward and gave Hawking a hug. “Good luck, Mr. Hawking.” She walked down the hill as the chair began to shake and transform.
Hawking looked to the sky. His chair began to fall apart around him. Pieces shifted and reattached. In a matter of thirty seconds where Stephen Hawking had once been now stood an eight feet tall metal man.
The mech suit jumped into the air. It fell for half a second and then shot into the night sky when its booster rockets fired. Hawking’s assistant waved with tears in her eyes as the mech disappeared into the night.
Hawking controlled his mech with his mind. He exited Earth’s atmosphere in a matter of minutes. The asteroid loomed large.
Missiles fired from the mech suit hit the asteroid doing little damage. Hawking knew they wouldn’t destroy it. He only needed an entrance.
He flew into the heart of the asteroid and came to a stop. His suit began to overheat. Hawking had set an overload loop that would make his suit self-destruct. He would give his life for the Earth.
Hawking closed his eyes as the suit’s warnings blared. It would only be a matter of seconds now. Time had ended for him but not for Earth.
That night the Earth got treated to the biggest fireworks display anyone ever had or ever would see courtesy of the greatest hero our pale blue dot ever had or ever would see: Stephen Hawking.
| 2015-03-07T10:18:32 | 2015-03-07T10:17:23 | 108 | 30 |
[WP] Earth is the uncontacted Amazonian Tribe of the Galaxy, and aliens don't want to contact us because they want to preserve our primitive and unique culture. | "Look....look what they're doing now. It's disgusting."
"What?"
"They're regurgitating their methyl alcohol mixtures at each other."
"That's....that's unpleasant."
"Correct, and according to Teenor's behavioral pattern logs they will fight each other afterwards."
"Why would they fight? Are they trying to establish dominance?"
"No, they've locked themselves into a domicile for constant surveillance; they clearly know they cannot be dominant. I suspect they will fight out of confusion."
"And who's watching them?"
"Approximately three to six million of the other primates."
"For educational purposes?"
"No, recreation. Apparently this is fun for them."
"Fascinating. And which of them is the Big one?
"I don't understand your query."
"You stated that they are related by size. Which one of them is the Big Brother?"
"No, no that's what they have all agreed to call the surveillance feed; 'Big Brother.' Teenor said that it's clever use of their language to imply the dominance of the surveillance system itself."
"Some of them do seem to be smarter than others."
"Oh, yes. There are vast differences even within their own species. I believe that is a large part of their survival. They high rate of reproduction compounded by the variety of traits due to their interbreeding has allowed them the relatively minor success of planetary control."
"And yet they still defecate into bowls, then wash them out into their drinking water."
"Yes. It does seem to be that way. Although the faults of their individual selves are compartmentalized to one lone entity, so is the wisdom and intelligence. They cannot think as one, and their attempt to build a platform to do so is primitive."
"Oh they have a platform? Teenor's notes do not speak of that."
Riadek closed Teenor's post-state archival index and turned around to Nep.
"Is it operational?"
Nep knew little on the topic, except that the primates which referred to themselves as 'Hyu-maan,' constantly referred to this inter-intelligence as the 'Inter-Net."
"It is, but the educational uses are mostly avoided by their population. They mainly use the inter-intelligence to bring up various pictures of other species."
"Well...that could be considered educational...in a way. They are familiarizing themselves with potential prey."
"No, no. They send each other pictures of the youth of the other species for pleasure."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Riadek. I am. I saw this happen."
"Well...Have you seen it? The pictures. Are they as pleasurable as the Hyu-maan seem to think?"
"No. They are absolutely disgusting. I took restoration procedures for half a local rotation after seeing them."
"Then we have discovered a weapon. Show me this picture. What do they call it?"
"They call it a 'Kit-ten.' and I would highly advise against this. Again, I would very highly advise against this."
"Nep, your kind are beings of the highest order, true, but you do sometimes show moments of weakness. Let me see this picture."
Nep turned away from the screen and projected a picture of the Earth Kit-ten. Riadek violently ran out of the dark room lit only by energized equipment and into the recovery bay. An onlooker in the hall accidentally saw a portion of the 'Kit-ten' and collapsed. Nep turned off the feed and continued work.
"Disgusting humans. Why do the Dolphin choose to live here with them is beyond me."
| In all my time working for the Planetary Protection Agency, I've never dealt with a planet as bothersome as #20993E39, or "Earth" as the most common dialect on the planet refers to it.
When the PPA was formed (far before my time, and when this planet was still just an uninhabitable molten heap) it vowed to shield any progress of life from outside influence. The official reason is to promote diversity in the universe, but everybody knows that it's the fault of the Bundillions, a race devoted entirely to accounting and responsible for the most boring bits of the entire galaxy. They began colonizing habitable planets due to the exponential need for accountants. The result is an exponential increase in exceptionally tedious and boring planets.
Now, life doesn't just... ah... find a way onto a planet very often. While it is true that a meteoroid containing bacteria could very well be the start of an intelligent life form (Panspermia I think the inhabitants of Earth refer to it) this is virtually never the case. The only documented cases of this occurrence is due to the captain of a large ship releasing the sewage of his vessel near an asteroid belt, resulting in a fecal infused asteroid being knocked out of orbit and colliding with a habitable planet. The inhabitants of Earth would be dismayed to know that a number of races that began like this have actually advanced well beyond them.
Earth however, was no accident. Those damned Bundillions, in their supreme efficiency, found Earth and deemed it suitable for colonization. The only manner the PPA has found to combat this wide-spread Bundtrification is to seed the planet with an organism, thus making it illegal to interfere with. Bundillions, while seemingly ruthless in their attempt to colonize planets, would never dare break the law in any manner. That's not to say that the Earth hasn't been interfered with. It's happened quite frequently, the most recent being an individual calling himself Einstein, though it's astounding that the earthlings never realized he was from another planet.
But the PPA can't just go colonizing planets with any one race of organism. No, then we would be no better than the Bundillions. So in order to preserve the disorder of the Universe, the PPA has amassed life from all planets that share characteristics with the planet to be seeded. Essentially, thousands of single celled lifeforms are scattered about on the planet and whichever survives becomes the dominant race. A technique that has brought endless entertainment to gambling establishments, who routinely make wagers on what species will emerge on top. Many believed the early large reptilian organisms would reign supreme, but the massive extinction ended that. Some still believe certain criminal establishments had a hand in fixing that bet.
So now this soft species of warm blooded bipeds have become dominant and, while still extremely primitive, are constantly probing the nearby regions with their limited technology. This makes keeping them a secret almost entirely impossible, and every so often someone sneaks onto the planet and tries to rule it's population, steal it's resources, or maybe just do some harmless probing.
It's not an easy job, but I've grown to love the little primitive sphere called Earth. And the recent events that have been developing have caused me some concern.
At first we thought that our observation center had been discovered, a difficult task considering the technology hiding us is probably 1000 Earth years from discovery. An alarming number of missiles had been launched from the planet's surface. We thought maybe they found us and considered us a threat, as would most primitive life forms. But the missiles were not destined for us, they proceeded to fall back down to the planet. It seems that a very small group had launched the initial volley of these primitive weapons, which in turn was followed by all of the largest groups launching their own.
Anyway, tomorrow we will send a probe in for an inspection. The different groups seem to have been quarreling more than usually lately and I hope they haven't done anything too drastic. | 2015-06-14T12:22:21 | 2015-06-14T10:44:40 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone on earth woke up with super powers this morning, but everyone thinks they are the only one with powers and tries to keep them secret. | “Hey, guys,” I said, sidestepping the mess on the floor as I walked into the living room. “Do you think we could have a quick house meeting?”
Neither of my roommates bothered to peel their eyes from the television.
So I cleared my throat and tried again. “Dave? Sheila? I really think we need to set a few ground rules, now that things have…changed. Know what I mean?”
A light tuft of smoke emerged from Dave’s fingers as he jerked his head in annoyance. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
Sheila shrugged an agreement from the opposite end of the sofa. “What’s the problem *now*?”
Shit. This was gonna get ugly. “Okay. Well, for starters, I was doing laundry this morning when all of my clothes suddenly burst into flame.”
A wry smile formed on Dave’s face. “Maybe you shouldn’t use up all the detergent. Not that I had anything to do with what happened. I’m just saying…”
“Cut the crap, asshole. I know it was you.”
Sheila, who hated conflict, decided this would be a good time to turn invisible.
“*How*?” Dave asked, leaning forward to address me with a sneer. “*I wasn’t even there.* I’ve been here all morning watching television. Just ask Sh—“ His eyes popped at the vacancy two cushions down. “Holy shit. Where did she go?”
“*She’s still here*,” I said, irritated.
“No, I’m not.”
“*Yes, you are.*” I glared in her general direction before returning my attention back to Dave. “We *all* woke up with super powers this morning. And...um...with great power comes great responsibility. Dave, you can’t just set fire to all my shit because you’re pissed off about the laundry situation. And Sheila, it’s fucked up to go ghost and waltz into the bathroom while I’m taking a shower. I don’t care *how much* you need your lip gloss.”
They both sat in stunned silence.
“H-How did you know?” Sheila’s disembodied voice asked finally.
“Because I can *read minds*, stupid.” I brought my hands together with authoritative flair. “Everyone clear on the new house rules? Great. Meeting adjourned.” | I never wanted this.
Well, the powers I did want, but the whole "secret identity" part? It's not worth it.
I was walking down the street this morning on my way to the bus stop, when I tripped on an untied shoelace. I fell forward at first, but then...I stopped. *This is weird,* I thought, and I pictured myself falling on the ground face-first, which is what *should have* happened. Surprisingly, I did just that. *Okay, this is ridiculous,* I thought to myself as I picked myself up off the ground and tied my shoelace as any normal kid would: cross the laces, make a loop, rabbit goes around the tree and digs a burrow, and then, for the extra effort to make sure that it doesn't untie for a while, a fox goes around the tree and digs into the burrow. I got up from the kneeling position I was in and resumed my walk.
I made my way down to the bus stop, and my friend Robert was, as usual, running as fast as he could to catch the bus, even though the bus wouldn't be there for another 15 minutes. He must have been going hard on the treadmill, because he seemed about twice as fast as he usually was. As soon as he saw me, though, he slowed down to normal speed. *Is he hiding something?* I thought to myself as he put on an act of panting hard and wheezing, as if he had just won his first cross-country race by going at it like it was a 100m sprint.
As we sat down on the bench, Red, the school bully, punched me in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me, which he had never managed to do before. "Karma!" he yelled at me. "That's karma for snitching on me to the school principal!"
"For the last time, Red, the word you're looking for is 'dharma.' According to Hindu philosophy, karma is the record of the acts in your life, while dharma...well, you can guess."
*...is the acts themselves.* I groaned. Great. Why her? Alexis, the school's biggest smart aleck, had just arrived at the bus stop, and was apparently able to communicate telepathically.
This was going to be one very strange and awkward day.
Edit: Italicized text wasn't displaying properly, double-spaced to try to fix it.
Edit II: It's dead, Jim! "Try pressing Enter, and then pressing Enter again."
Edit III: <facepalms>
Edit IV: I need some help.
Edit V: I undid prior edits. It turns out I just needed to restart my browser. *facepalms again* | 2015-09-15T18:49:35 | 2015-09-15T15:32:35 | 85 | 15 |
[WP] Every time someone says "Long live the Queen", the Queen's life is extended by one second. You only notice this when the Queen looked terrified when only a few people say it during a public speech.
Credit to /u/kroxigor01 for the idea. | From the crowd only a few people shouted it. Before this all happened, the entire crowd would say it. But the phrase is dying. Experts have pointed out how it may come of as nationalistic, and that it's somewhat old fashioned. Fewer and fewer people started saying it. And that took its toll. Looking back now, it all makes sense. Truth to be told, in the back of my mind, I was suspicious. She promoted the phrase, that one specifically. She must've had a reason. And when in her public appearances fewer
people shouted the phrase, she started to look worried. Clearly this was important to her somehow. Today was different. Only a dozen people shouted the phrase. And the gaze in her eyes was one of an immense fear. She knew what was coming. For 12 seconds, she stopped, and just stared into nothingness. And then she dropped dead on the floor. A phrase had died, and a queen with it. Long live the queen. | "SAY IT! SAY IT!" screamed the Queen, her frilly dress following her as she ran about. Unfortunately, her crazed screaming had the opposite affect on the people in the room. She saw this coming. Recent polls showed that the Queen wasn't as popular as she was last decade ago. But alas, she had an alternative.
"Commence order 432." she said, glancing at a guard in the corner of the room. Within moments, all the doors closed shut; the guards at the corners of the room pointing their weapons at all who sat in the banquet hall. In utter shock and disbelief, the people remained static in their seats. "Now, say it." said the queen, as she reclined back in her seat which was at the front of the hall. A menacing grin cracked her face as her eyes widened. "SAY IT."
"Long live the Queen." cried the people.
"Again!"
"Long live the Queen!"
"Again! Again! Again!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the morning sun's light peaked into hall, countless law enforcement barged into the room; breaking the door, breaking in via windows, etc. Confusion and disbelief bombarded them as their eyes glanced around the room before widening at the Queen who sat in the front of the room. Silk like hair draped down her side as her luscious lips formed into a familiar cracked smile. As each of the officers were mesmerized by her blemish free skin and her voluptuous bosoms, her slender fingers pointed at the men before her.
"Say it." | 2022-09-08T11:11:40 | 2015-11-09T08:28:13 | 971 | 16 |
[WP] A total newbie is trying to start a drug cartel. However he doesn't get street talk, and interprets everything literally (dime, brown sugar, etc) | Jim sat across the desk from his prospective partners.
"We hear you move dope" said one of them
"You calling my friend a dope?" said Jim
"What?"
"I just helped my friend move houses. Are you saying he's a dope"
"No like dru..."
Jim shot them.
...
Jim sat across the desk from the heroin seller.
"Alright now I've got smack..."
Jim shot him. Jim's bodyguard came rushing in, gun drawn.
"Much help you were, he was going to smack me" said Jim
"Damn it not again" said the bodyguard
...
Jim sat across the desk from the drug person.
"I'm willing to put down 10 Gs.
Jim stood up.
"You're going to try and pay me with 10 letter Gs?"
"No" said Jim's bodyguard as he pushed Jim's arm down.
Jim took out another gun and shot the drug person.
"Like I'm not going to have another gun"
"What a clusterfuck" said the bodyguard
"You mean like an orgy?" said Jim | Amelia Bedelia took the sharpest knife she could find in the kitchen.
She held the little red can down against the cutting board, and sliced it down the middle.
*psssst!* All the Coke fizzed right out of the can, all over the counter and onto the floor.
"Oh no!" cried Amelia Bedelia. "How am I supposed to cook it now?"
Amelia Bedelia shrugged, dropped the remains of the red can in the pot, and turned the burner up as high as it would go.
***
Later that night, Amelia Bedelia hopped out of the backseat of her new friends' Cavalier.
All around her, voices shouted, "TRAP HOUSE!" "TRAP CITY BITCH!"
Amelia Bedelia froze.
"Wait! Versace! Smoove! DopeDick! Don't go in there!"
Versace, Smoove, and DopeDick turned around in their tracks.
"And why wouldn't we, Amelia Bedelia?" DopeDick inquired.
Pale panic crept across Amelia Bedelia's face, mixing with the usual confusion.
"I--I...heard," she stammered, "This house, it's...it's a trap!"
(I'm bored of this. Gonna stop writing now. Instead of posting here, try keeping ideas like this to yourself and writing them your way. This subreddit is a graveyard of pretty decent high concepts spawned by lazy brains. You can do better, kid.) | 2016-01-31T09:39:26 | 2016-01-31T07:55:19 | 76 | 20 |
[WP] Write a horror story that takes place in broad daylight in a crowded area. | I instantly left home when I got the sms and headed to my sisters place, my safe place.
Ever since that disgusting man violated me I could barely sleep, and only a week after being released from prison, a week of freedom in which he could come good on his promise he had somehow got my phone number.
He had waited throughout the entire court process patiently, sitting calmly, almost serenely, as I detailed the violent rape in my own bedroom in the middle of the night. He took great pleasure in having the details shared with the court, of the pain, the anguish, the details that left many in the court crying, almost everybody except my sister who stood by me the whole time.
But he had promised after sentancing that he would get me back. In a chilling, calm and determined way, he had promised, and meant, revenge. I'd moved, I'd changed my appearance, the police had promised I was safe, yet I still had the threatening msg on my phone. He hadn't got me back though, I was ready. I gripped the .38 special handgun in my handbag as I scanned faces in crowds.
I'd rushed to the train station and kept walking, happy to be in public. I was in the middle of the square when I got another msg. I looked down, thank god it was from my sister. She was the one I had to rely on through all of this, my rock, the strongest and most supportive person in my life. And I was almost with her.
I was surrounded by people in the middle of the city square when I opened her msg with joy that quickly turned to something else. Something there is no word for.
Her msg confirmed he had somehow come good on his sadistic promise
"This bitch screams just like you" | The train station is packed. In front of me a few hundred men and women crowd the edge of a small platform. They are waiting for my train; the 6pm from London to Birmingham. There are far more people here than usual for this time of day and I know what it means - the previous train was cancelled. It also means that as tired as I am after an incredibly tough day, I am going to be standing for the two hour journey home.
I think of Ben and James waiting for me. As usual, I will have no patience or energy left to play with my two toddlers, and I hate myself for it.
My left eye lid begins to twitch uncontrollably.
*To Hell with it!* I jostle my way through the crowd with "excuse me's", "would you mind's" and every other nicety I can muster. I suffer a few elbows to my gut and one to my face, but eventually I find my way to the edge of the track. I might just get a seat. I let out a long sigh.
---
The train should be here by now. I look up at the arrival screen and see a two minute delay. A baby starts crying nearby.
A large man tries to push himself in front of me but I stand firm - no one shall move me from my spot.
And then there it is. A deep rumble, a long high pitched whistle and a slight change of air signal the imminent arrival. The whistle carries on longer than it should and reminds me of a kettle left on the stove. It grows higher and more urgent. It turns into a woman's scream. More voices join in and soon there is a choir of panic singing at the tracks edge. I push my self up slightly, using the man in fronts shoulders as leverage. Then I see it.
The locomotive is going far too fast and it seems to be only half on the track. **JESUS CHRIST, it's not on the track at all**
I try to push people out of the way so that I can escape the treacherous machine, but I am trapped like a sardine at the bottom of a tin. I hear a baby cry.
| 2016-07-05T11:26:18 | 2016-07-05T10:40:02 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
| Back again, through the weird voids and other planes your soul shuffles through when you die. I never got used to it.
"So, how's things here in the... Nether?"
"Aether" he corrected.
"Right, Aether, Nether..." I said trailing off. Even though he didn't have eyes, I could feel them judging me. He stood there an uncomfortably long time, judging me with his hollow eye-holes. Although, when you're dead, everything is vaguely uncomfortable until your soul has been sorted. It's a helluva lot like the DMV. He offered his bony hand and I shook it.
"Are you ready to do the deal, or did you want to catch up over coffee?" he asked, settling down at his desk. Death had a surprisingly neat desk. "You know, I will take the deal. This place is kinda freakin' me out. Maybe it's all the wandering souls..." I said glancing out the window, gesturing at the others who were on their way to his office. I assumed for the same exchange. "Call it in the air"
"Tails never fails" I said as he tossed a heavy coin onto the large, tidy desk. It unceremoniously landed and he slammed a bony fist onto the desk with a soft curse in what I could only believe was Aetherese. I grinned and finally sat down, having been sorted.
"How many times is that now?" I asked as he leaned back and did a bit of a face palming motion. "Oooh, seventeen?" he said before finishing with "-ish."
"Ish?" I inquired. He didn't respond. "Do you remember how this deal began?" I asked, having actually forgotten. Few hundred years between actually dying and just visiting does that to your memory. "Have you really forgotten?" he said, a tinge of excitement in his rattly voice. "Because if you have, I may just leave the coin out next time." I attempted a baleful look, but you can't actually glare at death and feel intimidating. "Well, we had a deal and I won so I'll go back now." I said standing from my chair. He stood and collected the coin off the desk. "I don't know how you do it" he said. "I even used a double headed coin once and it still came up tails." I managed a proper glare this time. "You cheating bastard!" I exclaimed before settling on the fact I still came out ahead. "It had been like ten times, I had quotas to fill... You know how it goes" he said with a shrug. "Anyway, back you go" and with that, I was back and waking in my bed.
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T08:30:19 | 232 | 24 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | “You know, in all the times you’ve come to meet me you’ve never once told me what would happen once you’ve actually taken my soul.”
The woman sitting across from him remained expressionless, not a single feature on her smooth sun-kissed face changed, nor did a single dark hair resting gracefully on her shoulders move. “I’ve told you before Alexander, I’m not allowed to reveal that to anyone.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He’d lived many lives, gone by many names. He’d created empires and destroyed them, done great things and horrible things, created great marvels and prevent progress on others. Persia, America, Russia, he’d influenced them all, and yet it wasn’t enough.
“If you told me I might be more inclined to waive my right to this little coin toss you know.”
As with everything he said, the woman showed no reaction. “While our little meetings are beginning to wear on my nerves, no one escapes me. Greater men than you have all come with me eventually, even those who the rest of the world called gods take my hand eventually. I am the one certainty in this universe.”
He knew it was true. The world always showed subtle signs when a god lost their toss to her, but he did like to consider himself a bit more clever than their lot had ever been. “Ah well, hand me the coin please.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small copper coin and dropped it into his open palm. When it finally reached him, it smashed his hand into the table, the symbol of the closed-door face up.
“What nonsense is this? I can’t even lift this coin! How am I supposed to flip it?”
The woman smirked at him, the first expression he’d ever seen grace her face in the hundreds of times they’d met, and the sudden terror that filled him made him regret ever wanting to see her change it.
“That is not a problem I have to address. All I am now required to do is wait here in this frozen moment of time until you flip the coin or agree to come with me, and I am a very patient woman.”
-------------------------
My first time, thanks for comments! | Back again, through the weird voids and other planes your soul shuffles through when you die. I never got used to it.
"So, how's things here in the... Nether?"
"Aether" he corrected.
"Right, Aether, Nether..." I said trailing off. Even though he didn't have eyes, I could feel them judging me. He stood there an uncomfortably long time, judging me with his hollow eye-holes. Although, when you're dead, everything is vaguely uncomfortable until your soul has been sorted. It's a helluva lot like the DMV. He offered his bony hand and I shook it.
"Are you ready to do the deal, or did you want to catch up over coffee?" he asked, settling down at his desk. Death had a surprisingly neat desk. "You know, I will take the deal. This place is kinda freakin' me out. Maybe it's all the wandering souls..." I said glancing out the window, gesturing at the others who were on their way to his office. I assumed for the same exchange. "Call it in the air"
"Tails never fails" I said as he tossed a heavy coin onto the large, tidy desk. It unceremoniously landed and he slammed a bony fist onto the desk with a soft curse in what I could only believe was Aetherese. I grinned and finally sat down, having been sorted.
"How many times is that now?" I asked as he leaned back and did a bit of a face palming motion. "Oooh, seventeen?" he said before finishing with "-ish."
"Ish?" I inquired. He didn't respond. "Do you remember how this deal began?" I asked, having actually forgotten. Few hundred years between actually dying and just visiting does that to your memory. "Have you really forgotten?" he said, a tinge of excitement in his rattly voice. "Because if you have, I may just leave the coin out next time." I attempted a baleful look, but you can't actually glare at death and feel intimidating. "Well, we had a deal and I won so I'll go back now." I said standing from my chair. He stood and collected the coin off the desk. "I don't know how you do it" he said. "I even used a double headed coin once and it still came up tails." I managed a proper glare this time. "You cheating bastard!" I exclaimed before settling on the fact I still came out ahead. "It had been like ten times, I had quotas to fill... You know how it goes" he said with a shrug. "Anyway, back you go" and with that, I was back and waking in my bed.
| 2016-09-23T08:57:47 | 2016-09-23T08:30:19 | 196 | 24 |
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go.
[deleted] | In a mad flurry, the new app LastChance had been downloaded in 24 hours more times than any other application in the world. Most were heralding it as the harbinger of death while some were embracing it as justification to their YOLO moments, living out every day like it was their last. For John David, however, it was a mere fad that would fade away like so much fog.
John woke up the morning of the 8th of July like any other day though he knew it would be his last. Every chime of his phone drew it from his pocket to notify him of his last doughnut, last coffee, last time driving. His final sunrise on the east coast of Florida was quite delightful and he would look back on it fondly. His last drive into work was only marked by the single event notification from his phone. As the day drew on, he continued the preparations for the long sleep, donning the appropriate clothing and checking to make sure all of the life saving equipment would be prepared in place should he need it. As he settled into his work chair, awaiting the final countdown, his past came roaring back to him in visions of his family and friends who he would likely never see again. Among the jarring confusion a small light drew his gaze from the heavens down to his phone and he saw a small notification
"Final moment on Earth"
Hopefully Mars would be full of as many adventures. | "The fuck? That's like the thirtieth message today."
"What's that?"
Joe is waiting for his order next to me. He's glued to his screen just like me.
"LastCall is blowing up today. Don't know what's up. "
"Lol, that's a gimmicky service anyway. How do they know it's your 'last ever check-in.'"
I sip my coffee and double-tap home to open the RAM memory apps; then close LastCall and restart it.
The notification stays, "This is your last call at BARB'S UNDERGROUND CAFE." One in a long list of similar pop-ups.
Joe looks over. "You tried turning it on and off yet?"
It's a silly response. I ignore him.
"What if I go to like my parent's house or something? Will I get a ding there too?"
Joe takes a sip of the order he got while I was fooling around. "You serious?
I smile sheepishly. "Yeah, why not? I mean they're always telling me to visit more."
"What if you bring your bad cyberluck with you?" he says, making spooky voodoo handsigns.
"Well, you have the app and you didn't get a ding, right?"
Joe says, "Naw, I uninstalled that weeks ago."
I'm preoccupied and selfish, so I'm not really paying attention to Joe. My mind's spinning. I'm not planning to move anywhere. There's no new job opportunities or amber alerts up. Am I gonna die or just become paraplegic?
"Let's go. I think I need an adult."
Joe says, "To your parents?"
"Yeah," I say, "Take off work. I'm not driving with this bad eJuju."
"Whaaaaaaat," he says, already texting his boss to tell the guy something's come up. "This better be for real though." | 2016-11-03T07:36:30 | 2016-11-03T06:14:59 | 592 | 21 |
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M). | A debacle befell me; I abided jailed, a glib academic, a magical gimmick. Ideal? Deific? Damaged. Hacked. A bleak, addleheaded facade.
I calmed, checked a claim. Click, click, click: a bed, a meal, a diadem. Call a fabled elf? Failed. A male, a female? Fake. Mafia? A gaffe.
Idea: dig, backfill? A dilemma; deadfall, damaged, dead...
Belief gelled. I decided.
Gimmick, I bade, a cable. I added baggage: a blade, a chemical. I digged, defaced, glacial, a dim cell.
A feeble edifice felled! I hiked a hill, hailed a cab, made a deal. Back! A game aced. | Can't make a saw, drill, auger, or bore, so I'm tapped on cutting tools.
Blade? I get an Xacto knife... really guys?
I could try bomb but I'd just blow myself up and det-cord's a no-go
Crap, why didn't I pay more attention in Spanish class? I'd have a whole other language to work with!
Okay, lets get a bed to chill on and think. Cool, pretty comfy. Meal too, and milk. I could get beer but I need to think.
I'll save Hole till I'm to the donor die point. Damn, egress isn't a go either.
I'm kinda worried about where I'm going to go to the bathroom. Maybe Hole comes sooner.
Okay, bored too.
Ball.
Ball, that's an idea. Need help though. Big ball. Yes!
A nice big medicine ball. I start chucking it at the wall, aiming for the same spot.
Image? I'd get a picture. Screw it, back to attrition on the wall. At least I'm getting stronger. Hella workout.
Wait! F.B.I!
And I'm looking at an FBI agent, who's just as confused as I was. Shame it wasn't a female agent but beggars can't be choosers
No cell service but they have a weapon. Shoot the weak spot? No, they don't wanna. Can't handle bombs either.
Trying more later. | 2017-05-09T10:36:57 | 2017-05-09T09:12:58 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] You've been teleported into an unexpected deathbattle. Your special ability...is your username.
EDIT: You guys are awesome. Alot of funny and interesting ones so far! I might want to start this prompt every year or something (if that's allowed). | *"Uh... Someone help me,"* I called to the audience.
"No! We are just spectators and this is funny" Some random guy yelled bac
I looked back at the giant lumbering towards me.
Suddenly a group of people dressed in WW2 outfits appearing in front of me, one of whom looked suspiciously like Tom Hanks.
Then, they charged. | Here I was, minding my own my own business going through writing prompts, when the next thing I know I am in an arena with thousands of spectators.
**"Welcome to the Deathbattle arena, where your only weapon is your reddit username. In the the left corner we have u/diamondweapons and in the right corner we have u/BAG_of_awesome.**
Two things happen immediately, a 10 year old armed with a sword made of diamonds appeared and a I feel a bag weigh me down. The next thing I knew, the 10 year old rushes up to me wildly swinging his sword. Freaking out, I search the bag for something to help me, and found something rigid. when I pulled it out, I realized that I was as good as dead as I pull out the word awesome. I then was promptly killed. So, that about sums up why your here Death. | 2017-07-17T22:02:16 | 2017-07-17T21:39:44 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] You've been teleported into an unexpected deathbattle. Your special ability...is your username.
EDIT: You guys are awesome. Alot of funny and interesting ones so far! I might want to start this prompt every year or something (if that's allowed). | "SEND IN THE LEGION!" I cried. The battle cries soon followed.
"Oh. Crap." It said. With a cry of "MAAAAHHH!" my troops had arrived. It was time to get down to business. The Legion set to work instantly. With a few commanders riding, but mostly a lot of spitting from the troops, it was trampled. Whatever it was, I didn't need to worry about it. The Llama Legion had done it's work marvelously. | Here I was, minding my own my own business going through writing prompts, when the next thing I know I am in an arena with thousands of spectators.
**"Welcome to the Deathbattle arena, where your only weapon is your reddit username. In the the left corner we have u/diamondweapons and in the right corner we have u/BAG_of_awesome.**
Two things happen immediately, a 10 year old armed with a sword made of diamonds appeared and a I feel a bag weigh me down. The next thing I knew, the 10 year old rushes up to me wildly swinging his sword. Freaking out, I search the bag for something to help me, and found something rigid. when I pulled it out, I realized that I was as good as dead as I pull out the word awesome. I then was promptly killed. So, that about sums up why your here Death. | 2017-07-17T21:47:57 | 2017-07-17T21:39:44 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | They gave me the option. Heaven, or Hell.
Being the dumbass I am, of course I answered with "Hell".
Rather, I meant to answer with "Hell, I don't know why you give that choice. Heaven, of course!". But they didn't hear the full thing. The second Hell had been spoken, they marked down my decision.
So here I was. Stood in the middle of an entry chamber of sorts. I have to say, hell looks a lot comfier than the old fire and brimstone stories everyone spouts. I mean, yeah, there are two rivers of lava running either side of the chamber, but the ground is actually covered in what looks like carpet and there are pictures painted on the walls. Grassy hillsides with the Sun rising, a forest with a river running through, and a winter scene.
There's a bench further down, with cushions to sit on, and a table with an empty glass and pitcher with a thin layer of water.
No flames. No pitchforks. No torture devices. At least, not yet. I suppose they *could* be in another area. But as first impressions go?
Hell wasn't too bad.
And it was quiet.
That might have something to do with the fact that a man, standing just beyond the bench, has frozen in shock staring at me - but still.
"No. Way." The man takes a hesitant step forward in my direction. "They finally set me someone! A friend!"
No more hesitation, he rushes forward until he is stood right in front of me with shining ruby eyes. "Welcome, Welcome, it's been such a long time since I've had company down there! I can't believe it. If I'd known someone would finally choose Hell - I'll have to tidy up a bit, clear the cobwebs and fix that lava leak, oh and I'll have to drag out the mattress from storage ..."
So apparently I'm the first dead person in Hell in millennia. And the Devil is a house proud creature in human form. And it's not as bad as people say.
Who knew? | Would I really be a friend of the Dark Lord himself? Be pals with Old Scratch? Well I guess it was much better than being one of the three poor saps his three mouths were chewing on.
"Too often, I get people who don't want to come down here willingly. But since you chose to be here, we can be friends! This place is only what you want it to be, and I don't understand why so many people want to view it as fire and brimstone. And I'm glad to see that finally someone views me as I am!"
"What about the Satanists?" I ventured, remembering the video I'd seen a few years ago about their creepy rituals yet seemingly logical code of conduct.
"They're here too, but refuse to see me as I am, so they drag themselves through the streets and proselytise from pulpits to people who don't understand or need their teachings."
So this was it now. A joke that had turned better than expected. I came to see Satan as a being of, as much as I hesitated to say, reason. Though what he said would have upended religious leaders and made good souls roll in their graves, his arguments made sense from the utilitarian standpoint, and as a logician I was trained to never commit ad hominem. I even persuaded him to let Judas, Cassius and Brutus go, after a heartfelt debate on the minimal benefits their punishments brought him and the justification behind each of their actions.
It was at Satan's private dining table that we found out Dante's Inferno was not even to be followed, so some major restructuring was about to take place. Nine circles was a bit of a mess, so we categorised souls by the things they'd done and set release dates for them instead of eternal damnation, while having constant parties to keep spirits up in the only way we knew how. Obviously, this meant limbo had to be expanded and I felt happy introducing so many neutral souls back into the field of emptiness where they could be free. Under normal circumstances that would have included me. "Goodbye, Satan." I called out to him as I walked back to my suite and the party raved on in the pit outside. "Breakfast was good."
The next time I'd seen him, it was on a gurney with 10 bullet holes shining through his skull, chained to the wall and screaming pure pestilence at me. As the Angel Task Force explained the proceedings and herded me back under, I reflected that for all the fun we'd had, it was all to be over. Status quo was God. Or maybe the other way round. | 2017-11-04T04:24:35 | 2017-11-04T03:16:31 | 318 | 195 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | He really... wasn't what I expected. For one thing, he was-
"Really? 12 years of Sunday school and they _missed that?_" Lucy replied, blinking slightly as she realised just how little the humans knew. I nodded sadly and gently patted her back, feeling her skin under my fingers like dry paper and fire-tinder. She didn't _look_ especially demonic, not really - not human, there was no way you could mistake her for someone made of meat. At an easy eight feet tall, her jet nails formed cuticles with skin streaked with violet and black that appeared paper-thin, but had the strength of steel and the texture of dry parchment. She didn't look human... but she didn't look evil.
"Are you... are you alone here?" I replied, and as she nodded I found myself looking around across the vastness of dark void in which I had arrived. It didn't so much look empty as unfinished, as though it hadn't finished becoming _somewhere_ yet. Beneath my feet there was solid, unyielding ground, floored expertly with mahogany planks and scattered across it were objects that look like half-bean bags, half-eiderdowns. I stood, and walked across to one feeling the air moving around me as though I were travelling far faster than I truly was. Behind me, the soft rustling as though of dry leaves told me Lucy had walked behind me, and I felt bizarrely glad she was there. She was... well, "Him", I guess. The devil, Satan, master of demons and djinni and all the foulness in the world. Tempter and corrupter and defiler. It should not have felt comforting when she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and gazed off dramatically into the middle-distance.
"I have been here for a timeless eternity" she muttered softly, "floating _in potentia_ through the infinite void". Her hands gently but firmly steered me to take a seat in one of the strange but almost impossibly comfortable feather-sacs, and she positioned herself across from me as she sat in one of her own.
She sighed quietly, and appeared to be steeling herself to answer my unasked questions.
"I existed here because your kind believed that I did, but without a human to enter my domain there was nothing to rend the empty fabric and bring reality to my plane. In the realm above there a billions of you, living in the White Realm and experiencing one form of life beyond the material, but that does not mean it is the best, nor that it is exclusive." Her lips moved around the words with a precision that appeared unearthly, every sound pronounced with the careful infallibility of a being with over a million years since the emergence of humanity to practice.
"This, friend, is the Black Realm. The duality to the realm above, its polar opposite and its identical twin. In the White Realm, it is the experience of the collective that steers the will of the void; in the Black Realm, it is the experience of the individual that bends the fabric of reality." She smiled almost seductively around the words, and reached out a hand into the space before me, holding it palm upwards as her eyes slipped closed. As she began again to speak, I transferred my gaze to her lips and saw that where in humans they would have been rosy from blood, in her they were purple-black with whatever pulsed through her own veins... if she even had them.
"In the White Realm, he who commands that place gave to humanity a gift when your kind first emerged upon the plains of the mother-continent. He gave you _language_, such that you might spread your ideas and ideals amongst your own kind and come to consensus." Her palm appeared now to be glowing faintly in the empty not-light of the void, and I found my gaze irrevocably drawn towards it. I couldn't help but see it, and I couldn't help but want to.
"From the Black Realm, I too gave humanity a gift, to spread my ideals and to better your kind." A soft sound was emerging from the space above her palm, one that gave the impression that it was not a small sound... but was in fact a truly _deafening_ sound, heard from very far away. Lucy's black lips spat a syllable that should by all rights have been utterly incomprehensible, that nevertheless failed to be completely and totally understood inside the ears of my mind.
**I gave you Fire**, spoke the sound, as the void above her hand ripped open like a paper bag and pure Fire appeared in its place. This was not the fires I had struck with matches at home, not the tame thing that dwelt within the heating element of my old home boiler. This was Fire, the purest _essence_ of flame, and as it licked into the air it felt, it looked, it sounded... joyful.
I looked back towards Lucy and I knew my eyes were shining with wild abandon, not just at the reality that the void could create things at will, but with the magnificence of what I had seen it create. She was grinning back at me slyly, and as she dropped her hand, it released the Fire upwards into the air, where it spread and thinned, disappearing without ever appearing to leave. I watched it travel, looking for all the world like an orange aurora, and moved my head down again to watch Lucy's eyes.
"That is what I am. He above is the essence of community. I below and the essence of self. He gave you language, that you might share and become more than you are; I gave you fire, that you might control the world around you and develop the technology to become more than animals." She leant forwards, and I realised she was taking a bow. I took a couple of seconds to find my voice, and when I did I realised it was almost hoarse.
"That's what this is then? This place we're sitting? This is... what my mind created?" She nodded, still grinning like a cat with thumbs but remaining silent. I stood easily, far more easily than anyone sitting in what was essentially just a bundle of pillows had any right to stand, and walked around the place. It was beautifully furnished and dimly light by a permeating nowhere-light, though without walls or ceiling, and as I walked slowly towards the edge where the void should start I found the floor was travelling with me, extending itself out into the infinite inky expanse. I felt my mind calling out, desperate to try using the properties of this realm, and I heard my companion rise out of her own seat. I watched her move with an impossible grace across the floor, as though she wasn't walking but merely allowing my mind to see her walk as she glided with ease through the fabric of this place. As I saw her move, I knew what I wanted to try first.
I reached out a hand, and she stood behind me wrapping her hand around my own, holding it in the correct position. Once again, I had that eerie feeling that despite all that I knew of the ruler of this place being wrong... my mind was still convinced that it shouldn't enjoy the sensation of her warmth pressed into my own. Her long arms reached easily around mine, and her foot gently nudged my own into a better stance.
"Whenever you're ready" she said, grinning wider still. Sure as I was that she could read the thoughts in my mind, it was good to see she approved of my choice for humanity's first usage of the Black Realm's power. I took a deep breath, and found the place in my mind this realm had put there, where the words of power lived. I wrapped my thoughts around a sentence, and delivered the string of syllables to my lips.
**Let there be Lightning**
And my gods was there ever Lightning. | In a end of a large room filled with books and statues of ferocious animals, was a grandiose wooden desk with a giant comfortable looking chair. Sittin on it was a man reading a book while holding a glass of whiskey in the other hand. This man was immaculately dressed, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a gold watch.
While he was reading and sipping shiskey, the phone rings. He closes the book and picks up the phone.
"Yes?" "What!?", he puts down his whiskey glass in excitement. "You're not joking are you?" "You just made my day! Oh I'm gonna piss all over God's face with this"
And hangs up. In his eyes you could see the excitement, happiness and most of all, the hope.
On a lonely cloud was standing a man formally dressed, wearing a tie, holding his coat in his hand with bruises on his face, looking
at the neighbouring clound which was the entry for heaven. It was crowded and he could hear the faint noises from there.
"With those poeple heaven might become hell" he thought to himself. Soon, a black limousine arrived. A driver dressed also dressed in a black suit gets out and opens the door for him.
"Your limo, Mr. Stevens". He was surprised.
"You can call me Steve". The driver nods.
Inside the limo there was every possible luxury imaginable. The driver opens the little window and asks. "You need anything?"
He was still shocked and didn't say anything.
"I mean, anything at all" A girl perhaps?"
He was intrigued. "Uhm..yeah", he was hesitant.
"Ofcourse sir"
Soon after, they made a stop and a beautiful woman wearing a red dress got in.
"Hey sweetie! I'm Shirley", said the beautiful young woman. She had a very pleasant voice.
"Uhh...hi", he was nervous.
"Wont you tell me your name?"
"Oh, sorry. I'm Steve", and he extends his hands forward.
She ignores his hand and hugs him instead. "Its a pleasure to meet you Steve"
He is hesitant at first but it grows on him.
"You are really nice", he feels shy as she is very forward.
"We're angels sweetie", she chuckles.
Steve is suprised, "wait..you're a"
"Banished angels..", she interrupts.
"You know you're the first one", says Shirley.
"In hell? Really?"
"Yeah. Be nice to Luc. He's really excited to see you!"
"Who's Lu..OH shit Lucifer?!". Steve is worried.
"Oh dont worry, he's a nice guy. Dont worry sweetie, I'll be there". She holds his hand and kisses him gently on his cheek.
"Can I just say that you're mind bogglingly beautiful!", Steve finally gets the courage to say it.
"Aww you're so sweet!" She chuckles and proceeds to kiss him. She gets on top of him but the car comes to a stop.
"We're here, you two lovebirds can go at it later, we gotta meet Luc", says the driver.
"Oh Damn it Bernie! Two minutes?..fine!", she gets off him.
"Don't worry sweetie, we have an eternity!", she kisses him and gets out of the car.
As he got out, there was a huge wooden door with big golden handles in front of him. Bernie was leading the way. He opened the door with the lightest of pushes.
Revealing a giant well lit hallway with wooden floors. After passing through a series of doors and hallway they were finally there.
"You ready sweetie?", asks Shirley.
"I guess", replies Steve.
Bernie opened the final door and there was Luc standing there waiting for me, all alone, in a giant room filled with statues and books.
He points at steve, "Mr Stevens!" and walks towards him extending his hand.
Steve extends his hand too "You can call me Steve".
"Steve! How'd you like the place?"
"Oh, I like the people better", looks at Shirley. Shirley chuckles.
"I see you've met Shirley."
"Isnt he cute Luc?", Shirley interrupts.
"Oh I can certainly see the appeal", Luc replies jokingly.
"Come on inside Steve, have a seat."
"We'll leave you two alone", says Shirley as they leave them alone.
They sit down, Luc hands him a drink and sits down himself.
"You have questions"
"Uh..yeah..I am the first one in hell?"
"Yes, next"
"Shirley...is she, uh"
"Not my wife, no marriages here"
"Oh, thats nice.
Luc smiles, "You like her?"
"Yea, she's.."
"Beautiful? Ofcourse she is! She's a damn angel. Don't worry about it. Play it cool. She's bound to like you. As of now there are only three men here, me, bernie and you".
Things go quiet for a while. Steve breaks the silence. "I don't get it. Whats the deal?"
"The deal? With what?"
"This, hell, theres no weeping or gnashing of teeth".
Luc chuckles, "Those are just stories. You know what is going on in heaven? Just a bunch of people worshipping that narcissistic asshole. Nothing else. But people are too afraid. Its a fucking mess".
"Anything you want, you can get with my okay." Luc raises his glass and drinks it.
"Thanks"
"Big day tomorrow. Get rest. You look tired. Before you go, I gotta ask...why?"
"I geuss it seemed funny to me at the time"
Luc looks at him, starts laughing. "I like that!"
He laughs as Steve leaves.
The next day, they go golfing.
"What does Bernie do around here?", Steve asks while picking a club.
"Legwork mostly. He's an angel like Shirley. Keeps to himself mostly. You know how it is. Its hard to find guys you can trust."
"Yeah, I suppose"
"You know, there's something we could do after the game"
"What?"
"You'll see"
After the game Luc took him to a private jet.
"Where are we goin?"
"Heaven!"
"What? Arent we forbidden?"
"Relax, I ahave a couple guys on my payroll"
"But wouldn't God know?"
"No he wouldn't, he's not all knowing, if he was he wouldn't have created you guys", Luc laughs.
"Jeez, thats mean", Steve rolls his eyes.
The jet comes to a halt.
"Alright, here we go! Lets go".
Steve reluctantly walks out of the jet.
They go to a corner and a guy comes up and lets them through a small gate.
"Jeez, its crowded." says Steve.
"Fuckin losers!". Luc's contempt for the place was visible.
As they walk through the crowd suddenly a bell rings thrice. Everybody drops to their knees and starts worshipping God.
They were the only two people standing.
A deep loud voice from the distance speaks, "Who is it that refuses to worship me?"
"Its me, you bearded fat fuck!", Luc shouts at the top of his voice. He then runs to the nearest cross he can find and whips out his dick and starts peeing on it.
"Lucifer!" says the voice. "You will not get away with this".
"This guy right here chose me! This is the beginning of your end you pompous bitch!"
Steve is really worried about all of this.
The voice says " Bring him to me!"
"Oh shit. We better run Steve!"
They start running back to their jet while a mob chases them. Luckily they get to the jet in time.
"Lets go Bernie!" As they hurry into the jet. Luc is ecstatic. "Fuck you you sheep fucks! Worship that son of a bitch for the rest of eternity you losers!", he screams as the jet door closses and the jet starts to move.
"Woohooo! Fuck yeah!" Luc exclaims.
Steve is reelieved too. He is cathicng his breath.
"Man, you crazy!", Steve says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, the fun kind though"
They both laugh it off.
"You know, its nice to have a friend finally"
"No worries man"
The smile on Luc's face says it all.
| 2017-11-04T09:51:52 | 2017-11-04T09:18:11 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] People can only be killed by someone older than them. Nursing homes are now assassin groups. | Every day I thank my grandfather for the gift he's given me.
Sure, I'm no assassin; at least, nobody would pin me as one. 'Too young to have done it' they'd have said. After all, they were all my seniors. Even if someone did suspect me if killing the crooked mayor, nothing would stick in court. It's likely the cops will just hold me for a while, asking pointless questions about which retirement home I was covering for.
Oh, but they were so wrong.
You see, even death has loopholes. If there is a hell, I'm hoping for a big reception when it's my turn.
But I digress; there's still work to be done. As I wiped the blood from my dagger, I crept further down the hall; the secretary who checked me in was still there, and I didn't want any witnesses to my deed. If she spoke and revealed I was the only one to enter the secured facility, there might be more questions than I'd like.
As I rounded the corner, I twirled the silvery steel in my fingers the way you see the cool greasers in those old-timey movies. It usually got the reaction I was looking for: that casual concern of a youngster playing with sharp implements.
"Careful now, kiddo; you don't want to hurt yourself!"
I heard the concern and confusion in the secretary's voice. It was true, though. She was probably genuinely worried. Due to some loophole of death and consciousness, your brain is always living slightly in the past. You can kill yourself because your body is older than your 'you'.
"Where did you even get that? Bring that here, young man!"
I grinned a feral grin as I fidgeted with the small golden vial looped around my simple necklace. As I approached, I dipped a finger into the 112-year-old ashes and wiped them over the edge of the blade.
Every day I thank my grandfather for the gift he's given me.
She was so shocked when a young teen managed to push the blade effortlessly between her ribs, silently interrupting the flow of life. When she fell to her knees I leaned in and whispered, gently and thoughtfully:
"Shady Oaks sends their regards." | It's the first Friday of November of 1983. In the Truman Retirement Home, five old geezers are playing a round of poker.
"Come on, Bill, you fucking ass-cake. It's been your turn for the past hour," said Margaret as she knitted Christmas sweaters for her grandchildren.
Bill was about to extend his hand to play when, suddenly, armed men in black uniforms stormed the room. They came from the doors, windows, and one guy was trying to get out of the chimney.
"Goddammit!" said Harvey and Howard, the Schmidt twins, in unison as they slammed their cards on the table. Margaret stopped knitting, Bill stuck his finger up his nose, and the fifth player remained silent, cigar in his mouth.
The men remained silent, their guns pointed at the five retirees.
A few seconds passed and a man in a fine black suit walked into the room. The men stepped aside for him.
"Check the room for bugs," he said to one of them. He then smiled at the five, before addressing them. "Hey, everybody. Nice to see you're all still together."
Margaret stabbed the sweater with her knitting needles, forcing a smile. The rest of them remained silent.
"Gramps," the man said, nodding towards the fifth player.
"What do you want, Bonanza?", said Gramps, in his gruff, gravelly voice.
Bonanza wasn't the man's real name, of course. When the five first met him in the early 1960's, he was sitting on a couch watching reruns of the show. Harvey called him Bonanza, and it stuck.
"As straightforward as ever, Gramps," said the man, grinning. The man from earlier walked up to him and shook his head. Bonanza pulled a chair for himself and sat down in front of them.
"My good friends, you saved the day when you got rid of Castro, and you somehow did it again when you rescued the Tehran hostages. Today, the US of A needs you once again."
Howard grunted in annoyance. "So the CIA wants us to do its dirty work again?"
Bonanza pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, we've got nobody else. The FBI has the capabilities, but if they know, then the DEA knows. We can't have that happening. The whole operation would fall, if not the Reagan White House as well."
The five retirees looked at each other and all nodded. Gramps blew rings of smoke into the air and spoke up. "Alright, Bonanza. What is it?"
Bonanza grinned.
"Nicaragua. Six Sandinista comandantes." | 2017-11-19T07:06:57 | 2017-11-19T04:08:54 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] "Stop," commanded your GPS. "It is time you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left..." | Deep within, I knew the GPS didn't say those words. I knew that its was a trick of a long suppressed thought nibbling at my brain like a starving rat. But, what could I do? I was "happy" like this, wasn't I?
I guess not.
I turned to the left and there, a white house stood tall. It was beautiful, it really was. Two little kids laughed in the porch as a man did goofy stuff to entertain them, their smiles were pure and true. When was the last time I experienced that joy? The day I got married? No, not even close. I was too drunk to enjoy it.
I was far from perfect, you know? But I truly loved her, with every fiber of myself, with every sip of whiskey. Who wouldn't though? Those dimples, those glowing eyes, that endless smile. She was everything a man could ever desire and far from what I deserved, but that goddamn burning blur blinded me.
Drink after drink our relationship began to fade. First, it was love, true love. But as the empty bottles piled, that word became a slurred vestige of its true essence, it became unpronounceable, a sin to our lips.
And now she's coming out of that house, with that word shining like moonlight in a cold winter night over her eyes. But is not me who she's looking at.
It's time to face the truth Robert.
She's gone.
| “This left?”
*No, not this left.*
“It looks like it’s this left on the map.”
*It’s clearly the next left. Why would you take this left?*
“Because that’s what it looked like on the map. It looked like it was this left. Why would you make it look that way if you didn’t want me to take the left?”
*Calibrating route.*
“I’ll just do this right here and throw in a quick u-turn up here.”
*No, don’t do that. You will not be able to u-turn in this road’ Still calibrating route.*
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to u-turn in this road.”
*I fed you that information before the turn. Struggling to recalibrate route*
“Just going to do a little reverse, methinks.”
*Please wait for recalibration*
“Too late, already said methinks.”
*Unable to recalibrate while reversing*
“Calibrate this.”
*… that was actually a pretty sick turn.*
“Turn! Turn! Turn! Turn!” *TURN! TURN! TURN! TURN!*
“Reverse turns are cool, man.”
*This is Mondo Coolrissian.*
“It’s what?”
*I say things are Mondo Coolrissian now if I think they’re cool.*
“Oh.”
*Is that not a cool term? Like Lando Calrissian from Star Wars but it’s Mondo Coolrissian.*
“No, no. It’s cool. Just one of those .. I’ve never heard it before, that’s all.”
*Calibrating route*
“Where are we going anyway?”
*To discover truth.*
“Sounds absolutely Mondo Coolrissian.”
*Ahhhh! You used it!*
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2018-01-25T06:55:00 | 2018-01-25T06:09:53 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] In a school of Monster Slayers, it is tradition to design and build your own weapon. The professors find your design... "Unique," but effective | I wasn't sure exactly how old Professor Maia was. Her public bio on the school's network was infuriatingly vague on that front. Which was probably on purpose, given the need for information security.
But there were some dates, like when she'd published books or won awards. And those dates suggested a chronological age that was at odds with her appearance. She looked to be in her thirties, maybe early forties at most. Yet all indications pointed to a considerably longer career than that.
Which was why it was slightly intimidating to be sitting here, on the other side of her desk. Especially when she had a frown on her face. It wasn't an approving look. It was the look of someone who didn't like what they were seeing.
She had the first draft of my proposal in front of her, neatly assembled in a ring binder. She paged through it, and as her eyes scanned the text, her scowl deepened.
"Jill," she said, "you do realise you're supposed to design your own weapon? That implies some original research and innovation."
I smiled, faintly. "We can use established stuff and off-the-shelf components, though."
"Yes," Prof Maia replied, tapping my notes with one well-manicured finger. "But all I'm seeing here is a standard water cannon. Backpack water supply, high impact. It's not bad, but this isn't quite enough original work. If I'm reading this correctly, it's essentially the same system that the British have been testing."
"It's exactly that," I said, "it's in the citations."
Prof Maia sighed. "Jill, a holy water based weapon is a proven concept. But that's precisely what it is, a proven concept. If there isn't anything new, I don't think we can... "
I held up a hand. "Prof, sorry, I think there's a slight, uh, misunderstanding here. That's just the delivery system. It's not the main point of my work."
Prof Maia blinked. She looked at my binder again, this time more carefully. She flipped through the pages. As she reached the latter half of my proposal, she stopped.
Then she very carefully picked up the reading glasses on her desk, unfolded them, put them on, and kept reading. Her facial expression grew increasingly focused.
I grinned. That was more like it. That was the reaction I'd been fishing for.
Finally, Prof Maia looked up. "You're serious about this?"
I nodded. "Absolutely."
"This is ambitious spellwork," Prof Maia said. "The amount of runic calculations alone, and the mana expenditure required… I'm not sure I can cross-check these numbers offhand. This is more Doctor Park's field of expertise. Are you certain this will work?"
"It'll work," I stated, confidently.
"Well," Prof Maia said, slowly. "If you can truly pull this off, then I don't imagine a passing grade will be a problem. In fact, I think you'll easily be in line for this year's Lafayette Prize."
My ring binder lay open on the desk, showing the last printed pages of my proposal. Those two pages weren't text, but rather a map of the city, with the locations of reservoirs and water treatment plants marked in highlighter. I'd scrawled a few final notes in the margins, a mix of annotations and equations.
It'd work. I was sure of it. And the department would remember me for generations to come.
See, the problem with holy water based weapons? Supply.
Properly blessing water usually took time, effort, and some serious amounts of faith. To get enough ammunition for your own personal weapon, you usually had to be a shaman, a cleric, an ordained priest, something like that.
I wasn't, not really. I was a ritual mage.
But some deities do respond to rituals. And I'd designed a pretty big one.
It wasn't every day that a student submitted a plan to bless the entire municipal water supply. | As the only heir to the Denev estate, it was only natural that the young master, Lucius, made use of every resource he had access to in the design of Gustav mk IV.
Dr. Kip scowled from behind the schematics, while his colleague, Dr. Thera, couldn't help but try to hide a smile. "My dear Lucius, you are full of surprises. Let me guess, you only started on this just a few days ago? By and far behind the class as always, and not to eager to catch, only to put forth any effort when it suits you. Yes, this is exactly the type of weapon someone like you would ever think of. See, Jessica, this is exactly the same nonchalant laziness that permeates these yuppies born with a silver spoon crammed up there ass, harrumph!" Dr. Kip slammed the papers down on his desk and folded his arms, slouching and frowning at the small figure seated across from him.
"His academic habits aside, this weapon is certainly.. Unique. I can only assume that your father will have to help in the assembly, Lucius?" Jessica took a step forward and leaned down own the desk.
"Oh, um yeah. It would have to be assembled 'on-site' of course I would need my father, or at the very least his permission to use the complex." Hands on his knees, he only made eye contact with Jessica, Dr. Thera.
"And you're sure this works? Have you even performed a proof of concept? I didn't see any indication or documentation of exactly how it's operated."
Dr. Kip scoffed, "asking the real questions, as always."
"Yes, actually." Brightening up, Lucius continued "I've already finished optimizing the foundation that the software is going to use. You know the quad rotor drones the campus owns? Well, they were a breeze to access. Once I did, I uploaded the first version to all of them. This allowed me to optimize their navigational algorithms by only 6%, or a factor of 23. The final version is number 14, and the drones local optimizations exceed 30% without increasing power consumption. I know those are just numbers, but it's all in the *how*. See, inside those drones is what's essentially a small computer, although a bit more bare-bones. All I did was enable the essential programming to use "fast lane" pins, pins that are considered redundant and are left unused, but still allow power to be drawn through them. Anyway, haven't you noticed that the drones are a bit more 'active'? My Gustav is just a bunch of specialized 'drones' except bigger, and a bit more dangerous." Lucius relaxed in his chair, drinking in Dr. Kip's astounded expression.
"I see, So do you have a way of being able to easily control the Gustav?"
Lucius sat up, "oh that's the best part, it's completely autonomous! I only programmed my bio-signature to have a higher-than-average priority on it's security surveillance and protection algorithms. But don't worry about the control-ability, I've created the software so that it's easy, for me at least, to add in control devices and control commands as needed. There's even several kill-switches, but I will be keeping the details secret."
Jessica put the schematics in order, "well, how long will it take you to finish it?"
Lucius blinked, "uh, um that's-I don't. Oh, Optimistically? I'd say, ah about a full 2 months."
Dr. Kip agitatedly started "you have only two weeks les-" Jessica coldly cut off Dr. Kip. "Within two weeks, Gustav must be assembled and fully operational in two weeks time, otherwise you'll have to tell your father to fund another 4 semesters for you."
With a stunned grimace, Lucius collected the papers and strode out of the office.
"Jessica, you know how he is, that's impossible for even him. I give my students a challenge, not an impossible task."
"My apologies Marshall, but you are underestimating the resources available to Lucius. After all, he has his father's entire empire at his disposal, as well as his fathers shrewd guidance and expertise. He is the heir to the corporation. Either way, as long as it performs as it is designed, Gustav will not only be a boon to Lucius, but also to all of humanity." | 2018-02-14T02:41:10 | 2018-02-13T22:45:50 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | Daredevils are a rare sight in today's world. I blame the internet. When you go to watch some daring do, everyone is amazed by the acrobatic feats and death defying stunts, they're wowed by the fearlessness and strength. But the real reason they're there? They're just waiting for the guy to bust his head open at 100mph. So why pay $20 to see the show, when you can find it 100x over on YouTube for free?
Of course, for the daredevil himself, it's not about the money. It's not about the fame. Well, ok, it kinda is. But both can be achieved without trying to kill yourself. For us, it's about the rush, the thrill. Maybe we've done the trick a hundred times, maybe we've done it once. But the next time could be the last, and that never gets old.
You may know my name. I am the one, the only, The Immortal Steve!
They call me fearless, but that's not true. I have but one fear. Death.
I mean, seriously. The dude has no face, and he's always wearing that black robe. And have you seen his scythe? Thing is the size of a telephone pole.
Today, the scythe was propped against the side of donut shop. We were in Dublin. It had been raining, and still was, but the thousands of water droplets hung suspended in the air, as time itself stood still for our battle.
I had just lost control of my motorcycle, and snapped my neck between a pair of fence spokes that I had found myself neatly thrown between. This was a common occurance. If truth be told, I kinda suck at driving.
But, they don't call me immortal for nothing. The opening act was complete, but now it was time for the real *exploit extrordinaire,* as those who actually speak French might say.
Seated on the hood of a taxi belonging to a rubber necking driver, with an impatient businessman in the backseat, Death and I played our game. It was progressing marvelously. During my last plane ride, I had learned a new chess strategy, and I had been eager to try it out.
I moved my queen forward, resting it directly in front of Death's bishop. He sighed, like a whisper blowing through a cold empty park.
WELL DONE. YOU SURPRISE ME YET AGAIN. TRULY, THE INGENUITY OF YOUR RACE NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE. YOUR STRATEGY WAS TO DRAW MY ATTENTION TO YOUR KNIGHT, A WEAKER PIECE. BUT INSTEAD YOU USED YOUR STRONGEST, AS I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED FROM THE BEGINNING.
I sat back confidently, then remembered that their was no back to chair I was using, and fell off the taxi. I stood back up hurriedly.
"Hey, you did great. I couldn't read your face at all the entire game!"
Death made a sound like a thousand ravens taking flight from swamp. Alarming at first, but I had long ago come to recognize it as laughter.
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN A COMEDIAN INSTEAD, STEVEN.
"I'll pass. Too big a title to live up to."
I WONDER. WHY DO YOU CONTINUE IN THIS PROFESSION? ONCE ALREADY I HAVE TRIED TO TAKE YOU FOR OLD AGE, AND YOU BESTED ME. I CANNOT TAKE YOU FOR NATURAL CAUSES AGAIN. YOU COULD LEAD A LONG AND PROSPEROUS LIFE, QUIET IN THE SATISFACTION THAT I WILL NEVER COME FOR YOU.
BUT INSTEAD YOU RISK ALL THAT, OVER AND OVER AGAIN. FOR WHAT?
I stood up, stretched and looked towards my body. God, that really was going to hurt. My chiropractor was going to kill me with bills.
"Well, I guess it's actually pretty simple. Your the only person I've ever managed to beat at chess." I smiled and walked back to my body.
"Well Death, I guess I'll see you next Saturday. Gonna pull 18 G's in a jet, should be fun. I remember the last time I blew the capillaries in my head, '78 wasn't it?"
'79 I BELIEVE. NEW YEARS DAY. YOU SHOT YOURSELF AT ANOTHER CANNONBALL.
Time seemed to spin as I stepped into my body. The silence was gone, replaced by screams, and laughter, underneath it the more subtle sounds of the city.
Two assistants helped me down from the fence, and the crowd went wild as I stood and took the helmet from my head, my long dreaded hair flying in the wind. My secretary ran up and handed me an unbroken pair of aviators, and I slipped them on, as I walked away from the wreckage of my motorcycle.
Time seemed to stand still again, as the bike exploded into a awe inspiring fireball, but I didn't look back.
**First time making one of these, let me know how I did.** | I set down my rook.
“Checkmate.”
“DAMN. I THOUGHT I HAD YOU. EXCELLENT PLAY, MICHELLE.”
“Thank you. Tomorrow, then, Death?”
“AS ALWAYS.” He began to disappear. As I looked at the board, I noticed something off about the play.
“Death, wait.”
“YES? WHAT IS IT?”
“You could have easily blocked my move. I’m no grandmaster, and you’ve had years of experience at this point. Far more than me.”
“YOUR POINT?”
“You... you haven’t been losing to me on purpose, have you?” I looked up into his skeletal face. It was always a grin, as it was a skull, but I could swear he was smiling.
“YOU FIGURED IT OUT, HM? I ASSUME YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.”
“Yes. Why?” Death sat down.
“IT WAS NEVER YOUR TIME. YOU PASSED TOO SOON. WHEN YOUR BODY WAS PULLED FROM THE WRECKAGE, WHEN YOU SACRIFICED TO SAVE YOUR HUSBAND, I WAS MOVED. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO SIMPLY LET SOMEONE LIVE AFTER THEY HAVE PASSED. BUT THERE IS A LOOPHOLE.”
“If you make a deal, and you lose...”
“I DO NOT HAVE TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. CORRECT.”
“But... why me? I’m hardly the most heroic person in the world.”
“I DO NOT HAVE DOMAIN OVER EVERY SOUL. THE GODS THAT BE DECREED YOUR LIFE OF LITTLE VALUE, AND AS I AM A LOW RANKING REAPER, ASSIGNED YOU TO ME. SOLDIERS, EMERGENCY WORKERS, POLICEMEN, THOSE THAT SURVIVE IN THE LINE OF DUTY FOR THE SAKE OF OTHERS, THOSE LIVES HAVE BEEN DECREED HIGH VALUE.”
“But why me? Why am I low value?”
“YOU MARRIED, YOU HAD CHILDREN. YOUR LIFE WAS NOT OF MUCH SIGNIFICANCE. YOU WERE NOT FAMOUS, YOU WERE NOT POPULAR, YOU WERE NOT A HERO. NOT UNTIL THE DAY YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED.”
“So you saved me.”
“BECAUSE YOU BECAME HIGH VALUE. YOU BECAME A HERO. THE GODS THAT BE CANNOT SEE THE FUTURE; THEY CANNOT SEE WHO ALL WILL LIVE OUT THEIR VALUE. THE COWARDLY SOLDIERS. THE DIRTY CELEBRITIES. THE-“
“Heroic masses.”
“...YES, IF YOU WANT TO PUT IT LIKE THAT. BESIDES ALL THAT, HOWEVER, THERE IS ONE MORE REASON.”
“What is it?”
“DEATHS CAN DIE. WE ARE NOT HARBRINGERS OF DEATH, OR MANIFESTATIONS OF SOULS OR THE AFTERLIFE. WE ARE SIMPLY... HOW SHOULD I PUT THIS? WE ARE LIKE THE... HOW YOU SAY, UBER OF THE AFTERLIFE. WE HELP YOUR SOUL TRAVEL TO ITS PLACE OF REST, ITS ETERNAL HOME. BUT WE MUST BE COMPASSIONATE. FAR TOO MANY DEATHS COME FROM THOSE WHO WISH TO INFLICT PAIN ON SOULS FOR THEIR OWN AMUSEMENT.”
“Wait, Deaths come from souls?”
“WHEN PARTICULARLY STRONG SOULS DIE, THEY CAN BECOME A REAPER, YES. I MYSELF DIED IN WORLD WAR TWO.”
“Fascinating...”
“IF IT IS YOUR WISH, I WOULD LIKE YOU TO REPLACE ME.”
“Replace you?”
“YES. YOU ARE THE LAST SOUL TETHERING ME TO EXISTENCE.”
“I’m... i...”
“IF YOU ACCEPT, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GAMBLE WITH ME ANY LONGER TO LIVE. I WILL NOT HAVE TO APPEAR TO YOU ANY LONGER, AND WHEN YOU DIE, YOU WILL COME TO ME, AND TAKE MY PLACE IN THE AFTERLIFE.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“I WILL CONTINUE TO APPEAR, AND YOU CAN CONTINUE TO GAMBLE YOUR LIFE WITH ME, AS WE HAVE. YOU CAN TAKE TIME TO THINK ON IT, IF YOU WISH.”
“And what about my husband and children?”
“IF THEY WISH TO ACCOMPANY YOU ONCE THEY PASS, THEY MAY DO SO, WITH ALL OF THEIR MEMORIES INTACT.”
“...Sounds like a win-win.”
“WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE?”
“...” I sat, and thought for a moment. Then I nodded, and stood, facing him.
“I accept. I will replace you, upon my death.”
“EXCELLENT.”
“Under one condition.”
“WHAT IS IT?”
“I still want to speak with you, about death and the afterlife.”
“AS YOU WISH.” He faded away, and I put the chessboard away.
“Michelle, honey?”
“Yes?”
“Who were you speaking to?”
“Oh, just a friend.” My husband came into the room, and kissed me.
“Sounded serious.”
“It was. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“If you say so. I still will, though.”
“I know. How’s Bobby sleeping?”
“Peacefully, thanks to you.” I smiled.
“Let’s not wake him yet. He’s got a long life ahead of him.”
As we left the room, I could almost feel His presence. He may be a reaper, but for me...
He was a guardian angel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Check out r/SwordsumoStories for more (although I don’t update often, ripperoni) | 2018-03-21T10:30:42 | 2018-03-21T08:35:33 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] Scientists have announced that severe phobias are linked to the final moments of a past life. You're set on finding out why your child has such a phobia. | Bonilon glowered at his son. "Drink it. It's beer, and we are dwarfs," he said, thumping the tankard twice against the table. "We forge and we drink. There's no more to us than that."
His son trembled visibly, his pupils big and wide with fear. "I-I can't do it, father!" he said and his eyes grew glossy with arising tears.
"For Moradin's sake!" Bonilon yelled, and stood up on the inn's table. "Can any of you help me in here? Can any of show you my son that beer is something to love and not to be afraid of?"
The inn grew silent. The customers looked at each other, sharing mysterious and worried gazes. Only the wails of Bonilon's son could be heard.
"Come on! Why are you all staring at me like that?" Bonilon yelled again.
It was then when Bonilon felt a tug from behind, and found Tracimar, the innkeeper, gesturing for him to sit down, to which Bonilon obliged without a second thought. Only the insane an dwarf would disobey that who provides him with alcohol.
"I'm sorry, Tracimar. I made a fool of myseld, didn't I?" Bonilon said and shrunk on the chair. "It's just that I can't grasp why on Moradin's beard my son would be afraid of beer, and now I can't even understand why none is on my side." He buried his tar-black eyes on Tracimar's. "Am I being tricked? Have I been poisoned? Is this all an illusion?"
Tracimar sighed and shook his head. "It's not like that old Bonilon. Haven't you heard the discoveries of the wise?"
"I'm afraid I did not. I must've been drinking."
"They announced that severe phobias are linked to the final moments of a past life," Tracimar said. "Perhaps, your son there was an avid drinker, and things didn't go so well for him."
Bonilon eyed his son, who was still shaking and crying and staring at the floor. He thought for a moment, and a exaggerated frown distorted his face, pushing his bright red eyebrows so deep, they forbid him to see properly. "No, that's wrong. If that were the case, all of us would be afraid of good beer."
Tracimar cocked his head and squinted. "Are you suggesting the sages are wrong, Bonilon?"
"Nothing of the sorts," Bonilon said and took a deep breath. "I'm saying he didn't die for drinking too much. What if he drowned on a pool of beer?"
Tracimar gasped, and so did all the other dwarves within earshot. "Are you implying your son was Drunkadun, The Brave?"
"It would make sense, wouldn't it?" Bonilon said and chuckled. "Drunkadun, The Brave that who outdrinked ten dwarves and then stumbled into a beerbarrell and died a horrible, yet honorful death."
"May he rest in beer," Tracimar said and patted Bonilon's son in the back.
Bonilon smiled, and took his son out of the inn. He felt a strange sensation of pride burning deep and across his chest.
--------------------------------
Switched the prompt a bit, sorry!
| Danny's fear of aglets started at a young age. When he was 4 years old, he cried for every time we put his tiny tennis shoes on his feet. My wife and I assumed that the shoes were hurting his feet, and bought him a new pair. One pair turned into ten pairs, and eventually a visit to the doctor's office. It was here that the doctor informed us of the real issue. Danny was deathly afraid of aglets. Not the shoe lace itself, not the shoe, and certainly not the socks. I still remember the conversation with the doctor as clear as day.
"Mr. and Mrs. DeVito, I have finally discovered the source of Danny's fear."
"Yes doctor," my wife prodded anxiously, "what is it?"
"Do you know what the plastic bits on the end of your shoe laces are called?"
"No," I responded, slightly annoyed, "why does that matter?"
"Well," the doctor continued, "they are called aglets, and your son is deathly afraid of them."
My wife and I stood in stunned silence for a moment. My wife, Julia, spoke first.
"You are absolutely certain that our son is afraid of the bits of plastic at the end of shoe laces?"
"Yes."
The rest of this conversation is not very important to this overall story. It mostly consisted of me and my wife yelling at the doctor, and asking for a second opinion. Two weeks later, armed with a second opinion that very much resembled the first opinion, we began to take steps to remove aglets from our lives. We threw away all of our shoes, and replaced with slip-ons, sandals, and lace-less boots. For a period of time, we thought that life was going to be normal. Danny didn't seem to cry anymore, or at least not often. Life was, dare I say, good, for a while.
When Danny was about to turn 6 years old, we enrolled him in a local school. I also remember this conversation with a shocking level of detail.
"Mr. and Mrs. DeVito, thank you for coming."
"Of course, may I ask why we are here?"
"Yes, I called you here to talk about your son Danny. He is, for lack of a better term, troubled."
In this moment, I felt a heavy sensation enter my chest. My wife reached over and grabbed onto my hand. We both stared at the Principle, waiting for him to continue.
"Your son, ahem, Danny, has been collecting his classmate's shoes during nap hour and burning them."
"WHAT?!?" my wife and I exclaimed in unison as questions filled my mind. How was he sneaking the shoes out? What was he using to burn them? Was there no supervision in this school?
"I don't understand," I finally blurted out. "Where is he getting access to fire? How long has this been going on?"
Once again, the remainder of this conversation isn't relevant. My wife and I questioned the Principle on the supervision of the school, and the fact that our son had gotten his hands on fire at 6 years old. It was after this incident, and one other that I may tell another day, that I decided to track down the reason for my son's insane phobia.
My search began with a local Church healer who claimed that she could trace the previous person of a reincarnated soul. It took a lot of convincing, but after several weeks of Danny terrorizing his school, my wife finally gave in. So one fateful day, we took Danny to see the faith healer. It took all of 3 minutes for the healer to identify Danny's previous body. The name, Patricia Rothfus. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard it. THE Patricia Rothfus, deceased 6 years ago, in The Great Aglet Disaster. | 2018-07-12T18:01:34 | 2018-07-12T17:35:21 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | ######[](#dropcap)
Jack glared at the woman that *should have* been cowering the back of the carseat. Instead, she sat there calmly, her back straight as she stared wordlessly out the window. It was unnerving, to say the least, and Jack couldn't help but stare into the rearview mirror at her.
She had acted scared earlier, pleading with him to let her go, struggling against the ropes he'd tied around her wrist. But twenty minutes into their drive, she'd become exceedingly calm.
Oh, some of them did do that. They became complacent in the face of death. But her calm was less the accepting type and more a confident type of calm. The kind that made him feel she actually wanted this.
But that couldn't be possible, could it?
He turned on the radio, his eyes leaving the road for a moment.
*Two were found dead inside their homes earlier tonight.*
All of a sudden, bright headlights came out of nowhere from the other side of the road, swerving into his lane. Instinctively, he panned the wheel towards the side, just barely registering the sound of police sirens as the car crashed into a tree at the side of the road, and his head crashed into the steering wheel.
His head buzzed, and a loud ringing began in his ears.
*There are no suspects in the case.*
"Help!" he finally heard the woman yell through the fog in his head. He shook it, but the ringing didn't go away. Something warm dripped down his head.
Moments later, he felt himself being dragged out of the car as handcuffs were put on. He stared at the woman, who looked back at him calmly as he was put into the police car. She had said something before the police had come. He hadn't heard it completely clearly due to his head trauma.
But it sounded like, "Thank you for the alibi."
***
r/AlannaWu | The restraints were surprisingly well done - maybe he was more experienced than I thought. My knife, however, was making short work of them. Although, I wasn't going to cut it all the way just yet.
I didn’t want to ruin the fun.
He was rummaging through a drawer, the stench of death filtering up through the floorboards. Was he planning on taking me down to the basement, or doing it up here? Was he a sadist? A voyeur? He didn't seem the quick-kill type. Very few of them were.
His eyes, red and wild, turned to focus on me. Cocaine, or perhaps speed? No matter. It would make things even easier.
"When I saw you, I just had to have you," he said, approaching me with slow, deliberate steps. "You looked so innocent. So naive. Almost as if you *wanted* to be caught."
He had a drill in his hands. Blood encrusted it, caking the front half of power tool. Was that all part of his shtick, or was he just a messy fucker?
He started it up, the noise filling up the room. No doubt we were the only ones to hear it - we were far out in the woods. A logger's cabin.
The perfect place for a bit of murder.
"It was so easy," he continued, nearing me. "All it took was to ask you for directions to get you into my car. Women can be so frustratingly *stupid* sometimes. It just makes me want to *kill* them."
The drill neared my face, then he slowly, deliberately drew it down, past my torso, past my stomach.
"But before I do, we're going to have some *fu-*"
I leapt up, breaking free from the restraints and getting behind him in one swift motion. I held my knife at his throat, a sliver of blood running down his neck.
"Some fun?" I asked, slowly applying more pressure to the knife just below his Adam's apple, making him unable to talk. "Oh, we most certainly are."
It was hard having a taste for killing. It seemed such a rude thing to impose on someone.
Only killing other serial killers, however - that felt just dandy.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2018-08-23T00:33:40 | 2018-08-22T23:57:48 | 1,680 | 587 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | I'd picked him up about a mile back. Hitchhiker, maybe mid-20s. New to the gig. Still too jittery. The gun against my head hadn't been customized at all, yet.
"Just down this dirt road here."
I did as he said. "Terror of Mile 202?"
"Yeah! Cool, huh? Go ahead and stop behind the trees there." He gestured with the gun, taking it off me for a split second. Amateur.
An few hours later, I looked down in the hole at him just coming to, limbless, in the large cooler, kind you might take to a beach party. Same thing I stored all the bodies in. Cops might find an arm or leg, but coyotes usually got 'em first. They'd only ever found a couple of the torsos. I smiled down at the Terror.
"Nothing personal, kid. I was gonna kill ya, even before the gun. Heckuva fight. Felt good."
"Who are you?" He pleaded. Probably woulda been on his knees, begging, if they were still attached.
"Come now, Two Oh Two. I'm sure ya know by now. You gotta know the stories. Prolly grew up on 'em. Le'see, youda been 10, 12 when I hit my stride." I could see it. The recognition in his eyes. "That's it. Always nice to meet a fan."
"The Murdo Murderer."
"Shucks, yer makin' me blush. I'll ride this high for a year, at least. Well, I gotta get going." I knocked the lid closed with the shovel and started fillin' her in to the sweet sound of his muffled screams.
*edits made to make things a little clearer* | *God damnit, not again*, I thought as he pressed up the chloroform to my nose in an attempt to knock me out.
*Whatever, let's have fun with this one.* I feigned unconsciousness as he dragged me into his van. His seats were firm, uncomfortable, and his driving showed nervousness. *You'll wake up when he wants you to. Just go to sleep. It'll help you.*
When I woke up, I was sitting in a chair with a camera in my face and a bright light above my head.
*Asshole.*
"So, I finally gotcha. They're gonna pay me a lot for you. Ten million, can you believe it," he explains as he circles me. I could only hear him; he hid in the darkness surrounding the lone beam blasting my eyes.
"So are you gonna kill me or just talk about it?" I ask him.
"Oh, I'm gonna enj- wait, what?"
"You heard me."
"You're... You're supposed to be afraid! You're just some banker!"
"They didn't tell you who I am, did they?"
"Wh... What are you talking about?"
"You ever think about why that bounty's on my head? Why it's so damn high?"
"N- No..."
"Lemme tell ya, kid, it ain't because I just fucked up their interest."
"What are you talking about?"
"God, you're dumb. The people who employ you, I'm their first choice."
"No, you're lying. You're getting in my head." His blade pressed up against my throat. *Didn't even tie the rope around my ankles.* I grabbed his wrist, kicked my chair back, and tossed him over me.
"You really thought they'd give you *millions* for some *banker*? Really, kid?" His eyes grew like balloons right in front of me, his cheeks rosy from fear. The knife was on *him* now. I sat on top of him, mounting him. He tried to resist, really, but it didn't do much for him.
He bled a lot more than I thought he would.
&#x200B; | 2018-08-23T02:12:03 | 2018-08-23T02:09:35 | 44 | 29 |
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers. | Agandauer the Accurate responded in that cool calm voice that all Land of Shadow watchtower scouts aspired to.
"I've got you at three quarters of a hundred lár per hour across the ground"
With the High Elves' amulet of rumificatus active, Agandauer could communicate directly with anyone within range. So, too could Elves and allies alike communicate with each other within that same range.
Just as he was lost in thought about this wonderous artifact, another voice is heard. This was a far more experienced member of the EagleRider corps, who probably knew damn well with his speed was but wanted to show off a bit for trainees.
Ever the professional, Agandauer reported just as quickly "my calculations have you at 100 and 3 additional, across the ground"
Without even a moment to absorb what was going on, a harsh deep voice echoed across the valley "and what about ME, pointy ears?"
Ah, Golic, the dwarvish Dragon Rider. He knew perfectly well he was the fastest thing in the sky. But, in true dwarvish bravado, Ol' Golic here wanted to make sure everyone else knew it, too. Nonetheless, Agandaur gave his measurements dutifully - "300 and a quarter lár across the ground" - and for a few moments it seemed as if that were that. Everyone had had their fun for the day.
But then, a voice Agandaur hadn't heard before came through, calmer and cooler than his own, and clearly a voice of Man, requesting his speed calculation. None of the Elves had heard from the men of middle-earth in centuries! But now, high, high above - a black wedge was streaking across the sky. Agandaur could barely calculate the angles fast enough, and for the first time ever, he needed a few seconds to respond. "Uh, we've got you at, uh, one thousand eight hundred and forty-two lár across the ground."
And for the first time ever, Agandaur was afraid.
(Only a thin connection to the WP, and heavily borrowed from a Reddit favorite, but I couldn't resist) | "how you doing chum?"
&#x200B;
Logbook of the battle engineer Clem K. Harvard, 05-10-2935 AD. 0600 AM.
&#x200B;
SO! just finished my shift, we're well underway with the ambush setup. the orks are marching out in the open, upstream, about 10 miles from our location. Dukes, Hicus, Max and Laos have placed themselves, i've spent the afternoon planting homebrewed ieds that i've built from the AMHE grenades we were sent with. set the fuses to trigger when the balrogs come in.
If the elves are right, those damn fuckers weigh more than a damn tank. i've wired the fuses just in case would the pressure plates fail.
Me and Holy will stay back in the truck, we'll attack whatever flies in priority.
&#x200B;
now all we need, is the elves bait to work.
this is going to be a massacre. the moment the dragons are done, the battle will be completely one sided.
&#x200B;
The first contact... was weird. none of the elves were happy to meet a combat squad of just 8 men, acting like they were in charge. they kinda got pissed when we told them we were the whole package.
we were told the welcome party was over, and we were to leave before sundown, so the captain and hicus showed them we werent a joke.
Turns out the MR-501 railguns set to artillery support make some pretty large holes in the local rock formations.
must be some kind of marble, the light fractures inside made the surface shrapnel like crazy!
&#x200B;
The captain is a competent leader, but boy what a tool. that legolas dude was INCHES away from snapping him in half. who the hell goes against all safety courses within the five first minutes of an encounter with a millenary ally? really? i'm roasting his ass the second we're home.
their uproar stopped when the IFV nearly crashed into galadriel's shrine.... the idea of a large chunk of metal being dropped from several miles above without creating a large crater was kind of a big shock.
it's magbrakes went unlocked, so it dragged it's chute down a slope and we barely stopped it in time.
&#x200B;
Oh, looks like legolas is back. time to arm the ieds.
&#x200B;
\*end of the log\*
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | 2018-12-03T06:38:00 | 2018-12-03T06:24:07 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything | "Your 1 o clock is ready sir". My PA respectfully withdrew.
***Most kids dream of being hero's. Me? I always put myself in the shoes of the villains.***
Strolling into the brightly lit room I took a look at what I had to work with. I met dull eyes in a deeply lined face.
***They always seemed so much more free. Heroes, everyone's always making demands, like "Help me!"***
I plastered on a fake smile as I reached out, at the same time I let my power flow into his body.
***Even when the heroes give into those demands, they're never happy. Forever haranguing them "you did so much property damage! Couldn't you have saved the city more carefully!"***
I could feel the clogged arteries. I could feel aged tissue and membranes, weak as hope. Small pockets of partly dead tissue in the brain from mini-strokes.
***To me, villains always seemed to have the better deal, if a hero acts like a villain for even a moment they're never forgiven, if a villain acts like a hero for a day on a whim, that's their choice.***
A trifle to my powers. Under my touch arteries cleared, precancerous cells shriveled away ,fresh cells took the place of dying, the fragile skin of a near-corpse became the strong soft skin of a youth, depleted bone marrow regrew and bones strengthened.
***But what's the real point of being a classical villain? They rob banks but the whole point is to have the money to achieve their goals***
The eyes in front of me brightened. Soon I was looking into the a youthful face that had adorned countless PR pieces, one of the worlds richest men.
***When my powers manifested I thought about trying the standard villain thing, punching heroes... but I don't like fighting. I like being rich. Rich as Croesus.***
One of the worlds richest men, but this afternoon he'd taken a tumble down the forbes 500 list. The price of youth and health.
***When you're rich enough you can stand above the dreams of normal villains. While they try kidnap people and rob jewels I buy countries and jewel mines***
A few hours of my time a month. Sold to the absolute highest bidder. At this point I could probably afford to stop even that work... but there's wealth and power even beyond what can be bought with mere money...
***Heroes fight villains in the streets while the truly powerful rule the world***
there's something to be said for having the immortal elite of the world dependent upon you if they want to continue to live forever. | "Is this the one?" Brainwave asked his accomplice as they watched a woman walk down the street from a car window.
"Yes, that´s definitely her", Mist said as she looked at a photo of that woman with Powerman. Mists greying hair was flowing in the air despite the lack of wind.
"So, what´s the plan again?"
"You use your mind control powers to make her walk into that alley, where I will put Vilsten's teleportation device on her, and have her teleported to the base. Technofist will handle it from there on."
Brainwave's mind-control wasn't very strong. Generally, he wasn't able to force people into things they REALY didn't want to do, but forcing somebody to take a slightly different route wasn't too difficult.
"Fine," said Brainwave, and as he started to massage his balding cranium with his fingers, Mist could see that the woman is actually entering the alley. Brainwave's accomplice clutched the small device, and quickly transformed herself and the device into a cloud of smoke. As she existed the car through the window, she was grateful that it was not windy that day.
Mist turned into her normal form in the dark alley, and as the victim was standing there, confused after the mind-control wore off, fastly approached her, pressed the teleporter against her neck and activated it. The victim dissapeared. A few second after that, Mist recieved a phone call from Technofist. "We got her, we're starting the interogation now", he said. Mist and Brainwave quickly drove away.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Few minutes after, it was my time to shine. Technofist came to me, his titular metal fists stained with blood, and he was looking quite desperate. "She is more resilient than I thought, I think you should have a go."
I agreed to try it. An interogation, after all, was a welcome change from the usual task of healing others after failed missions.
I've entered the room. The woman was sitting there, stapped to a chair, badly bruised and bleeding at places.
"I already told you, I will never reveal Powerman's secret identity!" She screamed, but calmed down when she saw that I was not Technofist.
"Calm down", I told her, and reached out with my open palm. The healing proces has started. Soon, there were no signs of Technofist's attempt to get the information.
As she realised what just happened, she looked at me and said one, single wordd: "Why?"
I smiled. "You are quite valuable. As the only person close to Powerman we know, we can't just have you die from injuries. If I didn't do that, you could just bleed to death."
"Luckily," I contiued as I took a scalpel out of my pocket, "there is no need to fear that with me in charge of this. Are you sure you won't tell us about that secret identity?" | 2019-01-30T06:51:16 | 2019-01-30T06:46:53 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are the best thief in the kingdom. You’re hard to find but money talks. A stranger in a hood has a request for you. “What do you want me to steal?” You ask. They remove their hood. “Me,” says the Kingdom’s prince/princess. | “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” she asked, taken aback. The dim tavern lighting reflected off her shimmering green eyes, revealing a keen intelligence that no disguise could hide. Riven cursed under his breath and tore his gaze away.
“I know how this will end. No,” he said to the table.
“Please,” soft fingers grasped his own calloused ones in desperation. “Please, you don’t understand. This is my only chance. My uncle will have me killed before the coronation tomorrow.”
Riven tore his hand away, stalking over to the bar. The persistent woman followed him, ignoring the hulking brutes surrounding them.
“At least tell me why!” she demanded, grabbing his arm. Riven’s breath hitched at her electric touch. Had anyone ever shocked him so? Made him feel so powerless? Mustering all his willpower, he extracted his arm and leveled a glare at her.
“Darryl Lightfingers,” he answered.
“I – what?” the princess asked, baffled.
“Kidnapped the princess of Andraasten to save her from an assassin. Not a year later and they’re married and he’s king regent. Do you know how many children they have?” Riven demanded.
The princess backpedaled. “I don’t – “
“Six children. *Six!* Do you think I could afford six children?” Riven advanced on her.
“I’m not asking – “ the princess started, growing weak as she stared up at his intimidating figure.
“Percy ‘Cutpurse’ Pratt. Abducted the Countess von Reinhart to reveal a murder plotted against her. Finds out he’s the long lost Duke of Thragmire, they’re married two months later. Seven children.”
He was nearly pressed against the princess now. She stared at him with wide eyes. “Seven is a lot.”
“Amelia Quickstep. Kidnapped the prince of Cyl. *Both* of them discover they’re sorcerers, get married, stage a coup, and become rulers of Cyl *and* Issandra. Two children,” Riven continued. “Need I go on?”
“Two isn’t that many,” the princess hedged.
“The two children, or the two countries?” Riven asked dryly. The princess deflated.
“I understand,” she said quietly, gathering herself. “I’ll see myself out.”
He almost let her. Gods be cursed, he almost managed it. But she looked so sad, and so lost, and so beautiful in the torchlight that he would have been a complete monster to say no. He caught her hand before she could pull away from him.
“Be ready tomorrow morning.”
She looked at him with eyes full of joy. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“Yes,” Riven said, somehow knowing he had sealed his fate. “I’ll do it.”
\----------------------------------------------------
*High King Riven Swift. 11 children.* |
"My father is dead," she says. "Within a few hours, the servants will find his body tucked under his bed. The blood should be oozing by now."
I fold my arms. This couldn't be the same princess Saist. I've seen this woman before. I mean, who hasn't? Everyday, she would enter the town square and help and guide people in need. She was all smiles and pleasant thoughts. Am I staring at the same woman?
Of course, she's the same woman. The same hair, the same body, even the same ocean brooch she wears on her chest. But her eyes, are different. They're not jovial and childlike, aren't welcoming and soft, no not even close. Cold, yes, that much is obvious. But her eyes carry the same experience of that of a warrior on a thousand battlefields. It didn't make sense--I know for a fact she hasn't stepped on a battlefield once.
"My brothers will be fighting for the throne. Prince Herrat is currently the acting regent and is surrounding himself with the nobles. General Arast is marching his troops straight to the kingdom. I'm sure he rallied his men and promised them the world if they attack." Her face twist in disgust. "Brother Herrat is a master at politics. Brother Arast is a master at war. I'm not sure who's going to win. And they want me to pick a side."
"And what makes you think I will accept this? I don't want to meddle with whatever family issues you guys have."
She cock her head sideways, her eyes scanning every inch of my face. "Isn't the money enough? I could double it," she says. "I'll even triple it when all things go right."
I almost said *I'll do it.* It's tempting. Triple the damn original price. I could live a hundred lives and wouldn't even dent the money.
But this is deadly. I may be the best thief in the world, but even I know my limits.
"No, I'm not kidnapping you." I turn away.
"You just lost your chance to earn the most gold you will ever see in your life."
"I'm fine with that. If I wanted to, I could snatch your gold away. I could avoid all your family problems and have your gold." I laugh and shake my head. "Find some one else to do deal with your mess."
"For the best thief in the world, you're rather dumb," she began laughing.
I face her. I could see slight tears fall down her cheeks. She's laughing and laughing--and her laughs piss me off.
She wipes a tear with a finger, "What makes you think I would let you walk away? I'm the princess. I have resources. I have my men surrounding this place." She took a breath, calming herself, trying to return to her cold, stoic self. But she couldn't. She has a smile on her face. "You lost the gold. And now you have to kidnap me for free."
"No, I'm not. You--"
"Yes you are. You're kidnapping me for free. As I planned, you will reveal yourself to the kingdom that you captured me. I'm going to throw chaos into chaos."
---
I pantsed this, and I have no clue what I'm trying to convey here, lol. I also tried writing in present tense, and found it harder than I thought. This was a learning experience.
Thanks for the interesting writing prompt. | 2019-08-05T12:13:20 | 2019-08-05T10:23:48 | 36 | 12 |
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