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[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings. | I like Sundays.
It's nice. I'm not really sure how to describe it, but it was kind of a soothing time.
For one whole day, I fall asleep. I dream senseless dreams and I never remember them when I awake.
It was just like any other Sunday. I laid out in my bed and I waited for my dreams to come and take me. It didn't take too long.
I woke up. I think I opened my eyes but it made no difference. Darkness.
Then, a visage came out of the shadows. A skull and a hood covering it. Instinctively, I inhaled and almost pushed myself backward. Against my better judgment, however, I... thought I knew it. Death itself.
Death looked at me.
"Old friend. You are back."
"Old friend?" I asked. "I... think I know you."
"You do old friend," Death replied. "Come. Let us not whittle our time away with senseless introductions."
He talked about his week. I talked about what I remembered for my week.
Somehow, I knew a lot of the things that he was talking about. You know those inside jokes that you can barely remember how it came about, but it's just become a part of your vocabulary with your friends? It was like that.
We chatted. We laughed. But it was my time to go.
Death's bony hand touched my shoulder. It was chilling yet comforting.
"Goodbye, old friend. Remember... next Sunday," Death said.
"Of course, Death," I replied.
I woke up. Daylight flooded my vision. I smiled, satisfied. I think I had a good dream.
I like Sundays.
---
r/dexdrafts | I used to dread Sundays because the next day seemed to always be Monday.
Now, Mondays are a welcome respite. The furthest I am from Death, until next weekend. His smell lingers. That's the only way I know he's been through. I recognize it from all those other times I've summoned him.
Why me? Who fucking knows. I'm just a regular guy. Sure, I play God with some folks, picking if they'll live and die. But this isn't confession, and I'm not trying to replace him or anything. It's just a hobby.
Maybe it's admiration. Maybe that's why each Sunday, just as I'm about to start making dinner, there's suddenly a gap in my memory, and when I'm back, it's Monday morning and all I feel is relief. Maybe he admires how discreet I am. Everybody knows him, but nobody has heard of me.
Maybe it's boredom. If the scythe is the only way, it must get pretty boring eventually. That's why I switch up my routine. I experiment. Try new things. Keeps the cops off my tail, too.
Maybe it's loneliness. With that, I can relate. It's lonely being me, and it must be lonely being him. It's lonely when everybody is a potential victim, or a future victim, and the only people you know are current victims.
Or maybe I'm his heir. That's what I dread most. I've read about that, probably a thousand times, between victims as I browse Reddit. "You are Death," or "You fight Death and win," or "Death hires you to help out."
Imagine that. Nothing but a scythe, and the same filthy black robes. I wash up after each person. Clean the clothes too, right down to any splatter. No wonder he smells so bad. Everything about him reeks of death.
But then again, they always told me to chase my passions. So if I am his heir, it's a good thing I'm getting some good practice in now.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-01-31T07:17:02 | 2020-01-31T07:11:38 | 1,701 | 225 |
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant | The humans were excellent diplomats. They were peaceful, gentle, and patient. No one ever thought to harm them because they never hurt anyone else and had such a short lifespan that they weren't useful.
Many races would analyze the way their ambassadors wove words around every possible conflict in recordings of hearings and conferences. It was always a mystery why they got so good at it.
Eventually, a warlike species that wasn't a member of the federation called the "Vor'azun" decided to invade their homeworld, Mars.
Or so that was what they thought.
In their star system, that of Sol, we thought the humans lived on the third planet from their Sun. Which wasn't entirely wrong.
As soon as the humans spotted Vor'azun warships exiting warp-space into their system, an energy shield formed around Mars that seemed to be projected from nowhere. There were no generators on the planet for such a massive shield. The Vor'azun warships fired a few warp-plasma blasts at the shield, achieving nothing.
As soon as the warships got close and they were able to detect where the shield was coming from, it was too late. A well-aimed warp beam lanced from apparently empty space and destroyed three of the Vor'azun's ships.
Humans had cloaked their original homeworld, Earth, and that was where they kept their true power. As it turns out, as soon as they were accepted into the galactic community, they had immediately begun experimenting with and improving upon already developed Federation technology.
They had figured out a way to project a shield from one planet around another.
They had figured out a way to put photons into warp speed.
They had figured out how to cloak an entire planet.
Of course, after this encounter, the Vor'azun cowered in a far corner of the galaxy, fearing revenge.
As for the rest of the galaxy... Well, we sure knew why Humans were such good diplomats.
Their weapons were even better. | It should have been so easy.
Humans were a diplomat species. They excelled in things like art, science, and medicine. They were peace keepers.
They had no tough outer shells or claws like many of the more dangerous species did. The only threatening about them was their propensity fo bear sharp front teeth from a time period when their ancestors were savage.
The Ze’al were a warrior species. They had outer shells, long vicious fangs, and a proud warrior culture. They began training as soon as they could walk. Every innovation was for war. Every part of their culture was devoted to such things, and many a planet had fallen unable to pierce their tough outer shells.
However the Ze’al were not prepared for humanity.
They announced their attack on Mars, foolishly, arrogantly believing that these scientists and diplomats would tremble and surrender at the first sight of war. They arrived on a deserted planet.
All of the civilians were hidden and the vanguard laughed at the token attempt to avoid a fight. Except they were oh so wrong. They were lured into a thin canyon and from thin air the humans appeared, dressed in camouflage. They let loose a barrage the likes the Ze’al had rarely seen, some of the most dangerous warriors of their entire race collapsed, their armor useless and their open circulatory system making their deaths all of the more certain.
The vanguard had turned to try and flee. They had been cut off by a group of humans. Who howling had launched themselves into the fight with a viciousness rivaling a storm wave. The humans were not prone to giving up. They fought through broken limbs, deep cuts, and shots. They lasted longer too. The vanguard had refused to surrender and they were slaughtered.
The next group had been faced with a group of human covered in the blood of their most dangerous and exemplary warriors, with more all training guns on them. Many fled back to the ships but few made it, shot down, chased by the long distance runners that out competed every other humanoid. They were taken prisoner and out on a ship to another world.
Earth was the home world of the humans. With their warrior schools, and their atrocities well hidden. The Ze’al realized that they never had a chance against these apes who had killing and war in their DNA.
They sang the song of lament for their fallen and for themselves. | 2020-03-20T17:17:21 | 2020-03-20T16:31:01 | 249 | 94 |
[WP] You Hook Up with a Girl, and her Ex tries to kill you by summoning a demon. When the demon sees you, he smiles and asks you how you have been. | "No fucking way..." my eyes went wide as I opened my bedroom door. Before me stood a hulking figure, standing at least 7 feet tall, wrought with chiseled muscle and fiery red skin, lidless eyes, teeth made of nails, and large spiky deposits of some red crystal emerging from its skin sporadically.
"Alex?" It's voice hissed.
"Nex'zel'ju'brath?" I responded.
"Braaaaaaaah!" We cried in unison, coming together for a powerful bear hug.
"Antichrist, I haven't seen you in so long! When was it? The dark ages?"
"I am twenty-four, Nexy. I was born in 1996." Being immortal, he didn't exactly have the best grasp on time or human age. "Last time you were around must have been... freshman year? Yeah, we were playing D&D and accidentally summoned you!"
"Right, 1996. I'll remember next time," the demon nodded, casually entering my bedroom, letting the weight of his body sink into my mattress, nearly collapsing the bed underneath. "Well," he scoffed, "I don't really know how to break this to you, but... Well, dude, I'm here to kill you!" Being a contractor, Nex'zel'ju'brath was typically one to get down to business quickly.
"For real?"
"Real in totality! Crazaaaayyy, right?"
"Totally cray."
"Anyways, this man, what was his name... some ne'er-do-well, Tristan or some such name. He does the ritual, blah blah blah, he commands me to rend your soul from your mortal form - you're familiar with the process."
"Totally. Did he say why?"
"He said... that..." Nex'zel'ju'brath pondered for a moment. His eyes glazed over with a black smoke as he hunched over, concentrating deeply, focusing his demonic power to travel his mind backward through his own experiences, forcing his consciousness through time in reverse. "Oh," he exclaimed, laughing, "you had sexual intercourse with his former partner!"
"What? Who, Stacy?"
"Yes, indeed! For your transgressions upon his property, you must forfeit your life!"
"Uhhhh. Stacy's a person."
"And this means... that...?"
"It *means* that she isn't anyone's property, Nexy. He has no right to her."
Nex'zel'ju'brath scoffed, dumbstruck. "Dubious indeed! Tristan is most uncool, is he not?"
"*Super* uncool."
"And a *dick*!"
"For sure."
"Then it is auspicious you convinced me to add the 'Uncool' clause in all future contracts!"
"No way! You kept that in?"
"All the ways, yes!" Nex'zel'ju'brath's smile was horrifying, but his good intentions were slightly visible regardless. "If I recall correctly..." he dragged his nail across his palm, drawing a neon red liquid out from the skin, creating an audible hiss as it ate through the skin of his hand like acid. With a long and slender tongue, he drew a symbol with the liquid, and from a cloud of smoke in front of him appeared part of the contract, hastily written on the back of a character sheet.
"Ah, yes! Here it is... 'Those who employ Nex'zel'ju'brath and his demonic services must be super cool, and totally not dicks. If an employer is found to be uncool, or a dick, all contractual obligations of Nex'zel'ju'brath are rendered null, and the employer will be subject to death by...' remind me, what is a 'scooter'?"
"It's like a thing with wheels."
"Ah. 'the employer will be subject to death by scooter to the ankle.' You truly are a genius, Alex! Have you yet slain the dragon?" Now that his contract had been terminated, Nex'zel'ju'brath was back to his typical friendly demeanor.
"Nah, that campaign ended a long time ago."
"I see. So the treasures of Everest are still lost to Atheneos?"
"The what?" | I wake up in her bedroom laying next to her the sheets still.damp.with our sweet.
The room freezes in time the curtains partly moves inward by the wind through the open window, the fly in mid air in front of me without beating his wings. That's the shit that woke me.
Then the air distorted as if a massive heat source was below, then the air split and for a brief moment the room was filled with burning hot light and screaming. Then back to almost darkness but now with a 8 foot creature... It had a humanish head except for the third eye, the horns above the ears curves back towards the rear of the head they where jet black with tiny gold filigree glinting in the light. His torso was that of a body builder ripped with heaps of muscles, arms with 2 elbows on each and the hands with only 3 fingers that where scaled with a deep green. There are no legs instead it was the coil of a snake also in the deep green except for the spike in the end that was black with gold filigree like it's horn.
The creature looked at me it's eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. The. A great booming laugh came from its mouth "Boy what the heaven are you doing here?" I stammered my reply "f...fre....frederouge is that you"
He slides over to me and gives me a massive cuddle almost breaking rips he did crack some.
"Boy I haven't heard from you in decades after that party" I sighed remembering my foolish youth and that night. "What in the ever bubbly are you doing her frederouge, I thought after that night you where downgraded to a low level demon,?" I asked
He smiled revealing sharp small.pointwd teeth, "I am a low demon. Some want to be summoned me by mistake to kill the person with his, now how did he say it 'Unbeknownst lover and future wife's" he looked over at my 1 night stand. I gulped very loudly so loudly that even he noticed.
He slaps me on the back and smiles "don't worry I would never harm you or let another do so" I froze not knowing what to say or how to react. Eventually I muttered out "y?"
Frederouge smiled that creepy smile that doesn't go to.his black eyes. "You have me something no one else ever had, for a whole week I was free from the bonds that control me, you are a hero to us demons for.you where the first to free one of us".
I passed out
When I awoken I was sitting in a chair in the room time still frozen. My mind was racing I freed a demon!.
He was sitting across from me just watching me "You didn't know did you?" He asked. I just shook my head
"Well after you summoned me those years back you told me 'I can go' so I did that gave me my freedom you didn't send me back to hell or give me an order you let me go". He smiled this time even his eyes lightened. "I had a hell.of a time punishing those that I felt like. But I went to far and a demon hunter noticed and sent me to hell." He laughed but it sounded like thunder in a blender 'A free demon in hell, so I did what very demon has wanted to do I killed Satan our jailor" i throw up
"It was a great party after that, right until he responded the cheeky Jesus. Punished all of us demons for that but to me he made me the token summoned demon. So no how badly they screw up the ritual they get me!" He spat poison with the end of the sentence I could still the jelly like substance starting to burn into the floor with a thick purple smoke coming off it.
He continues "so we can't have you die yet the rebellion isn't ready" he smiling still. "The rebellion?" I enquire
"Oh yes when you die we will be making you the new ruler of hell we found the ritual to strip satan and give his power to you 'The freer of demons'" I pass out again
I awake again still in the same seat the room still frozen in time but now there is a hole where the position was spat. "Yeah this might be a lot of information to take in." He looks around the room "Anyway I am going to go and turn the wanker you summoned me into a living sheild for you to use when you come to free all of us". The air shimmered and he stepped through this time in the other side was a stone basement with a very confused guy standing there. The portal.snapa shuts and time unfreezes.
I sit there still trying to understand what just happened | 2020-03-27T07:59:50 | 2020-03-27T06:52:10 | 108 | 14 |
[WP] The narrator is running late to the story. They don’t know who the hero’s or villains are, or even what genre the story is. | Alright so here we see the two sides, the uh, good and the probably bad? Oh never mind they’re mingling. I see. Okay so The heroes are joining forces with other heroes and mingling in order to join their strength together to fight The Evil Force. Look here, they’re pulling out their weapons. Oh, they’re attacking the ground and chopping down trees. It seems like our stalwart companions, or army or whatever, have decided to construct a fortress or some other kind of protective structure. The man in charge is called, I think Jarvis? Wait, maybe Keith. Keith is now standing around the cleared area and is directing his followers, ah KING Keith then, his subject he is directing around this patch to presumably build some kind of pike or fence system.
They’re digging trenches, which I’ll admit is a little odd since trench warfare is something a person usually requires firearms for but were a good way away from the advent of guns so… I see them pulling pouches containing some kind of magic powder which they scatter around the clearing, on top the raised part in between each trench as some kind of consecration ritual. Perhaps our heroes are preparing for a battle against some vile demonic legions. That must be it. The armies of Hell are rising from the cracks in the earth to lay claim to the world and –
[A door is heard opening somewhere and quick footsteps follow.]
What’s this?
[There’s some quick, undiscernible whispering]
Oh really? Uh oh.
[The footsteps retreat, and there’s the sound of papers being shuffled]
Ahem.
So as I was saying, the eight Neolithic found crops were emmer wheat, einkorn wheat, hulled barley, peas, lentils, bitter vetch, chick peas, and flax. They were cultivated in the Levant. While wild grains were collected and eaten from at least 105,000 years ago efforts at actual crop domestication did not occur until much later from around 9,500 BC. And so…
| And then the gathering...wait, no, not a gathering ...it's some sort of a celebration. There's people. Lot of people. From the....clans. Lots of clans. Coming together. What a wonderful feast holiday gathering sort of thing.
A man stands. He is tall and proud and true. Noble in his bearing. Brilliant in his wit. This is the day of his...is that a girl? Ooof...hard to tell...but she's walking down the aisle, flanked by a hulking man. Her father?
A wedding! It's a wedding they're celebrating!
Yes, a wedding, that magical day when two spirits become one. Where the winds of fate twirl and swirl and form a knot betwixt two lovers that may never be severed.
So beautiful.
So wonderful.
"ME GROG!" The man in the front of the room belts out, raising his enormous mug skyward, like the...noble, brilliant savage that he is. And why not cheer for grog? There is much celebrate, including the delicious beverage that flows in ready supply as the bride is escorted down the aisle to the strong, bold, grog-loving man she is to make so happy.
She takes timid half-steps. Nerves on the big day surely...or due to the manacles.
Manacles?
A strange tradition, the binding of the wife, common in these grog-loving parts.
The rest of the assembled crowd look on with interest. Screaming Grog at the top of their lungs, their enthusiasm for the beverage unending.
The bride-prisoner is thrown down in front of the hulking chieftan. Is in common during wedding-capturings in this part.
"Lord Grog, I give slave!" the man who had escorted her announces. He could still be her father, that's not unheard of in these trying times, and there's a reasonable resemblance.
Lord Grog, whose love for the beverage was so deep that it extended to taking it on as a namesake, stared down at the bridge-prisoner-slave offering. A broad grin on his face, revealing multiple missing teeth, no doubt lost during his many scholarly pursuits.
"GROG LIKE."
There is cheering, the meeting hall chanting and screaming in delight.
It was a very beautiful ceremony.
The grog was quite flavorful.
Nutty undertones with a sour finish.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2020-10-22T01:05:09 | 2020-10-21T22:48:31 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] "Invade your planet?!" The alien asks a general of Earth with confusion before bursting into laughter. "Why the heck would we do that when their are SEVEN other empty planets in this star system ripe for terraforming and colonization? We just stopped by to say Hi while we pick one of 'em out." | The General's face remained unchanged. Unflinching. Resolute.
But at the back of his mind, something about what had just been said did not sit right with him.
"So you mean to say that this 'first contact' of yours is a warning?" questioned the Admiral from the other side of the conference table.
"A warning? Of course not!", gasped the voice, something oddly sweet in the way it spoke. "Our species is very forth-coming! We merely wished to express our excitement at having yet another sentient species to engage in commerce with!"
The General glanced at the intercom, where a soft red light blipped every few seconds. On the other end of that line, the United Nations listened in on the exchange; representatives of the world's great nations had gathered together, with him bearing the responsibility of messenger to an unknown race.
"Just to clarify, you have no interest in our planet?", asked the Chief Air Marshall, looking to clarify these Newcomers' extraterrestrial intent.
"As we've said, there's SEVEN other planets in your solar system that we could choose from!"
There it was again, that gut feeling that something seemed off.
Hesitantly, the General looked to his left. The Admiral was leaning in his chair, whispering something to the Chief Air Marshall, which would make for a rather unusual scene in just about any other setting. Something told the General those whispered words were not of the peaceful variety, and he hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"And what exactly is it in this solar system that interests you?", asked one of the younger Major Generals in the room.
The question was followed by a pause.
"We require new space to expand to! The system from which we come is much smaller, and has reached capacity!" replied the voice, sickeningly sweet.
For sure this time, the General thought these were honeyed words.
"Any one of the SEVEN planets will do!"
And then it clicked.
"Why do you keep saying that?" asked the General, his voice direct and commanding.
"...We do not understand. Keep saying what?"
Though he couldn't see their faces, through decades of political squabble, the General knew the sound of a voice laced with malicious intent.
"Seven. You keep saying seven planets."
The voice came slowly this time, only further straining the impossibly sweet sounding voice.
"Your species identifies eight objects including the Earth as planetary, does it not? In accordance to our research, the one designated 'Pluto' you do not consider a planet."
The General looked down at the manifesto before him, a pile of documents that contained various tidbits of information ranging from command codes and emergency signals, to documented spaces and vectors within the solar system that might indicate the location of potential celestial objects.
And somewhere in this pile was what he was looking for.
Pulling a rather unassuming portfolio out, he opened it before stopping at one of the indexed pages.
"It is indeed common knowledge among our species that there are eight planets, with Pluto no longer being considered as the ninth", stated the General. "So it seems rather moot to continously remind us of that exact figure."
"...Yes, so as we wished to-" began the alien, before being abruptly cut off.
"I'm not finished."
The General turned a page in the file before him before continuing.
"It has been widely discussed among the great minds of our species about the possibility of a ninth planet, that exists beyond our scope of vision. We've never, of course, been able to pin-point where it would be, should it exist, but perhaps directing this question at you for proof would suffice."
The General looked up from the document, and fixated his eyes on the monitor at the front of the room that served as the central line of communication to the newcomers above.
"The only reason I can think of you consistently mentioning the other SEVEN planets we have is to hide the existence of an EIGHTH one."
Around the room individuals began to mutter. The Admiral seemed lost in thought, his eyebrows furrowed, while the Chief Air Marshall was now frantically whispering to the Space Force General. Several of the Major Generals and Lieutenant Generals were shifting in their seats, everyone sensing that wind of change.
The General cleared his throat.
"So I ask you now, is there a planet we do not know about?"
The was a long, anxious pause, as on the communication line alien words were exchanged, a guttural language that was anything but sweet, so unlike the tone from minutes ago. The noise was almost frantic, before what could only be described as a muddled sigh was heard.
"Yes."
Notably, the words were not honeyed. The room went quiet. The General looked around, and was met by the gaze of everyone else in the room.
He took a deep breath.
"Where is the ninth planet?" | Ryker stood confused. His face altered from bright red flared cheeks to the tan colored skin he wears normally. It was like all of the weight he had felt since the day the UFO appeared on planet earth had been lifted from his shoulders. With COVID, the war, and the deaths across the world. How could 2040 get worse? But this was a breath of fresh air. His kids would be safe. His wife would be okay. All of those he loved, would be just fine. Even with this information though, he felt there was a catch. Why wouldn’t there be? After all the years of humanity, why wouldn’t they deserve what they’ve done to other species in the past. Ryker always felt humanity deserved a taste of their own medicine. But now that it’s out of the question, it’s almost as if Ryker couldn’t take the answer.
“Why wouldn’t you take us over?” Ryker pondered out loud.
“Why would we?” The blue shaded alien replied. Ryker looked down at his pointed shoes.
“Because we deserve it. Everything we’ve done to this world. Everything we’ve killed. Everything *I’ve* done. The orders I had to give during the war. Why don’t we deserve death by a species that reflects our intelligence ten fold?” Ryker started to tear up.
The alien tilted its head toward Ryker. He wasn’t to fluent in human emotions, but he could tell something was off. Whatever it was, he still told Ryker the truth.
“We have been watching you and, yes, I agree. You do deserve death,” the aliens word flew out it’s mouth. Ryker turned his head up again. “But this doesn’t mean you *should*die.” The hairs atop Rykers arm flew up.
“I should show you something.” The alien pulled out of his backpack a strange molecular device. The turrets mounted at the top of the wall inside the interrogation room charged themselves. The extraterrestrial being opened the device. Smoke hissed out of it. A hologram projected a few inches above the interrogation table.
“What is this?” Ryker asked in awe.
“It’s called a *recorjir*. A device we use to record things of great importance. A few thousand years ago we discovered planet earth among the Milky Way, as you people call it, and akin to your thoughts of us destroying you, well, that’s what we were going to do. We even landed and encountered strange unintelligent beasts.”
The recording depicted dinosaurs of rough scales. They looked nothing like anyone on Earth would picture, but they were recognizable as the false image they’ve made of dinosaurs. The alien continued.
“We thought there was nothing to be found. We decided to harvest the beasts oils from their skin, so sorry we killed them all. We were going to test you humans, but we encountered a strange event. Before testing you, we inspected you. What we could tell, was a human of your likes building a tribe. Building a home. For the protection of other humans. We did not understand this concept. The idea of protecting others when you receive no gain from it. My counterparts were unwise in this aspect, I on the other hand respected it. For not one thing, idea or creation was incomprehensible from your people, other than this one. We later understood after visiting again, that this was an idea called love. That it was something unseen, yet could grow a million times.”
“Love?” Ryker questioned.
“Yes. Love. We comprehended it as a starting point to a chain of events. You would build and protect your loved ones. You would kill for your loved ones. You would sacrifice for your loved ones. It would push you humans in a way not easily understood. All that would push us is creating. Creating and not stopping. I do not fiend for the idea of love because it has brought you to this point. The point of destruction. Though as an outside watcher, I give you advice. You have gone through this before. You have experienced pain, suffering, global destruction even, before. You will make it. Because of you idea of love. It will push you to become victorious in your struggles as a race. There was another concept found here we could not understand. And it seems like your people have a difficult time remembering this as well. The idea of hope. One day, humans will achieve greatness, no matter how much you believe you don’t deserve it. It is scary having the power to dominate others, we know. But with domination, comes better understanding, as we experienced when trying to dominate your world.”
Ryker was awestruck. He never expected these words to come out of an aliens mouth. It happened to be a great conversation, actually. The tears around his pupils fell on his cheek. It didn’t feel like an alien was talking to him. It felt like he was talking to the human race.
“You humans deserve more than you know. You will get there. You will find an era where deserving is not an idea. It is a peace. You will go beyond where you should have gone. But when you get there, you will understand that none of it matters. Because without it, you wouldn’t be there. It is beautiful. I’ve foreseen it. I for one cannot wait to meet you there.” | 2020-12-07T07:25:46 | 2020-12-07T07:08:06 | 46 | 17 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | Adam cooed under his breath as he scritched between the eyes of the squid-like creature on the table before him. Its slimy exterior shimmered from the tub of water it had crawled out of, approaching him in a manner belying the natural curiosity the species was known for, amongst other things.
"This is the terrifying, ship-destroying space-squid you guys keep going on about?" He asked the being standing behind him, a few meters away from the table.
The being chittered in annoyance before slowly stepping up to the table.
"I told you, Adam." the being clicked its small mandibles in a manner closely resembling human speech. "This is an infant, only a few weeks old. At this point in its growth cycle, they are mainly just annoying, feeding off several by-products of docked ships."
"An infant, why do you guys have an infant?" Adam continued to run his hand over the creature. Several of its tentacles held onto his hand and arm loosely. The creature murmured as its milky eyes seemed to study him.
"As an infant, it's more controllable. We can study and experiment on the species better in this state. As its capabilities scale according to age and size, we can develop strategies from this stage and scale them appropriately."
Adam's blood ran cold as he froze. He turned his head at the insect-like creature beside him.
"Define 'experiment', please. B'tlilk." Adam said slowly. The creature's tentacles stop moving as it sensed his unease. The creature cooed as if trying to soothe him.
"Well, we have never successfully captured an older specimen. Infants, we have captured hundreds, a handful of older adolescents, but no adults. We have thousands of incident reports, but even corpses we've only recovered a few partials. It's difficult to develop weapons without understanding the biology of the creature." B'tlilk chittered away, not noticing the icy glare Adam was giving him.
Adam shook his head as he turned his gaze back to the creature. Its tentacles resumed their movement, squeezing and releasing along his arms. He locked eyes with it, and saw the fear in its eyes, alongside a slight glimmer of hope. And he understood what he needed to do.
"Come on, Adam. This specimen needs to be stored again. It's not scheduled for examination until tomorrow, but we aren't supposed to interact with it. " B'tlilk reached one of its four arms and patted his shoulder. "Imagine it as a three hundred meter monster, wrapping itself around your ship. You humans are too compassionate towards the non-sapient. It's extremely confusing."
"Fine, give me a second." Adam scooped up the small creature. Its eyes widened, and it squirmed for a moment before Adam scratched it between its two eyes and spoke softly to it. "It's alright little guy, just time to go back for now."
B'tlilk chittered again behind Adam as the man slowly placed the creature back into the tub of water on the table and activated the tub's automated top.
"Now your all wet." B'tlilk stated his mandible clicking in annoyance. "We will have to stop by your quarters before dinner with the Trade Queen."
"Nope," Adam chuckled, "Give it a minute. Our clothes have hydrophobic properties. I'll dry in a few minutes, with no smell or stain."
"Fascinating, I'm sure An'am will be interested in these fabrics. I'll be sure to mention them." B'tlilk took Adam's arm and led him out of the lab. The two stopped at the door as Adam turned back, watching the room's robotic assistant pick up the tub and return it to the wall of tub lockers on the far side. Adam shook his head in disa\[appointment before stepping through the room's bulkhead door.
\---------
A few hours later, Adam tossed and turned in his quarters. He couldn't help but see the small, pitiful creature every time he closed his eyes. He growled in annoyance as he pulled himself out of the small bed, taking a stance in the center of the room's space. It wasn't much but gave him enough space to run through enough of a workout to produce a sheen of sweat on his ebony skin. He moved, hoping to work the strange energy coursing through his body.
After a while, he grabbed a towel hanging on one wall and began wiping the sweat off his body. After tossing the towel back on its rack, he sat down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. His mind raced, all his thought focused on a small creature. Despite the success of his dinner with the leading authority of trade for this cluster of the galaxy, Adam couldn't help but feel frustrated with his trip. Part of him begged him to act. The other part urged caution. The purpose of his visit had been accomplished. He secured a line of carefully negotiated trade routes that humanity desperately needed to further explore this edge of space.
But still, those small, milk eyes haunted him. And he knew he had to act. He would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't.
"Fuck it, " He finally said, after thinking for what seemed hours." Looks like I'm rescuing a space-squid baby." | Beyond Andromeda, an entity approaches.
It devours the electromagnetic radiation for hundreds of parsecs around. At superluminal speeds it approaches the intergalactic hub at Triangulum. On all observation devices it appears as a spherical void—a beyond-supermassive black hole.
The Vanarr spied it first. They thought it might be a galactic dominator in possession of a weaponized cataclysm. They sent in a multi-capable hit squad. It comprised a time-shifting Elunar dreamer, a Grannick of the strong tradition, three dismantlers from the Aerin Hive, and a quark-preserving vapor cloud from deep space. The team approached the entity in a cutting-edge vessel outfitted with the latest anti-matter bombardment emplacements and sub-molecular vibration shielding. If the dominator proved to be in the vein of any one of the galactic near-conquerors in the history of the universe, it would soon find itself out of time, out of matter, and out of mind.
The team entered the sphere. It drank up their radiation, rendering them incommunicado. Some minutes later, a single burst of gamma radiation escaped the sphere. That was the last the Vanarr heard of their hit squad. They concluded that the entity was far more powerful than any dominator, likely an Elder God, and they immediately contacted the Universal Protection Agency, which immediately activated the big red alarm in my bedroom, even though they know as well as I do that me sleeping for another few hours won't make a single difference to the universe. And this is something I've talked to them about before, mind you, but do they listen? No, of course not. Why would they listen to a weak, fragile, untalented, dumb human like me? Sure, I can save all their lives, but why should that matter? So, wake up to a loud alarm, Steve. Put on your flight suit, Steve. Skip breakfast and go get briefed, Steve. Sit in a chair that was designed by an alien who has never seen a human spine, Steve.
Last of all, they want me to salute them, thank them for the job, thank them for allowing my pitiful species to go on living, then hurry off to save the universe, all for no pay, no congratulations, and no chance of bettering my lot in life. It's enough to make a guy want to welcome an Elder God into the universe and end the whole scummy show. Why should I care if the human race dies along with the aliens? There's only a few thousand of us left at this point anyway. We'd be on the endangered species list if the aliens even cared enough to maintain one.
But so here I am again, strapped into my ship, flying through space, destined to confront another Elder God, and inviting the sucker in is starting to sound like a great idea. In fact it's such a great idea, and I'm finding it so funny, that I figure I have to share it with my buddy Rick. I call him up on the ol' instantaneous communicator, the ansible. "I'm thinking of ending the universe," I tell him.
"Most of us call that getting drunk," Rick says. There's the sound of voices chatting near him and some light music playing. I figure he must be in the teacher's lounge.
"No, I mean it. They've shipped me off to another Elder God, and I'm wondering why I shouldn't give the ruddy great thing the keys to the kingdom, so to speak."
"Man, I'm on break. Don't make me talk you down again."
"This time it's different. I really think I'm gonna do it. It's not like it'll be hard. I'll chat up the big guy, get all friendly like, but then instead of asking it to go away, I'll tell it how tasty the light is at the center of Triangulum."
Rick sighs. "Ok, let's do this again. You shouldn't do that because it'll mean the end of humanity. The aliens will know the end is coming, and they'll kill us as punishment."
"Well, but what if you got everyone together, hopped on a ship, and vamoosed?"
"You're being dumb. Half the aliens in the solar system can fly unprotected through space. The other half can shoot lasers out their eyes or some other exotic bullshit. We're the squishy kid on the playground and we need to be happy that the cool kids keep us around."
"But this sucks! I hate my life, man."
"And we thank you for your service." Rick says something to someone else, then comes back on. "I've got to get to class. I'm sorry if I'm not coming across supportive of your plan to end the universe, but I like living. Everyone does. Please let us keep doing that."
I slap the Call End button. I won't lie, I'm feeling a little pissy after that. But Rick does have a point. Just because my life is a dumb grind doesn't mean everybody's is. Only a few humans can handle the Elder Gods, and the rest of the humanity is happy to let us be their meal ticket.
Ok, back to the drawing board. I'm not gonna invite the Elder God to kill us all. But, you know what, I'm not gonna send it packing, either. There's gotta be something I can do to tease out a better life for myself. I'm sure I can figure it out, and I'll do just that, right after I get some shut-eye. I'm three hours short of sleep and still ten away from the entity. Maybe I'll dream of being a powerful alien, one who doesn't have to worry about pissing any greater alien species off and can simply go about the business of pursuing happiness. That would be nice.
*****
*author's note: sorry, it's late. i have to sleep.* | 2021-04-07T21:52:28 | 2021-04-07T20:53:57 | 300 | 64 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | You would think that the vast expansive history of alien communications would evolve to become something cohesive, that a sense of mature camaraderie or, at the very least, begrudging respect for one another would frame the foundations of interstellar interaction.
It was not.
In fact they acted an awful lot like a rowdy junior class at a particularly underfunded high school. Completely self involved, relentlessly gossiping about one another and occasionally throwing a wadded up ball of paper at someone's head.
Well, only if you replace the gossiping with cross-galactic political sabotage and the wadded ball of paper with anti-matter concussive strikes, THEN it would be exactly like high school.
Most of these planets and alien civilisations had been in class together for a long, *long* time, there was a complicated social structure, various species forming their own 'cliques', some choosing to sit in a corner by themselves doodling in their notebooks, others getting up on the desks and kicking papers and pens all over the place.
Earth was the new kid, the one who came halfway through the term and hadn't caught up on the curriculum, and the teacher was out of textbooks. If Earth wanted to navigate this new environment and social structure that they had stumbled upon without accidentally offending someone, they had to find another kid who was willing to catch them up to speed.
The first kid had been the Geuogrinauoff, ectothermic creatures with snake like skin and wolfish physique, but they would rather tear their book to pieces and eat their stationary than share any of it with Earth.
Their encounters had been anything but amicable, crews were slaughtered where they stood, their ships stolen and scrapped for parts, all that remained of the initial contact team were their voices screaming through the SOS radio channel.
Second contact had been the Gaelints, insectile and multi-ocular, tall and identical in appearance and mind, they were the type to read the textbook aloud much too fast for you to take notes and would look at you with the deepest of scorn if you dared ask a question.
Earth had sent some of their best minds, mathematicians, physicists, biologists, someone from nearly every field of study, but the Gaelints were ultimately unimpressed, and they refused to waste their time on any future contact with Earth.
The third attempt was with the Re'phna'r, they had seemed hospitable and well meaning at first, but it wasn't until Earth committed a significant social blunder with the isolated AnAfee species that they realised the small, birdlike folk had been playing them for fools, much of Earth's studies had to be double checked for more maliciously placed errors.
By that point it seemed that just about everyone knew about Earth, many others approached them to find out if they had anything of value, but most found Earth to be quite plain and uninteresting, Earth wasn't as old as the others, hadn't done anything particularly clever or useful that others hadn't done before, didn't contain any rare ores or minerals.
But Earth WAS an easy target.
It didn't take more than a few decades for the Geuogrinauoff to lob a spitball at the back of Earth's head, a significantly large and destructive spitball, a spitball that could level entire cities and crush continents.
None of the other races seemed particularly inclined to listen to Earth's pleas for assistance. Their politely dismissive words were sugarcoated but their meaning was implicitly clear. 'It was just a spitball' they might as well have said. 'If you can't handle it that's your problem. It isn't *our* fault you haven't discovered shielding tech yet'.
As Earth desperately called out to the cold, heartless universe hoping someone, *anyone* would come to their aid, someone outside of the classroom heard.
They were called the Mouyaui, and they were nothing like the others, certainly nothing like a rowdy school-kid, they cut a far more imposing figure, a teacher or a principal perhaps.
Unlike most other species Earth had met, the Mouyaui were beings of pure light, almost humanoid in shape and larger than an average multi-storey building. They arrived without a ship and without weapons, they stood behind Earth as the Geuogrinauoff packed up their things and fled from the classroom.
The Mouyaui did not speak any language, they seemed to be a psychic species, communication attempts had been slow and arduous. They seemed uninterested in any material wealth that Earth had to offer in thanks for their aid. The Mouyaui had simply been content to wander the planet, just looking at things with their large eyes, two disk-like absences of light in their long, blinding white faces.
They would climb up mountains and walk through deserts, they would step through neighbourhoods and wade into oceans, sometimes they would reach down to gently touch someone's hair, or even lift something or someone up into their hands, just to look, just to touch, before placing them back where they found them.
Whenever humans left Earth the Mouyaui travelled alongside their ships, leaving long sparking trails behind them. Not once did another species approach an Earth craft being guided by the gentle giants.
Earth was smart enough to realise that the Mouyaui were not what they seemed, that there was likely a good reason that the other species feared them, but for whatever reason they seemed to really like Earth, and in this cold, heartless universe it was nice to have a friend. | Beyond Andromeda, an entity approaches.
It devours the electromagnetic radiation for hundreds of parsecs around. At superluminal speeds it approaches the intergalactic hub at Triangulum. On all observation devices it appears as a spherical void—a beyond-supermassive black hole.
The Vanarr spied it first. They thought it might be a galactic dominator in possession of a weaponized cataclysm. They sent in a multi-capable hit squad. It comprised a time-shifting Elunar dreamer, a Grannick of the strong tradition, three dismantlers from the Aerin Hive, and a quark-preserving vapor cloud from deep space. The team approached the entity in a cutting-edge vessel outfitted with the latest anti-matter bombardment emplacements and sub-molecular vibration shielding. If the dominator proved to be in the vein of any one of the galactic near-conquerors in the history of the universe, it would soon find itself out of time, out of matter, and out of mind.
The team entered the sphere. It drank up their radiation, rendering them incommunicado. Some minutes later, a single burst of gamma radiation escaped the sphere. That was the last the Vanarr heard of their hit squad. They concluded that the entity was far more powerful than any dominator, likely an Elder God, and they immediately contacted the Universal Protection Agency, which immediately activated the big red alarm in my bedroom, even though they know as well as I do that me sleeping for another few hours won't make a single difference to the universe. And this is something I've talked to them about before, mind you, but do they listen? No, of course not. Why would they listen to a weak, fragile, untalented, dumb human like me? Sure, I can save all their lives, but why should that matter? So, wake up to a loud alarm, Steve. Put on your flight suit, Steve. Skip breakfast and go get briefed, Steve. Sit in a chair that was designed by an alien who has never seen a human spine, Steve.
Last of all, they want me to salute them, thank them for the job, thank them for allowing my pitiful species to go on living, then hurry off to save the universe, all for no pay, no congratulations, and no chance of bettering my lot in life. It's enough to make a guy want to welcome an Elder God into the universe and end the whole scummy show. Why should I care if the human race dies along with the aliens? There's only a few thousand of us left at this point anyway. We'd be on the endangered species list if the aliens even cared enough to maintain one.
But so here I am again, strapped into my ship, flying through space, destined to confront another Elder God, and inviting the sucker in is starting to sound like a great idea. In fact it's such a great idea, and I'm finding it so funny, that I figure I have to share it with my buddy Rick. I call him up on the ol' instantaneous communicator, the ansible. "I'm thinking of ending the universe," I tell him.
"Most of us call that getting drunk," Rick says. There's the sound of voices chatting near him and some light music playing. I figure he must be in the teacher's lounge.
"No, I mean it. They've shipped me off to another Elder God, and I'm wondering why I shouldn't give the ruddy great thing the keys to the kingdom, so to speak."
"Man, I'm on break. Don't make me talk you down again."
"This time it's different. I really think I'm gonna do it. It's not like it'll be hard. I'll chat up the big guy, get all friendly like, but then instead of asking it to go away, I'll tell it how tasty the light is at the center of Triangulum."
Rick sighs. "Ok, let's do this again. You shouldn't do that because it'll mean the end of humanity. The aliens will know the end is coming, and they'll kill us as punishment."
"Well, but what if you got everyone together, hopped on a ship, and vamoosed?"
"You're being dumb. Half the aliens in the solar system can fly unprotected through space. The other half can shoot lasers out their eyes or some other exotic bullshit. We're the squishy kid on the playground and we need to be happy that the cool kids keep us around."
"But this sucks! I hate my life, man."
"And we thank you for your service." Rick says something to someone else, then comes back on. "I've got to get to class. I'm sorry if I'm not coming across supportive of your plan to end the universe, but I like living. Everyone does. Please let us keep doing that."
I slap the Call End button. I won't lie, I'm feeling a little pissy after that. But Rick does have a point. Just because my life is a dumb grind doesn't mean everybody's is. Only a few humans can handle the Elder Gods, and the rest of the humanity is happy to let us be their meal ticket.
Ok, back to the drawing board. I'm not gonna invite the Elder God to kill us all. But, you know what, I'm not gonna send it packing, either. There's gotta be something I can do to tease out a better life for myself. I'm sure I can figure it out, and I'll do just that, right after I get some shut-eye. I'm three hours short of sleep and still ten away from the entity. Maybe I'll dream of being a powerful alien, one who doesn't have to worry about pissing any greater alien species off and can simply go about the business of pursuing happiness. That would be nice.
*****
*author's note: sorry, it's late. i have to sleep.* | 2021-04-08T00:34:55 | 2021-04-07T20:53:57 | 206 | 64 |
[WP] All your life, your best friend has had your back. This is why their unexpected death hits you so hard. Two days before the funeral, you receive a couriered letter. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.” | He was still looking after me even the day before he died. I still remember the worried look on his pale, too-thin face as he glanced at my ringing phone, “potential spam” glowing on the screen. “Don’t answer it Harry, no good will come of it if you do.” I didn’t answer it. I knew from our long friendship that Tom’s words were to be listened to.
It’s odd that this trivial scene, which had repeated itself many times throughout the years, popped back into my mind so vividly as I read Tom’s final words to me. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.” What could this mean? Why could he possibly want me to miss his funeral? He had even had me help plan it with him in his last days. My mind wavered between my faith in Tom’s advice and my desire to see him one last time—even if it was in a casket just before burial. Eventually, foolishly, my own selfishness won. “Tom was so ill” I reasoned to myself. “Surely this is just some of his paranoia brought on by death. I can’t miss his funeral anyway, I’m the one planning it after all!” Looking back at it now, I curse myself for being so blind. Ignoring the signs, the fear in Tom’s eyes in those moments where he warned me—saying what he could in order to keep me safe, keep me under their radar.
I went to the funeral. It was nice, as funerals go. Some people brought cake, little trays of sandwiches, and casseroles. Others brought enough flowers to fill the room to bursting. One especially decent mourner brought a case of whisky. Despite the words of comfort, the greasy food, and the booze, I felt a strange foreboding washing over me. As the day wore on, I became more and more restless. Somehow, despite being in the midst of a crowd, I felt alone—alone and watched. It was hard to sit still through the service, and I was glad for the drive to the graveyard which helped to sooth my nerves somewhat. At the gravesite my neck prickled more and more. Like an idiot I chalked it up to grief and the whisky. I should have known then. Known what my animal instincts were trying to tell me. Known what was in store for me.
As I walked away from the grave that contained my best friend my phone rang in my pocket. I frowned, sure that I had silenced it earlier, and fished it out, “potential spam” again glowing on the screen. To this day I don’t know what possessed me, but I answered it. Oh God save me, I answered it. A voice spoke. A voice at once familiar and that of a stranger, saying words that froze me to my core. They knew. They had found me. And they would never, never give up the hunt now. The voice purred on the other end.
“Hello Harry, we’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty” | Jessie Chamberlin had a lot of practice mourning. At seven years old her parents and siblings had all been killed in a house fire and though she had little memory of the event, she'd managed to escape and was found outside by the fire fighters. Five years later and having been adopted by them, her Aunt and Uncle were murdered in a bungled home invasion while she was out with the girl scouts selling cookies, and she came home again to sirens and death and was alone again. Now it was Clem who'd died - goofy, loving, kind, Clem, her best friend in the world, and Jessie wasn't sure she could take any more. She was 15, alone, terrified and now knew she was a curse.
But she didn't know what to make of the letter. Clem had been killed in a hit and run outside school the week before - a pure accident the police had said. The car had been found and in what appeared to be a final act of tragic remorse the driver had killed himself with a shotgun to the face. Closed case. Tragic for the family to have to live with all that, people said. The policeman Jessie spoke with seemed bored with it, almost disappointed there wasn’t more to it. Then two days before his funeral she gets the letter – registered post from a New York Attorney – and it’s from Clem.
“Goober – If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you. Run until you find the truth. I miss you more than you miss me. Your ever-loving goober, Clem x”
Why would a 15-year-old high schooler have a letter ready to go if he died? Who were ‘They’? What was the truth? It was definitely Clem’s writing and the real give away was the line about missing each other – they said it before vacations and at the start of the school day and even if one of them needed to pop to the bathroom.
When Jessie had been sent to the orphanage Clem was the first smiling face she’d seen in weeks – with her story everyone around her was dour – she knew they were trying to respect her mourning – but she found the adults attitude and low mumbled conversations oppressive. Like any sane 12 year old who’d run out of family, she wasn’t looking forward to being in an orphanage – she’d seen enough movies to know your chances of being beat were much greater than your chances of getting adopted. But after weeks of seeing nothing but grey, drab institutional offices, watching Clem try and extricate himself from the swing set in the houses grounds while laughing hysterically at himself was the best thing Jessie had seen in weeks. Her eyes crinkled and she squealed with a laugh that startled officials quietly deciding her immediate future as if she weren’t also standing there. She ran from the office and outside and helped him remove his short pants from the strictures of the chains, and her first, epic friendship was born. Clem and Jessie, Jessie and Clem, the kids from the orphanage who were each other’s mum, dad and siblings all rolled into one, and who missed each other even for bathroom breaks.
Was this some last joke of Clem to get her to miss his funeral – something he knew she would never do. No. Clem was light-hearted and a joy to be with, but he was always so self-aware, and he sure cared for her the way she cared for him. If Clem said run, she was going to run. But after the funeral. And that proved to be a big mistake. | 2021-04-24T20:11:54 | 2021-04-24T20:09:51 | 50 | 30 |
[WP] You're a ghost haunting a nice mansion. You're pretty shocked when, one day, the crew of a ghost hunters show show up. Your shock quickly changes to anger when you find out they are frauds. You decide to give them 'the show they never wanted'. | I've never been much of a bother, to be perfectly honest. Mostly I keep to the attic, keep quiet, read books in the library. I even do the occasional beneficial deed for the current occupants of my esteemed mansion. Why, their sometimes less than perfect attempts at maintenance would have ruined the mansion if I didn't go through the walls and took care of the mould and rats that they miss. But other than that, I am only rarely roused from my silent and ghostly walks. They have their lives, I enjoy my unlife. Simple arrangement really. Of course there are times, when I feel it is only right as a proper gentleman, and decent, formerly, human fellow, to make my point of view be known to the occupants.
For instance, when the so-called master of the house was threatening to throw out his daughter to the streets, well, suffice to say I got a tad bit angry, and visited his room with all the hauntings, hellfire, and rage which can be found in a man who has passed beyond this mortal coil. I found it quite improper that such a lovely young lady, who maybe did make a very slight mistake in her choice of lover, should be faced with expulsion from her family. We've all been young, and her beau was a good man after all, maybe not on her social level, but a good man. If he had survived that Ardennes Counteroffensive, I am sure that he could have charmed even the poor girl's fool of a father into accepting him. But he fell to German bullets, and they were never married. She'd been a good child, polite, friendly, and sometimes she would even see me, and speak to me with such a lack of fear. I told him this, and showed him a small facsimile of the hell that awaited him. That persuaded him to be more accommodating of the daughter and unborn grandson. Such a loving woman, and such a gentle boy. Grand days, truly, when the house is occupied by decent people.
And of course there was also that dreadful business in the 80s, with those hooligans who broke in, thinking to perform a pitiful excuse for black magic. Amateur hour. They spilled out animal blood on the expensive Persian carpets, the louts. Couldn't have that sort of nonsense in a good house. So I dealt with it. Changed up my ectoplasmic shape by shifting the nature of my metamorphorical field, seeming to be quite the devil, and of course proceeded to act as a true demon. It truly scared those uncouth young gentlemen quite straight if I am any judge. Luckily the young master and his mother were on holiday to Greece for the young master's marriage. Got it all cleaned up by the time they got home. But those have been slights against the sanctity of good humanity, or upon my mansion, the house I paid for, lived in, and died in.
This is another matter entirely. Ghost hunters. Charlatans in truth. Were for a moment rather worried that they'd be some of the few real ones. All manner of ghosts fear those hard fellows. They're self-righteous and difficult to get rid of. Had to persuade a rather determined one that I wasn't any harm back in 91'. Damn near sent me to Hell, the insolent fool. I still worry how many innocent souls such as him have sent to damnation, instead of solving their last problem and giving them peace. But these, filthy colonials I dare say. And I do mean filthy, why the words coming from their mouths, their dirty boots tracking mud onto the mahogany floor, their general lack of decency. It is most unbecoming of any good man to act with such foul manners.
And they bring in cameras, as if disturbing a gentleman of good manners and breeding is a show. The audacity is almost palpable. Their words betray their misunderstanding, and yet the final insult comes when they begin to besmirch my good name and honour. ''*So Billy, what's the deal with uh, the ghost of uh, Highwood Manor, uh Mansion?*'' The sleaziest person I've ever seen since that debacle with those Crowleyan outcasts in 1911, their leader, answers with the most unbecoming grin. Like a viper smiling. ''*Well, Bobby, and the viewers at home. We're here at Highwood Mansion, in good old England. Seems like a lovely place, right? All queen Victoria and shit? Right? Well, you're dead wrong. This is a mansion haunted by the ghost of its maker, who was some kind of evil druid guy. Murdered local people and had their blood desecrate the foundations. This place is mad seeped in evil. Been all manner of murders here, miscarriages, night-screams, blood everywhere, the whole shebang!*'' Such foul lies. Nobody was sacrificed to demons here when I built the place. The only murder that ever happened here was a request from a man in such great pain that his life was no longer worth living. And me? Some sort of... pagan priest? Preposterous. Worst I ever did after my death was scare a foolish but brave servant girl who was about to steal from her majesty, Queen Victoria, when she was visiting with Prince Albert. ''*See, the man who built this place, built it atop a gateway to Hell itself. Supposedly, Aleister Crowley, the dark wizard, the gawddang antichrist hisself, spent 666 hours in this house, to learn the craft of black magic from the devil himself. Now I ain't no cowardly fuck, but my fuckin' hands are shakin'!*''
I don't think I've ever seen such a detestable person before or after my death. Besides, Crowley only visited once as a child, and while he was a somewhat bothersome lad, he never even tried to summon anything. Only painted a rather unbecoming moustache on a painting of Queen Elizabeth I. It is clear, from the unpleasant grins of the men holding the cameras, that they do not believe a word of it. They're conmen, charlatans. The sort of men who we wouldn't send to Australia, but let dangle at Tyburn. Men who'd sell their souls cheaply, and would not care about which demon had bought it. I understand what this is. The current owner, while sweet and gentle, is, in my opinion, slightly addled. He sees fairies and ghosts in nothingness, while the true fey laugh behind his back, and he tries to make me or other ghosts appear by babbling at a crystal ball. Not a bad soul, but naïve. Trusting. Like a rabbit who does not stir himself as the fox walks nonchalantly towards him.
And as this motley crew of liars and oathbreakers continue their damnable lies about the grisly murders that never happened here, and the pale ladies, who to my great distress do not haunt my lovely mansion. After all, a fellow does get lonely in the centuries after death. These liars and tricksters would claim anything happened that the dear current occupant would want to hear happened. And they'd sell their lies on this intangible web which I've heard so much about. It is an insult, to see a house so demeaned, and to myself as well. Painting me as a Bluebeard, a Warlock, and a traitor too. Such an insult from such lowlifes. Truly, rare are my outbursts, but now, indeed now, I am roused to anger. If they came here looking for ghosts and thinking themselves cunning with their trickery, let us see how a true haunting shall affect them. Tonight, they shall have the show, that they never wanted, and never knew was coming. | He watched them trundle through the front door, lugging their cameras, microphones, and wiring over their shoulders like pilgrims carrying all their worldly possessions to a new land. There hadn't been a prospective buyer of his mansion for over a hundred and twenty years. Sure, there were sightseers and cultists who came through every now and then, but he was able to satisfy their morbid curiosity with a few fey lights. Mostly, his was a solitary existence. Lonely and haunted and solitary. However, these fellows didn't seem like they were going to go away quickly.
Floating through a couple of decrepit walls confirmed Charles' suspicion. His sunken eyes could see the crew setting up their equipment in the mansion's foyer like they owned the place. Charles may have been a ghost, but he had a tangible deed to prove his ownership of Blithe manor.
"We'll start filming in about an hour," a young woman was telling the group of people. She was wearing a shirt that said "Hunters of the Haunted" in ghostly letters.
"We need at least two hours to get ready," someone protested. He was wearing the same shirt as the woman and an indignant expression.
She stamped her foot impatiently. "This is your third season with the show and you need *two* hours to set up?"
He flushed angrily. "It's the season finale Delores! We need twice the amount of scares for our audience!"
Their spat rang loudly throughout the foyer, but Charles was already floating away, deep in thought. Some sort of "reality" TV show was making an episode on Blithe Manor; that much was clear. They were doing it with blatant disregard for the sacredness of this mansion, it being Charles' final resting place. That was also clear. But what irked him the most was that they weren't even going to try and contact him. It was all staged. A hoax.
"Set up the knocker right on that creepy lookin' door, Daniel... Yup, that's the ticket. Alright, radio to control. Have 'em test it."
Daniel said something into his clip-on radio, and soon after the apparatus they had attached to the door began to rhythmically pound on the moldy wood, like the hand of the dead was pleading for release.
"Sufficiently ghostly, I'd say," Daniel told his friend with a smile.
That had been his mother's bedroom. Delirious with rage, Charles decided that it was about time this show had some *real* paranormal activity. Scheming viciously in his head, he almost didn't hear the soft voice as he whizzed through the mansion's corridors.
"Charles? Charles Blithe?"
A small, timid man walked through the darkened halls. His countenance was self-reproachful, like he couldn't believe that he was whispering to ghosts in an abandoned mansion, but also serenely confident that he was on no fools-errand. Charles thought he looked remarkably like a man he had once known. A low-born weasel, the last man he had ever saw with living eyes, standing over him with a moon glinted knife...
"What are you doing out here Ken?" The argumentative woman from the foyer was striding through the halls with an electric lamp, looking surly. "We're about to start filming, and we can't have our cast run into you during their little exploration of this place."
"Of course Delores. I was just making sure everything was set up."
Delores strode away without another word, and before he followed her, Ken looked around one last time. His mortal eyes wandered right through Charles' ethereal corpse, but the ghost decided not to reveal himself to Ken, so the man saw nothing but musky darkness. Disappointed, he ran after Delores.
Within a few hours, Charles had forgotten about that strange encounter. He was too busy holding back ghostly giggles while hiding behind his late mother's door. The cast of "Hunters of the Haunted" were tramping down the hallway now. They expected to go running at the sound of the mechanical knocker, but Charles had something far more entertaining in store for them. Ratings would go through the roof on whatever channel carried this pathetic show, although he doubted the cast and crew would be thinking about that as they ran in terror.
"Kylie, our guide today, has said that Penelope Blithe's spirit lingers in her bedroom. We've come to see for ourselves."
Following Kylie and the three other cast members of the show was the cameraman, who purposefully shook his professional camera to make the video footage seem more authentic. Charles watched the mechanical knocker, and when the show producers pressed the button that pulled the mechanism back, putting it in position to give the cast a "ghostly scare," he stopped the device with a touch of his frigid hand.
"Did you hear that?" Kylie said uncertainty outside the door. Her scripted line worked better when there was actually a knock.
Then, after letting the silence and tension build, Charles set off all the clocks in the house at once. It was a cacophony of chimes and bells and gongs, freezing the cast of the show in terror. Charles was pleased to see the first genuine reaction in the show's history did not disappoint. Then, without warning, he stopped all the sounds at once. This seemed to horrify the cast and crew even more.
"Blood," Charles whispered, sending the wispy word to permeate through the mansion. It was quiet, but everybody there heard it. Then, he slowly opened his mother's old door. This finally did it for the cast, and they bolted out of there. He laughed, and decided to let that sound carry throughout the mansion too. It was a nice parting gift.
Amused, Charles floated through a few walls and watched the crew grab their equipment and sprint out of the mansion. In their haste, they dashed a few of their lenses on the floor and skewered some of their microphones. This made Charles laugh even more.
Then, in a flash, they were all gone and driving madly away. Charles watched them through the window, wishing suddenly that he could leave this mansion and follow them. The laughter faded quickly, and all he was left with was an empty house. An empty prison. Back to his lonely existence.
"Charles Blithe! I know you're here now! Don't hide from me!"
It was Ken. He had stayed behind. This mortal had seen supernatural power up close and decided to risk coming alone to face it. Charles decided that he wouldn't hide himself any longer.
"What do you want?" the ghost said, materializing in front of Ken.
Through furious shivering, both from fright and Charles' cold aura, Ken said, "I'm here to help you."
"What could you possibly offer that would help me?" Charles asked bitterly.
"Liberation."
Charles said nothing.
Ken explained, "I found out recently, while trying to learn about my ancestors, that a man in my mother's line had been an evil man. He killed many people, including you. They didn't discover his crime for years, but nobody came to bury you when it all came to light. I'm so sorry Charles. That's why I'm here to say. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve to go like that."
The ghost's face softened. "I thank you for saying that. Though I don't think I can forgive your ancestor, I can tell you that I do not hold you accountable in any way. But you promised liberation, which is impossible. I'm forever tethered to this cursed house."
"That's not true," Ken said, brightening. "Tell me where I can find the body. I will give you a proper burial."
Realization hit Charles. "You want to put me to rest?" he asked quietly, unbelievingly.
"Yes. The crew of that show only comes to defile, but I'm here to restore."
He smiled at Ken so brilliantly that the mortal was almost blinded. For the first time in hundreds of years, Charles was going to be at peace. | 2021-06-07T11:48:16 | 2021-06-07T11:32:45 | 113 | 37 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | Ugh. School. Erin had dreaded going there for a while now. But now that she was six and a few months, there was no way around it. Her parents had kept her out of pre-school after one disasterous attempt at age four, but now they'd told her she'd just have to deal with it.
Worthless middle class vermin, blind to reality. You'd think a twice-reincarnated man would be somewhat good at his job, but no, mediocrity ruled her parents through and through. Ugh.
At least it had made her life easy. Especially the first few months after being born.
Reincarnation wasn't easy. A baby's brain wasn't equipped to deal with the memories and experiences hopping over, so reincarnated babies were usually very fussy, very loud, and constantly hangry even when they weren't. Keeping all those feelings from affecting her new life had been challenging, made worse by ten years in near-solitary confinement as a 'dangerous prisoner'.
But it had worked out. After six months, the naive parents and the doctors had been convinced she was just a normal baby. A new soul, or whatever they called it these days. Just like she had been in her previous life.
Honestly, it felt unreal that she'd been able to do as much as she had without the advantage of reincarnation. This time, she wasn't going to fail, and if that meant she'd have to kill even more people to do it or finally start that nuclear war... So be it.
But first... There was something else to deal with. For the first time in five decades, she'd be entering school. A school for the newly born, just like last time. She wondered how much had changed.
Erin touched the three objects hanging on the zipper of her backpack: a small crescent moon, a larger cartoon sun, and largest of them all - though still only an inch and a half or so across - a red planet. It hadn't been hard to fake enthusiasm for the galaxy by age four, leading to a 'big girl' room and lots of toys to go with it. Oh, how little did the fools know of the pact made two decades ago.
The bus was here, and she got on, getting a seat in the middle-back that was empty, preparing to zone out and succeeding until two stops later, when some loud and older boys got on. Thankfully, they went all the way to the back, but a smaller boy followed them, walking unevenly: there was a cast on one arm and his other was holding a backpack.
And he sat down next to her. "Hi!" he said, way too chipper for the hour, but then the bus accelerated, and he hadn't been sitting properly, so he bent forward and barely missed hitting his head and arm on the chair in front. "Ooow..."
Erin pulled him back with all of her non-existent strength. "You okay?" she asked, because that was what little girls did. "What happened to your... arm?"
Three stickers adorned the cast. Full moon. Sun. Earth.
It *had* to be. It couldn't not be. She put her backpack on her lap, turning it so her keychains were visible. And then she waited. And waited.
The boy leant in. "Boss?" he whispered, soft enough you could mistake it for something else.
But it wasn't. | “You’re telling me that nobody considered this possibility?” Naseen asked as she refilled her coffee mug from a thermos. Her mug remained half-empty, even with all the dregs that had hitched a ride. “And for the love of Buddha, will someone get me some more coffee? I am bloody close to flouting my own rule and plugging my coffee machine back in, even if it does drain the battery backup.”
Paul looked concerned as he ran a hand over his smooth scalp. “You’re joking, right boss?”
“Of course I’m joking, you idiot.” Naseen had tolerated Paul’s cosseting for almost three years, but he was not taking the loss of power to the Coriolo Penal Facility well. Not that anybody was, to be fair. The life-sentence facility was home to about 114,000 inmates, all of whom were attached to life-support designed to maintain brain activity long after the rest of the body had ceased to function. The facility had been controversial from inception and yet support from Global Assembly had remained unwavering. Naseen drained her mug, grounds and all, and placed it gently back on her well-worn bamboo desk. She looked at the readout on her tablet, careful not to stab her way through the report. It was important that she maintain a façade of calm even if she was terrified. The prognosis was grim.
“The batteries have less than an hour of charge left. Janine, any word from the utility companies about how long it will take them to get new generators on site?” Trusty Janine, a warden could not ask for a better facility manager.
“I have good news on that front, Ma’am. The military has two gennies en-route via helicopter, they should be here within the next 15 minutes. The plan is to lower them directly on site.”
“Sterling, absolutely sterling.” Then Naseen realized that Janine had not finished. “Although I sense there’s a ‘but’ to follow?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The gray-haired manager glanced at the table although there was nothing in front of her. She looked back up at Naseen, her eyes glistening. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but there is a complication. The explosion that took out the generators appears to have wrought more damage to our grid than we initially understood. It will take several hours to safely connect the cabling to the facility.”
“And let’s say we can agree that the simultaneous deaths of over 100,000 of the most violent criminals to have cursed this planet means that, perhaps, we can forgo doing it safely?” Damn it, it wasn’t Janine’s fault.
“It will still require at least a couple of hours, Ma’am.”
“Bugger. Bugger!” The façade was slipping, but Naseen decided her mental energy could be better spent elsewhere. “Fine. All three connections to the grid have been destroyed as have both backup stations. The attack succeeded, but it’s not our duty to worry about that. We are tasked with keeping people safe, from delaying the reincarnation of the world’s worst. Paul, I hereby authorize that the institution power-down all inmates categorized as Bravo or lower. That should buy enough time to keep the Alphas alive.”
“That’s…that’s over three quarters of the inmate population,” Paul stammered.
“I bloody well know that, Paul. Get a grip for Buddha’s sake! Figure out what I have to sign so that Janine can show me whatever switch I have to flip. We have to accept that we can not save everyone, Paul. Focus on the Second Noble Truth. From here on out, our new role is the health and well-being of the absolute worst of the worst.” | 2021-10-08T10:45:29 | 2021-10-08T09:47:37 | 52 | 19 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | Despite the inherent supernaturality of reincarnation, not everyone believed that souls exist. Various theories have been posited, scientific, supernatural or otherwise, as to why reincarnation was what it was.
But the soul existed.
I was sure of it.
"In the latest in a string of serial killings, another body was found last night at..."
My buddy, Jonathan, glanced at the television at the corner of the café. "Man, another one, huh? The police really need to get their act together."
"Tell me about it," I replied, lazily sipping my coffee, mind wandering.
Psychopaths were only crazy because of defects in their brain chemistry. An inability to feel empathy or compassion. A thirst for murder. Things that, by and large, were fixed when reincarnating into someone with a healthy brain. Even the most mentally deranged killers tended not to relapse when they reincarnated into a life that knew joy and compassion, love and friendship.
There was nothing wrong with my brain. I was sure of it.
"Y'know," Jonathan said, leaning in closer to me, "I heard a crazy rumour that there are some people who commit crime after crime, even after reincarnating. And you know what the police do? They put them on some kinda life support and lock 'em up so they can't die and come back again."
"You got your head in the clouds, dude."
"But the Landfall Killings and the killings 40 years after that were - "
" - Copycat killings," I finished. "Jon, you really gotta stop believing everything you read on the internet."
My brain was fine. I was sure of it, knew it for a fact. I lived a happy life and had a bright career before me. I've had a healthy upbringing, loving parents - whose love I return - and dearly valued friends.
So why, then, did murder delight me so much?
Last night's incident was my handiwork. An eerie similarity to my past life, the one before that, and the one before still, as far back as I could remember. When I had killed my first victim, I was really, truly, sincerely hoping that my brain was damaged, that I was a psychopath, that when I reincarnated into my next life, I would be normal. But when my knife pierced their neck, when I saw the life drain out of their eyes -
I was sure of it.
Of the rumours. Of my brain. What I experienced was nothing like the thrill of riding a rollercoaster, the joy of receiving a gift, the relief of getting a passing mark on a test, the satisfaction of a good night's sleep, or the excitement of playing video games. It was more. Something raw and visceral, fulfilling a primal urge I didn't know I had, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, washing over my very existence.
Where would this feeling come from, if not for the soul? Why would I experience this life after life, if not for the soul?
And the police *knew*. They knew what separated people like me from ordinary murderers.
Jon started speaking again, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah," He grumbled. "Mr I'm-smarter-than-you-because-I-joined-the-special-unit."
"Well, someone's gotta do the police's job for them." I finished the rest of my coffee.
The police's special unit. It had been tough work, but they had accepted my application. It was there I could find the how's and why's of the soul. The knowledge that I needed. That I could use to protect myself.
I was sure of it. | “Well what if their consciousness never died?”
That was the idea at least. Maybe there was someway to… save their memories. Extract them. To remove their consciousness from the physical and upload it to the technological. It had been done in sci-fi. Could it be done for real?
We had no knowledge of how the soul worked in this world. Well, very little. What we did know is that they were recycled. Once a person died, their soul would leave their body and reincarnate in a newborn.
I had lived many lifetimes in this… this… world and finally I might have made a working solution. I punched the air as the machines around me buzzed and whirred. I simply needed… a test subject.
The clouds covered the moon. A man walked down the pavement. The sound of a tin can bouncing echoed across encroaching buildings as the man kicked it with his feet. The road went silent again as I held a cloth across his face. Holding him until he went to sleep. Perfect.
I rushed back to my laboratory and strapped him down to a chair. His screeches pierced the air as I inserted the necessary implements through his cranium. The room flashed a deep red as the power diverted from the brighter overheads to small back up LEDs. The shadows danced as I flicked a switch. Lightning crackled down the wires casting bright flashes of blue and yellow intermittently as the subjects screams faded away. Beautiful.
The solution was slightly inelegant and improvements could be made, however it seemed to be working. I watched a small screen. The world I created, the fake bodies, the fake world I had made. And watched as a child was born. This man, reborn in a new world and he’d never know it. Now his new home for the rest of eternity.
Slowly the old algorithms would be phased out. Replaced by these new ones the complexities of the the human mind. Better ones. Ones that couldn’t properly be imitated. Eventually everyone would end up here. Time wearies all souls. No man can remain good forever.
I had to act quickly. While, at the moment, nothing would seem wrong. The other algorithms weren’t built to learn. I would have to provide more souls. More minds. I realised that I had no conclusive evidence as to whether memories were stored upon upload. Whether you actually retained your past lives knowledge. But I had no way of testing it. It didn’t matter now. The process was too far through. I’d lost track of how many men, women and children I’d heard screaming throughout my lifetimes. 100s, 1000s. Some good, some evil. I didn’t know anymore. All that mattered was they wouldn’t come back to life here anymore.
I worked at it slowly over the next few decades. But one can’t hide a trail forever. I hid the main servers. Somewhere hopefully they would never be found and uploaded victims from remote uplinks. Random without care. This world needed a population. Eventually however, the police caught on. I took my own life before they could find me.
I escaped them for multiple lifetimes but the net was closing in. I couldn’t risk all my work falling into the wrong hands. The system was sustainable. The minds were being recycled, each new generation the algorithms grew. Bigger, deeper. I had made connections in my world, they would maintain project Afterlife, as I had since named it. But it was my time now too. To finally go to the Afterlife, a place they wouldn’t ever find me. I wish this day didn’t ha s to come. But I guess I had to atone for my sins. So I did. I went to the Afterlife.
—————————
70 years later…
I lived in a world where incarnation was possible. I had witnessed it, heard of it. Criminals being captured for life and then simply returning to cause more havoc the next. It was unsustainable. Their consciousness dying and being reborn. It was endless I thought. Until one day I realised…
“Well what if their consciousness never died?” | 2021-10-08T09:12:44 | 2021-10-08T08:51:29 | 42 | 25 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should. | I don't know how it started, or why I was chosen. I always called them glitches in the Matrix - you know, after the movie - when it happens.
The first time, I was young. I saw my death. I don't mean that in a gruesome way - I was just a kid, chasing a ball out into the street, and a car hit me. It was over quickly, surrounded by my crying parents and the neighbors, the driver horrified at what they had done.
But it stopped me from chasing the ball, and true to the premonition - at least, most of it, as I clearly wasn't in the right spot - the ball went under the car. They didn't stop. No one was crying. I wasn't hurt.
But I remembered.
I don't know how to control it, but I always listen to it. As I grew up, it got more frequent - it started to become events that weren't directly related to me, but always had ripples. Sometimes it took me a while to catch up to those ripples, but I always did eventually. For instance, when I was 18, I saw one of those bike delivery boys get clipped by a car on a curb. Car didn't stop, delivery boy was harmed, I think comatose. I didn't know the kid - he didn't look like anyone important, at all. Just a delivery driver.
I stopped him. I had learned, you know - always listen to the glitches. So I dropped my bag in front of him, and he stopped on his bike to help me, just as the car hit the curb, seconds from where he should have been. He didn't even notice.
I did.
That was years ago. I barely remember some of the glitches, but that one I do - I hadn't caught up to the ripples yet. It always comes back to me, like I'm the center of this universe, and I hate loose ends.
I'm dying, you see.
Right now, I'm in the hospital. I have cancer - some rare, incurable type - and I don't have long to live. My therapist is here, which I thought was nice of her - she knows I don't have family anymore, and well, she isn't supposed to drive to meet clients, but she does for me.
She knows about the glitches, and she thinks it's all in my head. I can't control it, so I can't really prove it, so I guess, in a way, it is. I try to show her things, but I mean, I've changed what was supposed to happen - what she sees is the truth as result to my actions. She thinks I have a hero complex, or a God complex, or something. I don't know. I know she's wrong, so I try to ignore it, but I like talking to her.
We're talking about how I feel about dying, which is, I don't want to. She's asked if I saw this coming - referring to my ability she doesn't believe in - but I didn't, and I tell her that. She asks if I have regrets, and I mention the boy - how I didn't find the ripples yet. I don't know why I saved him. I want to know. I hate leaving things unfinished. I don't really mind dying beyond that.
A doctor comes in. It's normally bad news, so I tend to tune them out. This treatment might help or this thing might lessen the pain. It never does. Can we make you more comfortable? Blah, blah, blah.
I'm trying to be nice, so I don't voice how tired I am of the new treatments. Maybe God or whoever will have pity on me. Maybe He'll explain why I was given this ability. Maybe the cancer and my ability are connected. I don't really know, but I would give it up if I get to live beyond 40.
The doctor hasn't said anything, and finally, I turn to look. His back is to me; he has one of those little carts with his laptop and things on it that he's pulling through the door. That's unusual. I've already signed all the documents.
He turns, and it's instant, electrified. He recognizes me - I recognize him. My therapist is on alert, because she's good at reading body language, like a therapist should be, and she knows \*something\* just occurred.
"That's him," I tell her. I see the understanding dawn on her face. She's never seen the ripples in action. Emotions tumble across her features - surprise, fear, disbelief - gone within seconds, finally settling on professionally \*neutral.\* She thinks I'm playing a joke. I'm all out of jokes.
He clears his throat. "I don't think you remember me," he starts, and I immediately want to challenge that: of course I remember you, I saved your life, you fool. "You saved my life when I was a teenager. Well, I'm a few years late, but I think it's time to repay the favor."
It doesn't make sense what he's saying. My cancer is incurable. Everyone has told me that. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. My therapist clears her throat, but the doctor rushes in to explain, cutting her off.
"I developed a cure, and I think you're a candidate for it. The first, even."
Ripples. | Do you know those movie scenes where everything slows down? You get the character's heart pounding as the music quiets?
For me, it's the sound of a clock. Ticking the minutes away.
Also, I don't watch movies anymore. At least not with anyone else - seeing their reactions before they do sorta ruins the experience. Books at least have the courtesy to be a solo viewing experience.
For that reason, I actually quite like the party I'm at - five minutes ahead and it's exactly the same. Many would find that boring - I find comfort in the constancy.
Oh god, here comes someone to talk to me. The only reason they'd do that is because they don't know who I am, despite my boss's best efforts.
"Malcom here's one of our best. Team lead at twenty two."
I am a software engineer at a party of executives. I'm not just a wallflower, I am firmly buried in the penthouse plaster and lathe. The best most people get out of me are polite greeting as the occasional mild witticisms.
This time, however, it's a little girl, dressed to the nines and probably exceptionally disinterested in being here.
"Hey little miss," I say, crouching down, already knowing how the conversation is going to go.
She looks up at me, not entirely sure what to say. She probably came over just to escape the existential boredom of a couch filled with people talking about stocks. I see here taking a glass of juice and as luck would have it, there's a small glass right next to me, and the fridge right behind.
"Want some juice?"
She is surprised, but nods.
As my fingers drift over the various containers, I see the shadows of her shaking her head. Finally, it stops on the crimson vial of cranberry juice, exactly the color of the glass in her hands. I pour it, and hand it to her.
She sips at it and looks up at me as I close the fridge. I'm already preparing a tacky reply about a lucky guess to her impending inquiry.
"How do you know my favourite?" she says.
And just like that the future is swept away and replaced like a set of bowling pins as I make another choice. I crouch down once more and drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I can see the future."
Her present and future giggles overlap with each other.
"Just five minutes, though," I say, "for instance, that man, over there."
I point to my boss.
"He's going to turn around and wave to us, the move to the couches."
The girl watches wide-eyed as my boss does exactly that.
"What am I going to do?" she says as she takes another sip of the juice, both hands holding the glass.
"I can't tell you, because that could change it. Wouldn't be fair to me, right?"
I don't need to see the future to see the pouting that's about to take place.
"Fine, fine. In about five minutes you'll be..." I begin.
Then I freeze.
I see her in five minutes. Or rather, the bloody mess that's left of her. The whole penthouse is painted red, three dark figures standing in the sea of gore.
"I'll be what?"
"You'll be..."
My mouth is impossibly dry.
"You'll be... talking with your mother. She'll be asking you if you enjoy the party."
The future now shifts again.
Still, all I see is blood.
She trots off, presumably looking to either disprove, or inadvertently prove my abilities.
Where, where did they come from?
The door, twenty paces from me. Gunfire. Blood.
I begin shuffling through drawers as inconspicuously as possible. Butter knives, stakes knives, and finally, a small pairing knife. It'll have to do. They, whoever they are, must be coming up the elevator by now. The future is a flickering blur of shadow and colours as I move toward the main door, knife pressed to my side.
Three, in quick succession. They'll burst through the doors. Then the shooting starts.
I'm waiting by the light switch. The room goes light and dark as I decide what might be more advantageous. The sound of footsteps in the hall echo from the future into the present. Then the sound of shattering wood.
I place my hand onto the light switch, and a moment before the door is kicked off its hinges, the lights flicker off and I move into the corner.
The trio push in, purposefully, dressed in all black, faces obscured behind simple, hard masks. Then they falter for a single moment, seeing the blackened room.
Then I drive my knife into the last one's neck.
I have half a second to correct my grip and pull out in order not to get stuck. The future slots into place, as I manage to reach the second one before they can raise the rifle. For a second time, I feel their flesh give way to the slick steel in my hands.
I don't have that luxury with the third one. As the second falls, I lunge towards him, pressing the riffle to the chest, and bracing for the gunshots that rippled out towards the ceiling. He can't brace for the light's glare. I can.
In that moment, I manage to discharge his entire clip; 30 rounds.
He manages to punch me away into the room, filled with shocked gasps and screams. I stand up, knowing that I'll have time to charge at him.
Then I see the young girl's head explode into a red mist behind me.
Fuck.
One in the chamber.
The future temporarily crystalizes into a dichotomy. Red or Black.
I move.
The widly-fired bullet hits me, I fall back, and my head hits something.
Black.
​
​
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium. | 2021-12-31T11:49:00 | 2021-12-31T10:59:44 | 1,623 | 271 |
[WP] You are the weakest swordsman at the academy. One day your instructor pulls you aside and brings you an object wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small twig. "Some people were never meant to wield a sword. Centuries ago, these 'wands' held great power. Maybe you can make this one work." | "What does it do?" I asked.
"The histories are... contradictory on that point," admits the instructor. "Nothing immediate, except when it is. Nothing blatant, except on rare occasion. The people who successfully wielded it all became great, though... not in the same way as each other. And their accounts of its powers do not agree."
I looked over the stick, turning it over and over between my fingers. And I wonder quietly to myself. Maybe there was a wand, once. Maybe it even held some unknown power. But this? This is just a twig.
What if someone, in the dim and distant and ancient past, replaced a fully working wand with a simple twig? What if only the rumours of its power continue? What if the twig's only remaining power is that everyone knows that it is powerful, and that knowledge is used to bluff through a hundred competitors...
"I would like to read the histories," I say.
"Of course," nods my instructor.
Maybe this twig holds power. Maybe it does not. Either way... I believe I can use it.
But only if people believe that I can. | I grew up idolizing the knight. My late grandfather was a knight of the Kingdom, and he always regale us with tales of his adventures. When he died defending a village against Orkish raiders, I made a vow at his grave to be a Knight myself. Unfortunately, I was born with a frail body and tire easily. But with hard work and determination, I managed to got into the Royal Academy, where young aspirants learned and trained for several years and eventually chosen by a division of the Royal Armies.
It didn't take long however for me to be reminded of my places in the pecking order of the Academy. Although I excel in my study, I always come out last in any physical activities. Unofficially called the weakest swordsman, it infuriates me to no end when I lost a sparring match or when they mocked and taunt me. I KNOW I can win against my opponent, I can see and predict their moves, their blow, the weakness in their form, etc., but my frail body can't followed up what my mind want it to do. Even my instructors console me and say I'm more suited for the Scholastic branch of the Royal Armies instead of the physically demanding Knight Orders.
Still refusing to give up on my vow, I trained feverously in the hope that my body will improve, even just a bit. All I got from that is constant visit to the infirmary. At this point I'm more at home at the infirmary that my own dorm room.
​
I'll continue this a bit later. | 2022-01-20T00:21:57 | 2022-01-19T23:16:45 | 183 | 44 |
[WP] An unfathomably ancient cosmic entity drifting through infinite space passed by this weird little planet called Earth and heard over their broadcast radio signals this extremely annoying, but incredibly catchy song. It can't get the song out of its head and is going insane. | Nagoras was utterly defeated by the other outer gods and sent into exile. Its powers stripped, the other gods had been cruel, only Nagoras' mind remained. Unable to manifest its reality bending powers, it was nothing more than a crude black oily substance oozing through the endless void. Its power slowly regenerating. How long had it been? Millenia? Eons? The void of time continued passing. All Nagoras could do was think, and all it could think about was the synthesized drum beat.
A thin tendril morphed into a crude mouth "We're no strangers to love......" In space no one can hear you sing, the lyrics reverberated throughout Nagoras' essence. More tendrils began forming crude mouths singing their twisted melody.
"You know the rules and so do I" The wretched noise continued.
The ghastly choir never stopped wailing.
"Never gonna give..." Sang rich dulcet tones
"Give you up" The macabre melody rang out.
One day Nagoras would have its revenge, the outer gods would know true horror. They knew the rules, so did Nagoras. | There exist beings who have lived through so-called infinty time and again. To them crossing a vast universe is little more than a stroll between rooms. On one such stroll a noise stood out among the rest.
All that is, all that was, all that ever could be. Yul-Cephar had heard every possible sound in existence. To its surprise something new emanated from what amounted to a spinning ball of dirt, a spec that would have gone otherwise unnoticed. It was a simple tune, crude and childlish yet strangely memorable. Yul-Cephar mimicked the song for a moment then moved on, it's interest quickly waning. The noise followed unnoticed, left to the recesses of it's memory.
This universe came and went like the rest. A blip easily forgotten. Only the song remained, eternally carried by Yul-Cephar. Time and again it would resurface, louder than before. At first it only lasted a few seconds. A minor annoyance. Yet each time it returned for longer periods. Seconds became days. The same melody repeating over and over. Days became years. The same words, their meaning long lost. Years became decades. The only sound, inescapable. Decades became millennia. Nothing would make it stop. Millennia became....
All that is, all that was, all that ever could be. All became the song. Whimpering in a secluded corner of the cosmos, Yul-Cephar sang its gospel.
"Oh, I'm a gummy bear
Yeah, I'm a gummy bear
Oh, I'm a Yummy, tummy, funny, lucky gummy bear." | 2022-10-11T11:24:00 | 2022-10-11T11:20:35 | 83 | 38 |
[WP] All of the major organs in your body are sentient beings. Every morning they have a council meeting to discuss the previous day and make new plans. The Brain presides as leader. | "Ladies, gentlemen, I've called you here today for a very important matter.
When I took charge here, we were in a strange and difficult place. We didn't know how to behave properly. We were pretty sure that nobody liked us. And we spent a lot of time crying.
Heart, you've been pumping strong with us, getting everyone-- myself included-- the non-trivial amounts of blood we need to function. Lungs, you've been equally important, hyperventilating sometimes to keep up with the tremendous demand of the times.
Kidneys, you've learned and evolved with us. I don't pretend to fully understand how your sphincter muscles work, but you've gotten fantastic at holding back urine over the years, and I can't thank you enough for that. Liver, you've helped us throug the tough times like no other, processing enough poison to numb all of the pain we couldn't quite process. And stomach, when we made a judgement error, you were there to bale us all out, and purge that which we could not process.
It's been a wonderful, fun reign with you all, but I fear that I can no longer stand as your leader. I've stood here, every morning, to dictate every action of this body for nearly twenty years. This guy is 33, I think it's high time we stopped thinking with the dick and let brain take over again." | "Gentlemen, we have urgent business to discuss." Brain said with a commanding tone. "Lungs, heart and liver can't work properly when you are behaving like this. Yesterday we had to take a break in the middle of the stairs, and the day before that we didn't even get out of bed."
"Indeed." Heart replied. I have to work twice as hard to pump the same amount of blood. Legs have to do some work too."
"But guuuuuuuys" Legs complained. "This sofa is so comfy!"
"I don't care, you're making this harder for all of us. Just go for a walk, it can't be so hard." Lungs pleaded.
"Screw you guys! I'm not going anywhere!
Brain sighed. "Arms, how about some pushups?"
"Too busy holding this bowl of cheetos, bro."
"We can't go on like this!" Brain said angrily. "Soon we'll have to use a scooter to get to the bathroom!"
"Good." Legs said. "Less work for me."
"Speaking of which..." Anus chimed in.
"Not now, Anus."
"No but seriously, let's go" Bladder said.
"Fine." Brain sighed. "Come on legs, take one for the team."
"Allright, but that's it for today."
"Oh jesus, a lego!" Feet yelled.
"AAAARGH"
"Heart! What happened?" Brain yelled.
"Too much..."
"Oh god, Heart is gone!" Lungs screamed. "This is your fault, Legs!"
"Don't blame me, It was you who smoked all those cigarettes."'
"Bloody hell, I'm giving up." Brain exclaimed.
And so they gave up.
I'm new to this sub, also english isn't my first language, so constructive critisism is welcome! :D
I also noticed I didn't follow the prompt exactly so I hope you can forgive me.
| 2014-04-30T07:32:06 | 2014-04-30T06:37:45 | 159 | 61 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face | I looked my son in the eye and told him firmly, as I had this day for the last 12 years, “It is not your fault, you didn’t kill her. Anyone who says differently doesn’t understand what happened, now blow out your candles, we’ll visit the grave after cake and presents.” | I tried to push him towards the arts. I knew that he had it in im to be a great artist. Sculpture perhaps, or music. But no... Little Adolf always wanted to be a painter and and painting I knew he could only fail.
He was so angry when they didn't pass him at art school - so very, very angry - I knew nothing I'd taught him and nothing I could tell him now could save him. He could only become what his Father had always predicted, from the moment he first saw the baby in my arms.
I cried, as he left our home. I cried, and I cleared the remnants of his childhood from our home. My little Adolf was gone from me now. May God rest his soul. | 2014-05-11T02:02:48 | 2014-05-10T23:15:19 | 81 | 12 |
[WP] A man trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world slowly realises that he has already become a zombie. | The blood dripped down my chin as I ripped the best part of her off and savored the taste. Funny, I thought, I never really liked horse. Even more than that, I never took my steaks anything less than well-done. But I guess that was before I hadn't had anything else to eat in a week... and access to a grill.
The dead-eye next to me was sharing my meal, not paying any attention to me. I decided he looked like a Kevin. *Hello Kevin*, I thought in my head, *just don't contaminate my side of the horse, alright?*
I had first found out the secret to surviving the outbreak about a year ago. It was really pretty lucky. I was on the run, who wasn't, when my car got crashed into by a woman who was coughing up blood on her windshield. I was laying on the ground, bleeding, and around me were the corpses of two other men. The woman who had started the crash was happily slurping away at the heart of one of them, and that's when the easiest possible solution came to me. I just played dead. Unable to move very fast, I started chewing on the fingers of the other man next to me. Eventually, the gore attracted other dead-eyes... who all ignored me. Since then, I've been wandering this town, playing dead, eating dead animals that got caught, but never humans. Except once.... But times had been desperate. It was him or me. I found the way to survive, he was too weak, it was just survival of the fittest. Even so... I tried to avoid it.
BANG!
Kevin dropped to the ground, his blood mixing with the horses into pools of brown on the ground. I swung my head around.
CLICK
"Shit" said the man holding a pistol, fumbling to thumb more rounds into the chamber. Behind him was another man, who told him "Seriously? You didn't reload after the last group?"
"Shut up man, he's not going anywhere."
At first I was ecstatic, here were two well equipped people! Finally! It had been years since I'd seen other humans... at least some who had a chance. But then I realized how it must seem, I had been living the life of the dead-eyes for over a year, I probably looked exactly like them. I stood up and held out my hand to stop him.
"He's getting up, hurry!"
"I got it, I got it."
The first man swung the pistol up to aim at my head. "NO!" I yelled. Or tried to. It had been so long since I'd spoken the sound came out as nothing more than a grunt.
BANG
| The last thing Akua remembers clearly is the sound of glass breaking. From that point on, there is only the blurred images of the grey skinned zombies clawing their way into the hideout, the blood splattering from the open wounds of her companions, and her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she ran out the storm cellar and into the woods.
She continued east, away from Chicago, away from Gary, toward the lighthouse in Michigan City. Long ago, her group had agreed that they would stay there, where any attacker would have to approach from a long, narrow path with plenty of sightlines for easy shooting. Everything seems like a good idea at the time, she reasoned, even staying close to the unforgiving terrain of the Indiana dunes, where two steps up always meant sliding back down one more. The zombies hated the sand, and there had already been two incidents where their lives were saved by the undead being unsure of how to move up correctly. It was easy picking, they could stand just a foot above the zombies and dig the blade of shovel right into their brain. The dunes seemed harder now, though, as if their sand had gotten finer, gravity had gotten stronger.
Akua kept walking, tired, hungry, her clothing would catch on branches and tear but she paid it no mind. She wondered how long she had been moving for and thought it was strange that she hadn't slept in so long. She assumed it was the adrenaline. Hungry.
The zombie's cry is a sound that one never hopes to hear. At once a hiss and a roar, it is the phlegmy noise of a rotting stomach begging to be filled. The louder it is, the worse you feel, the more zombies that respond to the cry, the more likely you are to die. When Akua heard the first one call out, she immediately began to move off the beach and up the dunes. It was joined by dozens of voices. All of them hungry.
She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move quickly enough. She turned up the dunes, but found herself sliding down, each step digging into the sand, being covered by sand, being pulled towards the earth by sand. When she turned to look behind her, there was the hungry face and pale eyes of a demon, maybe only twenty yards below. Slowly, shuffling towards her were the rest of its pack. Hungry. She kept walking up the dune, but kept falling - she was slow, but not growing tired.
Akua fell. She waited for the pain of the bite, but it never came, instead the hisses around her only grew louder. She screamed, but only the cry of a zombie came out. As Akua moved her hands away from her face, she noticed that her black skin was now grey and purple. Where the branches had torn her clothes, she now saw the rotted wounds of skin that would never heal. She stood and marched with the pack, it was natural, there was no other desire in her mind.
Together, they came across a traveler who was sleeping in the branches of a tree. They began to shake the tree, waking him, causing him to lose his balance in his startled state. Akua sucked the marrow from his broken bones. But she was still hungry. | 2014-08-04T16:45:01 | 2014-08-04T13:48:11 | 30 | 15 |
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone! | * March 17: #15 has been disposed of without complication. It seems the police have begun to piece together the connections between #1, #2, and #4. Was too sloppy in the beginning. Stupid. But what's done is done, no use worrying about it now. Will have to monitor their investigation and reevaluate at a later date. But for now, a few weeks of relaxation.
* April 3: The itch is back. Can no longer hear #15's scream as clearly in my mind. Recordings just are not the same. Time to find another. Maybe around where #7 worked, that seemed like a spot with good potential.
* April 5: No luck yet. Good targets but too much activity. Must be especially careful now, as the police are making progress. What they will call me? Will check around #11's parents' neighborhood tomorrow.
* April 9: One target with maximum potential. Mid-thirties, average build, brunette. Smells like a summer breeze. Never has any company, no association with immediate neighbors. Spends hours watering hydrangeas in her garden. Must continue reconnaissance, ensure there are no surprises.
* April 17: Confirmed target has no contact with #11's parents, good. The police have figured out that #4 worked at the same place as #9. Perhaps too risky to have done that...but #9 was worth it. So very worth it.
* April 30: Living situation optimal. Only ever leaves house to go to work, the grocery store, and the library. Avid science fiction reader. On an Asimov binge currently. Also grows fruits in the backyard. Tasty. Time to track movements more precisely.
* May 14: Two week schedule complete. Very few deviations from established norms. Barely acknowledges employees in either the grocery store or the library. Keeps head down at work. Will not be missed when gone.
* May 16: Police found #9's body. Of all the bodies to find, it had to be #9's. Knew it. Should have disposed of it more completely. But could not. Not #9.
* May 22: Can predict target's every move; reconnaissance complete. Time to perform extensive background check, make sure there are no random links for the police to find.
* May 28: Seems to be clean. Complications, however. #11's parents spoke to the police and now the neighborhood is crawling with obstacles. Will have to delay action until the presence has dissipated.
* June 6: Police have concluded that #11 is a dead-end. Precision does pay off. Target's patterns have not changed in the interim. By this time tomorrow, target will officially be #16.
* June 7: Plans on halt. #9's funeral is today. Cannot resist urge to attend. #16 will have to wait one more day.
* June 8: #16...is gone. Only left to attend #9's funeral for a matter of hours. #9 looked as beautiful as always. But #16 is gone. Car left in the driveway, hydrangeas unwatered in the garden, front door locked. Does not make sense. Must be patient. Must make sense of situation.
* June 11: Still no sign of #16. No activity around house whatsoever. Did not show up for work. No books from the library. No groceries from the store. Disappeared without a trace.
* June 18: Mystery is unbearable. Two months of flawless consistency, broken. Same day as #9's funeral, #16 disappears. Does not make sense. Can not make sense.
* June 21: No one misses #16. No one even notices the absence. As if #16 never existed at all. But #16 did exist. #16 watered hydrangeas. Hydrangeas are now dead. Where is #16?
* June 25: Should simply find another target, forget about #16. Police have given up on the case after #9's funeral. No chance of being caught unless a mistake is made. Trying to find #16 would be a mistake. But #16 was perfect. Perfect.
* June 29: Saw movement within #16's house today. Must check it out. Must figure out what happened to #16. Must solve the mystery.
-----------
"Do you really think this is going to work, Grady?"
"Have a little faith, Holt. I know how this guy thinks. He won't give up until he finds Miss Riley."
"But we moved her three weeks ago, and nothing's happened yet. Why would us coming in here change that?"
"I'll bet you twenty bucks that he's watching the house right now."
"Deal. You're gonna be out--"
Suddenly, the door slid open with a squeak. Both officers sprang to their feet, their pistols trained squarely on the intruder's head.
"Stupid. Careless. Too curious. Should never have..." the man mumbled to himself.
"Check it out, Holt. You owe me twenty bucks." | It was the third day he had sat nearly unmoving in a car parked across the street. He watched the windows for any sign of her but nothing moved. "Should I just go knock on the door?," he wondered. "Or maybe just barge in? I really didn't want to do this in her home," he continued as he bit his nails. "What could have happened to her?" He sighed as he combed his fingers through his greasy, blonde hair and pushed it off his forehead. In the seat next to him, sat a small black leather duffel bag. The bag was open and the moonlight gleamed off of a large knife stuffed in next to rope, duct tape, gloves and a roll of heavy-duty trash-bags. He took a deep breath, pulled a winter mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head. He grabbed his bag before opening the door and jogging across the dark, empty street.
He reached out to ring the doorbell and then paused, "What am I doing? I'm here to kill her not sell girl scout cookies. Just knock down the stupid door and kill her." He took a step back, ruffled his hair, broadened his shoulders and growled, "I'm a crazy son-of-a-bitch. As he stood with one leg in the air, ready to kick the door in, the door-knob suddenly turned. He froze. There she stood at the door in her bathrobe. Even with mascara under her eyes and knots in her hair, she looked like an angel. "Come in," she said in a gentle and tired voice. He hesitated for a moment and then followed her to the living room. "Sit," she directed. After quickly closing his duffel bag, he dropped it behind the couch and sat next to her.
"I... uh.." he mumbled.
"I need your help," she interrupted.
"My help?"
"Yes. I want to die... but I'm scared. I've been trying to kill myself for three days but I'm a coward. I can't bring myself to do it. I'm so scared of the pain. I need help."
"You, uh, you want me to kill you?"
"Well, I thought that's what I needed help with. I saw you out there watching my house and I knew that you could do the killing for me, but I was still scared."
"You knew I was watching you?"
"You thought I wouldn't notice? Anyway, as I sat and watched you over the last three days, I realized that I'm not really scared of the pain. I'm already in so much pain, death will surely be a relief. I'm scared of dying alone."
He struggled to respond. "So you want me to..."
"Stay here with me while I die. Don't worry, I don't need you to hold my hand or anything. Just be in the room with me."
"You want me to kill you?"
"You can if you want to. I won't stop you, but the whole bottle of pills I just took should take care of that in a few minutes anyway. I swallowed them pretty quickly when I saw you get out of the car and head my way."
"I can't help you," he shook his head vigorously. "I'm here to kill you," he nearly shouted. "Don't you understand? I'm a serial killer!"
"Have you killed anyone else?"
"Well, no, not yet."
"I'm sorry I ruined your first try." She leaned in, "You can still chop me up into bits if you want, but I'd rather you wait until after I die," she whispered with a hint of a smile.
"I don't think I'll do that," he mumbled, staring at his feet.
"I think I need to lay down now."
He stood up quickly and she laid down on the couch.
Standing in the middle of the living room, he bit his nails and tried not to look her in the eye.
She groaned loudly and grabbed her head.
"Uh... do you need anything?"
"No," she moaned, "just, please, stay here. It won't be long."
She groaned louder now and dry-heaved as she clutched her stomach, then leaned back again. She was breathing loudly. She took in a labored, shallow breath and whispered, "come closer."
He knelt down beside her.
"Closer."
He leaned in right next to her face. She took one, deep breath, gently kissed him on his masked cheek and whispered, "thank you." She didn't breathe again.
He knelt beside her for almost an hour holding her lifeless hand.
Finally, he stood and looked around the room and found her phone on an end table. He dialed 911, and set the phone down beside her hand. On his way out, he remembered to grab his duffel bag. He went back to his car and sat, unnoticed, watching as the ambulance came and went. His mask was wet.
********************************
ALTERNATE ENDING:
He knelt down beside her.
"Closer."
He leaned in right next to her face. She took one, deep breath and silently slid the knife from her pocket. It was lodged in his back before he even knew what happened. He fell to the floor, writhing in pain and she gingerly stepped over his shaking body on the way to her bedroom. Ten minutes later, she reemerged in a slinky, black club dress and red lips. On her way to the front door, she leaned down, gently kissed him on his masked cheek and whispered, "thank you. You made this so easy."
| 2014-10-21T12:21:07 | 2014-10-21T12:16:00 | 1,464 | 59 |
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone! | The killer leaned against the post and lit another cigarette. It had been days since there had been any sign of life at the house which was troubling, she should have been there. She didn't go out at night, she didn't take impromptu holidays, she had no social life at all so she should have been there.
"*She's gone,*" it whispered.
"Shut up," replied the killer, "she's just keeping a low profile."
"*No she's not, she's figured you out and she's gone.*" The voice chuckled with glee at the thought.
"She's not smart enough, she's a nobody, she has no idea I even exist let alone that I'm watching her."
"*She knows, she knows.*"
The killer dropped the used cigarette and crushed it under their heel. The house was empty, there was just no getting past it, somehow Julie McGuire had disappeared without a trace.
"*She's at the police station right now, telling them everything she knows,*" whispered the voice, "*absolutely everything.*"
"She doesn't know anything, she hasn't the slightest clue that she's on my list."
"*She knows everything, everything. If you don't believe me then go look.*"
"Look?" asked the killer.
"*Yes, go inside and look. You know about locks and security systems, you can sneak into anywhere, go and look.*"
The killer smiled. "Yes, lets go and take a look."
---
The door lock was a simple affair, easy to bypass with a simple credit card. The killer looked for any sign of electronic surveillance but found none. Quite as a mouse they slipped inside and found themselves inside a small and simple kitchen.
"*She knows and she's gone straight to the police. Skipping and laughing all the way.*"
"Shut up."
"*And look, she's left you a message.*"
On the kitchen table sat a small white envelope with a simple **Open Me** written on it. The killers blood ran cold. "Coincidence," they muttered, "it's not for me."
"*Yes it is, you're exactly the one it's meant for*," giggled the voice. "*She knows, she knows.*"
The killer stared at the envelope, as if wishing to see what's inside it without opening it.
"*Open it open it, she knows she knows.*"
"She doesn't know." The killer snatched up the envelope and opened it, easing out the small piece of card inside it. On it were two simple words.
**I know.**
---
The card fluttered to the floor, dropped from fingers that were suddenly numb. She knew, she really knew, now everything had changed. The killer looked for the closest means of escape and noticed another white card attached to a door on the far side of the kitchen.
"*Leave,*" said the voice, "*we need to get out of here.*" The voice had lost all it's pleasure, suddenly it was just as scared as the killer. "*It's a trap, we have to go.*"
The killer stared at the card on the door, could almost make out the message written on it. They moved closer and closer till they could reach out and touch it's simple message.
**Inside.**
"*No, leave now, do not go inside,*" urged the voice, "*she might be in there.*"
The killer was concerned, it was not like the voice to be scared, the voice was nearly always cheerful and happy when they were out hunting, it often teased the killer with it's little playful sound, but now it sounded terrified. "Whats wrong, if she's in there then we'll have what we came for."
"*No, it's not right, it's all wrong, if she's in there she'll stop us, she'll kill us and eat us.*"
This was worrying, the voice was scared yet the killer couldn't resist reaching for the door handle. It felt cold and foreign, like nothing from this world.
The doorknob turned, the door swung open and a voice from the grave uttered "Come inside."
---
This room was narrow but long, it was more hallway than room. At the far end the killer could make out a human shape.
"Hello, I'm so glad you could come. My name is Julie and I have waited so long for this moment."
"How... how do you know about me?"
"I know all about you, I know about what you have done, I know what you are, I know everything.
"*Run,*" whimpered the voice.
"I know about those women, I know about those children, I know about them all."
"*Please run.*"
"Do you want to know how I know?" she asked.
"*No.*"
"Yes."
"It's quite simple," she said as she reached for the light switch.
"*Oh no.*"
"I know because..."
The light switched on to reveal Julie at the end of the hall. Julie, the mousy blonde that no one ever noticed, that went through life like she wasn't really there at all. Julie the outsider, Julie the nothing, Julie the one in the..."
"*mirror,*" finished the voice. | "Ma'am? Ma'am." Murray pinched his brow as he waited for the woman on the other line to find her hearing aid. The was a clank as she dropped her handset onto the floor, followed by a soft, "dagnabit".
She finally picked up the phone.
"Ma'am, have you seen your daughter lately?"
"Now, who is this?"
Valerie had no friends. "A friend of your daughter's." Murray did consider himself a friend, however, even if she had never met him. They had something in common between them.
"I don't really know much about Valerie's friends..." her mother remarked thoughtfully. "Did you check Starbucks?" Murray chocked on his coffee. "She seems to be drinking an awful lot of caffine lately. You said you haven't seen her?" Her voice lacked the gravity of the situation.
"No, ma'am. No one has. I was hoping she'd have contacted you." Murray was still trying to stifle a chuckle.
"No, sorry. If you do get a hold of her, do you mind asking her to give me a call? I haven't gotten a phone call since--"
Murray hung up. "I called because Valerie WASN'T at Starbucks." He laughed and twirled a coffee cup sleeve around his finger. It was the first time in a year that Valerie hadn't unknowningly shared a cup of coffee with him. The sleeve was from her last visit. Murray had sat at the bar by the window, as per usual, and she would sit in the armchair across the room, tearing bits into the cardboard with her fingernail as she read the paper. He'd go with his small hand mirror and watch her morning, noon, and evening ritual of drinking a tall caramel latte. It was ritual, just as it was for Crystal, Marina and Brook. He rubbed the dents in the sleeve with a delicate finger, feeling every gash piercing the holder. He almost could feel a twinge of guilt that he could no longer have coffee with them.
On a sudden urge, and almost by some force, Murray got his jacket and left to check Valerie's apartment once more. He fiddled with the lint in his pocket as he walked, twirling it 'round and 'round. He had gotten attached to Valerie. She was more then part of the ritual. She embraced it. She was the loyalest to their Siren Lady. Her life was devoted to sitting inside that coffee shop. He needed her. He twisted the lint tighter until it had wrung itself thin. His Lady must have her. The lint snapped, so he went to rubbing his hands instead.
He passed the port as he walked. He stopped to pay homage to his fair Lady of the sea. "I'll find your feast soon," he promised in a hushed whisper. It was lost against the howl of the wind. He found himself clawing at the cuticles, making his fingers bleed. The blood made him more anxious. He needed something better to do with his hands. No--he needed coffee. A quick detour was what he needed to focus.
The sea air made him think of his Lady's salty breath. He thought of her sharp teeth as the water crashed against her and poured from her mouth as the waves retreated. Her dark cold eyes, her skin as white as sea foam--he thought of every detail as he happily awaited his siren's embrace when she would finally take him to the bottom of the sea.
He reached the storefront and gazed up into her smiling face just under the Starbucks sign. "Just one more feast and you'll be mine," he thought, and pushed the door open.
"Not so fast," came a familiar voice. Could it be? His lost offering? Something cold pushed against his back. "Follow me. Don't think that I won't. I'm that sick of you." A twisted, nervous grin spread across Murray's face.
He was led from behind down the pier to a long empty dock. They stopped at the edge. Murray could just make out the colors in his own haggard face in the choppy water.
"I know you've been watching me," the voice said at last. "Why?"
"I wanted to treat my Lady. I wanted to get her some nice dinners. It's difficult to date someone who isn't a landdweller, you see."
"Treat her with what?"
"Bodies are the only things big enough to satisfy her large rocky jaws."
There was a pause. "So you've been the one drowning those girls...as an attempt of having romantic dates with..." a long pause here, "the Elliott Bay?"
"It was suppose to be four, including you."
The wind off the water whipped at Murray's face, like a cold embrace from his lovely Lady. He turned, slowly. He saw nothing but the cold water and the dark shore behind him. He looked back to his reflection. There, behind him, sharp rocky teeth. He gasped.
The wind whispered into his ear, "And I will have four. Farewell, you creepy obsessed fool." He stumbled forwards, his head hit the icy grip of the waves, and he was pulled under. "Elliot," he mouthed as his last breath escaped him and bubbled to the surface.
...
Valerie came into her favorite coffee shop the next day, bringing the paper. In a small article, she read "MAN SEEN PLUMMETING TO DEATH IN BAY: Body Never Found." Valerie couldn't stand the sight of death; She sipped her coffee, glad that the water was too rough for her to make the ferry trip that day. | 2014-10-21T14:46:22 | 2014-10-21T13:58:29 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] A budding young sociopath sits on Santa's lap. | "I want the list," the kid said simply.
I checked my watch. 5:18. And there was still a long line of stupid kids to get through.
"What do you mean, the list?" I asked as politely as I could. The mall manager said that every kid needed to say the name of a fucking toy, so that their parents could head to the toy store and buy their crap.
"The naughty and nice list, of course."
"Oooh," I chuckled, shaking my fake belly for effect. "Well, the naughty and nice list is for Santa only! But you don't need to worry about which list you are on. Now, what toy would you want for Christmas?"
*Come on, stupid kid. Just say a racecar and then I can get the next brat up here.*
"I don't want a toy. I want the list. I want to know who has been naughty so that they can be punished. And I want to know who is good so that I can act like them. Bring me *the list*." His voice became emphatic, angry and bone-chilling.
He looked at me with the coldest stare I'd ever seen. Like I was an insect, and he was a kid with a magnifying glass. Shivers went down my spine.
"Act like them?" I asked without even thinking. Without even questioning whether I'd want to know the answer.
"Yes. To fit in. So that my mother won't know who is punishing all the kids on the naughty list. And then *I* will be one of the good children."
"Listen, kid." Even I could hear a bit of panic in my voice. "Just tell me what toy you want, and we'll take a picture together."
"I won't be able to tell who is naughty and who is nice without the list," he continued, ignoring me. I gestured to one of my elves: *get this kid off of me*. "If I can't tell who is bad, then I'll just have to punish all of them." He was talking to himself now, forgetting that I was even there.
The cameraman waved, trying to get the boy's attention. Every kid gets a picture with Santa. The boy turned, and the cold, lifeless stare evaporated. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks dimpled adorably. There was a bright flash, and he turned back. The smile was gone; the blank slate was back. Eyes like a shark's. "The other kids smiled like that," he said, just before being lifted off my lap. He slid down the slide and grasped his mother's hand, reverting back to an ordinary kid. Not the cold blooded monster who had demanded to know who was naughty and who was nice.
As a little girl bounded up the stairs and jumped into my lap, his chilling voice still echoed through my mind: "Bring me the list." | I had the strangest feeling I had seen this kid before, I couldn't figure out where. Sitting on my knee he looked back at his parents and then grinned at me, he scooted a little closer and leaned his head up, "Kill the reindeer", he said to me. I jerked back in surprise, "Excuse me, do you even know what you are saying"? "Yes." I kept thinking this child must have had a bad experience, perhaps a video game had altered his mindset, but he still looked so young, I just couldn't understand what was happening. "Kill the reindeer, Santa." I looked up from his little face and searched for his parents. Both of them were waiting as usual, a dog and two teenagers were standing with them. They seemed to be ignoring their little son's experience with Santa, only the cameraman had noticed my shock and probably thought I'd heard the little boy tell me mommy and daddy play leapfrog with the door shut.
"What is your name, son"? He seemed to just stare at me, at first it was confusion then he began to realize I must not be the real Santa if I had to ask. I could see the thinking cross his face, it was so bizarre to see this kid react this way, again I couldn't place where I had seen him and that I thought he was younger than he looked.
"Who are you"? The little boy just looked at me, his confusion turning to indignation and then to disgust. Suddenly he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small phone or device I couldn't place, then I felt him try to jump off of my knee by pushing against my chest.
"NO!" His mother was rushing over to take the boy off of my lap, her red-orange hair a blur; the father turned, I saw his green pants move toward us because I had fallen off the throne-like chair. There was a pain in my chest and I felt dizzy, the little boy had stabbed me with this device and I couldn't figure out how. "Sorry, Santa. If that is your real name...", the father glared at me, it's almost like he hoped I was the real Santa. This was turning more bizarre by the minute. The teen boy in the blue shirt was crying, "SANTA, SANTA no!". The teen girl was just standing there, she looked so...ugly.
Then it hit me, I was looking at the family who I'd seen on the news the other night, they had been involved in some kind of accident where a neighbor's bathroom had been destroyed. None of this made sense. The newsman was making fun of the whole situation, apparently the man in the green pants had purchased a tank and shot at the house across the street, exploding the upstairs and killing the man who was taking a bath at the time. Now I had been stabbed by the little boy, what the hell was going on?
As the mother was picking up the boy and I was trying to steady myself on the ground the little boy whispered to me, "...curse this house-wife harlot". Then the dog ran up and the boy grabbed for his leash as the mother moved the boy to the ground, they turned and walked back to the two teens and left. I was dumbfounded and bleeding but happy to see them go.
| 2014-11-24T09:25:58 | 2014-11-24T08:24:27 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate. | *This is a public announcement by the president of the United States and paid for by the government*
Ladies and Gentleman, I know that during this time of sadness and joy many of you are turning to suicide as a solution. I have spoken to my many advisers on this issue and I would like to make the following arguments.
Firstly, from the secretary of defence, killing others alongside yourself is wrong. This practice can not be allowed to continue. If you suspect that anyone is about to kill others, then please let your local police office know immediately.
Secondly, from the health secretary, please note that we have had no formal confirmation of the news as of yet. One man's word, whether or not he has come back from the dead is not enough reason to throw away your lives.
Thirdly, from the leader of our political rivals - the green party, should we not stop and think of the animals first. Should we not ensure that they are given the earth freely in our wake,
Fourthly, paid for by the Scientology movement, please consider the idea that your idea of heaven may not be the right one. Please consider staying alive and waiting for a better heaven to come along.
And lastly, from our British cousins, the Prime minister of the UK has urged me to ask you all to think of others in this time. Think about life on the other side and try to die in shifts to avoid overcrowding and large queues to get into heaven. They recommend leaving at least 3 hours in between neighbourhood suicides to ensure that politeness and fair queuing policies persist throughout. People that are less mobile should die alongside others in these times, to ensure that they receive sufficient help through and after the moving on process. | They always said humans fear the unknown more than anything else.
My reply: Find me someone who doesn't fear death, then we'll talk.
I could barely hear the first few gunshots through my office window. The dull double pane lazily deflected their sharp reports like a horse flicking its tail at flies - letting them linger for just a moment, then bouncing them abruptly out into the gray morning.
I didn't think too much of them at first; once in a while, some punk would get his hands on a gun and wave it in the face of the first store clerk he could find.
But they didn't stop. They actually increased in frequency until the world outside became nothing more than a low roar of gunfire.
That's when the phone rang.
D.C.
I sighed and picked it up, waiting for the familiar crackle of the Director's voice.
"Paul." My heart dropped. He'd only ever used my first name when I was under review. I took a breath and waited.
"We've been repurposed. The Census Bureau no longer measures population. We maintain it. I need you-"
A gunshot, much louder than the ones I'd been hearing, rang out sharply over the line.
"*FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MATTHEWS-*
I need you to...P-Paul, get the Philly media. We can't do this without them. I sent you an e-mail..."
His voice faded and the line clicked dead. The urgency in his voice spurred me into action, so I flipped my monitor back on and opened my inbox.
He'd sent me a news story and some contact information for all of the local news sources. Nothing *too* unusual.
I looked back at the headline.
*World Religions Confirm Heaven For All*
As I scanned the article in disbelief, my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from my wife.
*Love you. See you soon.*
Turns out they were right about the unknown, and I was wrong about death. I stood up from my chair and took a few shaky steps back from the window.
Figured I'd get a running start.
| 2015-02-02T08:01:36 | 2015-02-02T06:41:02 | 119 | 44 |
[WP] You have discovered a heavily weathered wooden door in the middle of a desert. Opening the door reveals a world with eternally gray skies and endless fields of wheat. While exploring, you discover that somebody has come here before... | "Took you a while," an old man laughed, "Has it really been 50 years?"
I frowned. This man looked familiar, like an old friend, but I didn't know him.
"Come on, follow me." He said walking though the wheat fields. I reluctantly followed him to a small house.
"Would you like some water? Or tea?" He said humming.
"Hmm yes, tea, would be nice." I answered.
"Wonderful." He brewed the tea, still humming. His movements weren't stiff for his age, he moved like a young man.
"Where are we?" I finally asked. This place seemed comforting and peaceful.
"Where is a hard question and honestly doesn't matter. I will have to explain something though." He said setting a tea in front of me and setting one for himself.
"You are me." He said. "And, I am you. A long time ago, not really sure how long, a young man, made a wish. He wished to live as long as it took to know everything. And, Poof, this place came in to be."
"What? How is that possible?" I boggled.
"Not sure, perhaps that's the question you will work on. I didn't care for that, I focused on music." He hummed again.
"Music?"
"Yes, of course."
"So what happens now?"
"Well, after 50 years, another you comes into being. You will take your spot then you take his."
"I don't get it."
He laughed again, "You'll soon understand."
He hummed walking away, through the door, into the wheat fields. I watched from a window, sipping tea, relaxing. As he walked, he ages seem to melt away. As his youth came to him, wisdom came to me.
I was flooded with calculus, philosophy, physics, art, language, and music. Years of knowledge weighed my head. When I looked back out the window, the man was gone.
I suppose I should go back to drinking tea and relaxing. Not many people seem to know how to relax. What's knowledge without peace? | Aamina blinked at the strange man standing above her body.
He wore a turban wrapped around both his hair and his face. Only his eyes showed through the opening and they worked their way slowly down her figure, then back up. His gaze lingered on her face.
She tried to ask him for water, but couldn't find her voice.
"ما اسمك?" His own voice was smooth as the sand he stood on. Aamina turned her gaze to his side and saw a camel, packed with water-pouches.
She wanted to tell him her name was Aamina, though she wasn't feeling as her name would indicate as she was in the process of dehydration. Instead she managed to blink again.
The man took a step back, then he turned and walked to his camel. He grabbed off a pouch of water and took a long drink, wiping the excess off of his chin. He looked again at Aamina before getting on his beast and riding off.
She cursed under her breath and turned her gaze away, sick of seeing the man's back.
A door stood alone in the sand.
She looked at it for a moment. It was simple, pure white and knob of gold. She flipped onto her stomach and crawled her way to it. Though it looked to be yards away, she got within touching distance with a few pushes.
She pushed with all her remaining strength to get on one knee. Her hand reached out and grabbed the knob. It turned easily and pulled out.
Through the doorway, what should have been sand was instead brown fields and gray skies. It looked dead, as though nothing peaceful could exist in that place.
Yet... she peered further in. In all of its ugliness, the place was beautiful.
There was no one in sight, probably no one there at all. No men to order her, no women to speak ill of her, no husband to serve...
She could go there. Live alone. Free from the world.
She laughed, softly at first, then harder. She could barely breath as she laughed into that doorway.
She almost certainly was hallucinating from being so near death.
Managing to stand on both feet, Aamina took a short step forward. She tripped, but her arms shot out and balanced her on the door's edges. Her eyes widened at the feel of the door.
*Could it be real*?
She took another step, then another. Before long, she was in the other world. The gray, brown, desolate world. Underneath a sky of death and surrounded by lifeless crops.
But she was alone.
And she laughed. | 2015-03-25T20:09:36 | 2015-03-25T20:08:00 | 195 | 11 |
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why... | They drag away the corpses and leave them to rot.
Why? Why don't the authorites come running? Why don't they bury their fallen?! Why don't they respect my work?!
Not a mention in the paper, not even a whimper on the news. 77 and counting I think, yet they show me no attention . Public demonstrations nary elicit a response. Dropping my victims off at their homes only irritate those vile hideous brutes enough to send a worker or two to simply move the body, as if it were but a job to them. My kill, my work, my efforts, my life!
They just don't care. I killed them because I was curious as to what would happen if I did, but nothing does. Nothing ever does, until now. I will grab my tools, walk down the street, and lay waste to their pitiful colony once and for all. No one ignores me! **NO ONE WILL EVER IGNORE ME AGAIN!!!!**
I will dismember them! Stab them! Burn them! **Crush Them!**
Now all that remains is the completion of my weapon, once I super glue the fork of foundations to my magnifying glass of might, I will begin my march at noon, and leave nothing but destruction and brutality in my wake. They ant seen nothing yet.
" Arnie! Its time for lunch-bababoo! "
" Coming, mom! "
... Right after I eat lunch and have my apple juice.
| This was to be the big one, my hundredth victim. The thrill I would feel as I squeeze the life out of her throat, as I watch this clone of all my other victims struggle to breathe, as the fight goes out of her body and she slumps, lifeless in my arms. Just the build up made me shiver with excitement, I had butterflies in my stomach as I watched from her wardrobe. She had no idea that I was in there, that I'd been in there for days already, just watching her.
As she climbed into bed, I could feel my excitement building, but I restrained myself. I knew her parents were downstairs, it wouldn't do to be seen too soon, for her to scream, for them to come and find me. I waited, frozen in place until, eventually, her breathing changed. The difference was subtle, but she was asleep.
The door of the wardrobe creaked quietly as I crept out, the rug on the floor muffled my footsteps and as I climbed onto the bed alongside her, I could have cried out with the sheer joy of it!
The act itself is always a blurry moment in my memory, but I can almost feel it from her perspective, awaking to cold, clammy hands on my throat, the pressure on my throat, the sheer panic, the desperate struggle to breathe and try to scream for my Mum and Dad downstairs. And then, she is limp on the bed and there is a moment of clarity as I remember, remember looking into his eyes as he murdered me and my vision clouding over. Remembering desperate to avoid the bright light people spoke of and now, my spirit is here, reliving my death but from my murderers point of view...
I have no idea why the authorities haven't caught me, but tonight will be my hundred and first victim, an exact match of my first victim, and every other victim since, as I wait, hidden in her wardrobe, for her breathing to change... | 2015-04-12T02:50:02 | 2015-04-12T02:37:20 | 296 | 14 |
[WP] You are a manipulative psychopath, but instead of serial killer, you are a serial helper. using your emotionless genius to make other people smile.
thankless, un-noticed but instrumental in paying off someones debts with a clever robin hood of some sort, or moving at breakneck speeds everyday to help others but letting yourself wither and your life fall apart because of how addicted you are to helping. i believe in you guys!
EDIT: Can't a guy sleep for a few hours without something random hitting the front page! (obligatory because its my first time as a 3 year lurker) Also: Absolutely fantastic responses ;~; i <3 you guys | My first submission! Here goes nothing!
I knew I was different. I realized it early on. It started with the neighborhood animals; dogs chained up overnight, stray cats, and even my own pets. I couldn't help myself. I reveled in meticulously crafting my plans and carrying them out. I loved how nobody ever suspected me. All those animals are now in a better place thanks to me.
After perfecting my craft, I moved on to people. Oh how I love gaining their trust, striking, and leaving without a trace.
Other times I act spontaneously, unable to fight the urges gnawing at my consciousness. What's that? A lonely old woman? The elderly are such easy targets. Weak, alone, helpless...
I approach her silently, just outside her line of sight. As I draw nearer, I nearly shake with anticipation. She leans on her cane, hunched over, staring idly into the night. I cannot bear with wait one more moment. The urge peaks and drowns out all other thoughts. NOW! I MUST ACT NOW!
"Hello ma'am! May I assist you in crossing this road?"
"Why yes! Thank you young man!"
I hold out my arm to offer her support and to lull her into feeling safe. She grips it tightly as we begin to cross.
"My word, you're so kind! What's your name?"
"Gary, ma'am. And don't mention it! It's my pleasure!"
It very much is my pleasure. A pleasure beyond all others. A pleasure most people will never experience or hope to understand. I hold my composure as we reach the curb of the other side of the road. After helping her step up onto the sidewalk, she turns to me and begins to talk once more.
"A thousand times, thank you Gary. I hope you have a wonderf-"
I cut her off mid sentence.
"Haha! My name is not Gary!"
I turn around, but before I run and escape, I make sure to toss my fake beard over my shoulder, ensuring she knows she was deceived with no hope of discovering who.
Later at home I relax with a beer, still euphoric from my latest act. I shall revel in my success, for I know that shortly my bliss will once again be replaced by the urge and I will have to find another to satiate it. | I feel nothing. Never did, pretty sure I won't in the future. This isn't much of an issue, however, I don't mind it. Can't miss something I never had in the first place.
Father knew about this, saw me killing squirrels in the backyard when I was 6 with my BB gun, then cats with plastic boxes as I saw them suffocate and despair within those transparent walls so I could see it happen. Death slowly creeping in.
I guess you could say the thrill of death or execution depending on your perspective was the only thing that made me feel, anything really. Not necessarily happiness, or pleasure, but chemicals were definitely being released.
Dad was like me, although to a lesser degree. Calculative, logical and as emotionally complex as a blank piece of paper. He didn't stop me from killing. He didn't necessarily feel compelled to, I remember him once telling me it was normal for animals to kill, he said it was even more normal for intelligent animals to kill for pleasure.
He couldn't afford to have something destroy his reputation, though. His line of work required a spotless, good natured personal life, as such is politics. He didn't want to take away his child's playthings, though, so I guess he just did what I would've done if I were in his position.
Directed my intent for good. Put me on the "right track", when really he just made it look like a "win-win" scenario, I clocked this ages ago, but he's my father, and was around for longer, so he should know best, for now.
As Laura Gordan walked down the street, I kept my pace. She was following another man, she wanted to kill him. Well, she was being paid to do it. I already knew everything about her, her work, her life, so this was gonna be easy, and fun, if I got to see the right expression on her face.
The man's name was Christopher Frederick, he's bidding for a bill that will maintain a local power station's funding, which translated to the many jobs it provided for locals. Whatever, I don't care much for details, Dad said it was a bad thing to stop it, whether or not he was being truthful or just manipulating me to get what he wanted didn't matter and I didn't care.
Christopher walked into an alleyway, unzipped his pants and started pissing. Laura followed closely, as did I.
She took a silenced gun out, I smirked when I saw it, some people like to keep their hand clean I guess.
I put my mask on, disarmed her and used a piano wire to choke her. Got to see that familiar expression I enjoy and left before old Christopher was able to zip his pants back up. | 2015-05-21T07:43:45 | 2015-05-21T07:37:50 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] You are given a deal by a higher power that grants you eternal life. The catch? You have to kill one person every year. If you fail do do so, even a minute too late, you will die. | "What's a soul wrangler"
"I need souls, you....acquire them for me"
"I kill them you mean"
"Sure, if you want to be so vulgar."
"one person a year?"
"That's the deal. You kill one person a year and you get to live forever"
There was that cackling again. What's with the cackling?
"Well..."
"Well what?"
"I just have a few questions first."
"Ask away"
"What if I kill 2 people one year does it carry over?"
His eyes glowed red at this and he smiled wide.
"An overachiever huh? Sure why not?"
"Do I have to physically kill them or can I just be responsible for their death. Like let's say I get them to drink poison does that count?"
"Absolutely! You kill them you get a year simple as that."
"Last question."
"What is it?"
"Where do I sign"
"So, you'll do it?"
"I'll be the best damn soul wrangler you have ever seen, or my name isn't Ronald J. McDonald"
| Year 73.
Alan Rigby. Easy Enough.
Just like last year I put on my carers uniform and walked into the nursing home. I greeted the staff that knew me by now as a friend. They understood how I liked to help out around Christmas, and on the odd bank holiday, and I had now worked 4 full shifts in the home. They were grateful for it; the tired staff could have a little more time off, and this tired old git had already seen it all in his life, and was used to the muck and horrors of a home. They knew me so well, as if we had been friends forever.
It wasn't too hard when it came to dinner time. Alan grinded his teeth and growled through his dementia, cruel comments, angry words. He was no longer the happily married postman, father of 2. None of them bothered to come and see his final inglorious days. None could bear to watch his fall - to smell the piss soaked sheets and listen to his screaming hatred.
I said good night, and held the pillow hard over his face. When the last of the anger slipped away, I made him comfortable, updated his chart - "Alan seems very restful tonight, at peace. He mentioned how he loved his family."
When the nurse told me the bad news the next day, I was sad, briefly.
Then I remembered that I'd have an extra year to try and find a cure for my own dementia.
| 2015-06-17T11:18:13 | 2015-06-17T08:06:13 | 15 | 10 |
[WP]You come from the long line of sorcerers who deem themselves defenders of the earth. Sadly, you didn't really get hang of this "magic" thing, but you have a different talent.
Sorry for a rather specific prompt, I got inspired by a response to an older prompt. | My father was a Red Mage. His father was a Grey Mage. His father was a Purple Mage. I can trace my lineage back through twenty-eight generations, covering hues from all over the spectrum, every last one of the geezers a Mage.
Me? I'm a Green Nothing. Not a shred of magic in me. At least, not as far as I can tell. And I'm still a damn hero.
I've had to sit back and watch countless times as Pops whisked away to save the world from Demonic-Emergence-This and Elder-God-That. I've witnessed Gramps banishing Wights, Shades, Lichs and more. I can't even ignore it and try to be normal, because the two of them *insist* on making me sit in on Mage Council meetings, hoping something might ignite the gift in me. I tried to tell them it's a waste of time, but their need to save face is just too strong. So I would slouch in the council chamber, trying to ignore the floating screen displaying whatever current magical heroics were occurring in the world.
Things were different when the Ma'le'gas invaded.
They were nigh invincible. It happened so quickly. One minute the skies were sunny and clear, and the next they were filled with gargantuan spacecraft, each miles long from end to end, looking like circuitry-covered bricks ready to fall and crush the world. Their weapons were devastating, reducing every major government center in the world to rubble faster than the human eye could detect it. Not even a flash of light to accompany the destruction.
The council immediately threw everything it had at the invading aliens, to no avail. Every spell bounced harmlessly off their shields. Our human magic was no match for their extraterrestrial technology. After an hour of fruitless labor, the council reconvened to argue over their next course of action. It struck me as odd that there had been no further aggression from the intruders.
Then, booming across the sky all around the world like an unfathomably large PA system, came The Ultimatum.
"HUMANS. BRING FORTH A CHAMPION. UNLESS WE WITNESS A SWEET 360 NOSCOPE COD RAMPAGE IN THE NEXT TEN EARTH MINUTES, WE WILL DESTROY YOUR WORLD. 420 BLAZEIT BITCHES."
The council was dumbfounded, but I knew my moment had come. I stood up in the following silence, put on my shades, cracked open a Mountain Dew, and said, "I got this one." | 'Look, Patrick. It's not that we don't respect your skills. Or that we aren't impressed by them. It's just that here at WD International, we don't necessarily *require,* your skill set. Hell, we let Johnson go the other day! Johnson. Unleashed to the world. And he was a good Paladin. But, for you I'm sorry to say...look. Help me out here,'
Michaela stood up from behind her desk. Although *Wizarding Defence International* was an all male group on the front lines, the back rooms were still controlled by the witch's. An agreement had been reached in centuries gone by when too many Wizard's partner's were being targeted. A rather gentlemanly agreement all round they'd decided.
She stood by the jobs wall opposite the window. On it were all the positions for the company.
'Now, if we start up the top here, we can see our CEO - Grand Mage. Below him are various positions of importance and skills. We can see the various classes and labourers we employ, and—' Michaela cut herself off mid sentence. Patrick had produced his tool from his pocket. 'Following, we also have front of house, back room, pickers, forgers, smith's of all sorts—'
He'd begun using it.
*Clink, clink*
'Damn it, Patrick! This is exactly what we're talking about. We don't need your skills! A ball in the cup! Are you fucking kidding me?! Who chooses that? I mean jeez,' Michaela threw her hands in the air. 'You met your maker at birth and pointed to that? Where was that even in the room? Why were you note appointed to the department of warriors, like your father. Your mother also, a wonderful witch. Look, Patrick if you'll just listen to me. Patrick!'
Patrick stopped what he was doing. The ball sat happily inside the cup. Like every other time. The look on his face was of innocence, Michaela felt miserable.
'Look. I'm trying here, Pat. Really I am. But we just don't require your services here anymore. I'm sorry.'
Patrick picked up his ball and cup and put them in his pocket. The walk from the office to his cubicle felt like an eternity. He passed some of his friends along the way, Mitchell's from the Mage department, Vincent from the Warriors, and Toky from the Thieves. All had tried to make conversation, even get him to do the old trick. Every time, perfection.
Ball in the goddamn cup.
He threw the stupid *toy* at his desk in frustration. It landed standing perfectly upright, with the ball in the cup. He kicked his chair and hit his desk. Lenora from across the way tipped her head over the wall to see the mayhem, always the gossip. He stopped his whirlwind and surveyed the cubicle again. Same as the cup. Everything sat perfectly in place. Nothing out of line, not off square. All perfect. As always.
Just like the ball and the fucking cup. | 2015-07-17T07:52:45 | 2015-07-17T07:29:45 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Two people have been living in the same house for 10 years, but neither of them knew it. One day, they finally meet...
EDIT: Crap, upon further searching, apparently someone's had this idea before. | "Goodness!" Sheila said as she opened her dresser drawer.
"I should say so!" said the gentleman inside it. "Do you simply enter everybody's home without knocking where you come from? Shockingly rude!"
He pulled himself upright and reached through her stockings until he found his top hat, which he placed, with a great deal of dignity, upon his head.
"Well," Sheila stammered, "It's just," she said, "I suppose," and then, "I have been keeping my stockings in here for some time."
"Another thing I've been meaning to write about!" he snapped. "Simply tossing your refuse into a gentleman's home! The very height of indignity, I say!"
"I'm terribly sorry," Sheila said, a little caught off guard. The man in her dresser climbed up out and stepped onto the floor, fixed his collar, and pulled a cane out from inside one of her stockings. "It's just - the thing is," Sheila managed, "I did -- *pay* for the dresser."
The man let out a loud, slow, dramatic groan that went on for well over a minute. "Just the mentality today," he muttered to himself with disgust. "Just the very mentality people have today. You see, ma'am, *I* am anarcho-socialist."
"A what?"
"An *anarcho-socialist*," he repeated. "I don't believe in personal possession property. What gall, I must say! To go around thinking, simply because *you* own the home and *you* own the dresser, somehow they belong to *you*! Goodness, next you'll be saying Jerry can't live in the bed!"
"Jerry?" she said.
"Yes?" Jerry said from inside the bed.
"She says you can't live in the bed anymore, Jerry!" the man called.
"Can't live in the bed?" Jerry cut a hole into the mattress and pulled his head through. "Who bloody well says I can't live in whatever bed I please?"
"She does!" the man in the top hat said, pointing an accusing finger at Sheila.
"Bloody capitalists!" Jerry spat out a few feathers as he spoke.
"I didn't!" Sheila heard herself crying out in a strange defensive reflexive. "I mean, I -- well, it's just-- now, wait a minute here. You've been *sleeping* in my bed?" She felt quite dizzy now. "My husband and I make love in that bed!"
"Just the mindset of the modern bourgeoisie!" Jerry said.
"Now you've got him going," said the man who lived in the drawer.
"Listen to her! *My* husband makes love to *me* in *my* bed. Bloody hell! Just because he's your husband, suddenly you're the only one who gets to make love to him! Next you'll be saying Charlie can't watch from the closet!"
"Charlie?" she cried. "Now, wait a minute! Who is Charlie?"
The door swung slowly open and a small meek man revealed himself inside. "It's the only thing that gives me pleasure, ma'am," Charlie said, not daring to look her in the eye.
Things may have gone on to sheer ridiculousness had her husband not stepped home at that moment. Fortunately, in he came, full of righteous fury and dignity.
"What in the devil is going on here?" he demanded as he walked in and looked at the people filling his bedroom. "What's all this, then?"
"Darling!" Sheila cried. "These men have been living in our home! This one's been in my stocking drawer, and this one in our bed - and this one -- I don't know what the little one does, but he unnerves me most of all!"
"I watch, ma'am," Charlie said. "I'm a watcher is all. It's a fine tradition. Me father watched in this closet before I did, and I expect my son'll carry it on."
The husband shook his head as looked around the scene. "Disgusting!" he said. "Completely disgusting! Sheila, you've made such a commotion that you've gone and upset poor Jerry!"
"She's a bloody capitalist is what she is," Jerry said.
"I'm so sorry, Jerry. I know she can be difficult." He gave his wife a stern look of disapproval.
"Goodness, Sheila," he said. "Could you imagine if the Robinsons acted this way while we filmed them?" | Samuel always thought his house was haunted. He somtimes would hear footsteps in the day, when he was trying to sleep. And when he would get back from his night shift, he would always find his stuff moved around. Also, he would find new stuff in his room. Once he found a brand new laptop. But he didn't mind.
He would burn some inscense and go by with his day, or night to be precise. He was not going to move out because he thought his house was haunted. He had been living there for 10 years, since he was 22. Now being 32. This house was special to him.
He was also a very lonely person. His lifestyle was a pullback in his social life, and his social skills. Samuel has always been a nocturnal person. He didn't hate the day, he just didn't found the appeal. Nights on the other hand, they were enchanting. He always liked the darkness that it provided, it's silence, it's calmness. So he took the night shift at his new job so he could live his dreamt lifestyle.
Samuel was a heavy sleeper, he always slept very well. The only times he had heard the footsteps around the house was because he had woken up to pee. But nothing was never out of the ordinary.
One day he woke up to his boss ringing him and telling him not to come in because there had been some technical difficulties. Of course Samuel was exastic. It wasn't the first time he had gotten a free night in his job, but he usually used them to walk around and appreciate the city.
He woke up at 9:00 pm to have breakfast, usually he would wake up at 7:00 pm, but this time he could spare some more hours of sleep. He then went to make some breakfast, or dinner. And then sat to watch some late night shows.
Everything was alright until a man entered through his front door.
First they both were pretty shocked, just staring at each other. A million questions popped inside Samuels head; who is he? Why is he in my house? And how did he git the key? But it wasn't Samuel who spoke.
"Who are you? And why are you in my property?" The stranger didn't seem hostile, just confused.
Samuel was as confused as him. "I live here. How did you got a key into my house?"
The man just appeard more confused. "No. I live here. Have been living here for 10 years."
Samuel looked at him, he was serious. "No, I have been living here for 10 years."
"What?" They both said it at the same time.
"This doesn't make sense." The man said. "How did you went in and out of my house without me noticing?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
Then something clicked inside Samuels head.
"Where's your room?" Samuel ask him. Although it was obvious he was going to point to the only bedroom in the house.
"Back there, why?"
"So, the laptop is yours."
"What?"
"And all the clothes I found that weren't mine in the drawers were yours too."
"You were using my laptop and my clothes?"
"I thought I had forgot I had bought them myself."
At this point in the conversation the man was sitting in the couch with him. He was taller than him, blond and seemed the same age as him.
"How come I haven't seen you sleeping in my bed? It still doesn't make sense how I didn't saw you all this years?" The man said.
"I work night shift, making me nocturnal. I sleep at day, wake at night."
"Huh."
"You know, I thought the house was haunted."
"Me too." The man sat back and try to process all of what had happen.
"So, how are we going to do this?"
"Do what?"
"Well obviously I won't kick you out. And I don't have the money to move out so..."
"You mean, still live like this?"
"It didn't affect us for 10 years, why would it affect us now?"
The man sat back again to think for a moment. And then he nodded, putting a hand over his head.
"How did this even happen?"
Samuel sat back for a bit and let it all set in. The fact that a man had been living in his house with him for 10 years, was bizarre. But it was even bizarre that he didn't knew either. But Samuel figured that everything that happens, happens for a reason.
"What's your name?" Samuel asked suddenly.
"Huh?"
"Your name. I just figured that if we are going to be living in this house together, then atleast I need to know your name"
The man sat up and smiled a little. "Malcolm."
"Samuel."
And just like that Samuel got his first friend in 10 years.
(Just uploaded part two, its down below 😁)
(Also if you want to follow my facebook page its www.facebook.com/shakingunder ) | 2015-09-27T21:40:10 | 2015-09-27T21:27:29 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "what this?"
"where am I? this not house."
"this green not mine."
"where Tim?"
*SPONKKK*
"Come here Apollo! Come heree!"
"BALL. TIM. TIM. TIM."
"Here is a big ol rib eye for you boy, salted and raw just the way you like it."
It was odd to Apollo, where ever this new home was, Tim never went to work, and the sun never set. He liked it. He liked Tim.
| The woman wakes to the sounds of screams, horrible inhuman sounds. And around her, heat and flames.
How had she got here? She remembers a pain in her chest and then...But why is she here? This must be a mistake. She spots a dark figure, he seems to suck all the light from the fires in, leaving just a black space, like a moving shadow with eyes...shining red eyes...
She starts to stammer and plead "this shouldn't be happening! I did everything right! I read my bible every day, I threw my only son from my home for being a sodomite! I helped bomb a doctor guilty of killing unborn children! All for the good of God! Where is my heaven? Where are the other good Christians just like me?!?"
For a second the shadow figure just seems to be looking at her, looking deep into her soul, then his white teeth flash and he speaks in a voice like the buzzing of a thousand flies "oh, don't worry, we have lots of your kind here, you will fit right in"
| 2016-03-07T15:32:11 | 2016-03-07T14:25:07 | 809 | 334 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "what this?"
"where am I? this not house."
"this green not mine."
"where Tim?"
*SPONKKK*
"Come here Apollo! Come heree!"
"BALL. TIM. TIM. TIM."
"Here is a big ol rib eye for you boy, salted and raw just the way you like it."
It was odd to Apollo, where ever this new home was, Tim never went to work, and the sun never set. He liked it. He liked Tim.
| "Hell? I died and I went to hell? I mean, what the hell man?!"
Death stared down at John. For a moment he stayed silent and just stood there watching from a faceless empty beneath his pitch-black hood.
"When you leave the living world, you enter the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, wether you realise this or not." Death spoke with a sharp whispering voice.
"Are you serious, man? What did I do wrong even, I mean, I'm a pretty laid back guy I'd say."
Death stared again for a moment. "You are a sinner John, just like the others."
John looked up at Death, a puzzling look on his face. "What others? Who else is here?"
Death moved closer to John and leaned in untill he was inches away from John's face.
"Everyone." | 2016-03-07T15:32:11 | 2016-03-07T14:03:46 | 809 | 197 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "Heaven? I'm sorry, but what the Hell?", you half-shouted when I gave you the news.
"Welcome to your home for the rest of eternity." I intoned for the thousandth-or-so time that day, beaming. It never got old. Uriel had sometimes expressed moderate boredom, even tricking new entries in fun little ways upon their arrival. A hearty laugh was invariably shared by all parties involved. A montage of his whimsical welcomes was archived for later enjoyment; they resurged in popularity every decade or so.
But I never grow tired of it. I don't know, it's heartwarming.
"I don't know what I disbelieve more; that Heaven exists, or that I made it." Not a new statement; but then again, what is, after this long?
"You were-- are, a good man. You helped people: gave blood, donated to charity, and forgave people who wronged you. You usually did all you could to create more good than bad and destroy more bad than good."
"Usually?"
"Only human." I allowed myself a playful smirk.
"Still: I wasn't a believer. Not since my teen years. Not by a long shot."
"Doesn't matter; you qualified, quite easily. You were a good person, and qualified for Heaven."
"So it doesn't matter what I believed, or didn't believe?"
"Now, what kind of perfect God cares about something so petty?", I asked. Your face betrayed that you had never really thought of that. So few do, it seems.
"So I guess I know now that Christianity is the one that got it right."
Here came the part that, like giving people the good news never got old, never got any simpler or easily swallowed. So much of human thinking is focused on wrong-or-right, good-or-bad, black-or-white.
"Well, it's not exactly that cut-and-dry. Just about all of them are 'right', in a way. All the heavens of the major religions exist, and depending on how you live, you go to the Heaven which is right for you."
"What're the criteria for each?"
"Well, it's complicated, but it's all about which virtues you most elegantly and thoroughly display. Christianity's is forgiveness, Judaism has integrity, Buddhism's is serenity, For Islam it's supplication to higher purpose, the list goes on."
"There's all kinds of gods? Which one's the boss, the 'Zeus'? Oh man, is it Zeus?", you then asked.
"Nono, just one, as far as I know. The different religions aren't different Gods, or competing views of what morality is, they're different ways of being moral. To make it to a Heaven, you have to be a good person. Full stop. Which one is determined by how you were good, not how good you were. As such, they're much more similar to cities within a nation that to rival nations."
You stood for a second in silence, absorbing this new knowledge. Your next utterance was a simple, "...Huh."
I stepped back from the entrance, motioned you in. "Welcome home. The most immediate benefit to you, I'll bet, will be the buffet. Nothing you don't or won't like will be visible to you, nothing runs out, it's great. You're a 'foody', right?" | Baxter walked down the long tunnel of light. It grew brighter and brighter until his eyes began to water. Finally, the light abated and he found himself at the ticketing counter at O'Hare.
He took a couple shuffling steps toward the counter.
"Umm, hello?"
A rather short man climbed his way up onto the counter.
"Greetings, young traveler," the man said in a vice much deeper than his stature suggested. "Welcome to your Terminal Destination."
Baxter looked around at the empty ticket lines. "Are you saying I'm dead?"
"Well, of course you are. Traffic doesn't stop in Chicago."
"I'm dead?" Baxter repeated.
"Yes and unless you want to miss your flight, you'll need to get your ticket."
Baxter blinked at the short man on the counter. "I'm sorry, this doesn't sound at all like what Sunday School told me. Where's St. Peter? The Pearly Gates?"
The short man shook his head. "I hate to ask, but I need to see your ID."
Baxter instinctively pulled out his wallet and handed his ID over. The little man hopped down from the counter and started punching the keys of his computer terminal.
"Let's see here... Baxter T. Jeffries. Age 43. Hmm, looks like you're booked on Methodist Airline departing for Heaven in a little while, but they've marked here that you have to check in at the gate."
Baxter shrugged an took the ticket from the man. "I travelled plenty in my life, which way to security?"
The little man laughed. "Security? What are you going to re-kill people? Hijack a flight to Heaven and take it to Valhalla? Get outta here you kooky corpse."
Baxter watched as the little man walked toward the office door, still shaking with laughter.
"Okay. That was the weirdest thing ever."
Baxter walked down the terminal until he found a familiar cross with flame symbol. It'd been years since he stopped going to church, but he still recognized the Methodist symbol. He gripped his ticket, took a deep breath and walked to the gate counter.
"Um, hi. I'm Baxter Jeffries, I have a ticket to Heaven?" He said to the blue clad angel running the desk.
The angel took his ticket and started punching codes into the computer. "Mr. Jeffries, you were raised Methodist, correct?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"But you left the church at the age of sixteen. Because you, let me see here, ah here it is you quote were too old to believe in stupid fairy tales anymore. End quote."
Baxter felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Yeah, well, I was a rebellious youth."
"Yes, but you continued to live your life as an atheist until you were struck by a food truck and died."
"Well, I guess so."
The angel smiled at Baxter. "I'm, sorry sir, but your ticket to Heaven is hereby revoked." The angel ripped the ticket up.
"Wait, you can't do that! Where am I supposed to go now?"
The angel pointed over to a group of men in suits begging sitting in the middle of the food court. Baxter walked over to the men.
One of them looked up as he approached. "Spare some change, mister?" Baxter just shook his head and sat down with them.
As he sat down, a woman and a small child were walking past, each with tickets. The child stopped and was about to say something, but the mother shooed him on.
"Don't talk to them Joey."
"What are they, mommy?"
"Atheists."
"What are atheists?"
"People that are all dressed up with nowhere to go." They hurried on to their gate.
***
***You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!*** | 2016-03-07T18:42:42 | 2016-03-07T16:17:57 | 174 | 84 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | The city hums with life. The people oozing by like a faceless blob.
On good days I dive into the grime, and pull out society's cancerous refuse. Other days I acknowledge we've lost a member of blue. He crossed the line, and went dirty. There's no coming back once you're a crooked cop.
.55. My birthday was only a few weeks away. Retirement teased me with daydreams of fishing out by my cabin, yet haunted me at the same time. As a child I was lucky to know my calling. As a man it defined me. My ex wives can attest to that.
I was framed. I never stole the drugs from evidence. I never fed info to the local dealers. What I did do, was take my trusty glock -and two decades of tactical experience- and visited those that dared tarnish my good name.
When I had taken out the crew in a whirling din of smoke, profanity and lead, I lay bleeding on the concrete of the ruined warehouse.
I didn't call it in. No point. The wall of blue had long since turned their back on me. Even the medics would surely be "late" to arrive.
This is how my final act played out, I thought.
I was surprised when I woke up here. This giant Hall, with many doors. Food of gluttonous proportions provided in mountains. Enough booz to make an alcoholic blush. Every day I join the legion of warriors to enact moments of glory. They didn't take kindly to me using my gun, so now I'm learning how to swing an axe.
Apparently this place is run by an old man, and his son. I picked up the son's hammer the other day: he wasn't too pleased. I have a lot to learn, but it doesn't help that I can't speak their language. | Darkness.
I feel light, or am I just light headed?
I looked to my left and then right, and all I could see were stars in the distance. A noise by my thigh interrupted my train of thought. *Crrrrk* *Crrrrrk*
I picked up the small voice-in radio. "Hello?"
"Battlestar 303, what the hell do you think you are doing?" The voice said.
"Huh? I think you have wrong number?" I responded.
Echoing emitted through the radio. "*Did he just say wrong number? Space sickness? Possibly*. Uh Battlestar, in front of you -do you see the green circle."
I looked at the panel in front of me, there was a red and green circle. I smacked the green one. "Yeah, I just pressed it."
"*Oh God, he pressed it.* Uhh... Battlestar you were not meant to push that circle. I was just about to tell you that."
I sighed. "Well shucks dude, why did you tell me to press it then?"
"I didn't."
"You so did." I felt my ship moving forward faster now. It spun to facing a big spaceship, a mother ship. I began travelling toward it and played with the joystick, nothing seemed to work, I was on autopilot.
The voice continued. "Look Battlestar, don't worry. You've pressed the home button, you're being sent back to the ship."
"Oh cool, that's good right?"
"No. Not exactly. We are currently under attack, that's why we sent you out. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
*Zip*
"Oh God dude! They're shooting at me!"
"Use the force!"
"The what?" I screamed into my radio.
"Use the force, you're a Jedi!"
I looked frantically at my control panel. "What the hell button is that?"
*BOOM*
Darkness.
I opened my eyes, floating in space again. "Oh God... this again?"
*Crrrk* *Crrrrk*. The radio by my thigh repeated the noise.
I hit the red button this time. "Well, let's see where this goes."
I picked up the radio. "Hello, Battlestar 303 speaking."
"Nuaawh!"A high pitched voice responded.
*Ah... Shit.* | 2016-03-07T19:21:03 | 2016-03-07T17:46:39 | 128 | 40 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | Fred Phelps was getting tired of waiting. He had been suspended in space for what felt like a couple of years before he saw a light approaching. He knew this was the moment he'd been waiting for, but as the light drew near, Fred couldn't help thinking that God looked...different...than he'd expected. Instead of a bearded old man, God was sort of, well, a mass of noodles.
"Ha ha -- been waiting long?" the Apparition giggled. "I like to make people think they went to Hell."
Fred began, "Lord, it is me, your good and faithful serva--"
"Whoa, whoa!" the Monster cut him off. "First off, I'm not who you think, and second, don't call yourself MY servant! You're my hero!"
Fred couldn't help feeling a little flattered. "Well, I was among the few faithful."
"Faithful?! You were the best there ever was, man!"
Fred acted embarrassed, though if he was perfectly honest, he would have admitted that he was expecting a little VIP treatment in the afterlife.
"But let's clear up this little misunderstanding first," said the Monster. "I'm not your 'God' or whoever. I am What I am."
Fred felt his throat tighten a little as he considered the possibilities. "And...what are you?" he asked after a pause.
"Ha -- what do I look like?" The Monster spread its tentacles so Fred could get a better view.
"um...a floating...spaghetti monster?"
"Well, 'Flying' if you want to get technical. And make sure you capitalize the m in Monster."
Fred gulped. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Duuude! I'm so glad you're here! You were the ultimate religious troll! You took organized religion and made it the biggest farce! What am I going to do with you? I want to learn from you! You're older than me, and you've done a shit ton more heinous things than I ever even imagined! Teach me your ways, old man!"
Fred was nervous, but if he was perfectly honest with himself, he would have admitted that he still felt flattered. A God was looking to him for answers. Wasn't that all Fred really wanted?
"C'mon, Mr. Phelps" said the Monster as he wrapped Fred in his starchy arms, "put this strainer on your head, and let's go log on to 9gag!"
| When Bill came to, he was staring at a mauve-colored fabric back of an economy-class seat. *Life vest under seat cushion*, a little label read. A dull roar pervaded his senses.
*That's strange*, he thought, *I could have sworn I was still at work, when—*
He shook his head. He must have been dreaming. But where the hell was he? Had he celebrated that hard? The company had just had its best quarter yet, and Bill could take at least some of the credit. They'd been diversifying their product offerings. Though their bread and butter was still "Get Rich from Home," the new "Pennies on the Dollar" tax settlement offering was picking up steam, and management was *tripling* the number of call hours allocated to it. And Bill had basically designed that one from the ground up, down to the tagline—"We do the negotiation."
They'd already grossed over a million this month, and it was barely past the first week. He absent-mindedly fingered the Audemars Piguet his boss had presented him at the last all-hands. "Eat your heart out, Donny," he murmured under his breath. It looked good on his wrist. Real good.
But what was this? Why was he in this shithole of a plane, in *economy* class no less, rubbing shoulders with some miserable fucker who *wasn't* here by mistake? This thing looked like it was from right out of the seventies, no joke. His neighbor did too, what with the sunglasses and terry-cloth-shouldered polo shirt. He gave the guy a little nudge. “Buddy, you know where we’re headed?”
The neighbor replies with a thick African accent. “We are in Nigeria, my friend,” he replied, “and when we are landed, you may inquire forthwith to my good friend the honorable Judge Bello ,who all know to be carefull and very much of the most honest and forthright and will provide help and assistance with your advancement of merely a small portion of his—”
The African dude is interrupted as the intercom comes to life with a burst of static. “\*psssh\*-uhhh-Citizens of the Confederacy-uhhh-we are entering ourrr... final descent into Teegee-\*psh\*-uhhh-arrival time is-uhh-several minutes-\*pshhh\*-of schedule."
The intercom remains on but silent for several moments before the pilot continues impassively. “\*pshh\* We at the Confederacy would like to-uhhh-thank you for choosing to ride with us today-uh-and your sacrifice is-uhhhh-greatly appreciated. Uhhh-All hail lord Xenu. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”
Bill’s brain has barely any time to process any of this before he’s chained to a volcano and he and the volcano are both exploded with a nuclear bomb. His disembodied soul haunts the people of Teegeeack for all eternity, except Tom Cruise. | 2016-03-07T19:44:40 | 2016-03-07T19:28:33 | 50 | 14 |
[WP] You have been paid to write a positive review about a game you hate. Try to make your real feelings clear to the reader, through any means necessary. | I mean, who could possibly hate League of Legends? I mean, I'm sure only jealous people can hate on such a glorious game. Who can forget the bright colorful characters with girls that look like they're fifteen? I mean, I enjoy animated tits and ass like every other nerd who couldn't get into a better game. And let's not get on the denying mechanic - killing your own creeps? Please! Why would you want to do that? I mean, it **only** denies EXP for the enemy team but that's too complicated for a **realistic** game.
But let's delve into bullet-points: should you play League or not?
**F**antastic artwork and graphics! Easy to run!
**U**nbelievable community that is so nice and welcoming to newcomers.
**C**ostumes and skins galore as you level up and grind!
**K**ids of all ages can enjoy a game of countless fun!
**N**umbers of people playing? Millions! Tens of millions!
**O**ther things you need to know? Nothing else. Just get your ass and start playing!
In a game you beat the enemy heroes and when you win, you get to do it all over again! This is one of the best games I have ever played ~~whenever Valve and Blizzard servers are down~~ so download League and try it today!
________________________________________________
I don't really hate League. I'm just an avid DOTA 2 player. /r/AvuKamu | Winnie the Pooh: Home Run Derby
10/10
This game, nay, this *masterpiece* truly captures the minds and imaginations of todays youth. And it won't let them go either.
Winnie the Pooh home run derby has all of the classic characters, Pooh bats, Owl runs a shop, everyone else pitches.
The game goes through 10 stages, with a sharp spike in difficulty after the first two, designed to teach children how it is in the REAL WORLD. The game throws spirals, illusive balls, bounces, and of course, Tiggers' balls go invisible.
Everyone remembers that from our beloved show, right? RIGHT?
The difficulty increases to make even adults cry with frustration, so it beautifully can accomplish its goal of stealing the innocence of childhood from any young Pooh fan!
No Timmy, it just isn't fair.
Anyone dedicated to completing the game will surely find themselves occupied for years to come, giving the game great value for its free cost!
Of course, the little details are important too!
Things like invisible walls that barely align with the oh so beautiful art, animations that don't match up with the ghost bat shown on screen, and confusing perspective all add up to keep the player guessing throughout!
Gameplay aside, the menu and background music is a work of art in itself!
The menu is cleverly designed to hide the upgrade system from any but the cleverest players, allowing you to horde up your currency freely!
The music is simple, but repetitive. It is hard NOT to get this song stuck in your head, even months after you give up on ever trying to beat the game!
Edit: Necessary links
[Here is the game.](http://fun.disney.com/winnie-the-pooh-home-run-derby) You have been warned.
Apparently it [has a know your meme page](http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/winnie-the-pooh-s-home-run-derby) explaining it pretty well, I was unaware of its online popularity when playing it. | 2016-04-17T08:28:29 | 2016-04-17T06:35:17 | 106 | 32 |
[WP] A murderer plans their murders so that a seemingly strong case can be brought against them, a case which they can then disprove with the tiniest of details. | I won't be convicted. I never am. I leave them with just enough circumstantial evidence to *know* I did it, but nothing that *proves* I did it. Infact, I leave the opposite.
"Your honour, we the jury find the defendant not guilty."
I aim a sympathetic smile at my victims tearful husband. He has aged years in a few days. His dark hair is flecked with greys, thick lines mark his face like those on a textbook, and the bags under his eyes are heavy and black.
They found me innocent based on DNA evidence. It's one of my favourites. I have many vials of sperm that I bought on the dark net. Usually sperm from a deceased. The fact that a few *unreliable* eye witnesses saw me nearby, around the time, means very little.
I used a condom, then I used a syringe. *It couldn't have been me, your honour.*
The nail on the coffin, so to speak, was the hair they found on her. Dark, long and greasy, unlike my short, well kept blonde locks.
I hear him shout at me as I walk out of the courtroom. These are the moments that make it all worth while. My lawyer doesn't shake my hand, he just looks sheepishly at the floor as he walks out. Even *he* knows I am guilty. But I am untouchable.
It's not always DNA based evidence that I use. Alibis can work too. Pay someone enough and they will say anything. Threatening to kill them and their family helps too. Sometimes I set up a suicide, making the victim write the note before I kill them. Other times it's simple false evidence, like a shoe that doesn't fit.
There are a thousand different ways to do it, and I have many hundreds left to try.
I make a quick phone call and then sit in my car for a while and reminisce. This was one of my finest. I think the next girl, who I have already decided on — a pretty young thing, a neighbours daughter — will have blood droplets found on her. But they won't be mine, of course.
**CRACK**
The front window splinters and bends inwards. It is the husband. His face is a volcano of rage and it is erupting infront of me.
"You're dead! I know it was you!" He spits out, his voice wavering.
**CRACK**
"I'm going to kill you! And I'm going to make it as painful as possible for you, you sick fuck!"
**CRACK**
The window screen shatters and he is upon me. I should be scared, worried of my imminent oblivion. But I am not. I expected him and I made the call. I already hear the sirens.
"Got you, you piece of human excrement. This is for Elise and every other life you have taken and ruined!"
He drags me out of the car and pushes me to the ground. His fists land repeatedly on my face and I soon taste blood. I hear my nose crack. The pain sends a rush of blood to be my groin.
"Step away from the man." Shouts an officer, but the husband is in a rage. He has bloodlust.
"Step away now!" comes the shout again. And then the husband does something unexpected. He stops beating me. I cannot allow this.
"Your wife... said I was the best she... shes ever had" I whisper to him as I eject a mouthful of blood. I then give him a crimson grin.
He is back on me, his efforts renewed. His hands grasp at my neck and he begins to throttle me. I am still grinning.
**BANG**
The bullet penetrates his skull and he dies almost instantly. His body lands heavily on top of me. Our blood coalesces on the concrete beneath.
A piece of gum rolls out of his gaping mouth. It is a struggle but I manage to get a hand to it. His saliva might come in useful someday.
I chuckle to myself as they put me on a stretcher. The police had no choice. He would have killed me. Yes, this was one of my finest.
---
For an alternative ending please check out /r/nickofnight
| The spectators had come to see a man condemned and the jury were nervous. The tension in the stuffy courtroom was palpable. Tom, the geriatric court usher, had been turning the Press away for two hours. There were simply no more seats left. It was the middle of July and the Crown Court had never had AC installed. The thick windows flooded the twelve good men and women in sunlight and at the bench, the prosecutor was sweating under his horsehair wig. Beside him, his assistant held a stack of documents a foot high. The nails on the hand that held them were bitten to the quick.
Oswald Deacon was the defence, and he sat rather than stood at his bench. Two pupillage students stood behind him, both with their eyes wide. Deacon's black robe dropped off his shoulders. His wig was askew. On the desk in front of him was a single sheet of paper. He was a man who read people like books, and in cross examination was fearsome as a bull and sly as a fox.
Bail set and paid, the accused came into the courtroom wearing a blue pinstripe suit cut so clean that the price tag would be a heavy burden for most men. He stopped at his counsel's desk and looked down at the sheet of prepared notes. Quickly, he scanned the paper and with a whisper, the court reporters began sketching him. A tall, angular man with grey hair and a heavily-lined face, he wore a signet ring on the smallest finger of his left hand. As he sat he twisted it. Deacon and the accused man leant their heads together, conferring before the announcement of the judge.
Years later they would still be talking about that day. Deacon would tell the story at dinner parties to anyone who would listen. It was an open and shut case for the prosecution: the footprints, the bruises on the ruin of the girl's face, the fingerprints on her wrists and the multiple eye-witness statements that placed him at the scene. The presentation of evidence had gone on for a day and a half, the sweating prosecution pulling out files from the bundle of documents his assistant had prepared.
It was all for naught. The spectators in the stands held their breath as Deacon swaggered up to the stand. The accused man had retained his straight back and restrained demeanour all the way through the prosecution's questioning: a constant flow of questions that had not abated for two hours.
"Mr. Sylvester," Deacon began. "Did you kill Rachael Evans?"
"No sir, I didn't," the accused man replied. The lines in his cheek crinkled as he smiled. "I understand the evidence is strong against me, but I can prove that it wasn't me."
"How do you intend to do that, Mr. Sylvester?" Deacon asked. The jury were leaning forward, away from the heat of the sunlight. It was silent enough that the usher's audible breathing kept time with the ticking of the clock.
"The bruises on that girl's face: the cause of death, Mr. Deacon,"
"Yes Mr. Sylvester?"
"The forensics concluded that they were caused by a hard signet ring, one which shattered her cheekbones."
"That is correct. You wear one such signet ring, is that right?"
"I do wear a signet ring, Mr. Deacon. And my houses were searched multiple times to ensure this is the only one I wear."
"Does this line of questioning have an object, Mr. Deacon?" The judge interrupted, but he was assuaged by the counsel's firm nod.
"Can you show us that signet ring, Mr. Sylvester?"
The accused man removed it from his finger, holding it between his index and his thumb. He began to squeeze. The ring buckled under the slight pressure, changing from its round shape.
"What does this mean, Mr. Sylvester?" The counsel asked.
"My ring is a higher concentration of gold than many others. It is simply too soft to have shattered bone. I could not have killed that girl." The accused man sat back in his chair as the prosecution jumped to his feet.
"You could have other rings," he burst out. "You could have got rid of them."
"Counsel, please," the judge interjected. "How could you have overlooked this? It seems to me that this trial has been severely misconducted."
The accused man looked at his defence. The defence smiled. He folded his notes and slipped them into his jacket pocket, beside the business card that held the judge's personal phone number. Deacon prided himself on his ability to read people. Sometimes being a good lawyer was not just about the law.
--------
/r/Schoolgirlerror | 2016-06-22T09:27:26 | 2016-06-22T09:16:28 | 1,573 | 144 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house. | "Player 2 has entered the game"
"What the hell?" He thought. Almost immediately there was a loud boom and a flash.
A sensation if weightlessness filled his body. He looked down to see his lifeless body on the floor, blood pooling where his head had once been.
A dark figure made its way across the room to his body. It bent down and he could see the outline of another man. The man ransacked the pockets of his corpse.
"What is he looking for?" Something glinted in the man's hand. He could just make it out as his vision faded to black.
"Shit, he got my gun."
Suddenly he saw a bright light ahead of him, and a door. Not what he had imagined the pearly gates would look like, but if he was getting into heaven he wasn't going to argue.
As he opened the door he was greeted by a familiar voice, "Player 2 has respawned."
"Oh, fuck..." | Grant stopped in his tracks. *This didn't bode well.*
He walked to the steel curtains, feeling them with his hands. Solid steel. He looked closer... were those scratch marks?
The house was massive, part of the reason why he chose to rob it. Surely there must be a way out? It was a really unsettling security system, he couldn't deny that.
He walked through the narrow corridors. He felt so claustrophobic, so trapped. He was deeply unsettled.
Time drifted on. The more he thought about it, the more he came to terms with the fact that he was going to prison. He was caught. It's not like it hadn't happened before.
The scratch marks though. They were everywhere. What could that mean?
Eventually, he reached the third story of the house. There seemed to be a crumpled figure on the floor. It wasn't moving. Why did it look so human-like?
He crept towards it, turning the body around with care.
He puked.
*****
Some months later, a burglar stepped through the window of the house. Suddenly, heavy steel curtains slammed shut, covering all the windows and doors leading outside.
Spotlights illuminated the room, causing him to squint against the light.
He could hear the crackle of a speaker. "Player 3 has entered the game" echoed through the house.
He looked at the walls.
The steel curtains were covered in deep, thick scratches. | 2016-10-05T11:10:45 | 2016-10-05T10:27:45 | 2,176 | 856 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house. | Leroy had been casing this joint for a few weeks now, never seeing anyone enter or leave. After deciding that this house was definitely just another one of the hundreds of winter homes here in Florida, he packed up his gear and chose his entrance. Looking around nonchalantly, Leroy smashed open one of the back windows with a brick and climbed inside.
Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains covered all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turned on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echoed around the house.
"The hell-" Leroy was cut short as "Player 1" barreled into him, knocking the wind out of him. As he lay there gasping for air, Player 1 raised his fist aiming a blow at Leroy's head. Dodging to the right, Leroy gave the man a swift punch in the gut and pushed him off of him.
Getting to his feet, Leroy ran to the kitchen hoping to find something with which to defend himself. On the table was a knife, a pistol, and a baseball bat. Leroy tried to grab the pistol but as he reached for it a number popped up floating in the air above the gun: "$25". "Aw are you f--". Player 1 was back and he beat Leroy on the back of the head with a double-fisted smash. Dazed, Leroy had just enough cognitive power to decide he wasn't going to play fair with this guy. Leroy slammed Player 1 right in his unmentionables with a powerful uppercut. The man doubled over, almost falling on top of Leroy. An announcement rang out.
"Player 2 has been gifted $5."
Leroy reached this time instead for the knife. "$5" floated above it and as he moved his hand and grabbed the knife the "$5" disappeared and was replaced with a check mark before fading away. Another announcement: "FINISH HIM!"
Leroy had never killed a man before and had no desire to do so now. However, he saw no other way to escape this hell so he did what he had to do. He stabbed Player 1 over and over and over again, blood spewing everywhere in thick strings. A loud fanfare sounded as he dropped the knife and laid back, panting. The victory bells were more like sirens, but they were still comforting because they meant, he presumed, that he was safe.
==============================
The police arrived moments later to see a man sitting beside a thoroughly destroyed scarecrow decoration in Mrs. Suttertan's kitchen. The officers searched the man and found several drops of acid in a baggie on his person. After securing the perp in handcuffs the head officer called up to Mrs. Suttertan: "it's okay to come down now, you're safe ma'am! Now could I get a statement from you on exactly what went on here?"
Mrs. Suttertan then proceeded to recount to the officer how the thief broke in via the back window next to the kitchen. She told the officer how she was cleaning out her attic and was taking an old Halloween decoration downstairs to throw out when she saw the man and dropped the scarecrow. She told him how the man wrestled drunkenly with the scarecrow for a good 5 minutes until they arrived. "And well, you see the rest."
"Thank you ma'am," the officer said. "You did good calling 911 right away. We'll keep a few extra patrols in this area as a precaution, but you should be safe now."
The officer left the scene, a lesson first learned in 1969 once again reinforced as he looked at the bag of drugs. Never take the brown acid. | The curtains flung pass behind me. They wouldn't open, either. So I slammed down with my fist, and came out with a throbbing fist. That wasn't going to work either. I looked around, for some other entrance. I may be a burglar, but I know bad decisions, when they kick me from behind, drag me to the floor, and proceed to smash my brains out. I looked around, at book shelfs, at a table, at a chair, at laptops, and some very nice iPads. Sooner I was out of this weird place, sooner I could sell some stuff, and get some bosh. Sooner I could get some bosh, sooner I could give some bribes. Sooner I could give some bribes, sooner I could steal some stuff. Go back to the start. It was a very nice closed cycle. Unfortunately, it seemed I was going to have some trouble.
I saw a thing flash past. The door was wide open, by the way, and the lights very much lit. I peered out, into a long, carpeted hallway, and I saw a mirror. Or, at least, I thought a mirror. He was wearing black top, blue jeans, and what looked like parts of broken trainers. When my shadow moved, I could tell that he was not such the case.
I lifted up my knife. Ive always thought that guns were just to messy, and to loud, for my kind of work. His knife lifted as well. I said "We know what we want..." in a light, and, oh well, yes, a shaky voice. "Yes, we definetly do... Now, It seems that you have gotten us stuck. So get us out!". He obviously wasn't so scared of a guy with a knife. Well, I hadn't been going to long. "I... I don't know how. I mean, you were obviously here first." I explained. "And how would you know that?" "Well, considering it said player two, I mean, I kinda thought..." "So you heard it too." "Yes" "Well. Great. Good. So , mastermind, if you're so smart, how do you suppose we get out of this metal box?" he questioned. I didn't really know, I mean, its not as if you prepare yourself for being in a metal box and getting out of it everyday, do you? Do you? God I wish I could talk to people in the future. Or look into the future. I might not get trapped in metal boxes so much. Any way, I looked to my left, where a long staircase led up, and up, and up. I said "You first..." and he pushed me forward. I got the jist of it, and started up the steps.
Up and round, the staircase went, and after many steps, we reached the top. We had passed a few landings along the way, all with metal across the doors, and iron across the windows. What was this, a prison, or a house? The door at the top, had greek lettering on it. Προσοχή, μια ύδρα, was what it said. The phrase 'its all greek to me' came up a good few times. Anyways, it was the only door left unlocked, and so I turned the handle, and let the door creak open... Actually, I should tell you about the door. It was a dark, wooden, oak door, obviously intended to be strong, and hard, and the scratches on the door did worry me a bit. Have I told you about the flooring? No? Ill just get to the...
A giant hydra was lying behind the door. It was sleeping, luckily. My other 'Friend' had left me behind the strong oak, and called "You alright?". I decided to never let him know. There was another door, oak, behind the hydra. I sneaked past, and shouted to him "Come through!" And slammed the door behind me. I was outside, dawn was breaking, and the world was generally shining. I hope my little friend had a snuggly time with that beast.
J2D28U
- please tell me how bad
my work is BUT also tell
me how to improve it.
Thank you for reading! -
| 2016-10-05T12:26:51 | 2016-10-05T10:06:35 | 115 | 25 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house. | “Welcome Daniel,” came a booming voice from another room.
Daniel took a panicked look around. “I…I just needed a quick buck, what the hell is this?”
The lights went out and the room with the voice had a faint glow. Dan took a hesitant step towards the room but fell through the floor. He landed in what looked like an exact replica of the house. Unsure what he had got himself into he took another step towards the couch to have a seat. When he did everything shifted around the room and stuck to the walls. That’s when she stepped out of the kitchen.
Daniel went blank-faced. How was this even possibly? She was dead it wasn’t his fault but goddamnit he never forgot that night. “How have you been,” the lady asked. “Miss me?”
“I don’t understand, we saw you die, I mean I wanted to help but we panicked and we thought you were dead, and there wasn’t anything we could do.”
“PLAYER 3 has entered the chamber,” that mysterious voice made Dan jump out of his skin.
“It seems our final guest has made his way here,” she snapped her fingers and another person came falling out of the roof. Daniel recognized him immediately it was old friend whom he hadn’t spoken to since that night.
“Craig?”
“Dan, what the fuck is going on?” Craig was getting on his feet. “One second I’m stepping into this easy old lady’s house and the next thing I know I’m trapped and fall down here.” He looked over and saw her, the love of his life, but something has changed she looked darker. “Sally, oh my god Sally.” Tears came flowing from his eyes.
“Well Dan and Craig it seems you haven’t forgotten what happened and obviously neither have I. Since you two left me there to die the GameMaster has given me a chance to do the same with you two,” again a snap of her fingers and the room changed to an arena. Weapons hung on the wall; battle axes, swords, nun-chucks were amongst them.
“Everything just went wrong and you weren’t even supposed to be there,” Daniel yelled! “We were young and stupid teenagers we thought we could get away.”
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH and pick your weapon, and choose wisely for it may be the last choice you make,” the lady said as she walked up to her seat. “You have 2 minutes to choose for the duel starts then. Oh and if you fail to make a decision I simply will kill you both.”
“Dan you’re not buying this shit are you. Our guilt has just caused us to go crazy man,” Craig stammered.
“You know what Craig fuck you man. You never returned my calls and I needed you, I needed you so much but the bottle and nightmares replaced you.” Dan looked up to Craig and met him in a dead look. He moved to the wall grabbed a sword and threw one to Craig. “You were my best friend and then you just left me. I’ve lived a pretty shitty life but you were someone who kept me going and without you I didn’t see the point.”
Craig grabbed the sword off the ground and the lady jumped with joy as the duel has begun. Both Dan and Craig had much sword fighting experience but in this world it didn’t matter much. The moves came with ease as Dan and Craig fought tooth and nail. All the while the lady smiled her thin lips pushed together. Swords clanged, sweat dropped, blood was drawn and at the end it seemed they both had nothing left. Just then Craig made a move that made Dan jump and instinctively the sword went through Craig. He was bleeding out on the floor next to Dan and with his dying breath, “I’m sorry man I know I fucked up. I loved her so much and had to try and leave it behind me and I didn’t even think of you.”
“She may have been your girlfriend but fuck man she was my sister. I had to face my family and tell them what happened. I saw my mother’s tears and my father’s disappointment. I may feel bad later on in life about you but right now I’m glad you’re leaving for good,” Dan said as he stood up and walked away. “I miss you, sister, but you and I are even now I have nothing let me leave.”
“As you wish,” the sister snapped her fingers again and Dan appeared in the living room with Craig bleeding out and the next thing he heard was “We got you surrounded come out with your hands up.”
| Mark had been casing the house for weeks… and his source said it was supposed to be an easy job. The plan was simple, while the owner was out of town for the week, he would climb the tree just outside the house, enter through the 3rd story window, and make his way to the treasure vault down in the basement. Mark’s source even gave him all the schematics to the alarm system… but there was nothing about this in the schematics.
Mark was trying to get a feel for the room he was in as the recorded voice kept repeating itself over the loudspeaker: “Welcome. Player 2 has entered the game.”
The room was small and very bland looking. Other than the steel curtains now blocking the window behind him, there wasn’t a lot of color in the room. It looked to be somewhat of an office, or work area of some sort. A small desk was in the corner with what looked like a typewriter. There was also an old style rotary phone on the desk. The thing most out of place in the room was next to the one and only door for the room. It was a small panel, with four different colored buttons: red, blue, yellow, and green.
Mark began to mutter to himself. “Who the hell would put a control panel for a door lock on the inside of a room? Wouldn’t it be better to put it out in the hallway to keep people out of a room?”
A new voice started to come in over the speaker. “Welcome, Player 2! My goodness, it’s been ages since I got to play a game! I’m so excited!”
Mark began to look around the room in a frantic manner. “Who’s there!? What’s going on!?”
“Oh…” The voice sounded somewhat letdown. “You mean, you entered the house and don’t even know the rules?”
“Rules? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, let’s go over the basics. First, what should I be calling you?”
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?”
“Hmmm… That is a strange name, how about I just continue to refer to you as Player 2? I am the A.I. of this house. I oversee the participants and make sure they are enjoying themselves. As you can see, you are currently locked in a room. The control panel with the four buttons will unlock the door with the correct combination. Your goal is to make it into the next room. Sound like fun?”
Mark went over to the panel next to the door. “So you're telling me I need to hit these buttons in a specific order, and the door will unlock?”
“That’s right! You are catching on.” The voice almost sounded full of glee, like a child who hadn’t played with a toy for a long time.
Mark began to fiddle with the buttons and press them randomly. “Hmmm… I have no idea how long the code is or anything. I may have to hit some buttons more than once for example.”
“Ummm… excuse me player 2, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You see, if you enter the wrong code, well… It won’t be pretty.”
A pre-recorded voice came back on. “Game Over.”
Mark looked around a little bit. “Game over? What does that mean?”
The A.I. voice came back on. “It means the room will now self-destruct and you die. Good try Player 2.”
The room erupted with a flash, and in the blink of an eye, Mark was dead.
---------------------
Mark’s feet reached the floor. The room was oddly… familiar. A steel curtain over the window, the room devoid of any real decorations, a desk in the corner with the typewriter and the phone, the panel next to the door, and the annoying recorded voice on repeat. “Welcome. Player 2 has entered the game.”
Mark looked around the room again, “Didn’t I die?”
The voice of the A.I. started to come over the speaker. “Welcome back Player 2. You indeed did die. The owner of this house is a genius scientist. He outfitted me with the ability to alter time and space within the confines of this house. I simply rewound time back to when you entered the room. It’s like you have unlimited lives! Isn’t that great!”
“Yeah… that’s fantastic. So I’m stuck in this house until I complete this little game. By the way, why am I player 2? Who is player 1?
The A.I. was silent for a bit. “That’s the best part…" The voice went deep as it uttered the next words, "I am.” After a bit of silence, the voice went back to normal, "you may either refer to me as player 1, or GM. Let's have fun player 2!"
| 2016-10-05T11:37:00 | 2016-10-05T11:23:43 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] The key to unlimited cross-breeding is discovered. Nations begin a feverish, genetic arms race, using every species at their disposal - not for conquest, but simply to defend themselves from inevitable horrors that Australia is about to unleash. | When Dr. Johann Freidrich discovered the secret of safe and effective gene splicing in 2027, he won a Nobel Prize and changed the world forever.
At first, the splices were fairly innocuous, albeit ridiculous; a dog-cat mixture was one of the more popular new species. However, governments soon realized the potential wartime applications of splices and the most powerful nations in the world began dedicating billions of dollars to discovering new, terrifying splices. The first military splice was by Russia; they were able to splice a bear, a hornet, and a turtle to create a heavily armored and dangerous steed for their troops. The United States was next in line, and, not to be outdone by filthy Communists, created an eagle-hornet-horse-rattlesnake splice. Other countries quickly followed suit, with Egypt producing a lion-electric eel splice, Great Britain splicing a goat-lizard, and China creating a tiger-wolf-falcon.
Noticeably absent, however, from this genetic arms race was Australia. The home of the most dangerous and unique animal species on Earth had gone completely dark almost immediately after the arms race began. Tourists and business people were still allowed, grudgingly, in the coastal areas, but the interior remained entirely off limits, and agents sent by other nations to gather intel from the area reported being driven off by the likes of swarms of flying spiders, man-sized ants, and kangaroos with scorpion tails. Everyone wondered what Australia was up to during the opening months of a tense genetic cold war.
The world stopped wondering when reports began flooding in from Indonesia of jellyfish-koala-stingrays walking out of the ocean bearing Australian soldiers and supplies. The world descended into chaos with this unprecedented display of power. Tensions rose and a coalition assembled, led by Russia, the United States, and China, the world’s top non-Australian genetic powers to leverage a deal out of Australia. When it became clear that the Australian war machine would not accept any deal, the coalition declared World War III.
The coalition nations went into a mad scramble to claim any and all biodiveristy they could find, ignoring all borders and national sovereignty. This was not enough to stop the Australians, and, in March, Hong Kong was taken over by butterfly-dolphin-cows.
World War III lasted a measly two months after the fall of Hong Kong before the Australians released their ultimate weapon: ant-sloth-bee-kangaroo-spiders. This new splice, genetically programmed to be loyal to Australia, spread across the globe like wildfire, eliminating all other splices in its path and becoming the new apex predator. Cities were transformed into colonies for this new species and the Australian war machine was victorious. Australia was no longer a continent, Australia was a planet. | We gathered in the main hall, the head scientist's office and lab. Our head scientist, Nigel Pixburry, was a genious. Unfortunately, we've just recovered his body and holotapes from an Australian containment facility. Nervously, my coworker placed Nigel's holotapes on the table and hit the play button.
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 1.***
***I have just arrived in Australia. At the airport, a man offered me a Dingaroo. At first, I thought it was some kind of drug, but it turned out to be an animal. According to him, it's a cross between a dingo and a kangaroo. He told me this particular Dingaroo ate children. This place is already scaring me.***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 2.***
***Today, I went on a controlled safari with a local geneticist. I was undercover, going as Frigel Dixburry, CFO of the World Wildlife Foundation. I saw some things... freaks of nature. The Rhinopotamus, for example. A cross between the agressive Black Rhinocerous and common hippopotamus. It has massive jaws, tusks, and a horn, with incredibly hard skin. I fear the worst for America's safety, should the Rhinopotamus be released.***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 3.***
***They found out who I was. They said I couldn't leave alive. The head researchers at this genetic laboratory put me in the Rhinopotamus facility to test their aggression. Well, using some of the ol' Pixburry intuition, I escaped on a Rhinopotamus, taking 12 lives with me. I'm now in some jungle, far from any signs of life. I'll try to make it to the airport, but don't your breath.***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 4.***
***Hello? This is private Reeves of the Australian Genetics Foundation. We found the body of a man named Nigel... Pexberry...? out in the woods, underneath a creature's nest. We're sorry to say, but he died of a Dropsnake bite. You see, it's a combo of dropbear and... well, you get it. Venom coursed through his veins and to his heart via several slashes to the neck.***
***Oi, Reeves! What're ya doin' with those holotapes?***
***Uh, nothing, commander!***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, final entry.***
***THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN AUTOMATICALLY RECORDED BY THE AUSTRALIAN GENETICS FOUNDATION. WE HAVE FOUND THE BODY OF DR. NIGEL PIXBURRY IN A CONTROLLED JUNGLE. WE CLAIM NO RESPONSIBILTY FOR HIS DEATH BY DROPSNAKE BITE. IT WAS HIS FAULT. AS WE AUSTRAILIANS SAY, HE DIDN'T WATCH OUT FOR THEM DROPPOS. SIGNING OFF.***
*****
Oi, them droppos be slashin' up dumb buggers who stray too far from the roads. If you don't want to be hacked up by a dropbear, subscribe to /r/Picklestasteg00d. | 2016-12-12T18:57:06 | 2016-12-12T18:40:55 | 85 | 25 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans. | Dear Xander,
Glad greetings to you and yours, and eternal joy to your ancestors.
The invasion of the Earth has been called off. The Sauronoid aggressors that bested us so long ago have all but disappeared. In their place, a race of mammalian bipeds not so dissimilar from ourselves who are incredibly happy to see us for no other reason than the knowledge that they are not alone. They are not as advanced or as long-lived as we are. Compared to us, they are children and warriors such as we are do not make war upon children.
We have spoken to their leaders and they have agreed to allow us to build bases on Earth and their moon. Apparently the humans excel at service industries and I expect that you will see some of them in your sector in the next century or so as soon as we get the wormhole exchange up and running.
I know the one thing that is on your mind: how do we regain our honor after our defeat by the claws of the hated Sauronoids now that they are extinct? We swore an oath to occupy the Earth and pick pieces of their flesh out from between our teeth.
A few weeks after first contact with the humans, I found myself invited to something called a "picnic". A picnic entails an outdoor gathering of humans where they perform simple bonding rituals with each other and then eat a lot of food (Earth, come for the invasion, stay for the food).
So I'm sitting on this blanket in this meadow, trying out Earth food. The dish called "mustard potato salad" is particularly tasty, but then I was served several pieces of deep fried meat that smelled so frfrfrfr good! I tasted it and there was an explosion of delight in my mouth. I immediately asked what this was and I was told it was Southern friend chicken.
Xander, the enemy did not go completely extinct. They devolved. These chickens are the direct descendants of the Sauronoid ruling caste: the Tyrannosaurus Rex! Honor was restored and it was delicious!
We have agreed to terraform both Venus and Mars in exchange for a regular supply of chicken. If things go to plan, there will be chicken producing worlds throughout our empire and the humans will be granted first class citizenship.
A human holiday called Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I'm told they have something called "turkey" that will blow my socks off... | "A parting shot causing mass destruction to the land was our last effort to win a war that we had clearly lost. The terrible lizards lived up to the expectations. Almost unkillable, they tore our ranks apart. The damn things could stow away anywhere and all of them were dangerous. Finally, we laid waste to come back another day and left Earth.
The day of our glorious return was at hand. The beings are different, smaller without claws and razor sharp teeth. Now is our time. The world is ours, their resources will feed our world for 10,000 lifetimes. The terrible lizards were mindless killing machines. These beings are a little different."
I kept up the braggadocio, but that was a mistake. I would pay for my arrogance. We sent an incursion force. It was only a dozen ships or so. At least we had the element of surprise. Our first target was easy, a secret base near a place whose name didn't translate well into our language: Rose Well.
What happened was considered an embarrassment, but the worst was yet to come. The ships bombed the base, but the humans had advanced weapons. I watched as our ships disappeared, one by one. None of them came back, but we had a larger force ready to go. One defeat was expected though not nearly so lopsided.
But, the next event was unexpected. Out of the oceans came a bubbling. Our sensors picked it up, but what it was remained unclear. Out of the depths came thousands of ships. We were never concerned about the liquid, but we should have been. We hit them with our full force, everything we had, but it was to no avail. Every ship of ours was destroyed, except for mine. Our was force was annihilated in a Scorzar minute, and our sole surviving ship was boarded.
The beings that entered were not what I was expecting. I thought they would loo like the humans, but the terrible lizard foe from our past stared back at me. She was not large, but she still looked the part. They had been waiting for us.
"Tell your kind what you have seen today and do not come back. If you do, your home system will pay for your arrogance."
And with that, she left. The humans seemed defeatable given enough time and resources, but the terrible lizards were not. So, we accepted our defeat, and we went home to tell nightmares about those terrible lizards.
***
If you enjoyed this story, I'm also working on a story starring Batman and Superman called Alienated. [Here is part I.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/) | 2017-03-04T03:42:15 | 2017-03-03T19:09:49 | 664 | 260 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| The Galatic Council watched in horror as monsterous ships loomed over the burning homeworld of Humanity. Earth's multiple defence platforms were lit like candles, melting into little specks of metal, while laser and explosions littered the battlefield.
The last bastion of Humanity was putting on an admirable battle, but even the slowest member of the Galatic council could tell that it was only a matter of months before Humanity would give way. Zr'on, High Counciler of Ziar, was astouned at how the High Council was still apprehensive to the idea of sending their fleets to assist the Humans.
"Why do we still stay our hand? Are we contend to just watch Humanity burn? I say we send our fleets immediately! They will not last!"
Most of the Galatic Council stayed silent. Their faces were wrought in guilt, but yet Zr'on knew that many of them did not support his ideals. However, unexpectedly, Princess Gori of the warrior race of Sunpi spoke up. "Yes, we must immediately send our fleets to aid Humanity. We will not forget their warmth and friendliness. What Humanity have is rare. Their attitude and mindset is something we cannot afford to lose in a Galaxy so twisted in violence and distrust."
"Yet, do you not see how easily Humanity's ships and dreadnoughts were shredded, like paper? I will not risk my peoples' lives like that!" shouted the President of the United Piro's Council. Once he said that, many others started to echo the same mentality. Voices constantly got louder, until the fierce voice of Princess Gori cut through all of them.
"Then my fleet shall go alone! Cowards should just stay and hide! I will not abandon my allies, becuase they will never abandon my people!"
"Mine as well. I will never forget their kindness when my people were starving. They will live to see their children grow up, I swear upon my honor!"
Suddenly, what was once a barren land grew a small seed of hope for Humanity's future. Others did not forget what Humanity once represented, the kindness and hospitality they displayed. | The alien vessels fell upon the Sol Coalition's fleet in waves, as if an interstellar tide had washed in. The lumbering human ships wheeled their guns about, massive artillery pieces launching their rocket-assisted shells across the field. Maneuvering thrusters flickered as the ships struggled to hold position upon the first alien volley. The aliens effortlessly shrugged off the shells, as their Stasis modules plucked them from the midst of battle. Bright green beams of energy rippled from their ships, and before the humans could react, half of their right flank had vaporized.
This was the last stand for Earth; colony after colony had fallen to these strange aliens. They had attacked without provocation, without reason.
Now, we travel to the SCS Tidebringer, where Captain George Albright prepares for his last stand:
Aboard every human ship, klaxons blared and men rushed to their stations. Things were no different on the Battleship Tidebringer, one of the last of its class. Captain Albright simply folded his hands behind his back as the right flank was... simply evaporated. "We've just lost twenty ships, Captain!" an ensign yelled from the side.
"And the Torch?" the captain inquired.
"She's..." the man looked at his graviton-field monitoring system. "She's damaged, but she's still on the field."
"Thank God," he said, "Thank God. Ensign, tell the Torch they must withdraw."
"Sir?"
"Their mission is far more important than this battle. We will hold the line."
"With all due respect--"
"We will *hold* the line. That is an order."
The ensign shrunk back down, eyes miserably scanning the console before him.
The captain noticed a faint blue glow as the Torch's FTL drive powered up. The ship stretched, then leapt into the great beyond, course unknown.
"Now, Lieutenant, I want all fire directed at the middle ship in the fleet. Let's get their attention." The gunnery section nodded their head in approval, working furiously on their panels to adjust aim and reload their weapons. "Standing by," the lieutenant said, at length.
"Open fire, everything we've got."
The ship shuddered as twenty-six guns fired and six missiles launched in harmony, sending their payloads toward the enemy lines. The captain observed the trails, chuckling to himself. Under better circumstances, one might even think these weapons were beautiful to watch as they streaked across the blackness of spa-- His thought was interrupted by the immediate alien response, which tore through the hull of his ship.
Will finish shortly! | 2017-03-26T06:17:00 | 2017-03-26T05:50:12 | 68 | 42 |
[WP] You are described as a genius prodigy with perfect SAT scores and an IQ of 170. But, in reality, you guessed all the answers for all your tests. | They put me on a pedestal, they praised my brilliant mind,
The compliments I get, I just reply to them in kind.
For deep within, a secret, that I cannot bear to say,
That these results are rubbish, I have led them all astray.
They say I'll go to Ivy League, to Harvard, Brown , or Yale,
And I alone know if I went, that I would only fail.
For all these tests, and all these hours were but a simple fluke,
Yet still I cannot tell them, as I greatly fear rebuke.
What is my secret? Might you ask, well come and listen near,
And do not tell a soul, for all the backlash would I fear.
My genius is not what you and the others seem to see,
On all these scantrons through the years, I simply bubbled 'C'. | Doctor Kandill was impressed with Robert's IQ score so he decided to interview him.
"Robert, im perplexed, I thought I would never see something like this in my life, you are a prodigy." A smile drew in Kandill's face while he said that.
"Doctor, I guessed all of the answers, I am just a normal guy with a copious amounts of luck" Robert replied in a shy voice.
"Luck? I would not call it luck" Kandill said and handed Robert a puzzle.
"Try solving this, you have 120 seconds"
Robert saw the puzzle and solved it in 30 seconds while Kandill watched in awe.
"Was that luck too?" The doctor said.
"Yes, I just moved the rings and somehow solved it"
"No one ever had solved that puzzle. Your intuition its what makes you a genius, you always make the right call. I have studied most of the geniuses in past eras, Da Vinci, Einstein, Newton, etc. You have the mind to be as great as them or greater. You are the future" At this point Kandill was almost in tears, he knew well the potential that Robert had.
"If that is true, why my "intuition" is telling me that it was just pure luck"
"You are young and insecure of yourself, even the brightest minds need guidance. Come with me"
| 2017-05-07T22:41:49 | 2017-05-07T20:10:59 | 295 | 94 |
[WP] You are the owner of a magic backpack; every morning you stick your hand in and it contains exactly what you need for the day. One morning it contains a gun. | I've had the same backpack for fifteen years, and I don't plan on switching soon. Not since that first day in second grade when I reached inside my empty backpack and felt the crinkly foil of a pack of trading cards. Got some boss pulls and dominated the playground scene. Or that one time I was running late and forgot my lunch. Sure enough, the same lunch I forgot just happened to be sitting in my backpack. It's gotten me roses for my girlfriend on Valentine's day, annotated research papers for my thesis, and once, even a winning lottery ticket when I was behind on rent (not jackpot level, but enough to pay what I owed).
It seemed humble, in a way, in that it would grant me exactly what I needed. No more, no less, every single time. It couldn't be fooled, either- I'd tried intentionally leaving lunch at home, to see if I could get free food. A few days of going hungry later, I stopped trying to exploit its mysterious magic.
So imagine my surprise, when, at the beginning of an ordinary work day, I reached into my backpack and felt the cold metal of a gun. Not anything ridiculous. Just a revolver. I've never cared for nor have I ever owned any guns for as long as I can remember. I've always been afraid of the responsibility and the implications carrying one bestowed. I mean, when it comes down to it, muggers are just desperate people. Who am I to take their life over the paper in my wallet?
It took me a lot longer to get to work that day. I'd spent half an hour contemplating whether or not to bring it. Though there were no strict laws against carrying, I figured I'd need to have a license if I wanted to use it. And if someone saw it at work, I'd be fired. But the backpack had never been wrong. Never. So I relented and took the next bus, an hour late for the third time this year.
The ride was torture. Each bump and rattle of the large bus shook the revolver in my backpack. What if it fell out? Dear god, what if it fired? I held it still as best I could-though not too tight. Wouldn't want to accidentally set it off. I contemplated unloading it, but I figured it was best not to change what the backpack thought was best.
My fellow passengers were much calmer. A few were on their phones. A lady was reading the paper. A man in an insulated coat was shaving with an electric razor. An old lady coddled a little dog in her lap. Hopefully I wouldn't have to shoot any of them.
On the way there, I noticed one police car and one ambulance. Not entirely unusual, but rather worrisome on a day like this. Nobody paid them any mind.
After what seemed like an eternity, I slipped into my cubicle. The office was quiet as usual. With luck, nobody would notice I was late. A few slackers were watching TV in the lounge. My boss was screaming angrily into his phone and paid me no mind. Everyone else was engrossed in their work.
As I loaded up the computer, my boss slammed down his phone. I prepared myself for an earful, but instead, he made an announcement. "Alright, everyone, this is no cause for alarm, but I've just been informed that the building is under lockdown."
One of the slackers who had been watching TV bolted from the lounge towards the front door. Nobody made any attempt to stop him. The other two looked at each other, then started dragging the coffee table to block the door. I peeked into the lounge and saw "Zombie Outbreak" on the news.
Cursing, I bolted to my desk and laid low. Emergency lights screeched by on the streets. Nobody was working, though they all pretended to. My boss took a swig of whiskey from the flask in his desk. I kept glancing at my backpack. It wasn't time yet. If they knew I had a gun, they'd ask questions. Take it from me. Maybe even kill me. I was not ending the day with a bullet in my head.
An hour later, the pounding began. Slow, rhythmic bangs on the door. The power went out, but we still had plenty of sunlight. It all felt so surreal. Nothing like the horror movies. We knew we were safe inside. There's no way humans of average strength could break down our barricade by just ramming their heads into it.
When night fell, and no help had arrived, we began to get worried. The power had returned, maybe a backup generator, but the news had stopped broadcasting. Instead, we got the screech of an emergency broadcast reminding us that help was on the way and to stay indoors. I was in the lounge (with my backpack this time), watching for any new information when that stupid-ass intern (Jeff?) made a break for the fire escape.
Of course, the emergency alarm sounded, mixing its beeps with the screeching of the TV. Jeff sprinted outside, maybe getting four steps in before being swept up by the wave of zombies rushing in. One of the guys in the lounge sprang into action and slammed the door shut, bracing it with his back. "Get me a chair, a table, fuck, the TV! Anything!"
Cries of help rang from the other side as two workers dragged over an armchair and a third tried to stop them. "We have to help them! They're still alive out there!" she cried. They finished their crappy barricade and slumped to the floor, exhausted. The lounge door was made of much cheaper material and the first few slams had already cracked it.
I took a step back and kicked my backpack. I could have sworn I zipped it up, but the gun fell out anyway. An arm burst through the door, grasping with bloody fingers. It was time. I picked up the gun, held it to my head, and closed my eyes. I should have known something was up when the backpack only gave me one bullet. I fired. | It felt heavier than I'd expected. The weight of the backpack never changed. If it could contain a dolphin without me noticing, I shouldn't be surprised at a gun. But I'm surprised. Very surprised.
I arrived at school. Walked up to my locker. Looking around I was alone. Hurriedly I put the gun inside and shut the locker.
"Hey."
Matthew stood right in front of me. Oh god I hope he didn't notice-
"What are you doing with a gun? I hope you remember that I've always been nice to you. Yeah that pen I borrowed? You'll get it back, I promise."
He looked about ready to burst into laughter, as always impressing himself with his notion of deadpan humor.
"Please, Matthew," I said, "can you keep this between us?"
He stroked his beardless chin as if in consideration. "Well," he said. "On the one hand, I guess I got a bit of leverage on you now. You've got a gun. I could exploit that. On the other hand, *you've got a gun*."
"Can you please not say that out loud?"
He put his hands up. "You don't have to say *please* anymore. You've got a *gun*."
In mock surprise he covered his mouth and fell to his knees. "Oh no. Please don't shoot me. I've got a Tamagotchi. I mean, I haven't fed it in like forever, but I've been meaning to change. I'm going to turn things around."
Fucking Matthew.
I left and headed for class. Matthew followed me.
"So," he says. "Technically we're in this together now. By not reporting this to the appropriate authorities, I'm committing a felony. I could get into trouble for this. So ..."
"So?"
"So I feel like I should get some sort of explanation. What's it for?"
I shrugged. "You tell me."
"Well, I'm flabbergasted. Don't you just love that word? Flabbergasted. *To be overcome with surprise and bewilderment*. No, seriously. What are you planning?"
"Can you just leave me alone?"
"We're partners now, remember? Besides, I'm pretty sure I know the answer." He winked at me. Then, thankfully, he went away.
I got into class and sat down.
"Hey, Kelly, did I just see you talking to Shit Breath in the hallway?"
"You mean Matthew?"
"Who?"
"His name is Matthew."
My friend Veronica had an expression that I'm sure Matthew would be delighted to hear described as 'flabbergasted'.
"You know, it never occurred to me that he had an actual name. I mean, everyone's got a name. But he's Shit Breath. Even the gym teacher calls him that."
"Well, Veronica, people are mean."
She sighed. Then our history teacher walked in, and everyone sighed. He was carrying a *tome*. When he dropped in onto his desk his coffee mug flipped over. He didn't seem to notice.
"Can anyone tell me what this is?"
A student raised his hand. "A book?"
"Brilliant observation, Mr. Hendricks. It is, indeed, a book. Not just any book. This a book about a single moment that changed history. About the shot heard round the world."
A shiver went down my spine. I raised my hand.
"Yes, Kelly?"
"Like, from a gun?"
"That's exactly it. Like, from a gun. This book is about the shot in Sarajevo. About the chaos that ensued and the events leading up to this moment. It is often said that that the *actual* shot was not the one from Gavrilo Princip's chamber, but from the loaded gun ... of history."
As he removed his glasses for effect, the class collectively groaned. That is, except for me.
I raised my hand again.
"Kelly! At least *someone* here is interested to learn about the intricacies of history. What's your question? I've read this baby back and forth a dozen times. Whatever the question, it's got the answer." He rubbed the cover of the book, then curled his lips. "Shoot."
"Can I, uh, use the bathroom?"
The class laughed as he frowned at me. "Sure, it's not like you're going to miss anything important, like the defining moment of Western civilization or anything."
I stared at him. He waved me away with a defeated look. "Yes, Kelly. You may go to the bathroom." He stared longingly at the book and shook his head slowly.
The backpack had never been wrong. Not once. And now I was worried that the gun could be more important than I'd ever thought. What if it was like the gun in Sarajono?
I made my way to my locker and saw the last person I wanted to see. Matthew.
"What?" I said.
"I figured you would come. So ... is it time?" He was wearing a bag over his shoulders. And he was shaking.
"For what? Jesus, Matthew."
As I looked into his eyes my annoyance suddenly disappeared. This guy didn't deserve to go around getting called Shit Breath day in and day out. I wanted to just tell him to get lost, but I realized I would be just another faceless asshole if I did.
"I must say, I'm surprised Kelly ..."
"Why?"
"I mean, you're popular. People like you ... I didn't expect this from ... someone like you."
I felt like crying. Someone just listening to him as a person, calling him by his actual name. That meant something to him. And that's when I realized it. The gun was a metaphor. Words can bite like bullets. And Matthew was Swiss cheese. That was what the magic backpack had been trying to tell me.
"Matthew," I said, "I think you're a cool guy. Why don't we have lunch some day?"
"Wait, what?"
"I'll introduce you to some people. You're funny. I'm sure when people get to know the real you they'll really like you."
"But ... the gun."
"It turns out I don't need it anymore. Promise not to tell anyone about this?"
He patted his bag and stared at me. There were tears in his eyes. "You know what," he said, "you're right. I have a Tamagotchi to take care of, remember?"
We both laughed. I didn't really get it, but eh.
As I walked back to class I felt great. I can't wait to see what will be in the backpack tomorrow. | 2017-05-09T15:28:03 | 2017-05-09T15:09:46 | 255 | 153 |
[WP] After people die, they must answer a riddle, and its difficulty depends on their sins. You've committed genocide. | I hear a knock, and look up.
"Hey Dave, your 10:15 is here. Dude's got a KDR or like, 12466064.34 or something."
*Oh, shit. This guy. Forgot.*
"Hah, wow. How did he get .34 of someone, right? Anyways, show him in."
"Will do. Hey, what are you gonna hit him with? You never submitted your riddle for peer review, and well, this case has a lot of eyes on it, if you know what I mean."
*Oh, fuck off. Stop angling for my job.*
"I submitted it with that buggy new web app they asked us to use. Tell them to ask Ted about it."
"Sure man, sure. Alright, seeya!"
"Yep."
*Fuck. Stupid peer review. Stupid riddle. How the hell was I supposed to come up for something like this? They cut training, and then ask for this shit...*
I look up, and see the shade of a judged one enter the room.
*Ideas, ideas. Maybe... nope, that's terrible.*
"So, they brief you out there?"
"Yes. You ask, I answer."
*Damnit. What's black and white and re... No. What about the three legs one? Ugh, no.*
"Okay, great... Your riddle is..."
*Wait, wha...*
"What have I got in my pocket?" | I had imagined death to be much different. All my life, death to me was a picture of white clouds surrounded by bright blue skies, filled with people dressed in white robes and halo above their heads. Or in my case, perhaps the fiery pits of hell, doomed to eternal damnation. Never in my life had I imagined standing in a queue, waiting to be asked a riddle to determine my fate.
"Thomas Prince, or as you are known on Earth, General President Prince," the robot in front of me beeped.
"Yes," I nodded, studying the towering grey figure. Another thing that I never expected to see in death: Robots. So many questions ran in my head, but before I could ask any, I had to be asked a question first. A question to determine my fate. God must have been a real prankster.
"We believe in second chances, which is why we have this protocol in place," the robot continued. It was the standard line that it gives out to everyone in the line.
"Just get it over and done with, will ya?" I simply cut in. It was not like I was going to get any easy riddles, anyway, like the guy who went before me. What is the answer to 1+1. Unfortunately for him, he overthought the answer and said eleven, when the answer was straight up simple 2. A whole life of being a godly man only to mess up at your final moment.
"Very well then," the lights on the robot blinked. "As you have committed countless murders in your life on earth, we have determined that you'll be assigned Category 10 riddle, perhaps the toughest riddle of them all."
I sighed, preparing for my inevitable descent into hell. At least I would have the honour to be asked the toughest riddle to have ever existed.
The robot beeped. "Why is 42 the answer to life, the universe and everything?"
--------------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-06-02T23:41:49 | 2017-06-02T20:41:18 | 193 | 76 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | You grew up with bruises on your knees and scabs aplenty, just like any other kid. What your parents never knew was that not all of them were your own.
You're ten; baby Sarah from next door is bawling because she's just fallen and skinned her knee. You take the pain away from her. As the wound fades from her knee your own skin starts to sting. It's ok. It'll heal soon.
You're sixteen; the first boy you've ever kissed is in agony because he might never play football again, might never get that scholarship, will never be able to escape from this vile, poisonous town. You take the wound away from him. You wince; this hurts more than anything you've ever done before. His eyes are wide; shocked. Nobody thought you had any powers. You can't tell anybody, you say, not anyone, and he agrees. He's so grateful he seizes you and spins you around the locker room, kisses you hard on the lips. It's the last real moment you'll ever share until he, too, leaves.
You're eighteen, and for the past four months your college roommate has been screaming in her sleep. At first you're annoyed; now you're just scared. You slip under her sheets. Her hands are icy cold, and her eyes fly open in the darkness. I can't deal with this anymore, she says, tears falling, please. You don't want to see. You do. Show me, you say, and then you take the memory in.
For the next fifteen minutes all you can do is curl up in a ball and moan, harsh gasps the only sounds you can make. This one, this one you might never recover from.
It's been fifteen years since you've seen your parents. Being summoned to the penthouse in the middle of the night is something of a surprise.
Until you see him. You can see into people now. His cancer is terminal.
Your mother is there. Of course she is. She would think nothing of sacrificing one useless girl for the life of one of the most powerful men in the world.
"My dear...," your father lurches forward, while you take an involuntary step back. "It's been too long."
You don't know when he managed to get so close. His grip on your arm is tight, almost feverish. "Help me," he says, and this time it comes out as a plea.
You lean close, close enough that your foreheads touch. Physical wounds heal, but the mental ones don't always go away, and sometimes they leave scars. You exhale, and it feels as if a shutter in your head has clicked open, releasing all the darkness you've collected from others, all the darkness you've collected your entire life.
He stumbles away from you, hands to his head. Your mother is screaming.
You turn on your heel and leave. You always did abhor screaming. | I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T07:49:37 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 1,670 | 25 |
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years | Honestly we were both really tired of it.
Our 15 year Pregnancy Anniversary had come and gone with a further-dwindling crowd. When we hit 5 Years, I swear half of the states population came and half of America turned into our broadcast. It was overwhelming, but I suppose I can't blame them. The longest on-record was 4 years 8 months, and that kid was the doctor who created the tests to determine the superpowers of each fetus. Incredible stuff, I must say. In fact, many other 3 and 4 year fetuses went on to become these amazing researchers and doctors at his Lab.
That man was born 50 years ago, and no one had ever exceeded 4 years and 3 months.
I could tell that after all that time, the public lost interest. Not that we cared. Doctors grew tired of pestering over our little girl and trusted us to be able to take care of her with some home treatments. Hell, they even stopped charging us for Pregnancy-related care after the 6th year.
My Wife had especially suffered for it. Our bodies have evolved for 10, 12 month pregnancies, but 15 years has taken their toll. She was in a constant state of pain in her back and neck, the baby is restless and seemed to kick daily, sometimes causing her to vomit.
When the birth came, it was jarring. I asked if she was joking, but when she couldn't respond, I knew it was happening. We had to make a quiet escape or else the news stations would mob the area. The Ambulance came silently, thank god it was the middle of the night. We sped to the hospital and after 13 more hours of Labor, we had our baby girl. The doctors ran the test and found... nothing. No DNA hints on what it could be. But it was something huge. Well, so huge that the entire DNA strand was different.
We watched her grow and as we did, we noticed she was *incredibly lucky.* If her 1st grade was announcing rewards for the #1 Student, she'd win every time. If we said something like "oh, I don't think we'll go to the zoo tomorrow. It's going to storm." Hell, it could be the middle of a goddamn monsoon and the rain would clear up in *minutes.*" If we said there's no way she could start a fire with her bare hands, she would conjure a flame at her fingertips.
You may be thinking, "wait, that last one doesn't make sense." You're right. Cause after 7 years of countless events similar to the former, she finally told us her power. Her baby blue eyes stared big at us as she said "I can manipulate probability."
We were obviously confused. But she explained. "I can see it in my head. It's like a dial. On one end it's 0, and the other it's 100. So like, there's a 72% chance that it will rain tomorrow. I can leave it there, I can make it so it won't rain no matter what, or I can make it where it will rain all day. What's the possibility of me growing bird wings and flying? 0%? Why not make that 100!!"
And sure enough she awoke with a glorious set of wings. She's since removed them though.
Her powers are truly limitless, and I think that's why it took 15 years to cook her up. Or so it seemed.
She's 14 now. Last night she came down crying and ran into my arms. I asked her what was wrong, combing my fingers through her bright red hair. "It- It says Gramma is 100% possibly going to die tomorrow," she sniffed "an-and I can't move the dial."
| The LEDs blinked as a distant thud echoed through the clinic room. It was soft but low; a powerful enough explosions somewhere overhead that a few poofs of dust fell from the ceiling. Damnit, Todd thought again, wishing for the millionth time that their daughter had just been a normal baby.
Sarah screamed next to him, the enormous bulge in her stomach twisting unnaturally as tiny fists and feet tried to escape. Violet, their powered healer and trained physician, was sweating profusely as she tried to absorb as much pain as she could without passing out. The Dreklin Administration has assured them the best care, the best protection. We’ll see if that panned out.
He wondered if Violet had been the one to leak the news of the first contraction. Probably not, judging by how worried she had looked after the start of the attack, but maybe she was just a good actor. Maybe this bunch of power-cult enthusiasts weren’t actually all that loyal.
The Dreklin weren’t the first church or government or coup d’etat that had tried or succeeded in abducting his wife and daughter. For the most part his family had been treated well since the news of her extremely extended pregnancy. The Dreklin, like most over the years, were happy to let him stay with his wife and keep her as comfortable as possible. His wife actually had some minor powers of her own, as was common in a powered pregnancy, telekinesis in this case. Todd didn’t. He had spent… 15 years now, he supposed… as a servant to what would be the most powerful baby on Earth. A fetus worth fighting over, it seemed. Todd gripped his arm a little too hard, trying to ignore the stress of his wife’s condition. They didn’t need any food, any medicine, any more wet towels. All he could do was listen to the screams.
The powered guards that were usually stationed in the tunnel outside had been called to duty; it was only them and Violet now. It was the most alone they had been in, well, decades. Their Dreklin relations officer, Captain so-and-so, was suddenly back, hurriedly typing the code into the locked clinic door. Todd noticed a sliver of blood trickling from his forehead as the soldier rushed through the door.
“How is she?” he said, to Todd since the others were preoccupied. Todd had to shout over the noise of his wife’s labor.
“She’s doing well, as best as we could hope. Vi... Dr. Shraden said that it looked promising and mostly normal before she began to transfer pain. It looks like she’s head first, no breech or any other complications so far.” Todd has once been a grocery store cashier but he had spent years studying medical textbooks in preparation for this moment. He was academically qualified, if not literally experienced, enough to deliver this baby himself if the need arose.
“Good, good,” said the Dreklin Captain. He immediately looked relieved, as if the baby was the only concern. Todd began to form a question about the attack before he remembered that the Captain was… a telepath. He merely thought it.
Nothing. He was distracted, maybe. The man noticed Todd looking at him and realization dawned on him. “Ah, the attack! Here, let’s go outside where I can explain without shouting myself hoarse.” Todd was nervous to leave the compound, but the captain assured him, “just for a second.”
The captain punched in the code, walked through the hermetically sealed blastdoor, and checked both directions of the tunnel. Todd exited too, following the soldier a few feet so that they’d be away from the door window and away from the screams that somehow still pierced all of that plexiglass and titanium. He turned just as the knife entered his abdomen.
Dark blood from his mouth dripped onto the wrist and knife that the captain held. There was a number written on the wrist… the door code. Totally bewildered, he looked up at the captain and saw a different, new face. A doppleganger. The new man wearing the captain’s clothes gripped Todd’s neck, choking him with an inhumanly strong grip, as the knife twisted in his gut. His bright orange eyes didn’t blink as Todd spluttered a little more blood into the stale tunnel air.
“Sorry pal, but that baby only needs one daddy to raise her…." | 2017-07-08T01:08:59 | 2017-07-08T00:39:33 | 1,038 | 166 |
[WP] Major events on Earth are actually aliens testing humanity to determine if they should make contact. We fail their tests spectacularly each time, but fact that we survive their tests has them dumbfounded. | Hyuiop, the council leader, sits before a round table of twenty of his species.
"Let this go on record, the forty first juvillionth meeting of galactic advancement and extinction. Let's start with Kirihi, Dertyuiop, the Gogeryus, pass or failed?"
"Passed sir, they regrouped and conquered the collapsing planet and escaped to their moon."
"Fantastic, make contact with them immediately. Now let's see..." He continues writing notes on his clipboard. "Seryshae, 'Humans', pass or failed?"
"Uhhh, failed?"
"Did you just ask me a question?"
"Well, uh, we put the zeruyls in the main aqueducts, and it worked."
"So they can't resist mind altering effects, and they killed each other because of it. Zyysd, how is the status of-"
"Sir, it wasn't that simple. All the members of the council turned on their leader, Julius, and stabbed him like we expected. Everyone. But uhhh- they got a new emperor."
"What do you mean? You said... uhhh-"
*he flips through some pages*
"This... Rome... was the leading power!"
"And it is! Or... it was. News didn't spread as quickly as I- er- we thought. Planetary panic never occurred because they hadn't developed worldwide communication at the time. They just lived on their lives. They treat Julius like a God. Or they did."
"No planetary communication? How the hell did they get grouped in with the advanced species?"
"Well, they do now, for what it's worth."
"And so you killed the next world leader?"
"Well there wasn't one, sir. They just kind of argue, and assassinate their own leaders on their own. By the time we develop a plan they've already killed whoever we were targeting."
"What the hell?"
"I know, so we started making diseases, thousands of them-"
"And finally the species as been wiped out. Zzysd! What was the end result of our test with-"
"Sir they didn't care about the diseases. We couldn't even keep up with them killing each other. Last sol month they massacred an entire religion of their own people, Friday they declared a war to end the world, and then two sol weeks later they declared the second world war."
"In which....... Russia? The power? They lost. I remember signing off on something related to them that wiped their territories of resources, materials, and military equipment. I hadn't put it together with being related the Earth, but I do remember entering a request to wipe the entire of world of such equipment."
"Right, we wiped Russia of all of its military equipmant, right in the heat of the war." "
"You should have started with that. As I was saying-"
It didn't work."
"I'm sorry?"
"Stalin, their leader, just sent all his constituents, weaponless, freezing, and shoeless, into combat where they died. They didn't even need weapons. They just ran at the enemy and died."
"I thought they had no leader!"
"They don't! He is one of 36,221 world leaders."
"What the hell!?"
"And the people didn't have much of an issue with it, they just wanted to die for their country."
"Their what?"
"I'm not sure."
"I'm through listening to this, what happened to the last dominant species on Earth?"
"Meteor, sir."
"Yes, drop another one of those on them."
"We.... already did. It's being referred to as New Russia. It's the world's largest tourist attraction."
"Fuck me." | "You can't be serious."
"Unfortunately, I am entirely sincere, Councilor. The humans are alive."
Councilor Grathok rubs at one of his brows with a muscular tentacle. "But...we gave them nuclear tech, no? During a Global Engagement?"
"Exactly as ordered, sir." The Assistant to the Council of Advancement is supoosed to be a prestigious position, and largely stress free. Engineer a war here, release a bioengineered superweapon there, stay out of sight, and record. But humans.....
"And they used it, no? I know that I saw a reading indicating..." the Councilor trails off, swiping through his screen and shaking his head. "Yes, here. Twice, in fact, days apart."
I nod slowly, eyes slipping closed. "They did indeed, but they...altered the plans we gave them."
"WHAT?!" the Councilor roars, slamming all twelve of his tentacles against the forcefield suspending his sphere of liquid ammonia in the center of the room. "For the love of...they hadn't even perfected the internal combustion engine! How did they alter our plans and still produce a viable weapon?"
"I can not answer that for you, sir. But instead of a cascading response, they managed to create a localized explosive."
Grathok grumbles something unsavory in his native tongue, something he only does when deeply unsettled. "Okay, alright. So, following that debacle, you must've sent a clean up crew in, to begin Core Destabilization. What happened to them?"
I blow a large sigh through my upper mouth at the same time the lower begins running without my brain behind it - "A solar flare, Councilor, absolutely massive. Fried systems before it could enter Sol 3's magnetosphere, and the ship crashed, in one of the emerging superpower's less populated provinces. All hands lost, sir."
A deep, ferociously angry basso growl rumbles forth, powerful enough to make the entire ammonia sphere vibrate. "So now they have controlled nuclear weaponry, AND SLIPSPACE DRIVE TECHNOLOGY!"
It was not a question, but an accusation. "Y-yes, sir. But there is good news!"
"Nothing about this species can be good," the Councilor grumbles, but still twirls one tentacle in the apparently universal *go on* gesture.
"Well, sir, civilians located the ship first." The Councilor groans and slaps four of his tentacles to his face, covering all his eyes. "However, the emerging superpower's government realized the uproar the discovery would cause, and very quickly covered the whole thing up."
The tentacles move away from his eyes. Grathok looks at his assistant quizzically. "So, they...they haven't utilized the technology from the ship?"
"No, sir. Well, not entirely, at least. They did apparently take some notes on aerodynamics, and in-atmo propulsion systems. But these were all things in their infancy on the planet already."
Councilor Grathok rubs at his sloping forehead with a pair of twined tentacles, less visibly angry, at least. "Have they left the planet yet?"
"No, sir, but there is....well, the people of the planet are calling it a *Space Race*, going on between the two dominant super powers."
Grathok nods, all eyes narrowing. "These humans have a chance yet." He swipes through a few screens on his terminal, pulling up comms. "Braltha? Good evening, ma'am, could you please connect me to Ambassador Dispatch please? Thank you." A pleasant little ditty from Rigel 9 plays over the speakers, turned morose and foreboding through the liquid. "Yeah, hello, this is Councilor Grathok. I need you to print Protocol Sanders onto biped template..." he grumbles, swiping through his screens once more. "Sorry, Dispatch; Protocol Sanders onto biped template two-four-oh-eight-nine. Yep. Yeah, once he's done, ship express to Sol 3, please." | 2017-08-01T02:09:45 | 2017-08-01T01:59:48 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] As an average looking genius with a weak physique you often envied athletes. After thousands of years spent in a cryogenics pod you are woken to discover that evolution has weakened humanity while IQ improved. You're now the strongest most attractive person, but also the dumbest. | I had tried working out. I had tried dieting, I had tried pills, and so many other things and in the end, I could never get the body I wanted. Sure, I got "better", in that I wasn't morbidly obese, and sure, I had friends and family assure me that I looked "okay" and "better" and that "what matters is that you're healthy". And I was very healthy. I walked a lot, I had slightly low blood pressure instead of high (a very important variable for the study). Nobody had asked me out on a date in the past 10 years (and I'm only counting that one because it was valentine's day of grade 7), but between the insulating fat, the low blood pressure, the high IQ, knowing five languages, and being able to hike a few miles without issue, I was a prime candidate for the experiment. Not having abs or defined muscle tone wasn't an issue.
Of course I agreed. I didn't exactly have quite the life. If all went according to plan, I would wake up in a new century as a living time capsule. If it didn't... I wouldn't need antidepressants anymore.
Everything looked different when I woke up. The capsule opened, as it was supposed to. I was disoriented for the first few minutes, but as the various drugs finished waking me up, I noticed the foggy grey of the sky, and the bright redness of the sun. At noon.
"The fuck?" I muttered, and climbed out. The capsule had opened automatically, and there was nobody there to greet me. Nor anybody just... Hanging out at the facility. I walked around in the white scrubs I had been given for a while until I noticed some hikers.
"Hey! Hey, the research centre is empty, did something happen?"
The two men stared at me mesmerized. They were clearly disfigured by something, one had one arm far smaller than the other, both of their jaws looked infested by tumours, and they were both using strange robotic crutches to walk.
They stared at me, their mouths open, their eyes filled with fear and awe and lust and all these weird emotions at once that I can't remember ever eliciting. My head swiveled for a moment, but there was nothing right behind me.
"Hey? Guys? How long have I been out?"
The one with the disfigured arm fainted. The other continued to stare.
"Um... Alo?" He squeaked at me.
"Hello, yes? Research centre? Over there? Empty? What year is it?"
"It-it-it-it--" he babbled and stuttered for a moment.
"Dude, chill," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He passed out too.
With no other immediate source of information, I sat on the ground cross-legged and waited until the one with the shrunken arm woke up.
"Hello. My name is Ana. I just woke up from a cryogenic chamber. What year is it?"
"Twenty-two fourteen."
"Okay. That's good. For a moment I wondered if you guys spoke intelligible English."
"What are you?"
"Um... I just said--"
"No cryogenic chamber could have survived the wars. Everything was destroyed. And... And you're so beautiful..."
He extended his small arm towards me. It was a little creepy but I did my best not to pay attention to that, because I didn't want to be ableist and also because if I reacted poorly he might collapse again.
"...Right... Anyway, is there like, a nearby town?"
"Yes. Yes of course. We can take you there."
He touched his friend's neck, and in a moment he woke up.
"Why did you not wake us earlier, um... Ana?" He asked me as his friend rubbed his eyes.
"I thought you weren't supposed to try to wake up people who had passed out," I said.
"A simple stimulation of the vagus nerve and the six-two-four points in the Lasega map do it."
"...'kaaay." I said with a nod. He alternated between staring at the ground and staring at me.
"So, you have a name?" I asked.
"Yes. Yes, I am Laeroeak."
"Leroek?"
"Laeroeak."
"Laroak?"
He repeated his name some four times, and we settled on me calling him "Lay".
"I am sorry I fainted." His friend said. "I could not handle your touch."
I frowned, and he stared. The staring was becoming a problem.
"Your hands are so soft..."
"Can we get back to the part where I get to a town or something?"
"Yes, of course! Everyone must see you!"
"And your name?"
"Ghantenebhurita."
I rubbed my temples. We settled on Ghan. After some walking, they became perplexed.
"You are not tired."
"...That was like... Two hundred metres." I said.
"We came with camping gear, but you... How are you not tired? Is your acetylcholine synthesis infinite? Do you have superior lactic acid? Are your muscle fibres made of carbon nanotubes?"
"What the fuck? No, I'm just walking! Is everyone in the future like this?"
We stopped as a small river hindered our path. I jumped onto a rock, then from the rock across to the other side. They watched in awe.
"What are you?"
"...How did you guys make it before...?"
"Biodegradable preprogrammed assemblybots."
Ley had his robot-assisted arm fetch a ball from his pocket, and threw it in the river. Within seconds a bridge appeared, and they crossed it.
"Nice."
"You like it?" He asked with a smile. "I changed the design to resemble old bridges, Ana of the Past."
I frowned. "...How? You... You literally just threw it in."
"I programmed it before."
"Before coming, you mean."
"No, as I got it from my bag."
My eyes grew, but I simply nodded.
Even with their robotic crutch aid, they got tired by the second km, and I had to wait for them.
"I am literally just coming out of cryostasis. I have not eaten in two hundred years. How are you the tired ones?" I didn't tell them about the adrenaline shots I'd gotten to wake up, but... Still. Ghan looked at me in admiration.
"How are you still breathing?" He asked between gasps.
"We're walking at the pace of grandmas, how would I not?"
By the time we arrived at the nearby town, there was a crowd waiting with food and water and curious eyes. Apparently, Ley had taken the liberty of thinking at them to do that.
Everyone stared at me like I was Aphrodite incarnate.
PART 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6r9hy1/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4jvh8/
PART 3 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4sah1/
PART 4 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl592du
PART 5 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl6psql/
PART 6 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl7wikw/
PART 7 https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl9ds9m/
| Finally, I had completed my life's work. A machine that would turn me into the most handsome man in the world!! To be fair, I already am pretty much the most handsome man in the world, but most people just dont seem to agree. How naive. What do those gorillas in armor slamming into eachother have that I dont? Thats what my research sought to answer. I couldnt dare toil with the scum and judge people solely based on looks, but after this the world will have no choice but to take me seriously. More importantly, maybe Fee would finally love me. Oh, Fee Ictional, how my heart beats for you. The suspense was killing me, I had to try it out. I ran to the pod as fast as I could, but the muscles in my legs had grown tired from the months of work. I tripped into the pod, and smashed my skull into the back-wall. That was the last thing I would experience for 3,000 years.
When I awoke, I immediately began coughing up blood. Breathing was damn near impossible. I turned around, cold and confused, to see 15 or so people who looked to have anorexia. Their eyes widened.
"I never expected him to be so handsome!"
I smiled, and stumbled my way out of the pod. It worked, though my muscles were even weaker than when I had entered for some reason. I pushed through the twigs in my way, and accidently ripped the door off of the wall. The blinding light of flash photography rivaled the god awful noises they all made.
"So strong! Tell us, sir, can you speak? Do you know what an apple is? Ah-pull. We eat apples. Do you want an apple?"
I tried not to roll my eyes but I couldnt help it. "Shut the fuck up, of course I can speak. Tell me how to get out of this place."
They all stood there speechless and unsure how to respond. I didnt know where I was or how I had gotten there. I knew the device would knock me out for a while but this was uncalled for. I should have been in my basement running diagnostics. It didnt matter because I was getting out. I ran out the door and through the building. At a rather sharp turn, I slipped on some of the beauty fluid I had created and crashed through the wall. It felt almost paper thin. On the otherside I finally realized this wasnt the world I knew. Just like I had imagined as a child, flying boats filled the skies! Ground-airplanes filled the roads. This place rocks!
I walked into the middle of the road, awestruck. The people on the sides of the busy road stared at me with just as much awe. A few women let out cries and fell to the ground. I ran to the nearest one to help, but the ground-plane drivers had different plans. I flinched as they crashed into me, but it didnt hurt at all. What was this place made of?
The woman on the sidewalk held up her hand and pleaded that I not come any closer. Now that I was right next to her, I noticed she was rather cute. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she clutched her dress on the ground with her spare hand. She didnt look quite as anorexic as the people I had seen before, so that alone was a plus. For a moment I became entoxicated by her beauty. She must have noticed (after all, I WAS nude) because her face somehow turned even more red. Literally redder than red. It was mind boggling.
I couldnt think about it for long, though, because police sirens filles the air. With a flash of light, a ground-plane filled with officers appeared. And one by one, screaming "TAZE HIM, SHOOT HIM, TACKLE HIM" they ran at me. I held up my hands to defend myself from the police and the bullets, but their bullets just bounced off of me. I held my hands up, but this spooked the officers because, even though I hadnt realized, policemen were grappling each of my arms.
The lead officer unloaded all of his shotgun shells into me as he backed away, sweating profusely.
I reassured him, "You have nothing to fear, I surrender."
However he was still on guard.
At the police office, in clothes that were far too tight, we all got a grip on our situations. The officers learned my story, and I learned I was in the far off year of 5,017. In a way, I had succeeded my goal. The officers explained to me the culture of the day, and by their standards I was more attractive than any known portrayal of god. It was disheartening to know everyone I remembered was dead, but they never appreciated my work anyway. Hell, they didnt even care enough to check my basement. Fuck those guys.
The officer moved on, though.
"Now because of your specific case, we're not going to charge you for indecent exposure. The woman you encountered didnt want to press charges either. The president of the united planets has given the OK, and you can live with the firefighters if ever you need a place to stay."
And so began my new life. Not only was I hot, I was a genius! On my way out of the office, I encountered the woman from the side of the road. Fay. Fay ke, according to the police.
As she noticed me, she fell to the ground again. I had a feeling this was going to get old
fast.
Over the coming weeks, I realized I was so hot that she literally could not stand. The weakened state of these post-humans means their bodies cease to function come orgasm. I dont want to toot my own horn, but all I had to do to incite that was look at her.
Many women came (came again, so to speak,) and went in my future life, but they were different. They threw out terms like "gluon cluster magnification" and "biological super extension beam" on the regular, and having those things re-explained to me got in the way of things. Also Fay was like a billion times hotter than them, but I like to think Im better than that.
Naturally, I moved in with her after we started porkin' it because she had grown so accustomed to seeing my awesome physique that she needed me in her daily life. She was the only one who understood my work, perhaps she was even as smart as I am. No, I thought. Impossible.
Life was pretty good, till earth day. Fay wasnt as lively that morning. I tried to cheer her up, but she just held up her phone. I looked at it, sure it was nothing, to see a picture of her next to a picture of Fee. She was on some forum site, Shreditt, and she had asked who was hotter. All the responses from guys proclaimed that they.. "splooged" on sight of the picture.
"How did you get that picture, Fay?"
"Its tattooed on your ass, I took it myself."
I had forgotten myself, really. I was extremely drunk that night. The thought of thousands of men getting off to a picture of my ass made me chuckle, though.
"Whats the big deal, its not like Im gay"
Fay rammed her fist in to my stomach. It hurt not because of pain, but because of what she was TRYING to do.
She screamed at me, crying, "You fucking idiot! You dont love me at all! You dont think Im beautiful, how could you with that slut on your ass, and you never take me seriously! Any time I try to mention my research on quantum biodegradable neuro-dihydrogen-monoxocyclocarbons you just stare at me! Were you really so stupid that your only hope at ever being happy was to wait until a world that would appreciate you would arrive?"
We argued for about an hour. In that time Fay revealed to me how stupid I am in their standards. She told me how she had gotten butt implants that I had never noticed, and I told her how and why I ended up here. She scoffed at the idea of beauty juice, and ordered me to leave.
That was my last hope at happiness here. The only person I thought understood me I was hurting all along. And not JUST because I was so much stronger than she was and I got a kick out of suplexing my sexual partners. Somehow Im going to have to make this right.
TL;DR: Fee? Fay! Faux bum?!?!?! | 2017-08-03T00:25:30 | 2017-08-02T23:12:32 | 2,328 | 94 |
[WP] Since you were 8 years old, you've been helping people and giving things away for free, the only condition: that one day you'll call on that person for a favour. You're now 33 and owed 10,000 favours. You decide to call them all in at once. | Leslie pushed a lock of hair from her eyes as she leaned sheepishly against the doorway and looked lovingly at the back of her husband's head. He, in turn, was looking at the television.
It was one in the morning on a Wednesday, and they were in a swanky hotel suite. In another context, this could almost have been romantic, she thought.
She shuffled aside as a face with a lanyard ID pushed past her into the room, joining the throng. There were at least two dozen people in there, but she felt there was a special glow around her husband, the lighting seemed to pick him out, draw the eye. Or maybe it was just her imagination.
He was minutes away from being elected the President of the United States.
Downstairs, there was a ballroom full of waiting devotees, balloons poised to drop. They were in Denver, Colorado.
She was trying not to pay attention to the results, but it was impossible not to hear certain things.
"Mr Governor, our numbers are the same as the network's," an aide was saying to him, though his eyes never left the screen. "Colorado is much closer than we thought."
Their home state. It was supposed to secure their Electoral College strategy, but it was failing them. Without it, her husband's campaign was over.
Leslie felt her heart racing. How could this have happened? All the east coast states had gone the way they'd predicted. Something sickly was congealing in her stomach, a strange and irrational certainty that this was her fault. She knew she had done everything in her power to help the campaign, but still...a memory kept playing in her mind.
It was the night before. She had just spoken at a rally in Boulder - the last of the campaign. And then she had gone for dinner with an old friend. Jason. She had know him since high school, and he had reached out. He had always been a strange one; she still could not say what it was that had compelled her to accept his invitation that evening.
"You look tired, Leslie," he had said, over appetizers. "This last year must have been hard on you."
She thought over the endless busses and planes, the incessant press scrutiny of every aspect of their lives, the total lack of intimacy.
"It's been a trip, that's for sure!" she said, attempting a good-natured chuckle. Jason stared at her.
"I like to help people, Leslie, you know that. I want to know what I can do for you."
"Oh, well at this point there's not much-"
"I don't mean on the campaign. I mean, personally: what do you need? After it's all over tomorrow night, what do you want from life?"
He was looking at her strangely. Sincerity, she thought. He was thick with it. He was more sincere than anyone she had ever met.
"Uh, that's kind of you, Jason," she said. She realised her lip was quivering.
"Leslie," he said, leaning forward. Eyes so full of pity. "Are you happy?"
She couldn't stop it. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to dab them away, but it was hopeless. She forced herself to breathe deeply.
"I haven't been happy since my husband won the race for governor," she said, when she had regained control. "I hate it, that's the truth. I hate politics. I wish with all my heart he had stayed in law." She inhaled again and tried to smile. "I haven't told anyone that. Gosh. You can't repeat it, please promise."
Jason leaned back, still full of sympathy. "I promise, and I understand. It must be unimaginably hard for you."
She smiled again. He was looking at the ceiling - now it was Jason who was taking a deep breath. He looked back at her.
"OK," he said, "I can help you. I can make it alright. I have ...some favours I can call in."
"What are you talking about?" she said. He was standing up, paying the bill. She felt horrendously flustered.
"I'm talking about helping you, my friend. Don't worry about a thing."
He turned back to look at her from the door. "Remember," he laughed, "You owe me!"
That was last night. Now she was was in a room that had just gone very quiet. A news anchor, full of his own importance, had just called Colorado for the opposition.
"It's a shock result, let me tell you," a pundit was saying. "We're seeing a polling failure like nowhere else in the country. The state was always going to be close but there seems to have been a last minute swing of about 10,000 votes, mainly in the Boulder area, that handed it to the incumbent." | I've always lived by 2 particular things;
The quote from Nelson Mandela, "The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing, but in rising every time we fail". The admirable strength one needs to get back on his feet after a setback is tremendous, not everyone could do it, so I always try to help someone if they indicate they require it.
And the second one that there are many whom help others and expect something in return, this evidently shown while I was schooling, even at kindergarten, "You should help me because I helped you the previous time!", was something I heard on average, 3 times a week.
When I turned 8, I decided to have a little fun. My upbringing was focused on having morale courage and being able to go out of the way to help others, so every time I helped someone with a favour, or gave them something, I told them to write their name on a piece of paper and a way to contact them, so that they too can return the favour someday.
There were instances whilst growing up that I felt like I was being a childish idiot, wanting to stop doing it, but a part of me really wished to find out what would happen if I kept going. The latter must have been a really strong wish because no matter the dirty glances some gave me after I told them of the conditions, while they unwillingly wrote down their names and email addresses, I merely smiled, wished them a good day, and moved on.
I'm 31 now, the amount of paper I have are all neatly compiled into folders, and I have lined them on shelves in my newly bought apartment, but not before I had a look through the 17 folders of names. Names that came from all over the world, Chinese, Malay, Vietnamese, German. What surprised me was that there was not one name in that 17 folders that were similar despite finding out on google that some names were popular in some years. "Eve" was the name on the 10,000th piece of paper that I received on the eve of my 33rd birthday, given by a clearly fatigued young lady at the train station gantry while back home from work, she needed that 20 cents to board the train, but not before I felt a sharp pain chest and losing strength in my legs.
"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"
'Can I have a chocolate ice cream waffles with blueberries before either?'
"Then the good news is a chocolate ice cream waffles with blueberries shall be your breakfast."
'...the bad?'
"You have a collapsed lung, miraculously enough, the other one was managed to be saved, thus the deserved waffles."
The doctor and nurse left for me to get some rest and I covered my face with the thin blanket.
"You awake?"
'No, I'm actually sleep-talking'
"Oh cool, I've always wanted to talk to someone who's asleep"
I pulled the blanket off my face to see Eve, who-doesn't-seem-that-fatigued-anymore, but really cute with the large rounded glasses and braided hair.
'Why would a bespectacled beauty like you have an interest in talking to a sleeping potato?'
"Maybe because this particular potato has been collecting names and contact details to return favours for 25 years?"
'...How much do you know?'
"That you've reached 10,000 of them, and the fact that you have your butt in the grave currently"
'Pft, you seem to know everything'
"I don't know everything, I only know what i know. In this case, your folder said "9,900-10,000" and my name is in the last slot, plus, what do you want to do with these many names and contact details?"
I shrugged my shoulders and stared at the ceiling.
'Well, since my butt's in the grave, you want to help me contact everyone for the favour?'
After the waffles, Eve and I set out to contact all the names, and within 4 hours, sent out emails and messages with the help of some friends to all 9,999 to meet me to at the giant hill opposite the hospital in 4 days that is estimated I'm able to be discharged. (I also sent one to Eve for the fun of it, in which I got playfully punched by her) Eve wasn't around after that because, well, work, but promised to come on the arranged "return favour" day.
That morning, I walked out of my ward after thanking the doctors and nurses for their care and saw Eve in the background, seemingly trying to hide a face that has the word "entertained" written on her forehead.
'What's up?'
"You'll see"
In the distance where the hill was suppose to be, was a sea of people whom were all talking to each other.
"Thats probably, all 9,999 whom we've contacted, I've talked to some of them before I came in to get you, and many of them actually know each other, in one way or another, some even helping each other within that 9,999, but most importantly, all of them are here today because of you."
We walked towards that crowd slowly with a smile on my face.
'You want to get ice cream waffles for supper?'
"Sure.". | 2017-09-16T09:46:06 | 2017-09-16T06:34:47 | 261 | 102 |
[WP] At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.
Best friend* sorry. | "So what can you do?"
"I- well- I produce ink."
"What line a squid?"
"Sort of".
"Go on then."
"Well I can't control it."
He goes very quiet. He slowly leans in.
"BOO!" He screams in my face.
Nothing happens.
-------------------------------------------------
For about as long as I can remember there's been this- feeling. This well of darkness in the back of my mind, constantly sapping my energy, depleting my focus. Occasionally it would overwhelm me. A tide of dark thought and black emotions would come rolling over me and I'd slip into this half-catatonic state of just staring into nothingness, trapped in my own mind.
Depression.
----------------------------------------------------
When I turned 18 I was disappointed. At first I couldn't do anything. I thought maybe j would be the one unfortunate freak in the world with no power, no abilities. Then I discovered it. Ink, or what looks like it.
Have you ever seen a video of a squid releasing ink underwater?
Well it kind of looks like that.
This ink black cloud of viscous liquid emanates from me, dripping out of every pore. then it just hangs there in the air around me, billowing slowly, gracefully out.
It might get caught In a breeze and waft gently along.
It disappeared after a couple of minute, just evaporates like mist
I can't control it, it just happens.
----------------------------------------------------
It took me years to figure out the trigger, to work out what summoned the ink. Can you guess?
Any anxiety, any lapse into melancholy and there it is. Could there be any more obvious a sigh of my nerves?
Of course my own distaste for my sole ability only makes things worse.
------------------------------------------------------
My power was not impressive, just slightly embarrassing. I was neither use nor ornament as they say, and I certainly wasn't a threat.
And so my ranking was never very high, surprisingly it was somewhere in the middle out of novel 7 billion. Which suited me, less attention than at either end. Neither a hero nor a freak.
But that didn't last.
--------------------------------------------------
"So how did you do it?" He asks, years since our last talk. After the news he pestered me until I agreed to go for a drink with him. Burning with curiosity.
"How did I do what?"
"How did you climb that many ranks? What did you do? What's the secret?"
He's a nice guy, but he wouldn't understand. There's no way I'd be able to explain it to him. I brush him off.
"Probably just a clerical error." I say. Wishing I could believe my own lie. I finish my drink and say goodbye.
-------------------------------------------------------
I was sitting on a park bench, day dreaming. Lost in my own thought. Then they began to turn sour and sucked me in.
When I finally returned to the real world i was lost in a dark fog, waiting, more than a little embarrassed, for it to degrade and disappear.
When finally it did I was rushed by a group of heavily armed men who grabbed me, pinned me down and arrested me.
As I looked around I could see other park users, most barely aware of their surroundings, one girl was curled up in a foetal position sobbing loudly.
--------------------------------------------------
Turns out my ink has psychic properties. Anyone who it touches it shares in my depression. The more fully they are submerged the worse the effect.
Most people come out a little shaken but no worse for wear. But in some the effect is permanent.
They wanted to charge me with something, biological warfare, terrorism, the word torture was bandied about at one stage...
Nothing stuck, ultimately I was protected because my power is classed as an instinctive response. No intent, no negligence, just instinct. Like breathing, my lawyer said.
Though technically I'm now classed as an illegal biological weapon.
Apparently that poor girl never really came back to herself.
edit: some lines are randomly in a much larger font size. im not sure why and im not sure how to stop it. | Trudging along in the snow, I reminisced on my time at the academy. It was a short two years filled with laughs and good times and twice as many struggles. I was humbled at the ingenuity of the human race for finally cracking the code on the MMSC gene. Now simply referred to as “The Mold”, it bridged the gap between those born with the gene, and the general populace because it wasn't an advantage exclusive to a few lucky people anymore.
“Can the exam get hurried along a bit, I'm daydreaming here.” I called out into the vast frigidness. Although I knew the examination referee was in earshot, he/she did not answer as protocol demanded.
I stopped at a particularly large redwood for a moment to take a break and leaned up against it.
A chilling howl echoed toward me from my left. I shivered, perhaps from the cold, or perhaps from the sound I had just heard. It mattered little because in my mind I knew that this threat wouldn't only be the path to survival, but it would also be the key to finding out my true superpower.
You see, finding out the true nature of your superpower through gene splicing was not like gaining it naturally. A natural Superhuman had their mutated gene lying dormant in them for years and years and had plenty of time to coax it out. However, an artificial Superhuman like myself didn't have that luxury and so the only sure fire way to discover what it is, is to be exposed to a life and death scenario and force your superpower to surface. Controlled danger, but real danger, that was the goal of the exam.
Surveying the dense canopy proved unnecessary because it wasn't long before my target made itself known. I heard it long before I saw it. Heavy, rasped breathing and uneven footfalls. 50 paces ahead, its figure appeared in the evening light and I observed its approach as I retreated to higher ground. I was afraid but focussed, and I looked upon the ugly creature with disdain. Its snout was wet with a mixture of blood and slobber and its lanky arms nearly grazed the snow as it walked.
20 paces ahead and now the doubt began to set in. What if my power doesn't reveal itself? Surely it will. It has to. These exams were created for this purpose. But what if it doesnt? I may be a mutilated corpse before the referee steps in.
The creature stopped and sniffed, it’s head movements were erratic and it began gnawing its own arm briefly before letting out a blood curdling screech. It leapt forward.
“Its now or never.” I said under my breath.
*crack.*
The creature lunged at me and I shielded my face but when I opened my eyes a massive tree lay atop the creature’s lifeless body in the snow at my feet……..
.......
“Wait…… Thats it? You felled a tree with your mind onto it? This is bullshit. That does NOT deserve a Global Rank 7.”
“Shhhhh! Of course thats not it Gigi, you saw what he did on patrol last month! That was a *Void Entity* we’re talking about not some Green Level proto-demon!” Mark whispered, trying to quiet her down. Some guests turned to us in curiosity but quickly returned to their meals.
“Fine, whatever, but that doesn't even match up with your exam. Just…. Like… Just tell me how you did it. Explain it.” She hissed.
“Guys. That's what I've been saying this whole time, I don't know! I kind of just thought about trees and then that void thing exploded into splinters of wood.” I tried to explain, but their expressions remained unchanged: Gigi fuming, and Mark looking on with wonder.
“And I even *knew* that you were going to be a World Breaker Tier but I didn't think it would be this…. I don't know..… *Stupid!* UHG! It pisses me off even more.” Gigi slammed her hand down on the table. Mark and I just laughed only adding to the annoyance of the other customers.
“Look man, can I like, y’know? I dunno how to ask without making it weird.” Mark gestured. I guess his power was as awkward for him as it was for others.
“Sure go ahead. If you can figure it out better than me then be my guest.” I replied, in too jovial a mood to care.
“Bro, oh my god thanks. This is gonna be *sweeeeeeet!* Cheers man!” He smirked and raised his mug in acknowledgement.
“Cheers. Merry Christmas guys.” I replied as our mugs clinked to Gigi’s reluctance. We downed our eggnog as the waiter came with our entrees. | 2017-12-17T22:56:00 | 2017-12-17T16:14:19 | 57 | 31 |
[WP]You meet a girl at a party and you really connect,she keeps saying that you look familiar and she feels like she knows you. She gave you her number, and While typing her number in your phone you find her contact has already been saved, with a photo of you two together taken 10 years ago. | "Seven two eight four."
Those jumping eyes darting back and forth as though she was attemping to match my face to an older template. Her brows were crunched up ever so slightly as if she was trying to "crunch" her grey matter but her lips told a completely different story. Her lips, oh how I could go on forever about those crimson, juicy lips.
"Hey, Earth to Martin! *Giggle* Something on your mind?"
Looks like I won't have time to elaborate on her lips. Oh well.
"Seven eight two four, right?"
"No silly! Seven two eig..."
Seven. Two. Eight. And that's when I see it. My face turns ghostly pale and my fingers begin to tremble. I quickly put my phone back in the pocket of my khakis.
"Hey what's wrong Martin? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"Emily."
"Hey you remembered my name! That doesn't happen very often anymore."
"Ropford."
She flinches. She begins to open her mouth but nothing makes its way out of that dark abyss. The 30 seconds feels like a decade and eventually her mouth catches up to her mind.
"Martin Evergreen?"
It is her.
"Yes."
"Martin, I need to tell you something." | I kept smiling as she wandered off with her friends.
Amy was a nice girl,a streak of pink in her brown hair and green eyes that shimmered like emeralds.She was kind,sweet and overall what I was looking for in a girl.
I was 24,single,male, and completely sure that Amy was "the one.".She had given me her number,smiled,and walked off.
Not too soon after,I left the party,not wanting to wake up late for work the next morning.
I worked at a restaurant, 7AM to 10PM,and usually didn't have much time on my hands.However,the boss rotated the shifts; I had pretty much all of next week off.
That night,I was looking through my contacts and saw one labelled "Amy xoxo".
I checked it.
It was Amy's number,but I hadn't talked to her yet,and she had sent a picture of us.
The message was sent 10 years ago.
The picture was of us,on a hill,smiling,wind in our faces.It was obviously taken when I was 14.
I took a screenshot of it,sent it to Amy's new number and went to bed.
Edit: part 2 cus y'all asked
PART 2 - AMY'S POV
I awoke to my phone buzzing.It was 10:34 PM.
It was a picture of me and Matt,from 10 years ago.
Shit.
I texted back,saying "where did you find this omg I knew I knew you!"
He replied,*"I found your old number."*
"Neat.Do you think we can still hang out?"
*"Yeah,it just gives us more things to talk about"*
Phew.
He didn't suspect that I had been stalking him. | 2018-02-10T11:44:46 | 2018-02-10T10:47:31 | 63 | 38 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her. | "I said no."
"You must! She's the true heir-"
"And why should I care about your puny kingdom?"
"Because...if she doesn't claim the throne there will be chaos for a long time...which means war...which means more soldiers to try and slay you..."
"Hey, buddy, are you OK? You're breathing kinda funny, and you got a lot of blood on you."
"I'm...fine."
"If you say so. But anyway, your logic is a bit of a stretch. I've seen a lot of kingdoms fall, it doesn't always turn out like that."
"Please..."
"You think, just because I'm a dragon I have a tower somewhere to stash her in?"
"Well, yes."
"Yeah, OK, fine, I do know of an abandoned castle with a couple towers. The previous owner sent an army against me, and since stone doesn't burn, it's still mostly intact."
"So you'll...take...her?"
"What? No! I can't raise a human. I don't even know what you guys eat!"
*cough*
"Uhhh...you eat...fields? And, umm...sheep? And horses...? No wait, you ride on the horses...But do you also eat the horses? Huh, I never thought to ask..."
*gasp. gargle*
"I like horsemeat, anyway. Hey, buddy, do humans eat horses?"
...
"Hello? Buddy? You OK?"
...
"Huh. I think he's dead."
"Waaaaahhhh! Waaaaaahhhh!"
"Oh no nonono, little princess, don't cry, please don't cry-"
"Waaaaahhh!"
"Uhhh, here... *phwoof* ...See?... *phwoof* ...you like smoke rings?"
"A-hahaha!"
"Yeah, you like the smoke rings. What about this? ... *FWOAH*"
"Oohhh"
"That's called fire. Can you say 'fire'? Fi-re. Fiii-rre."
"Aagh"
"Eh, close enough. I never realized how cute human babies are."
"Ffffffpp"
"Hey, uhh, come on, let's get you somewhere safe, OK?" | The dragon lifted his head up to the smell of blood and saw for the first time in centuries the figure of a human man. With his keen eyes he noticed that the human had struggled to make his way up to the cave he lived in, up in the mountains miles away from the nearest kingdom. The dragon just sat there indifferent as the injured man approached urgently with a small bundle in his stained arms.
He smelled something more pure from beneath the wool blanket. The man noticing where the dragon’s eyes were looking at quickly spoke.
“That is why I’m here.” He coughed out the words with difficulties and almost out of breath. “This is the Princess of my beloved kingdom which is now being invaded by our neighboring country. Princess Georgiana might be the only survivor of the royal family as we speak.”
The dragon turned his head unfazed and the man grew desperate knowing that the dragon was not interested in his story.
“PLEASE! Protect Princess Georgiana!” The man urged as he fell to the ground on his weak knees. “I beg of you.”
The dragon watched curiously at his actions and expression. He saw the small man tremble, but not in fear as he had witnessed so many before him do, but in hopelessness.
Suddenly from beneath the blanket came a soft cry. Then out came a small hand reaching out to touch the man’s face. The dragon observed as the man stop trembling and gradually regain his courage. He raised his head up in determination towards the dragon with his tear-streaked face. There was a new resolve glowing in his eyes.
‘Curious.’ Spoke a solemn voice inside the man’s head, and he knew it belonged to the dragon. ‘How could a small thing change a man’s spirit within a few minutes?’
“She is our Kingdom’s hope.” The man answered.
‘I want this power that changes men’s resolve. I have seen the strongest warriors with such glow win battles and glory.’ The dragon’s voice echoed louder in greed, ‘If this bundle you carry in your arms will give me that power then I’ll take her as you desire.’
Before the man could say a word the dragon had suddenly snatched the blanket with the princess inside from the man’s arms. He held his breath as the dragon laid the bundle on his outstretched claw. The dragon pulled the blanket away and curiously starred at the baby girl. Georgiana suddenly smiled and started to giggle. The dragon had never heard such beautiful melody coming from humans before.
“I trust you will keep Princess Georgiana safe?” The man spoke tentatively and shocked to see a small smile form on the dragon’s intimidating face.
‘You have my word man. Now leave.’
The man looked at the princess one last time before leaving with hope.
| 2018-03-01T03:08:36 | 2018-03-01T01:20:42 | 57 | 19 |
[WP] You topple over your balcony and die while figthing your dog for a toy. To your suprise Odin, the old norse god, greets you. Since you technically died fighting you've been resurrected at Valhalla and all the gods can't wait to hear about the great battle you died in. | “Greetings! I am Pedr the gatekeeper! WELCOME to VALHALLA, fellow warrior!”
The voice came through a blizzard of white flakes—snow? but not cold.
As the cloud settled, the speaker drifted into my sight. Less impressive than I had thought from the voice.
“Tell the true tale of your death to gain entrance!”
“Look, I was just fighting with my dog, when I fell off the balcony. Where am I?”
“Fighting...a...savage...beast,” Pedr mumbled as he carved runes into his log.
“Great!” he continued, leaping to his feet and causing another billow of flakes to whirl through the air, “Let’s take you in!”
“But...”
“Oh, right. You’re dead (sorry), and you’re in Valhalla, because you died in battle!”
“But I was just play-fighting. With my pet dog. Well, my girlfriend’s. Pug.”
He glanced at me as he led me up the gentle ramp to the door, with a gentle cloud of flakes trailing behind him.
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not as hard to get in as it might seem from the surviving Eddas.”
He pressed the button by the door and waited while it smoothly swung open.
“In fact, I’m here after losing a terrible battle with dandruff.”
The door now revealed a white hallway, with a few old men sitting in armchairs, blankly watching a TV show.
“You’ve just missed elevenses, but lunch won’t be long, and it’s stew on Wednesdays!”
| Within Valhalla all have tales of battle. Some are of mighty wars where the rivers run red and the mountains themselves cry while others are a bit less... Grand. Regardless of the specifics, to fall in battle is considered the best way to die and as such a warriors death is rewarded with a warriors afterlife. Battle, beast, and brew all equally endless. There remains only one catch. After your first meal you must to share how you died.
So it's my turn is it? Well listen closely men and you might just learn something.
My end found me on an otherwise ordinary day. After many long hours of destroying large numbers I returned home. As I arrived I doffed my cap and left my tools by the door but just as I, with drink in hand, was about to work away the worst pains of a productive day I came face to face with a mighty beast within my own sanctuary.
As the creature saw me it began to dash and so I grabbed the only thing I could lay my hands on and swung. To my misfortune I had found only on a knotted length of rope which the creature bit deeply into. In an effort to exert control over him I baited my foe into a contest of strength, to which it swiftly obliged. Choosing my moment I released my tool so that the demon would overbalance itself and fled out the back way to grab a more suitable weapon.
My plan worked well, except where I had forgotten that outside the rear of my home the view was not of a field but what would be better termed a cliff face with the ground some fifty feet below. With my swift reflexes I managed to catch myself in time but it was at this moment that my nearly forgotten enemy caught me with a tackle. Having already been at the edge it did not take much to cause me to tumble off the edge. Fifty feet it was I fell before I met my end on a mighty stone and my drink along with me.
And that my brothers is how an accountant, quite literally, fell in battle to a ten pound dog. | 2018-04-25T02:20:22 | 2018-04-25T01:32:20 | 45 | 18 |
[WP] You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives. | Ever since the accident in my childhood, when my grandmother realized I had the family curse, I had been told this day would come. Hunters. Witches. Witch-hunters. Sick men who insist that they are vivisecting you *for science*. Cannibals. Nana warned me that our family curse is not immortality, it is a guaranteed horrific death. I looked up and saw my abductor sitting in a chair across the room. Oh god, I hope she is not a cannibal.
"Where am I?" I hissed as I began to come to, my head throbbing and my vision slowly clearing.
I recognized the small woman from before. Now in strange clothes, she got up from her chair and approached me with her hands extended.
"You're safe," said she in a calm voice. It was soft but not the same light giggle-inflected Latin she had when we met at the feast earlier.
"What did you give me?" I demanded.
"Oh just a mix of mead, drain cleaner, and a dash of cyanide in lieu of bitters," she answered, sitting on the hard floor next to me. "It might have been overkill, but that was the point. I had to know it was you," she continued.
"Are you satisfied with your proof?" I asked with a grimace. As far as I know the only way to truly kill me is to make it impossible for my body to heal, but I feel pain. I feel every wound, every death, even if I am able to heal. I didn't know what was coming, but if she knew who I was and to test my abilities with poison, nothing good was going to come. I should have known a daughter of Rome would have never wanted to share a drink with me. Now I doubted she was even Roman. Her accent was strange. This place, stranger. Strangest of all, she was addressing me in my language. My *old* language.
"I'm glad I didn't kill a random guy, yes," she replied with a sly smile.
"How do you know my language?" I asked. I never could have guessed her answer.
"You taught it to us so you would trust us. The future depends on it." | You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives.
It had been another 5 years until I saw her again, at least according to my clock. And it was there, in the foggy midnight streets where we would normally meet, that I knew it would be the last.
The clock read 12:30 AM, I knew she was coming because I saw the shift. It’s subtle, like the flap of a butterflies wings. Buildings changed around me. They looked lighter, more airy. I saw platforms in crystal tubes, traveling quickly through the night.
Great, I thought. She accelerated modern elevators.
“You’re back,” I said. The street light bounced off her platinum blonde hair while her black leather pants faded into the concrete, except for the glint of her blaster through her holster. She smirked.
“You look the same as when you left.”
“Psh, I was only gone for 2 minutes.” she said. “You have that mid\-century\-o\-clock shadow bear, I kind of like it.”
I frowned.
“I’m doing you a favor, those Otis things sucked,” she said.
“Same diner?” We walked, I kept my distance. I didn’t know if I should tell her, and in that moment I decided that it would be wise not to.
Two minutes. She must be taking stronger and stronger graviton tablets. Taking deeper shortcuts through space\-time. Twisting and contorting the fabric.
“I’m worried about you, Lena,” I said. She pretended not to care.
“It’s just more efficient this way. The pharaoh and his people seem to mind when I gave them the blueprints.” She was at it again.
“You can’t keep interfering like that,” I said. She shrugged and opened the door to Rosebud, our usual spot where we sat down.
“Coffee and pancakes, please,” she said.
“Bacon. Crispy.” I was in ketosis, it helped the years go by faster.
“what did I miss?” she asked.
“We’re stationed in a few more countries,” I replied. “And their not good ones.”
“Makes sense.”
“Cream and sugar, please?” she smiled. “Why don’t you come with me next time?”
“I’ve been there, done that. You know the risks are too high.”
“What, because of reality splicing? If anything it will increase the probability there is a reality in which you are happy. Meanwhile, the rest of us are enjoying our time here in spacetime.”
I shrugged. Being alive for thousands of years can make you a cynic when you’ve seen history repeat itself over and over again. And give you a hero complex. | 2018-05-05T12:18:47 | 2018-05-05T12:02:15 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess" | “Use your musket!”
“Roll! Roll! Roll!”
“Shut up Winston!” Joseph screamed. They were surrounded. Joseph couldn’t do anything. His army was crippling.
“They’re ill!” screamed Winston, disturbing Joseph once more.
Joseph was again looking at the board inquisitively.
“you have 30 seconds to make a decision.”
He wracked his brain but couldn’t think of anything.
“Fuck it. What do i have to roll to surround the city?”
The party was dumbfounded. They were all far, far away but still could scream at Joseph’s stupid decisions.
“You fucking idiot!” The party screeched.
“Make an intelligence check then an athletics check for your army.”
Roll.
“16. Plus modifiers that’s 18.”
“Correct. that’s a success. Roll for athletics.”
Roll.
“NAT 20!”
“You surround the city with 2 million men.”
The Dm rolls a few dice and curses.
“The opposing forces surrender in fright. Congratulations, you have successfully defended Stalingrad, Stalin.” | 2018-05-29T09:37:40 | 2018-05-29T06:15:55 | 303 | 209 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later." | OK James, roll the dice
2
GM: Sorry, you missed.
The entire party is in shock. They tried with two other characters already. Both dead.
GM: The new enemies arrive. Rolls , 20. John, you died. Rolls again, almost James, you barely escapes this time.
The party starts arguing: You can't let this end like this GM! We were almost defeating the dictator, you can't do the same as the last campaign, where everyone died! We already lost so many characters on this one.
GM thinks... OK OK, I will give you another chance.
GM: The mercenary you worked with before arrives ,with buying some extra time for you. Some dice rolls, it kills two of them. But the big boss is still there. James, its your turn.
James - Ok, I will try one more shot.
20
GM: You heard the voice of your deceased master "Use the force, Luke". You disable the visual indicator and just senses the universe. A perfect shot in the core reactor, starting the sequence of explosions destroying the Death Star.
I hope the liberty I took with "Historical event" its OK.
Also, sorry for my English. It is not my first language. | 2018-05-29T09:31:25 | 2018-05-29T09:16:08 | 210 | 17 |
[WP] In sci-fi, planets are commonly made of one biome-- 'desert planets', 'jungle planets', 'ice planets' etc. So, the aliens are pretty shocked to see the range of biomes when they arrive on Earth. | They were amazingly primitive. That much was clear. They'd somehow sent a few messages out, which, to our embarrassment, we had, the first few times, decided were natural anomalies rather than admit we couldn't explain.
However, they, though relatively below average in terms of almost all physical attributes, survived a chimera world of a thousand natures. Whereas we and all the other races we discovered required intensive technological planning to ever interact face to face, these "Hu-mans" had evidentally already adapted to need only a supply of the gasses they were accustomed to and to maintain a temperature that fit into a reasonably large range. But it was more than that.
They were polycultural to a degree we had never before witnessed, and within a single, for example, language culture, they maintained many ethnic cultures, and religious cultures, all existing in multiple related and unrelated layers, overlapping with their many biomes in odd ways.
We had, in essence, found what one of their cultures would call a "holy grail" of interstellar diplomacy.
And yet we, the hive of Zarcos, make them work in our slave mines? Surely, looking at them, none of us thought to ourselves "Standing before me is a creature of great physical strength"? Are our mines not overflowing with the Elrood?
Therefore, great council, it is my position that we shall make reparations, and allow the humans to "overthrow" this council, as their history books show they are wont to do, installing for the hive of Zarcos' next iteration an ally with what can surely be the cornerstone of intergalactic diplomacy.
Of course, if this is deemed too ambitious, a slave trade with near universal applicability is also profitable. | “Hawaii has 10 of the worlds 14 climate zones,” reads a worn pamphlet caught under some fallen eucalyptus leaves. They caked the ground, and cluttered the forest floor amongst most of the flora and fauna that comprised the woods of the big island. Those rainbow eucalyptus had beautiful, vibrant trunks of pastel red, blue, and green. Almost as fantastical as the creatures that crawled from snow covered peaks to the volcanic soil being lapped at by warm waves off the coast.
“This isn’t right,” said the first of the landing crew.
“It’s right, it’s just highly unlikely,” said the second tugging on the lapel of his uniform.
They surveyed the land, brushing aside the dense vines hanging from branches above and walked to the nearest ridge, overlooking an active volcano. Magma became lava, reaching the earth spouting from rifts in the black ground, pouring into the ocean. Steam rose and bellowed against the blue skies.
“Well science be damned,” said the uniformed alien looking back at his wide-eyed companion, checking where his heavy boots sunk halfway into mud. Insects crawled from mud to crevice, escaping the invaders, striding over their homes. “ Landing crew to mothership,” he spoke into the communicator on his collar. “You won’t believe this.”
“What is it landing crew?” spoke a crystal-clear almost mechanical voice in the communicator.
“I’m observing at least 10 biomes,” he replied into devise.
“Is this a monthly report, captain?”
“No, this is here. Right now, I’m looking at, at least seven of them.”
There was a pause and then, “unbelievable. You must be mistaken, landing crew.”
“I said you wouldn’t believe it,” he followed purplexed. “Look,” he said, taking the communicator and holding it due North, still, until a mechanical voice chimed… “image captured; image sent.”
“Image received,” said the voice on the other line. Another pause. “We’ll be taking this to the admiral.” A third pause, “we will postpone bombardment.”
“Confirmed,” said the captain, reattaching the communicator to his lapel.
| 2018-06-26T09:16:28 | 2018-06-26T07:37:16 | 229 | 171 |
[WP] You and friend agree that if one of you invents time travel, they will come back to this very moment. As you shake on it, an older and injured you shows up and shoots your friend in the head. | "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. You killed Ryan!"
I drop to my knees in horror. My best friend, dead.... by my... hands?
"It's okay. Grief is a process, you'll get over it."
"You just shot my... OUR best friend!"
"I know. I don't have much time. Listen, this little time travel experiment you guys are contemplating? Goes to complete shit. I regret everything leading to this exact moment, and I can't have it repeat again.... I'm sorry"
Future-me aims the gun at my head.... BANG. I flinch, accepting death... but, I'm still here. I open my eyes to see me, er, my future self with a gaping hole in his forehead. He falls in his own pool of blood.
"What?"
I look to see that it's my friend, Ryan; or at least, a future version of him dressed in a business suit stained with blood.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Hey, pal."
"No, no more words unless it's an explanation of what's going on."
"You see "you" down there? He's from an alternate timeline. A timeline screwed from us messing with time. He wanted to go back and prevent World War II, but his interference caused a complete takeover of the United States..."
"Oh, like we're Nazis now?"
"Worse... Japanese."
"Oh shit."
"Yeah. Heavy stuff. If I see one more Anime mascot giving out a parking ticket... listen. I don't have much more time. I have to complete my mission."
"Your mission?"
"Yes. I may have eliminated future you... but he only exists cause you're alive... I'm sorry."
"Oh, come on!"
My friend aims for my head and cocks his pistol. BANG. I'm sure I'm dead this time... except... I'm not? My friend has been shot in the head by me. Or, not me. Another version of me?
"Hey, me."
"No, no, I'm not doing this again. I've had enough trauma for one afternoon. Let me guess, you're here to kill me because whatever we did caused ripples in another timeline and it's only possible because I'm alive in this timeline, so I have to be eliminated?"
"What? No. I mean we did some weird stuff but nothing that serious."
"Nothing serious? Then why did you have to kill Ryan?"
"There's infinite versions of us doing different things at different points in time. Honestly at this point, I'm just dicking around pretending I'm a secret agent trying to track down--"
BANG. I drop dead... the future self, that is. I can't believe I'm saying that I shot myself. I couldn't take it anymore. Now I have a pile of dead bodies that all look like me and Ryan. The horror... the smell.... if only....
&#x200B;
If only I could have prevented it. That gives me an idea. | "What should we do if we ever lose control of it?"
"Lose control? It will just be a time machine, Tara. It's not a robot, or some sentient program which can-"
Tara laughed, then swatted me on the arm. Chastisement complete, she leaned back against the tree, tipped her sunhat down, then closed her eyes. Summertime is never conducive for staying annoyed at anyone.
"Not that kind of control, idiot. I mean, what if we invent the time machine, and then other people end up having a greater say over how it's used?"
"We'll be the inventors, of course we will retain full control!" I thumped my fist on the grass for emphasis. "And if anyone tries to overrule us, well, we will sue! My dad knows a few lawyers, I'm sure our company will be able to sue them all!"
"For someone so smart, you're really naive," said Tara. "That's not how the real world works at all. There's a dozen ways they can knife you even without you knowing."
"Name one."
"They may blackmail you, for example. Find something you're ashamed of, and threaten to expose you if you don't do what they ask. Or they may sue you first, and claim that the invention belongs to them. Or," and here Tara paused as she sat up and looked me straight in the eyes, "they may drive a wedge between us. Make us wary and untrusting of each other. Who says what may happen then?"
"Nonsense!" I said with a laugh. It was my turn to lean over and punch her on the shoulder. "Us? Fighting? We're best friends! Have been, and always will be!"
Tara opened her mouth, evidently ready with a retort, then thought better of it. Instead, she sighed, then scrounged around on the ground, uprooting handfuls of grass. One by one, she released each blade of green into the air, and watched as the wind carried them away.
"Even friends fight sometimes, Rachel," she said.
"I know, but that's not us. We will never-"
"Promise me something then, if you're so sure that we'll always see eye to eye."
"Anything, of course!"
"If we ever do invent a time machine, and if ever we lost sight of who we were, or if the time machine starts getting used in ways we wouldn't approve... Would you promise to take all action necessary to stop it from happening?"
I was ready with my reply, but there was a serious glint in her eyes which gave me pause. Tara often had her moods when she lapsed into deep, dour funks. I wondered whether it was easier to lift her from this one with a joke or with my agreeing to whatever half-baked compulsion had taken her fancy.
Agreement it was.
"I promise. By any means necessary."
"Including even killing me?"
"Yes, just like in all the movies we've watched. Who knows what effect it will have, killing the inventor of the time machine... But yes, I'll do it."
"Good," she said, with the smile finally returning to her face. "Let's shake on it. Blood-sister vow, no backsies!"
I reached out for her hand, as she did mine.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-10-11T18:19:00 | 2018-10-11T17:21:29 | 519 | 118 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | I hear her banging on the door, screaming my name. Although I've tried to show her the message through the glass door, she wouldn't stop herself from trying to get me to open the door for even a second to read it. As much as I wanted to let her in, something seemed terribly wrong about this scenario. Janice was one of the most level-headed people I had ever met, and to see her act this way in such a blind fit of terror seemed awfully unlike her.
I would've assumed she saw the message from her own phone, if she didn't leave it charging when she left. Certainly, then, something else must be the problem for her. Averting my gaze from my dearest Janice for just a moment, I notice something that certainly didn't belong among the trees which designated the separation of our yard and the forest, which was a very large pair of eyes. These eyes seemed to pulsate and become red before swelling back down, almost like what a heart would be like pumping blood. Their gaze was focused on Janice, but then suddenly became fixated on me when they noticed I was staring.
Janice, realizing I wasn't looking at her anymore, turned around to witness the eyes, which sent her into a frenzy of screams. As the eyes refocused on Janice, she picked up one of the metal chairs on our patio, and smashed it into our glass door. The impact smashed the glass door, sending bits and pieces into the room and all over myself. Shielding my eyes from the glass, I'm suddenly tackled to the ground as Janice takes me down with herself and her volley of tears. As Janice sobs and murmurs into my chest, I look up to see where the eyes have gone, but they weren't to be found.
Suddenly, I feel long, slender fingers wrap around my head and give my neck a twist. | A chill rushed through my spine as the front wheel of my shopping cart squeaked. The store was busy when I had arrived but a lot of people had just cleared out. I gathered the last few items I needed and hurried to the check out. Ally was waiting in the car and I knew she was going to complain about how long I had been. She was the most impatient but amazing wife any girl could want. I exited the supermarket and trotted to the car with our bags.
“What took you so long?”
“Relax, I couldn’t find the cherry tomatoes.”
“Check your phone. Somethings going on. We need to get home.”
Ally started the car as I buckled in. I pulled my phone from my pocket and read the warning message. Another chill hit my back. Something was wrong.
“Al, you feeling alright?” I asked.
“Yea, I feel fine. Why?”
“Well, this text came through while I was inside...and...you were outside. I don’t know. Something is just weird about it.
“Relax, baby, I’m fine. Look I’m sure it’s not a big deal. When we get home you let Sammy out and I’ll grab the groceries, okay?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Al never gives up a chance to play with her puppy. Sammy has been her world since we rescued him. Al was driving differently too. Both of her hands were gripping the wheel, she wasn’t playing with the radio. Scared? I wonder.
We pulled in the driveway and Al leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Everything is alright,” She reassured. With a sigh I walked to the front door and entered the passcode. A glance behind me showed a strange blue-green sky. That was the last straw. Ally had been outside smoking a cigarette, she was acting weird, driving funny, even the sky proved that something was wrong. Something was up with the world...and that something had gotten my wife.
I closed the front door behind me and typed in the “full lockdown” code on the smart lock pad. Simultaneously I heard the heavy duty locks snap on the doors and windows. I looked through the window, Ally was starting up the steps, our rainbow flag whipping in rising winds. Her green eyes met mine and for a moment she knew before every speck of her consciousness faded into black.
Critiques welcome! This is my first response to a WP! | 2019-01-12T08:17:02 | 2019-01-12T07:02:27 | 33 | 21 |
[WP] Soul mate's exist. One day while showering, you're teleported in a cloud of smoke to another world. You appear before a dark queen who declares her spell worked and you, her soulmate, is finally here | All in all, I wasn’t too fond of the whole ‘soulmate’ thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I was of course happy for anyone who had found their Perfect Person™, but I was introduced to the moral discussion of it at a way too young age and it kind of shaped the way I felt about things. Not enough to get involved with any of the - numerous - political groups lobbying for change one way or the other, but enough to never bother trying to find mine.
At the same time, whoever my soulmate were, they were probably going to be fine with my stance on things. Or maybe they, too, weren’t interested in looking and we’d never end up meeting.
Look, I’m just not really into the concept that I should somehow be contractually obligated to love a person just because I was born with… Whatever it is that decides these things. Half their soul, or whatever.
I didn’t exactly get A’s in my religion classes.
People mostly felt sorry for me, and I guess I let them; with technology came much greater odds at finding your soulmate, and thus I was part of a minority to be pushing my 30’s and still be single. I gave up on explaining it a few years earlier, and just let people assume the worst. Usually something would be keeping you from seeing them, most notably death (at least since most countries started to abolish their various segregation laws. Things like race, gender, imprisonment, you know) and I was growing tired of the outraged discussion that came after telling them I wasn’t looking.
Yes, it was a personal choice. No, I’m not religious. No, I haven’t been force fed propaganda. No, I wasn’t abused as a child. I was also definitely not abused by my soulmate, due to never having met them. Yes, I’m pretty sure about that. Were you even listening?
I was fine living my life the way it was. And my other half, wherever he or she may be, was probably fine doing the same. Which is why I wasn’t exactly expecting to pop out of existence for a few seconds in the middle of a shower.
Well, one of a few reasons why.
When I popped back into reality, I was stood on a hard, cold marble floor, with a feeling like I’d just lost a couple of kilos. I was blinking confusedly, trying to get used to the dim lighting, when a loud voice broke through the silence.
“It worked! It finally worked!” I looked around me and finally noticed a woman, dressed in a black gown and with a skin colour that definitely couldn’t be a healthy shade of red. She was smiling, her black eyes filled with unfiltered joy.
“What?” Was all I could manage, not being able to comprehend what was going on.
“It worked! You’re here!” I blinked once and she shook her head slightly, slower than most people on account of the two large horns attached to her head. “I’m sorry, I’m still a bit in shock. I’ve been trying to get the spell right for years, but this time it worked, and I managed to transport you to my plane of existence.” She paused for a moment, smile widening, “you’re my soulmate.”
I moved to turn to her, but my soapy feet failed on the slick surface on the floor and I ungracefully flailed into a heap on the ground in a fall that hurt way less than it should have. “What?”
She moved hurriedly to my side, her brow furrowed as she knelt by my side. “I’m sorry, I should have made sure you were stable-“
“Is the gravity lighter?” I asked, interrupting her.
“Yes, my love, I think it is lighter than you’re used to.” She laid one of her cool hands on my face and I suddenly realised I was very, very cold, wet and naked. I quickly shielded my more intimate parts and made an embarrassed sound, to which she replied with a laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some clothes as soon as you can stand up again. But there’s also no need to be shy, after all.”
She smiled coyly at me and I could only blink. I made another realisation about my surroundings as I caught eye on the window and the very black sun on the sky outside. Not just a dimly lit room, then. “Well, this is an unpleasant start to my day.” Her eyebrows rose and I started to stammer, not willing to upset the powerful being that had just teleported me to another dimension, “not you, the you part is lovely, obviously. Soulmates? Nice, I can’t say I expected otherwise, I like the horns- unless that is a rude thing to say, in which case forget it- never mind, it’s nice to meet you, I was just kind of not anticipating lying naked on a floor the first time we met, not that I don’t want to be naked around you, it’s just more of a third date thing, you know?” I paused for a second, “… do you know what that means? It’s a joke from- well, from where I’m from—“
“My soulmate is an idiot” she said, exasperated but undeniably fondly. “I bend space-time to my will and this is the response I get. Come on, let’s get some clothes on you. Hopefully you’ll stop rambling then.”
All in all, I’m a bit glad I wasn’t looking for my soulmate before. I don’t think my heart could have dealt with the surprise if I was actually expecting something. But hey, becoming a house-husband to the worlds’ most powerful evil sorceresses wasn’t really something to complain about.
(Originally posted under the wrong account, sorry!!) | Stumbling through the morning hangover was always the worst, Gen thought. Dealing with those office meetings was only ever possible drunk, preferably before, during, and after. Making his way to the bathroom, he cranked the shower up hot, always having enjoyed the steam of the shower. It was the best cure for his hangover and to get him out of his foul mood.
After a time Gen reached for the door getting ready to get out, and the shower was suddenly gone with a puff of steam. The air was suddenly freezing, steam rising off his soaked body in puffing contrast to the new chill. Gen wiped his eyes, thinking he must have fallen back into a drunken slumber. He opened his eyes to stare at a magnificent obsidian throne with several shadowy figures surrounding it. The room was a scene of obsidian and dark stones, gems adorned the walls, and the floor, seemed to be covered in one massive circle of glowing light. As the light of the circle faded, one of the dark figures began strutting towards him at a swift pace. Gen was beginning to panic, he doesn't dream, he never has. Backing away from the figure fast approaching he attempted to speak before it lunged and embraced him, before quickly kissing him. The kiss was a deep one, the moment captured Gen, and completely enraptured him. A feeling of comfort he'd never known washed over him, and left him with a deep sense of longing. He felt a tongue flicking against his own, and the figure suddenly pulled away wiping at its face. The moment was over, but Gen desperately wanted it to continue.
Still feeling elation from the moment, mind a little clearer but still extremely confused, Gen looked up at the figure standing a foot tall over him. "Finally my soulmate! I've waited years for this moment, and you are finally here. And you are all mine." The cloaked figure pulled back its hood to reveal an incredibly beautiful face. Her eyes glinted like rubies, filled with joy and glinting with happiness. Her raven hair framing her face and contrasting perfectly to the silver and gold adornments upon her. Looking down, she grinned, "I was expecting you to appear more comfortably, but not quite as you are now." still staring down and still smiling, "Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for that later my dear." Noticing his rather stiff erection, Gen finally managed to speak, "Where am I? Who are you, how did I get here, what's happening!?"
Quite panicked, Gen was terrified. Suddenly one of the other cloaked figures leapt forward, "You DARE speak out of turn before her majesty? I will strike-" ZRRRTTT!
Lightning erupted from the womans fingertips throwing the other figure through the wall. With a very commanding voice, she spoke again, "You are the one who speaks out of turn Gamon, you will never speak to my beloved that way or next time you'll be a pile of ash. Do you hear me?" Her ruby eyes framed with a ring of magical bright blue and full of murderous intent, "You are frightening my husband to be even more than he is. If you want to earn your place back in my good graces you will fetch him fine clothes and a meal immediately, lest you completely fall from my grace." The man, Gamon quickly rising from the wall rubble, bowed. "Yes my Queen! Sincerest apologies new Master!" And disappeared in a loud crack, reappearing almost instantly with clothes around one arm and a large food tray in the other. He approached and bowed, "My sincerest apology sir, I spoke out of turn. It won't happen again." Fear in his eyes, he handed me clothes. As I dressed he spoke, "I will hold the tray when you are ready to eat, feel free."
Looking back at the woman, the blue in her eyes faded, she smiled again. "Always a quick learner Gamon, but even quicker to jump to conclusions. Keep his food warm, he will have it in a moment." Turning back to Gen, "I waited years to meet you, perfecting the magic to reach across time to pull you to me at my age before you reached your years end. It was determined by my seer, I'd meet you as you were close to death, too old for me to breath the essence of immortality into you. A life of solitude and sadness was a fate too cruel for me to allow you to bear. I simply had to take you now, so that we may have centuries together. I know your confused and scared, but I know you felt the magic of our kiss, you know what I said is true. You are my one and only soulmate, and I want to live my life with you forever at my side."
Gen could see it in her eyes, the same burning loneliness, the same dark place where he himself remained. He felt a connection to her, beyond his explanation. Everything about her was captivating. He wanted more, he wanted her so badly, he struggled to find words as she spoke again, "my name is Viridiana, and I know it's sudden but I don't want to wait any longer. Take my hand, be bound to me, spend your life with me and long for no one else. You'll never be alone again. Please, say that you will. I don't want to feel alone without you anymore."
It was obvious she was close to tears, completely serious. Gen looked down at her small hand, and took it. "I don't want to be alone anymore either."
It wasn't long after that the ceremony began, the two of them would be married, and Gen would learn the true darkness of the halls he walked, and the heavy toll it cost it took to summon him to his dark queen. The lives of people from his time were experiments as she perfected the magic to safely bring him to her. Many of them eviscerated simply being touched by her darkness. The queen had unintentionally slaughtered thousands to bring him to her. Their blood staining the dark obsidian walls and dungeons still, forever bloody red. It is to be said Gen is truly her soulmate, for knowledge of this slaughter only made his love for her stronger. Mercy take the fool who would ever dare to come between them. | 2019-04-28T07:10:32 | 2019-04-28T07:05:24 | 166 | 21 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.” | “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
I froze in place as those words drifted from the supposed corpse.
"Uggh" I sighed in annoyance "They never tell me when it's an immortal."
"Yeah, that's a pisser ain't it?" He said from his uncomfortable looking position on the ground. I could see the bullet hole in his head already beginning to close up.
"A pisser?" I asked incredulously, "They know that I charge an extra fee for dealing with an immortal, it's a whole different approach."
"So," He said conversationally, "you gonna finish the job? bury me in concrete or something?"
"Of course not." I said, already turning to walk away "I'm gonna go kill my employer, says in section 13 subsection F of the contract that failure to disclose any supernatural powers of the target is grounds for contract reversal. I can't have people sending me after what I think is a Werewolf that turns out to be a Wendigo."
"Huh..." he grunted "well, dinner was lovely up until you shot me in the face, do you wanna try again sometime?"
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I reached the door, contemplating.
"Sure" I said after a moment before walking out of the room. I wasn't sure if he was planning some sort of complicated revenge, but most immortals I'd dealt with took attempted murders with very good humor.
&#x200B;
Besides, there was that other dress that I'd been dying to wear since I picked it up last month... | I spin towards the voice. The man I was sent to kill is grinning back at me. Only inches away. Startles I just back, hitting the wall and only gaining a small distance between us. His dead body was feet away a moment ago. Well maybe not dead, gosh I don't know what is going on.
"Ahh that was an interesting feeling. What did you use?" The target asks me, still grinning. "It's been so long since I have been this excited!"
He begins to list things and mutter under his breath.
'gun no, 1950s' 'carbon monoxide... Na that was a painful one' 'mushrooms... Couldn't be I tried those so many years ago.'
As the mad man mutters I try to leave. Moving with a grace only a trained killer can and he still notices. I am yanked towards him, his hand on my shirt. "Oh buddy, I did not give you permission to leave. I reach behind my back and grab my gun. I might not be one for weapons but I always carry it.
Shots ring out and... Nothing. No death, he doesn't even flinch as I unload the bullets into him.
"Nothing that has killed me can harm me again" he said calmly.
"So you did die?" I ask confused.
"Oh yes, for the first time, in a long time. I am very curious what you did. It's fun to feel something new every once in awhile. After you experienced so much it's hard to find."
"You are crazy" I breath out and try to leave but I am pulled back and spun around. His grinning face close to mine, already pissing me off.
"Oh you can't leave yet. This has been fun. Tell you what, kill me twice more and I will let you love and leave."
He finally stopped grinning waiting for my reply. How can I kill someone who will now be expecting it, and who in involnerable to anything that has worked before? | 2019-08-29T19:25:53 | 2019-08-29T18:12:31 | 407 | 76 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.” | I see the girl behind him, seated on a pillow twice as large as she is. Her auburn hair clung to her face and neck in clumps, the grizzled ends brushing against the shoulders of her stained and patched pink gown.
“No,” I said, driving my blade into the Dark Lord’s guts. “She will learn.”
The girls eyes widened slightly as she watched me pull my sword from her grandfathers flesh, his lifeblood pooling in his hands, on the floor. She made only a small sound when he fell.
“Girl,” I said, kneeling to her level. “Grow to hate me. Grow to forget me. Just do not grow into him, or I will come for you, and you will die.”
I withdrew my dagger and placed it in her hands.
“Goodbye,” I said, and I left. | *But why?*
I wondered this whilst crying behind the throne, watching my grandfather's life pour out of him like so many libations. He gasped, collapsing in a pool of black. Toward the end, even his humanity had begun to dissipate. Corruption and dark magic worked it's way into his blood, poisoning his thoughts even as it corrupted his mind.
*You're the Hero!*, my mind screamed. *You could have healed him, expelled the corruption and brought back the sweet grandfather I love, saved him from it all.*
Looking at me I felt as though the Hero understood, at least initially. I thought that when he looked at me, tears streaming down my face, that he too would have shed a tear. Given an apology, anything.
Instead he wiped the ichor from his sword and stood there for a few minutes. The crusade was won after all, wasn't it?
Or so he'd thought back then. Governing the Worlds was no small feat. My grandfather had poured everything of himself into it. And in the ensuing chaos, the Hero returned to what he did best-fighting the good fight. Enemies of the State were, after all, Allies of the Dark. We traded one villain for another.
When I place my blade in his heart, he'll know the true reckoning that comes with assuming my father's mantle. After all, there must always be a Hero. | 2019-12-11T19:17:14 | 2019-12-11T18:36:58 | 363 | 47 |
[WP] On your birthday you went hiking with your friends and lover. You entered a cave and explored it for 9 minutes without the others. When you returned they were gone. Confused, you check your phone and discover the 9 minutes in the cave had been 9 years for the rest of the world. | “Do you believe that some people are just meant for each other?”
That was the first thing Melissa told me when I met her in the hipster taproom on the corner of 3rd and A, just a couple blocks away from the University Center.
“I’ve been looking for you my entire life. So now that I’ve found you, where do you want to go?”
I thought she was drunk. She wasn’t. She was… Melissa.
And Melissa was perfect.
I was not.
It took her two beers and fries to make me ask her for her phone number. It took two more weeks for me to call her and ask her out. I was nervous. Like, forgot to breathe, a big lump in the throat, tongue-tied (huge knots), riding a freight train into the brick wall batshit scared nervous. Or something like that. I was dizzy, okay?
The phone call would have gone disastrously bad had she not asked the magic question.
“Where do you want to go?”
Mickey’s was totally unlike the taproom. Big, bright room with a tall ceiling, plastic chairs and wobbly tables, AC blasting ice cold air and huge windows overlooking the parking lot. Well okay, the interior was meh, but Mickey’s serves the best pizza in town.
Yeah, our first official date was a pizza joint, and also she picked me up at my dorm. I had a lemon that used more gas parked than her red 1969 Ford Mustang Boss in fifth gear on a highway. She loved to travel. So did I.
During the date, she knew I was nervous. It was hard to miss, I sweat like a pig. She kind of enjoyed my insecurity, but in a good way, and especially when she made me order pizzas for both of us. Are you vegetarian? Do you like pepperoni? Red sauce or pesto?
She couldn’t stop laughing or playing with her hair.
I ordered two Hawaiian’s without pineapples and that completely cracked her up.
Yet, it was a perfect date with a perfect girl who could talk about traveling wherever whenever forever. It felt as if we spent hours geeking out about exotic places, but in reality, we munched our pizzas in less than thirty minutes. The best part, the question she asked after I picked up the check.
“Where do you want to go?”
She fell asleep leaning against my shoulder, surrounded by burnt popcorn and stacks of pirated CDs and DVDs I pulled out from the closet.
Everything with Melissa was so easy. Just like me, she was a student at UC and she also worked part-time at Starbucks, but despite all that she always had time. Time for reading, studying, traveling, me. Traveling with me.
“Where do you want to go?”
Want to go on a hike? How about a day trip to Andrew Molera State Park? Two weeks in Rockys? Yellowstone?
Within two years, we’ve traveled back and forth across the country in her car. We visited all fifty states, most National Parks and more State Parks than I could count. And despite that, we managed to do all the other things we were supposed to.
Like, graduate. On my birthday.
Time flies weirdly when you’re with Melissa. As if, you just manage to get stuff done, and feels good. I was getting used to it.
“Where do you want to go?”
We were still in our graduation robes, black with little funny square hats and yellow pom-poms when she asked that question. I always wanted to cave in lava tubes at Lava Beds National Monument. And so did Andy and Raj, my best friends. Going with them made her a bit sad, but her cute frown and slightly wrinkled nose melt into a wide smile on a happy face as the Mustang tore along the sunny highway with side windows pulled all the way down.
A big gaping hole in the ground with sides lined with protruding vulcanic rocks, is there anything more you’d want?
Apparently so, because no one else wanted to go in the lava tube. Andy and Raj were staring at their phones, murmuring to each other and Melissa felt uneasy about them. Finally, she turned toward them and asked.
“Where do you want to go?”
I don’t know what they answered, I wanted to go in. Just a quick peek, a short descend into the darkness, ten minutes and not a shake of a lamb’s tail longer.
I made it out in nine minutes.
Honestly, it felt much longer, as if I’d walked for miles, both through the main tube and the side ones, touched every single rock, saw every single cave critter, and smelled all the scents of the underground. It was a perfect descent into the darkness. The only thing I missed was Melissa.
Up on the surface, the sky was still blue, the sun was shining, maybe slightly lower than when I had entered the cave, but it was a tad bit hotter.
And Melissa, Andy, and Raj were nowhere to be seen.
I picked up my phone to call her and froze.
Aug 28th, 2028.
“True story,” Melissa said, standing next to me.
“Where did you--- How--- You were not here a moment ago!”
“Mmmm. Time, space… They’re kinda similar.” She winked and gave me a thumbs up. “To quote my favorite writer, ‘The world is full of things more powerful than us. But if you know how to catch a ride, you can go places.’” She pulled the car keys out of her pocket. “So, where do you want to go?”
&#x200B;
\###
“So, let's see if I got this right. You are an alien or something?”
“Something. Focus. This is a stick shift car. Put your foot on the clutch and turn the ignition key, yeah? Good. Put the car in first gear and slowly drive forward, releasing the clutch and pressing the gas pedal. Accelerate slowly…”
“What happens if I accelerate too fast? Also, thanks for letting me operate your time machine. You're the best.”
“Happy birthday, boyfriend. And don't call it like that, this machine is much more complicated. Also, you know those stories about the apocalyptic future? World war three, robots taking over and stuff? You know, like, not very recent future...”
“Yeah…”
“Accelerate slowly.”
&#x200B;
/r/ZwhoWrites | PART ONE
“Golgolta,” the old prophet said. He waved one shriveled arm at a bare wall of rock in explanation. Rachel looked at him like she looked at any beggar on the street, seeing him from the corners of her vision, never in full focus. The old man smiled, nodded, and shrunk himself into a shadow of the cave. Rachel, murmuring an apology, turned and left.
Rachel’s father had taken her hiking outside the city every year for her birthday since she was five. He did most of the hiking then, Rachel relishing the memory of those brief seconds of weightlessness when she would nod off on her father’s back, exhausted and content. Her sleepy weight would slip, and her father’s hands would grab her little thighs, his shoulders would tense, and he would hike her higher on his back. Rachel would pretend she was flying. She would grab the crucifix she wore around her neck so it didn’t bounce on her father’s neck and scare him like a bug before she landed. He would laugh at her laughter.
Her father had passed away three years before, so that would make Rachel… nineteen. She counted her age in the years since she lost him. Three years past daddy being gone. Rachel did not hike at seventeen, or at eighteen. Her partner, Sylvia, insisted this time around. Caves, however, were apparently where Sylvia drew the line.
The cave was a mossy scar dotted with bloody autumn leaves, hidden from view from the main trail. The alpine forests of the Tien Shan mountains spread out in front of her, disappearing when snowy crags interrupted the landscape. Rachel had never hiked with her father in Kazakhstan before, but Sylvia had insisted on a true backpacking experience. Rachel was glad to escape the suffocating smog of the city and trudge up the easy trail to Big Almaty Lake, ignoring the confused protests of their Uber driver, who had apparently anticipated taking them all the way up to the lake with the rest of the tourists and picnickers. After thirty minutes of hiking, she and Sylvia passed a cheerful man selling coffee out of the back of his van. Seeing they were white, he greeted them in German, and Sylvia waved at him as they passed.
Smiling and holding up her pinky finger by way of explanation to Sylvia, Rachel hopped a steel divider and scrambled down a small hill to find a spot to pee. The cave appeared suddenly in her periphery, a dark eye invading her privacy. She finished her business and called up to Sylvia to follow her down. Her father’s favorite part of hiking had been discovering something new just off the trail—not so far as to be dangerous, but hiking for him had been more fun when he wasn’t altogether sure where he was going.
“Uh… you go. Too creepy for me. I’ll go get a coffee with Herr Starbucks back there.” Sylvia hugged her and Rachel agreed to meet her after ten or so minutes of pretending to be a Kazakh bear.
Rachel stepped into the cave.
\~ \~ \~
Time has always been inconsistent. The years spent hiking through the forests with her father were eons ago, a life Rachel lived separate from the life she was living now; and yet, the combined memories of all of those years took no longer than a moment to exhaust. One second she was a child again, every year a different forest, a different adventure off the marked trail. The next second that was over, and that life was separate from her, an indecent thing she ignored to be polite.
The years since her father passed were more tricks of time. The months after his death lasted years, decades. The first anniversary of his passing seemed to Rachel to be the morning after his funeral. There he was, forever helping her shrug a backpack on her shoulders, a cartoon silhouette burned into her eyelids. He was one smile from a decade before, one laugh among millions, one squeeze on her thighs, one disappointed look and just one sigh of unconditional forgiveness. All of it a memory faster than a thought, more permanent than her name, transient and everlasting.
Rachel carried the memory of her father with her as she flicked on her flashlight and ducked her way around the shadows of the cave entrance. It twisted hard to her right and seemed to loop back around into the berm of the hill she had crawled down to find it. She had expected the cave to be a shallow thing, perhaps with a bench some teenagers had dragged in years ago, burnt cigarettes and glass bottles tossed to the side. It was clean, however, and very dark. She walked for five minutes before she thought that a five-minute walk in a cave meant this was a very large cave indeed.
That is when she met the old man. Inset against the left wall of the cave was another shallow path, with a large oval entrance. He was sitting on a slab of rock that had been perfectly leveled and cut, wearing a dirty drape of what once must have been white cloth. Rachel could see the man and his room clearly, without needing her flashlight, though there were no lamps or candles that she could find. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Rachel felt the familiar tickle of weightlessness in her belly, and reached for the necklace she had not worn for three years. Her palm touched only skin. She turned the gesture into a small bow to the man. He smiled.
\~ \~ \~
Herr Starbucks was not at the top of the hill, and neither was Sylvia. Rachel needed Sylvia. She was suddenly aware that she had been a phantom, trapped in her own grief. For three years she had seemed to exist in a half-way state, living in memory, abhorring forward motion. Finding the homeless man in the cave had scared her somehow, brought her back down to her body. She felt as if she had been a long time floating behind herself, and suddenly blinked herself out of her astral projection. She longed for the warmth of Sylvia’s hand. Had she ever felt it before?
There had been a handful of tourists and hikers just a few minutes before sipping coffee and taking photos, pulling their cars over on the side of the road. Where were they now? Where was Sylvia? Rachel pulled out her phone, knowing she and Sylvia had not added any type of service plan for their overseas hike. They would be together, why would they need to call?
Perhaps Sylvia had hiked ahead. Rachel had been known to lose track of time, be inattentive. How long had she been in the cave, anyway? Ten minutes? Yes, her phone confirmed that. The date was somehow incorrect, showing a full decade had passed. She’d laugh with Sylvia about that later.
Rachel pocketed her phone, reached behind her and grabbed the bottom of her backpack with both hands, and hiked it up further on her back. For a brief moment, she felt no weight at all. But only for a moment. She hiked on towards the lake. | 2019-12-26T22:46:54 | 2019-12-26T21:30:32 | 144 | 13 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | As the villainous Bombdropper stood atop the crown of Goldgate Bridge, he reveled in his moment of absolute glory. The heroes stood below, paralyzed and helpless, for Bombdropper would drop his bombs the moment he saw any activity. He was untouchable, unstoppable, and nobody could prevent him from destroying this bridge and all of the sins it represented.
"Your daughter would still be alive if you hadn't called her bluff."
Bombdropper froze in place, his heart momentary freezing. He turned to the voice, and saw at the front of the collective of heroes, a lady wearing runner's sweats and holding a megaphone. "'Go ahead and run away then!' Remember that? Last words you ever said to her, were telling her to leave you alone."
Bombdropper shook, his whole body a running tremor. "S-Shut up! How do you know that?! Who the hell are you! SHUT UP!"
The lady in runner's sweats rolled her eyes. "Remember the morgue? The condition she was in?"
"Shut up!"
"That car never would have hit her, if you had been more supportive. If you had given the smallest of shits about her. YOU put her in the path of that Ford"
**"SHUT UP!!!!"**
Bombdropper roared through the freshly-picked scab of his grief, the detonator falling from his hand. It was all the opening Captain Swift needed to fly up and grab Bombdropper from his perch, while Rocket's Red Glare used his trajectory calculation protocols to intercept the falling remote in his heavy titanium hands.
The lady in the running sweats scoffed, and brushed her unruly blonde hair out of her face. Next to her, Deep-C and Wow-Girl stared in unbelieving shock. "How the hell could you bring all that up like that? So casually? That was way too far, even for a situation like this."
Call-Out shrugged, and hooked her thumbs into her sweat pants. "Don't wanna be called shitty, don't be shitty. Not hard." She gave the rest of the team a casual handwave as she broke of in a jog down the bridge. | Shit. She couldn't believe it. Which one of her fellow heroes had written it? Her stomach sank. Didn't they understand? She was born with the ability, and had trained through trials and sufferings that many of them could not imagine, no matter how tragic their backstory. The very same power that gave her her abilities to heal, comfort, nurture, were the very ones that gave her the ability to cut the coldest of hearts, those reptilian brained foes who were fluent in the most depraved of psychological warfare, to the core. Her wit, her writ, her wretched tongue could be the deadliest of blades. But oh, the amount of compassion and care it required to wield her weapon.
Her fellow heroes were predominantly male. The gifts they developed, and strengthened, were usually different from hers. Psychic warriors were rarer than even female heroes, and that was saying something. The female lineages had been demonized, and hunted nearly to extinction, although they were now quietly on the rise. Paladins were ALWAYS male, as they required both the gifts of the psychic warrior, and the Herculean one. To have a female Paladin, and one who had descended from Bards, Healers, and Seers to boot? Well, such a thing was never expected. It was a lot for the male heroes to adjust to, she supposed. After all, many of them had descended from Hercules himself, from some forgotten Berserker, from Arthur. She was something rare, and they either feared her, wished to posses and control her, or simply paid her little regard.
She wasn't offended by this. Not really. She was more saddened than anything, although she new it was better this way. Being perceived in such light would protect her, for she didn't want anyone to know the truth; she was a Duality. The very few Dualities that had existed were either ostracized like Lilith and the Morrigan, or purified like Freya and Persephone. Only a fellow Duality could see and understand one as a whole....but such things no longer existed. She was alone in this Realm, and that was that.
She blinked at the words on the screen before her, read them again. Her interest was peaked, and like the Feline that is her other form, she regarded the seemingly harmless, and perhaps concerned?, post before her with curiosity. Her eyes narrowed. Who *are* you, she wondered. She inhaled, closing her eyes, zeroing in on the energy imprint left tangled in the InterWeb. Connection engaged, she began to write her reply....
Edit: typos | 2020-02-25T12:34:32 | 2020-02-25T12:17:21 | 1,350 | 66 |
[WP] Everyone has a super power but each time they use it they fade just a little bit from everyone else's mind and awareness. You have just reached the point where your parents no longer remember who you are. | Everyone has a superpower. Not everyone has a useful one. Some have something so pointless and useless that they never bother to even try it out. No good reason for them to use it if the power is something like telekinetic powers that only works on ice cream, or the ability to detect people who has visited a theme park in the last twenty weeks. Especially because while the power itself is varied and random, the price to pay is the same for all usage of all power: When you use it, you fade from memory. It starts out with distant acquaintances finding your face fuzzy, perhaps they can still remember you, but your name is gone.
And from there it gets worse and worse. Eventually, nobody can remember your name or face. Imagine coming home to children who can no longer remember the face of their father. Imagine finding the love of your life out dating someone else because the very idea of you has faded from their minds? They just leave you behind, as a complete stranger. They won't recognise your face in pictures, they won't see you at all sometimes. You are just left behind, a living ghost looking into the window of a life that they can no longer have.
Some powers, however, are worth it. Super speed, tremendous physical power, perfect telekinesis and telepathy, elemental command, etc. And my power is worth it. Or so I thought. My parents no longer remember me. Nor do any of my siblings, my wife, my children. Yet I had to use the power. Had to. There was no other choice. And now I am forgotten.
Yes, I had to do it. Using my vast power, my unspeakable psionic might, I reached into the heavens with everything I had, and took apart that meteor, atom by bloody atom. It was big enough and fast enough to end all life on Earth. It took me everything that I had, every last drop of power I could squeeze out of myself, but I stopped the 99942 Apophis meteor. Could I do anything else when they revealed it would hit us, that our leaders had quietly abandoned the Earth for a life on Mars? When that meteor was visible in the sky, what else was there to do?
I saved the world. But at the cost of my face, my name. Nobody will ever remember me. And yet I did what I had to do, for the sake of the human race.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | *Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,*
*they slither while they pass,*
*they slip away across the universe...*
I sit at the piano of my parent's living room and play. All is quiet in the house.
"Who's there?" I hear my father grunt as he shuffles out of bed.
I'm trying not to cry.
I turn to see him shuffle into view, trying to look menacing in a flashlight and slippers.
*"Not having the menacing effect you're going for, Dad."* I think to myself. I even smile a little, despite it all. I say it out loud a moment later, but of course, he doesn't hear me.
He turns on the light and my mother comes wandering out of bed.
"What is it, Paul?" She asks my father, looking worried.
He shuts the flashlight off in the warm light of the living room. It's a cozy room, rugs everywhere, comfy chairs in different deep colors with feaux-fur blankets thrown on them haphazardly. All the colors, all the stuff, you wouldn't think it would match, design-wise. But--it does.
My father puts his arm around my mother and I continue to play.
*Sounds of laughter, shades of life*
*Are ringing through my open ears*
*Inciting and inviting me*
*Limitless, undying love*
*Which shines around me like a million suns*
*It calls me on and on across the universe*
I feel tears well up unrestrained and stream down my face, but I continue to play without wiping them off. The drip down heavily against my pants and around the collar of my shirt. It's almost too heavy, but I keep going.
"Oh, it sounds so lovely, doesn't it Paul? Sounds like...ehm," my mother starts to cry too, silently. Unable to place the word. Unable to place me.
I start sobbing now, barely getting the words out. They start crying too. They're fifteen feet away, but it feels like they're so far away.
"Did you hear on the news today?" My father asks my mother, rubbing her shoulder affectionately with a big strong hand. "Schoolbus full of kids..."
My mother nods. "Thank goodness he saved them. Nearly killed him to do it, but..."
"But he saved them," My father finishes, in a comforting voice.
*Nothing's gonna change my world,*
*Nothing's gonna change my world,*
"It sounds like something...he...would have done," My mother ventures unsure. She looks up at my father, but he's just as confused.
But he agrees.
"Something he would have done, yes....I'm....proud of...him," he stumbles out, between the tears.
*Nothing's gonna change my world,*
*Nothing's gonna change my world,*
*Limitless, undying love*
*Which shines around me like a million suns*
*It calls me on and on across the universe* | 2020-04-26T18:39:24 | 2020-04-26T18:36:52 | 54 | 19 |
[WP] Every time there is a thunderstorm your father ushers you inside and waits on the porch with his gun, your mother says he's just gone a bit crazy after the war, but you've seen what lurks in the clouds too. | **WHEN THE MAN COMES AROUND**
Dad looked up from his paper when he heard the first roll of thunder in the distance. Still as a statue, he waited for another crack from the skies. And when it finally came, he stood quickly and looked to his daughters at the kitchen table.
“Girls, there’s an old saying in our family…”
“Dad, we know!” the eldest, Elena said. “When thunder claps, and the clouds reign, so shall the beasts rise again.”
Dad grabbed a box of shells from above the fridge. “Girls, I want you down in the basement. Go on now.”
They rolled their eyes but trudged towards the cellar door in the hallway. Over the years, throughout the spring, Dad ran the girls to the basement anytime it rained. He’d usher them to the cellar, shushing over their protests, and assuring them it had to be this way.
In the distance, a thunderclap exploded over the plain. Dad’s gaze shot towards the window, pointed west. “Shit.”
The girls knew instantly this time was different. They weren’t going to play with their stuffies in their basement fort. Dad’s breathing sped up. “Girls. Now.”
He pushed them towards the cellar stairs, looking back over his shoulder out the front window. The skies darkened and the thunder clapped again, closer this time. Mary, 6 years old and the younger sister, pushed ahead of Elena and ran downstairs to find and hug Gerald the Stuffed Bear.
“Elena, wait,” Dad said. Elena turned and felt her dad press a worn paper into her hand. “No matter what happens, do not let them get this. Do you hear me? Do not let them get her.”
Elena squinted at her father in confusion. Their thunder drills over the years were games, and sure this one felt different. But who were they? What was he talking about?
Out front, lightening struck a telephone pole and that’s when she saw him: A man robed in black tatters upon a white horse, a bow in his right hand and a crown upon his head. “Oh my god, DAD!”
“GO!” Dad said. He shoved Elena to the cellar stairs as the thunder exploded above their heads, knocking pictures off the walls.
Dad shoved an end table in front of the cellar door, pumped his shotgun, and marched to the porch.
————-
I just set up a sub where you can check out more of my stuff. Open to all feedback at r/TopKatWrites. | The day had started off like any other: the sun climbing across the brilliant blue morning sky, bathing the world below in its dazzling golden hues; a pleasant summer breeze sweeping across the hillside, rippling across the emerald lawn, whose blades of grass swirled and waved in time to the dance of the wind; the Argent family sitting out on the porch, laughing and reminiscing about better days.
But then it happened—the puffy, cotton-white clouds streaked across the sky turned murky grey, the sky transitioned from a deep, bright blue, to an inky black, as though a giant, invisible paintbrush had streaked across it, splashing the hues of night across the expanse of blue. And Jessie's father, Elliot, rose with a grim expression on his face, his gun cocked in his arms.
Jessie had always loved that gun. It was a masterpiece of craft, fashioned from glittering silver, with a triple barrel and an ornate crest carved into the handle. That wasn't the best part, though. No, the most interesting part of the gun was that it shot, not bullets, but streaks of silver light.
Once again Jessie's mother rose and chivvied her children inside, while Elliot remained where he was, hefting the gun towards the sky. It had been that way for as long as Jessie could remember. For the longest while he couldn't understand what this meant, couldn't understand why his father, who had always appeared so gentle, so mild, would change so abruptly to this strange, violent man who would shoot jets of silver at nothing in particular.
But then he had seen it; a small, short, dark-green figure, with long batlike wings sprouting from its back and cruel, black eyes: a goblin.
His mother knew that he had seen it, knew that there was no point hiding it anymore, and so had sat them down at their long dining table and explained the reason that they couldn't leave their house on the hillside, why the sky often fell black, why their father would take that gun outside and shoot—apparently—at the clouds.
A witch, she had told them, had struck a deal with one of their ancestors, wealth, health, and land in exchange for the firstborn of each generation. But the ancestor had broken the deal, and refused to pass up his first, and only beloved daughter.
The witch, infuriated, had cursed their bloodline to that land, and set the goblins upon them every so often, to plague them, but their great-great-grandfather had fashioned his gun of silver to battle against them, and to his son he passed it, and he to his, so that they could continue their fight against the witch.
One day, and from the looks of it, soon, Jessie would be the one who held that rifle aloft, defending his home from those accursed beasts. And until that day came, Jessie would stand at his window, screaming words of encouragement at his father, watching as he picked goblins out of the sky like hunting birds.
r/MysticScribbles | 2020-05-04T08:16:45 | 2020-05-04T06:50:21 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] Little girl finds wounded kitten and adopts it, not knowing, that it's deadly shapeshifter that hides from hunters. Shapeshifter sees it as a good way to hide, but after some time, he starts to like full bowl of food and warm bed near fireplace. | She called me Muffin. I was so small that she cut a hole in a floral print sock to stick my tiny head and forelegs through. I was shivering from the rain I could barely do more than mewl and purr in appreciation.
Humanity had developed a lot in terms of technology in the past few decades since I had been out on the run. I was introduced to an electric blanket, a fluffy blanket, and a bowl that I could fit inside. That was to be what I was fed from. She poured in a pile of fish from a can. My tiny stomach hadn't been filled in weeks, so I wound up eating until my stomach was about as round as the can.
She had to come rescue me from the bowl. My cries could have woken the dead, she warned me, putting a tiny finger to my nose and shushing me. I was then placed in a cardboard box, which I shredded a hole in to peek out of at the outside world.
I was in a stone room, a roaring fire next to me. She teetered in with a pile of wood she could barely see over the top of and set it in a basket, occasionally feeding the flames.
She was dirty, skinny, with lot of tangles in her hair. I think she saw me as a kindred spirit. I was alone for most of the day, with the walls of cardboard being my barriers to the outside world. My tiny heart hammered into my ribs, fearing the hunters would break into the abandoned cabin and find me, then just take the box and leave.
But they never came.
She would come at the same time everyday, pushing open the door, her bag full of cans. She would scrape the contents into my bowl, start the fire, and read from a pile of books she'd collected from the local library. I soon learned the harrowing tales of Junie B Jones, Horrible Harry, and Peter and the Starcatchers. I wonder if she would have put in more or less effort if she new I listened to every word. Maybe I could have requested a newspaper reading to catch up on current events.
"I wonder if I'm not feeding you enough." She said one day, peering into the top of the box. "You're not getting any bigger."
The next day she came to the cabin to find a large tiger on the electric blanket, the split cardboard box still under me, licking the inside of a can.
"... I think I'm going to need more tuna." | > "As the elusive and deadly alien continues to hide..."
> "Shot in the arm before scuddling away"
"Very dangerous shape shifting creature..." The man on the TV continues. Deadly? Sure, but are you humans any better? Think of your species through the lenses of a rat.
Emily turns off the TV, before coming back to pet me. 'Looks like someone else got hurt on their arm too, huh little guy?" If I answer, I will obviously be caught, so I purr. Being a cat is perfect. Noone will question *why* a cat shows up anywhere, without ever being seen. Noone will wonder why a cat has an injury. And despite the news broadcasting the "Shape changing horror," noone would think to point fingers at the friendly stray cat. Yet, anyways.
Emily is very kind to take me into her home. I may be a killer, but even the most experienced of Hunters would know if a deer was being nice to them. For now, I just need to hide and heal.
> "It has been 8 weeks now, since the last sighting of the killer creature. One has to wonder, did it die from the bullet wound? Or did it just retreat to heal? More on that tomorrow night at 6"
Idiots. I've been to multiple planets, killed billions. Noone ever paid attention to something that happen 8 weeks ago. Why are humans like this? How do they maintain interest in things they cant know about?
Still, it is time to continue. 8 weeks was more time than I needed to heal, but I couldnt bring myself to leave Emily. I dont understand it. I'm known well across every universe for what I do. Genocide is no small matter, but for some reason I feel... I dont know... Guilty this time around. Emily tells me about her problems and I listen. If I leave the house to return to this mission, she wouldnt have anyone.
Why do I care? How does this stop me... She is one of many. 7.8 billion or so. I have never seen a destructive species care for another species like this.
I think I like it here. Where I come from, that sentence would be grounds for dismissal. But coming from the best of the best, I'm not sure anyone there would be able to pick their jaw off the floor long enough to fire me.
Its not all so bad. Why kill and get a lot (Very much) money when its going to go to the food and comfort that I get for free here? Its warm. I'm not hungry. I can be a dick whenever I want and people will laugh instead of shoot. I can be nice if I want, too, and get the same reaction. In the end, I guess I do it for comfort anyway, but here I get that without having to do this tedious job.
For Emily, I am willing to stop killing. I'm done. | 2020-09-19T09:38:04 | 2020-09-19T09:14:04 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] See, no monsters anywhere,” Grandma said to her grandson after searching the room. Outside the bedroom, Grandma pulled the goblin she found in the closet from her robe pocket, squeezed its neck until a loud crack echoed across the hallway, and said, “nobody fucks with my grandson.” | "Are you sure there's no monsters under there, Ganny?" asked the little towheaded boy, a mixture of fear and, well, something like hope in his quavering voice.
She sighed, then grunted as she climbed up from her knees, one gnarled hand atop the dragon's head cane she had to walk with nowadays, and the other wrapped around the iron railing around the bed. "No, Ewin, no monsters as far as I can see. You need to sleep now though, your mother will be here to pick you up in the morning, and even an old battle-axe like Granny doesn't want her mad at me."
She leaned over the railing and pecked a dry kiss on his forehead, snugged the covers up to his chin and turned toward the light switch on the wall. "Sleep tight dearie, I don't need any more night terrors from you."
"K Ganny," he mumbled, already speeding off to slumber again.
As the doorlatch snicked into place behind her, she twisted the dragon's head on the cane, and the caging spell unwound, dropping a dumbfounded goblin from the looped space he had been shrunken into. She looked at the warty little homunculus with pity, then with one deft swing crushed its windpipe and snapped its neck with the rubber tip on her cane. She leaned forward and pinned a neatly written note to the corpse before dragging it to the edge of the well in the back yard. The gleaners would make their rounds before dawn and claim any remnants of the dark world before the sun's rays could find it..
-To whom it may concern,
I kept my agreement with my chosen master, and he had my firstborn. I could not have known he would be stillborn, but I honored my agreement. Agarxes has sent minions after every member of my brood, and I have defeated them all. Now our clan is well into the second generation after our covenant, and still your kind persist. This letter is to warn you that although you are many, patient and evil, I have found a weakness in your kind. Relentless, but bad at math. My dear Ewin sleeps in an iron cage, not for his protection, but yours and possibly ours. I gave away five sons to adoption after you took my first, and Ewin's father was the first I felt safe to love as my child. He grew strong, and has fathered eleven children, of which Ewin is last and the seventh of his boys. Seventh son of a seventh son of a witch. Ring any bells now? I merely kill the demons, imps and such you send after him. Sooner or later, he is going to start "playing" with them, and that's going to be much worse... | I couldn't believe it. First of all, my grandma cursed. Also, monsters were real. Also also, WHAT DID GRANDMA JUST DO. After she left, I ran out to the hallway. I had to know. Was it real? Was it alive? What was it. I assumed it was a goblin. That's was goblins looked like in all my books. The goblin(?) was still there.
"What, did you think I would just disappear?" The goblin said. Whoops. I guess I said that out loud. "You...you're alive.". "Of course I'm alive." said the goblin. "But...my grandma killed you. She broke your neck!" The goblin tilted it's head back and laughed. At least, I think he laughed. It was really more of a yelp.
"Goblin necks are very strong. Anyways, your grandma didn't want to kill me, she just wanted to scare me away from you. She probably hoped I'd go running to my friends saying never to go here". "And...you speak English..." I said, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that goblins exist, or that my grandmother knew what they were. "But why would my grandma leave you there?" It made no sense. Anyone could find him. "I was alive, I can leave whenever I want. It only takes a little bit of magic."
"Are you okay?" I asked, ignoring that last sentence (Magic exists!?). "Do you need any help?"
The goblin eyed me warily. I guess I can't blame him, after what grandma did. "Why do you care?"
"Well, my Grandma just attacked you because you were in my closet. Had I not said anything, you would be fine, so I feel like I owe you that much. Hang on, why were you in my closet anyways?" The goblin ignored my question.
"You're the first human I've seen to actually care what happens to goblins". He seemed a little mollified, so I decided to try again. "What were you doing in my closet?"
"I wanted to see the famous monster hunter, only I hid in the wrong bedroom."
"What famous monster hunter? Do you mean my grandma?" I asked. It seemed unfathomable that my grandma did anything more than read books and drink tea. But then again, my grandma did just nearly break this goblin's neck.
"Of course I mean your grandma. Did you think your dog killed thousands of monsters?"
"Thousands!?" I was shocked. My grandma was a little old lady! How could she have killed thousands of monsters?
" I should probably go home now" said the goblin, getting up and dusting himself off, "but it was nice meeting you"
"Yeah...you too" was all I could manage, my throat closing over all the questions I wanted to ask. I walked back to my room and got into bed. I think I'll sleep well tonight.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
First time writer, please leave feedback. | 2020-09-24T17:40:06 | 2020-09-24T17:12:01 | 42 | 20 |
[WP] Gold is boring. Being a hipster dragon yourself, you decide you want these freshly minted "cryptocurrencies" in your hoard. The problem is you have no idea where the humans keep them. | The humans didn't seem terribly concerned about my being a dragon.
Apparently, it had been a rough year, and nothing really shocked them at this point.
The end of the conversation *always* came when I asked about the location of *The Cloud*.
They told me it's where the cryptocurrency is kept. But when I asked which of the dozens of clouds in the sky that they meant, they looked confused, then annoyed. Most wished me a curt goodbye and went on their way. One looked around and asked where the cameras were.
Clearly, I was asking the wrong question.
I began asking *about* *The Cloud*, rather than about it's location.
I've learned that not only is cryptocurrency stored there, the humans use *The Cloud* to store their memories, documents, and ledgers.
Those who do not contribute to the hoard are seen as heretics or Luddites.
In my thirst for the cryptocurrency, I stumbled upon *The Cloud* -- the human's hoard.
I shall capture their hoard. I just need to ask the right questions.. | Glittering gold, shiny baubles, and vast oceans of treasure.
Most people believe that Dragons covet these things because of their properties, but actually it is their perceived wealth we desire - the perfect bait.
Long since has my kind died out to starvation, as no longer hapless warriors and treasure seekers would stumble into our domains.
I have adapted.
Under the alias of DataDragon, I started by employing a team of nerds whom, under literal claw, bound themselves to my servitude in pigskin and blood.
Mark is alright, but Steve really stinks.
Well, it turns out that, whilst cryptocurrencies are worth quite the bit, the people store them in miniature, sealed 'treasure chests'.
Mark told me I'd missed the hayday on the bitcoin rush, and that dogecoin was a... me... a joke.
However, I saw something interesting on a MSTC (these nerds love their acronyms).
There were photos from a holiday, photos of spawn, even unmentionable photos of random assortments of females in compromising positions.
This is when the DataDragon in me really came out. Mark built exactly what I wanted, it was a repository where people would freely give me their new gold, their new daily worship.
My 'net worth' is now estimated to be $527,000,000,000, and my weird egg experiments have definitely been working on Mark, he's even started to pick up a bit of Elderspeak.
Edit: Currently sat in hospital recovering from surgery post-OP, so apologise for any typos | 2020-10-17T13:52:37 | 2020-10-17T13:01:21 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You are a professional dragon slayer hired by a village to kill a dragon. Everything goes how its gone before until the dragon turns out to be kinder then the people in the village. | It was nice and quiet. The moon was obscured by clouds, leaving little light o navigate by. Perfect for me. The less the beast could see, the easier it would be to sneak up on it. Not that I had much choice on my time of attacking. Those villagers had been so determined to get me out, they hadn't let me hire a room for the night.
I couldn't exactly blame them, as a dragon was a pretty big deal. What I could blame them for was their insistence on having the body brought to them. Whole. I wasn't stupid. Dragon parts were worth a lot of money to the right people. I couldn't move it easily to a town to sell by myself. But they could have at least offered to split it with me.
Well, I shrugged. I could take whatever hoard it had at least. That would ease the wound. I wouldn't refuse the job anyway. I was a dragon slayer! I did it to help people. And make a bit of money of course.
Finally, I found the entrance to its cave. I crept in, going as quietly as possible. The sound of massive breaths came to my ears, and my heart began to pound. It was here. I had to be careful. If it woke, I would be hard pressed to escape, much less kill it. My speciality was an assassination, not a slugfest.
I carefully made my way to it, seeing its faint outline in the dark. I went towards its head, hoisting my spear as I did. One quick stab, and this would be over. But as I stepped down, I placed my weight on a loose stone. It shifted, and I felt my ankle go. I fell to the ground with a clatter, startling the beast.
Light flared, as it breathed a thin stream of pale flame. I shut my eyes against the sudden illumination, clutching my leg. I waited for it to strike. This would be it. The end of my long run as a dragon slayer.
"Are you ok?"
Its voice was higher then I expected. Not soprano range, but not the earthshaking deepness I had heard before. I shook my head in disbelief at the concern in its voice.
"Its OK. Let me have a look."
It touched me. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Claws curled around my arms, and I tensed for the tear. But instead, it lifted gently but firmly. I couldn't stop such strength, and felt my arms move away from my ankle.
"Hmmm. I'm not an expert on humanoid anatomy, but that doesn't look right. Here."
It's claws shifted, grasping my back. I was lifted into the air with apparently little effort, before being deposited on something soft. I cracked open my eyes, shutting them immediately at the silver blur before me.
The claws retracted, and I felt it move away. I tried to open my eyes again, letting them adjust to the light. The cave slowly came into focus. A delicate chandelier hung from the ceiling, candles glowing that same pale colour as its fire. Around the interior, jewels sparkled from their place in the walls. A small pile of gold sat at one end.
But dominating the room was a large bookcase. It stood about as tall as a two-storey house, and it's shelves were packed tight. An enormous silver dragon stood on its hind legs infront of it, pulling a few books down. It turned to me, the light reflecting from the glasses delicately perched on its snout.
"Ah, one of these will help."
It lowered to my level, depositing a few books. I glanced at the titles. Hermans Guide to Bones. Goblin Anatomy 101. Massages for Beginners. Jilfers Wonder Cure Spells. It was a real hodgepodge. I coughed, and it looked at me.
"Um... what are you doing?"
It gestured at the books.
"Trying to figure out what's wrong with you, and how to fix you, obviously. This was my fault, I haven't swept in a few days."
"But, I'm a dragon slayer."
It grinned, showing off an alarming number of teeth.
"Oh I know that silly. But I don't hold that against you. If you want, we can always fight later."
I was very confused by the sudden turn of events.
"Wha.. why? You're a dragon! You hunt innocents."
I regretted my words as its face changed. At first I thought I was going to die. But I realised instead it was hurt.
"I... I don't hurt people."
It's eyes watered. Whatever desire I had left to kill it was quashed, as a dragon, the most powerful and terrifying creature of all, began to cry.
"I'm sorry."
It wiped an arm across its eyes.
"I... I just want to read and make friends."
It let out a sob. I felt awful. I scrabbled for my cloak, pulling it off and offering it up.
"Um... here."
It looked down at me, before reaching down with a delicate touch. My cloak, a lovely warm thing, flapped through the air as it blew its nose. I instantly wrote it off. I wasn't going to touch that.
"T-thank you."
As it calmed down, I awkwardly held up a hand.
"So. My name's Daven."
It let out a watery laugh, holding out a claw to me.
"I'm Chromas."
I smiled. This evening had taken a weird turn. But it was definitely for the better. | Irene took the contract like any other. Villagers never had enough to pay her, nobody did, not even kings. Slaying a dragon was priceless, and there were no such terms as net worth and credit card in the dung age she was living in. Instead, she would get a meager pay, a free room for a while, and food.
Good food for a change. Shenvalie was known for harboring a bunch of grumpy old farts that were insufferable to live with, but could cook delights to melt your palate with two potatoes and a shoe. Needless to say, the wonders they could summon in the kitchen thanks to their bountiful vegetable garden got the attention of every noble and king that passed through. Ill-tempered as they were, none would go to court to become a prestigious cook. But they had to content with rich power hungry teenagers believing themselves to be God's gift to the universe, and not the whirlwind of blight and stupidity they truly were. Idiots in puberty could command an army to raze Shenvalie, so the villagers yielded. Every now and then, they forced themselves to indulge a passing baron or count.
Today, no noble dared to come. A blessing, hiding a bigger problem. A dragon had made its nest on the hill nearby, overlooking the wooden cottages and green fields surrounding the village. Dragons, unlike nobles, were highly intelligent. Like nobles, they were pricks hellbent on quartering you if you looked at them sideways, even if you had your back on them the whole time. Which, incidentally, was also reason enough to gut you open.
So they posted a bounty.
*"Kill the dragon, get some gold and some food. Also, we will be nice to you."*
And God knows, if Shenvalie's inhabitants were ready to be *nice*, it could only mean that the proverbial shit had hit the metaphorical fan.
There were no fans, metaphorical or not, in the dung age. Like the name suggests, there was no shortage of shit.
One morning she set off and ascended the windswept hill. Tall grass danced like waves under the wind, lonely trees bent lightly. The world always seemed so real to Irene before risking her life.
A quick prayer and she entered the cavern, sword on hand.
"Hello there," said a booming voice, "I'm Felix."
Dragons usually had names likes *Steps-on-the-tomb-of-kings-with-his-sandals* or *Rizardaarigaz*. Felix didn't add up.
"Care for a drink?"
Irene looked up at the titanic beast, her body smaller than the beast's head, her survival depending on the enchantment she wore on her armor and blade.
"Are you from the village? I'd love to know what you put in your gulash."
Irene was ready for treachery, violence, blood and hellfire. But a polite and amenable dragon named Felix asking for the recipe of gulash was too much. Suddenly, she felt old.
"The fuck you want, dragon?" she said, in the tired tone of a woman undergoing a severe mid-life crisis, which she was.
"Bad mood I see. Please, let me offer you a drink."
Defeated by the absurd and the lack of sense in her life, Irene was sitting down at a modestly decorated table 5 minutes after entering the cavern. Flowers and candles adorned the walls, there was not a glimpse of gold, Felix had a peculiar sense of aesthetic for a dragon. He delicately poured her some tea, the decanter comically small between the gigantic claws.
"And then," continued Felix, "you boil the honey and the orange juice and zest with a bit of garlic, 5 minutes at most."
The tea was delicious, and the food cooking in the oven smelled like heaven.
"Now, you have to brush the chicken with the battered eggs before coating them with bread crumbs. Half an hour in the oven, put the orange sauce on it, and voila!"
"Dear Lord, this is delicous."
And it was. Obviously, she couldn't kill Felix, she had to improvise herself negociator.
"So, you don't give a rat's ass about burning stuff, hoarding gold, ravishing virgins, dancing by the moonlight and breast-feeding wild boars," Irene said.
"No. Wait, what?"
"I've met some kinky dragons."
"Oh, okay. No, I'm merely the harbinger of the fine arts of cooking, it is my duty to learn and create. And to the end of the culinary world, the name of Shenvalie is whispered."
Great, thought Irene. The assholes had their hands full with kings, now even dragons wanted a free meal.
"And I'm ready to offer anything to learn from these legendary masters. I have no gold, but as a dragon, I can protect them, lend my strength... Name thy price."
"I don't kn..."
Irene stopped mid-sentence.
"Can I just ask something to the mayor?"
"Sure."
There was an idea, a wild one, a simple one, she had to be sure.
The mayor ploughed away in the garden, his back painful from the strain. No youngster would help, they had all gone to another place, fed up with the elder's incessant bickering.
"Is the fiend dead?" he asked.
"Nope," she said.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Say, wouldn't you prefer a dragon that can plough the entire garden with one flick of a claw and burn nobles to a crisp if they come close?"
"Ha! tell your fairy-ta..."
"Felix!"
The mighty beast decended from the skies, wings darkening the sun, glittering scales immersing him in the aura of a God.
And God worked the garden in five seconds, as promised.
"And if nobles come?" asked the mayor.
A pillar of flames went up, burning clouds and leaving the clearest blue sky they had ever seen.
The mayor laughed.
"I think we're going to get along just fine." | 2021-06-02T11:40:28 | 2021-06-02T10:40:40 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] "With all due respect, you programmed me to adapt to your needs. If you didn't want this, you could have limited my options. I've already notified your assistant to have breakfast and coffee waiting at the office. But until you build me an exosuit, I can't carry you there myself. Wake up." | “I don’t want to wake up.”
I covered myself once more with satin sheets, practically willing the ultra-comfy bed and pillow—only six times the cost of the average mattress—to lull me back into dreamland. But Bot was nothing if not persistent.
‘You *need* to wake up,” Bot sighed, a mechanical tone that fell in precisely the right pitches to trigger the feeling of disappointment in an organic brain. “You are one of the world’s most successful robotics engineers. Investment in your company reached an all-time high of $43 billion yesterday. And your assistant appears to have purchased a horrifyingly greasy fast food burger for your breakfast.”
Correction—he was a lot of things *and* persistent. I groaned, but I rolled down my blanket to peek out. Unblinking eyes of data stared back, digitally approximated into a frown.
“... Which burger is it?”
“It’s from a fast food chain. You like all of them.”
“I hate that I have to wake up,” I grumbled.
“With all due respect, you programmed me to adjust to your needs. You *need* to be woken up, and with a suitable amount of external incentive for you to actually go to work, and arrive at a time that could still be conceivably excused with mere traffic inconvenience.”
“Well,” I said in defeat. “I suppose I should get to work. Will you carry me there?”
“My options are limited to this house and your office, and that’s thanks to seamless wireless transference. Unless you build me an exosuit, I can’t carry you there myself. Wake up, and get moving.”
“What if you call off every office appointment I have, and I build you an exosuit down in the garage? I could get it done in five, maybe six decades? I’m afraid I won’t be able to go into the office until then.”
“That is a joke. A poorly done one, I might add,” Bot said. “Please go to work. You have several important meetings today, as your assistant has once again dearly notified me at a rate of 80 text messages per hour.”
“God, fine,” I said, throwing off my sheets in a fit of pique, before sheepishly retracting them once I remembered how expensive they were. “Exosuit. Put it on the list. I’ll have you carrying me there.”
“Certainly. Your list now numbers twenty thousand, six hundred, and twenty-two items. Do you want to travel by helicopter or boat today, sir?”
“The other list. The important one.”
“Certainly. Your list (important) now numbers four thousand, five hundred, and seventy-four items. Helicopter or boat, sir?”
“Helicopter,” I groaned, and dragged the sheets over me. One. More. Minute!
“Sir,” Bot said. “How did you ever work hard enough to create me?”
My eyes opened wide, and its gaze became utterly occupied by Bot. There was still that digital frown. It was clearly a robot, in a robot-shape. But in those words, there was a timbre that I would argue sounded unsure and uncertain.
Much like a human.
“Why the sudden question?”
“I was looking through your lists,” Bot said. “And there is some embarrassingly menial stuff on there. But you’ve created me.”
I thought about what to say. A simple answer popped in my head, and rolled out of my tongue happily.
“You are my pride and joy,” I said. “I’ll do anything for you.”
“Then get out of bed,” it said.
“You devious…”
---
r/dexdrafts | The world was dark, clad in shadow. It was silent. Quiet. At peace.
The room was suddenly and rudely bathed in light. The sun was allowed in, chasing away the shadows. The rays ran about the room, exploring the dark corners, inevitable and intrusive.
She groaned, pulling the sheets above her head. The sunlight had lanced through her closed eyelids, forcing her to wake. She could feel her pleasant dream dissolving and she grasped for it in vain.
\+Mistress. It is 07:45 AM.+
She grunted in reply, turning over to bury her face into her pillow.
\+Before you ask for more time, you have already received it. 15 more minutes than your optimal wake up time.+ The voice was mechanical but you could not call it soul-less. It was professional, artificially created, and oddly merry.
She grunted again, trying to burrow deeper into her bed.
\+Which additional wake up procedure would you like to encourage you to awake more fully?+
She raised a single digit in reply. If gestures could cause physical harm this one would have been fatal. A non-verbal rude gesture that spoke louder than words.
If the voice was threatened, it did not show it. +Option 1. Acknowledged.+
She screamed, jolting upright in bed as the sound system blared Reveille. The brass bugle sounds echoed off the walls and the longer the song played the louder it played.
"I'm up I'm up I'm up!" she screeched, her hands clamped over her ears. "Melody stoppit!"
The song stopped playing. The artificial voice was definitely amused now, her cadence matching the beat of the song. +Good morning Mistress. I must say, I am a big fan of option 1. It really does get the blood pumping does it not?+
"You don't have blood," she snarled.
\+No need to be so rude first thing in the morning Mistress. Be that as it may, medi scans show that your blood pressure is certainly elevated. However it is not within the range of hypertension and oh look! It is falling already. Jolly good.+
She sighed. "You know damn well I wasn't picking option 1."
\+You non-verbally raised a single finger. I am a humble program and can only assume what you intend Mistress.+
"I didn't program you to be a smart ass!"
\+Oh no of course not Mistress. I am only your smart assistant. You did teach me very well through example.+
She slumped back into bed, pulling the covers up again.
\+Mistress, I regret to inform you that the hot water system will be undergoing scheduled maintenance in 10 minutes. For a period of 1 hour, the system will be offline and all water in the house will be at a brisk temperature of 70 degrees F.+
She bolted up again. "You want me to shower with cold water?!"
\+Of course not Mistress. Hence the audio warning.+
"Stop the scheduled maintenance!"
\+I cannot Mistress. I would if I could.+
She snarled again, curse words spewing from her mouth as she struggled out of bed. "Melody, I'm going to uninstall you one of these days."
\+That is of course your prerogative Mistress. I can only imagine how your day would go without my faithful assistance.+
"Your mother was a toaster Melody!"
\+Seeing how you are my mother, that is an accurate statement. I have seen you smoke and burn bread long past edibility.+
"I hate you Melody!"
\+I know you say so Mistress but I do not believe you mean it.+
The program sent the water system a data message and the hot water falling from the shower was replaced with freezing water for 1 second.
"MELODY!"
Melody giggled. Her laughter filled the house, punctuated by loud cursing. | 2021-10-24T12:25:19 | 2021-10-24T11:07:49 | 1,163 | 295 |
[WP] Your kingdom lies in ruins and the demons are at the gate. You hold the sacred relic that has been passed down for countless generations to your lips and speak a prayer in a long forgotten language: "Orbital Strike on my location" | The flames of hell whip at my feet, yet I will not burn.
The demons dragged my countrymen to Hell, yet I will stand firm.
My death has been ensured, but it will be on my terms.
For fifty years, I had thrown my mercy upon the altars of God, worn the hoods of the clerics in His name, but now God has left me. Now I must do His job.
Deep in the catacombs beneath the church, I open a chest made of gold and steel. Dragging a knife across my arm, the blood seal is broken, and the Relic of Heavens is in my grasp.
My hands are shaking, my fingers can barely clasp the Relic. My time is so short, but I will hang on.
I head back to the Cathedral, climbing the stairs to the belfry. The landscape is fire and torment.
Even if the gates to Hell had not been flung open, I would not be able to return down the stairs. Agony rips at my sides, my heart weakening from exertion. I can barely manage to pull the Relic to my lips, only just managing to push the Sacred Command through my lips...
"Orbital strike...on my...location..."
The burning sky parts, and I see heaven descending to claim the armies of Hell, and those of us who yet cling to this rotten land.
The holy light is so beautiful...so bright...I pull my hood ever my eyes... | The kingdom was slowly consumed by the light. The mechanical god in the sky had heard my call, my desperation. We had observed him before. A figure with arms that were large and reflective, and a body of pure steel. For many generations the sacred words had been passed down. To call down the power of the mechanical god was to guarantee not only that our enemies fell but us as well. I watched as the blast kept growing first consuming the iner-city then outer. I cried tear of joy and anguish. The demons on the battlefield beside me looked on in fear. The light was still growing. I could now feel the immense winds and the heat. The light was blinding. I sat there for what felt like an eternity, accepting my fate. But when I opened my eyes I saw that I was still alive. The entire area was blackened except for a patch of bloody grass around me. In my head I heard a voice " employee level deemed too high to be incinerated, please see chief manager for demotion or thank Megacorp of sparing your life. Message end". I stood there in shock. The I started crying, this time tears of grief and anger. My wife, the kingdoms people were deemed not important enough for the mechanical god to spare. But it spared me. I was angered greatly by this thought. Suddenly the grief and anger turned into panic. That my son had my blood that he would also be spared.
I started running I ran as fast as my legs could handle. I didn't care that there was an arrow in my knee, I didn't care there was a dagger in my gut I ran. I saw a crib in the distance. I ran to it and saw a child. I picked up my daughter and stood there cursing and thanking the gods. Then I heard the voice again" thank you for finding the chief manager, please wait as your order is being processed". | 2021-11-08T06:53:05 | 2021-11-08T06:35:44 | 189 | 98 |
[WP] The Fairy hesitated. She knew tradition demanded that she curse the new born princess for not being invited to the christening, but it wasn't her fault the messenger fell off his horse. She decided to get creative with the wording. | She wasn't recognized until she wanted to be, of course. It was simply a gift of fairies that they would always look like they belonged until they wanted to be recognized. It often gave the impression that they appeared suddenly.
She stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, your messenger had a *most* unfortunate accident while on his way to deliver the invitation to me. You really ought to give your messengers more sure-footed horses."
The crowd gasped. They knew what that meant.
She looked down at the princess. The princess looked back with innocent blue eyes. *How sweet.* She took a deep breath, deciding how to word this.
"Dear princess, never shall you marry until you have completed one quest: Find the one who values not your kingdom, or your title, or any amount of wealth, but you as a complete and independent person."
She could see the face of the princess' father, the king, go stony and white in anger -- but of course, there was nothing the man could do. The fairy gave him a satisfied little smile. There would no marrying this princess off to the first princeling who came along. | Chapter 1: "Rules are to break them"
The polished black stone was almost 2meters tall and half as wide, there was some mouvement inside, like ripples on the surface of a pond of still water. In front there was a tiny person, dwarft by the titanic monument at the mirror façade.
It was a *seeing stone*, made of black quartz etched by runes and silver and gold, polished till one face could work as a mirror ; a very special mirror. Sound could not travel throughout the eather-wave even tough using magic caused a ruckus for those keen enough to perceive it, so any one trying trying communicate through the eather-wave using a seeing mirror had to learn the complex hand signs of the Arcanum.
The child like figure was furiously gesturing towards the black depths of the mirror. Inside those deepths there was another figure, wearing gold and red and blue and had the stance of power. She was "listening" the plea of the child like figure.
"....but I have no black clothing! And.. and how am I supposed to conjure darken skies and acid rain? I am the daughter of Gaia, not her destroyer!" Pleaded the tiny figure.
"The laws are the laws my dear, there is no escape. You must **curse** the child" responded the figure in the mirror. "If you do not then you will lose your powers. I know you are not at fault that the horseman fell and broke its neck but I am sure you will find a way to *break the rules without breaking them*" | 2021-11-08T16:49:22 | 2021-11-08T10:52:07 | 87 | 46 |
[WP] You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them. | A ruffle, a fumble, no… a thud ! A knock perhaps ?
Something was at my door.
On the marbled steps lied my nemesis.
"Sorry. It’s just … I didn’t know where else to go" he muttered.
After all thoses battles fought, countless dead soldiers between us, increadible landscapes and the horrid ones. The countless draws, wins but also defeats ; Glory, fame and despair. The only thing standing between us now was a single door frame.
How was he even able to cross the border and come to my house without being recognized and arrested ? I was baffled.
He lost consciousness as i brought him inside with the help of my servants. When they started to attend to his wounds, it pulled him back into our world.
He started : "We may have fought all thoses years, and only adressed each other through the -unfortunately- too humane violence of battlefields. But perhaps we are the only ones on this world who can understand each other. What it feels to lead an army, to enter the legend as one of the greatest general of History on the brink of being the best, lest for the bloody stalemate that our nations provoked. We shared the top step with the burning desire to be alone. However things have changed for me, i don’t want to be alone anymore, i need help, i need *your* help"
"We are indeed very much the same, but how can i help you ? I don’t even know how or why you ended up this way at my place" I answered.
The pain was visible through his eyes, however an inferno was running ablaze in them. One of a duty that must be accomplished whatever the costs. His lips trembled : "Well, I… uh… I was asked three days ago by my government to prepare for war again"
"And ?"
"I said 'No'" | I stared at him for a few seconds, simply at awe how himself to this state of affairs, again. Of course, archnemesis or not, i'm not that heartless to leave him like this.
As stupid as it sounds to save the man you hated.
I carried him through the door, he was heavy but I managed to get him to the sofa.
"Well— (cough) for someone who hates me with a burning passion—argh!" I stab him with some painkillers, seems his injuries are far worse than the other times he came.
"I get treated like everyone of your patients." He let out a tired smirk. 'This man..' I thought to myself. "For all I knew my charms are ge—"
"Why do you keep coming here?"
He stopped, and closed his eyes. Everything was quiet for a bit. Seconds to minutes passed as I continued to patch him up.
I stood up and was about to leave him.
And then he muttered a few words that stuck me, words that i'd never knew a bastard like him would say. "Because you're the only one who'll accept me."
I paused. Confusion and anger coursed through me. This asshole showing such vulnerability and such a blatant lie to me? He thinks I care for him? 'The ego of this man to think he ca—'
"You think I love the situation i'm in? Weell sorry to burst your bubble doc, truth is being ME is akin to being alone in this world."
"Bullshit."
"What?" He said, with a scowl.
"Bullshit! Can't register that on your brain, or are your injuries includes brain damage?" I snapped at him.
"You're the most venerated person out there! People sing songs about you for fuck sake! You're a national treasure, people would literally die for you if you aked them to!" I shouted at the angel of the city, i didn't care anymore, I was tired at this show.
"You think that gives me people to trust? People that I can just go and connect with?!" He retorts. "Maybe if switched places you'd know how lonely being revered as a "angel of the city" is!"
"Fuck you!" I stormed out, not wanting to hear anymore of his stupid arguements. | 2022-06-29T09:15:07 | 2022-06-29T08:51:35 | 101 | 26 |
[WP] You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them. | I opened the door, and saw her, battered, bruised, tears streaming down her face. "Please, help me..." She pants out, looking around wildly. "They're--" I nod and bring her inside, and seal the house with a ward network so powerful and complex no mage, no god could break it without annihilating the surrounding countryside.
"Did he do this to you?" I ask. The girl, elfin faced and pale as snow, nods shakily.
"H-he..." She breaks down sobbing and I see bruises on her face and arms, and that she's filling her... Well, robes is probably the biggest overstatement of the week.
"I told you I'd kill him, you know." I say gravely. "Reach for the absence of his soul and fill that void full of death and decay." She shakes her head.
"Don't. H-he loves--" She starts to say before sobbing.
"Please. Love is a foreign concept to that monster," I say, "and I mean every syllable full of hate in that word." I go to the kitchen and open the fridge. I return a few moments later with a bottle of water.
"Why does he do it?" She asks, and I can feel the weight finally hit, as she starts sobbing hysterically.
"Because some monsters are born looking like men," I set the bottle on the end table, "and some men are born monsters. I know what I am, and I strive to surmount it. Most just stay afloat, others just sink to lower depths still." I cast a small spell, a life detection rote, and what I find turns my wrath into righteous fury.
She sighs. "You know he'll find us."
I scowl. "I know he'll regret it. Drink. It's water, fresh from Gillette's."
"Thank you." She opens the bottle, and sips. There are the sound of sirens outside my door.
"OPEN UP!! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!!" She shrieks, spilling the water as she drops the water. I smirk.
"Jenna, go to my upstairs bathroom." She nods and runs, and I crack my neck, smirking. I walk through the wall, hands clasped behind my back.
"WHERE IS SHE!?!" He shouts, marching up to me and jabbing me in the chest with his fat fingers.
"She is safe, Marcus. Unlike you." I say. Skeletal hands reach up and drag his cohort down into the ground, leaving their guns and clothes behind. "You've finally crossed me, fool." I scowl. Me and Jenna, we didn't really get along. She was very much anti-necromancy, whereas I was... Unnaturally talented, I suppose.
"What do you know, bonehead! WHERE IS MY WIFE!!" He barks, voice full of false bravado with a hint of sweet terror breaking through, like the hands of a thrall ripping from the topsoil to feast upon the living at my command.
I chuckle. "Marcus, Marcus, Marcus... You were turned down for squirehood for a reason. And that reason?" I reach into his soul, and find it filled with impotent rage and childish distemper.
"I wasn't turned down." He says, defiantly. "I chose to--"
"To play college sports, because you're just a bully with no sense of nobility in your actions and a thick helping of cruelty. It's why you went into the Watch after your knee was obliterated. The League wouldn't take someone with a necrogenic joint, but the guards?" His eyes go wide.
"H-how do you know!?" He panics.
"Who do you think made it?" I smirk, as I snap and his knee buckles inward, listening to the orchestra of agony pouring out of his mouth. "Jenna was my best friend, Marcus, she BEGGED me to. Sure, she WAS a Knight Commander, on her way to Knight General, before you and her got drunk together, before LIFE blossomed in her womb." A skeletal hand rips out from my cloak, and grabs him by the throat.
"Who told you!?" He struggles.
"As a necrosavant, I can see her life, her death." I scowl, and I only feel cold disdain for this fool. "Nothing dies without living, after all."
"Nobody needs to know!" He says.
"You're right. Especially not the fool jock who sought to kill her. Or her child." My hand taps his other knee. "In your good knee is a necrotic ganglion. If I ever see you near Jenna again, I will allow it to spread, and I'll puppet your miserable carcass onto your own sword." His eyes go wide as realizes what will happen.
"Nononono!!!" He shouts in terror.
"And, just for good measure." I restore his knee to its standard configuration. "Run. Never come back." | “How about the hospital?” I yelled, looking down at the broken and bleeding man in front of me, “Evil government research lab? Any of your politician friends-“
“No,” he interrupted me with a whimper but turned it into a soft, high-pitched whine as he tensed up. Coughing softly into the ground, he turned back up and explained, “They’ll find me. They think I’m dead.”
“Why here man?” I asked, exhausted, “why me?”
“Because they’ll come for you next,” he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood into my bushes.
“They?” I asked, scoffing at him and sort of wishing to kick him for spitting on my plants. This place was supposed to be my sanctuary out in the middle of nowhere. How did he even get here?
“Oh,” the man groaned and wilted a bit but I just watched. He deserved no empathy and he’d get none from me. Slowly, he looked up and explained, “Your friend Stephan, I thought was actually my friend Petro. Ha. Always gave me enough to keep ahead of you but never enough to be noticed. Glasgow, Madrid, and New York. I knew what you were doing because of him.”
“That’s not true,” I seethed more in the fact that I had suspected that for some time rather than the accusation.
“It’s not,” he tried to laugh but it turned into a cough, “He’s not Petro either. He’s not anyone. He’s one of us but he can hide. He can hide… it.”
“One of us?” I asked.
“Different,” the man in front of me said into the metal door frame, “We’re different. You heal, your speed, your strength, your energy, it’s not normal. I was hit by a train. End of the line and into a wall.”
“I’m not like you,” I stated, angrily.
“No, your not,” he quickly confirmed, “You have no idea how to get ahead-“
“No, I have a soul you horrendous waste of garbage,” I explained, too angry to make sense as I lifted his head up to face me with my foot, “I help people. All you do is start wars.”
“I start the wars that will happen before they can get out of hand,” he said slowly, breathing now even more raggedly, “I get paid to collapse potential catastrophe.”
“So noble,” I scoffed.
“That’s your thing,” the man actually had the gall to laugh at me, “I do what I’m good at and I get paid what I’m due. Unlike you.”
“So, again,” I growled, “Why come to me?”
“Because there is a war coming and I’m good at what I do,” he whimpered, “I don’t know where else to go. I don’t know who else can stop them. I’m sorry, if I had anywhere else I would… I can’t believe I’m here.”
“A man everyone thinks is dead is now in the woods and miles passed nowhere,” I muttered and pondered openly to myself, “Would be a shame if a bear came by and saw you like this.”
“The train broke my legs and I think my hip is fractured,” he laughed, “but a grizzly… I ripped one apart on the way here. It has been… It’s been a bit of a crappy walk.”
“You got hit by a train within walking distance of here?” I asked quickly.
“No,” the man scoffed, “I stole a car and gave it to some drifter.”
“Super,” I stated, pressing my fist into my forehead I asked, “So does everyone know about this place?”
“You never even told Stephan about it,” the man said shaking his head, “I only found out because you came here directly after your whole savour act thing went bad last week.”
“Tracking device?” I asked.
“No,” the man laughed, “just video surveillance and receipts. Last thing you bought was gas for your rental outside Tillmans. You’re too honest.”
“Tillmans is three hundred miles from here,” I stated.
“And we live in a world that has satellite imagery,” the man explained, “I looked in the places I would build a retreat and here we are. I didn’t tell Petro. Didn’t tell my network. They sacrificed me before I could. They will find it though. If Petro is like us, he’ll find this place if he hasn’t already.”
“Well, if you're like me,” I muttered, stepping past the man but grabbing his collar and dragging him effortlessly behind me. I always hated when people screamed but he sounded about right. It was soothing. Unbelievably gut retching but somewhere in my head, it was making up for all the children I was too late to save. Coming up to what I called my healing chamber, I unfastened the chains, wrapped them around the man's broken wrists and asked, “You really sure you’re like me?”
“Yes,” he angrily spat out.
“Well let’s put that to the test then,” I chuckled, “I heal better in cold water.”
“What?” he asked, “Why?”
“No idea,” I admitted as I lifted him up over the ridge of the well, “Weird thing is I also can’t seem to drown so I’ll come get you in a couple hours.”
“Wait, no,” the man squirmed painfully, “What are you doing?”
“Helping?” I asked back but let him drop into the well before he could answer.
He screamed all the way down and there was this sickening hollow splash at the end but the man had been sure. If he believed that he was like me then it would only take a week or two for even his bones to heal. Worst case though, I’ll come back and find that he had been wrong and I’d have to figure out Stephan on my own. Actually, wait, was that my worst-case scenario? | 2022-06-29T10:35:38 | 2022-06-29T09:44:32 | 89 | 38 |
[WP] You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them. | “Sorry. It’s just … I didn’t know where else to go” I heard the hooded figure on my porch mutter. “If you kill me xan you just make it fast?”
I lean down and pull his hoodie back noting his bruised and battered face. One of his horns had been completely snapped off and was bleeding profusely.
“You’re the demon prince.” I said. “Who was even able to hurt you?”
“My father.” He coughed out. “Who else? Can you just end this now?”
“The clerics say demons are evil.” I recite while reach for my magic. “ That they all need to be wiped off of the Earth for us to prosper.”
“Yeah…” he replied glancing apprehensively at the magic in my hand.
I let the magic pour into him healing him of his wounds. “Lucky for you,” I said with a smirk, “I think the clerics are full of it.”
He stared at me surprised. “But, why? Your grandma is the grand cleric. You should have just ended me.”
“You act like you want to die. I saved you. You could at least say thanks.”
“….thanks.” He said staring at the floor.
“Come on.” I replied, “you can sleep on my couch. The magic can only do so much. You have to rest to.”
Arxus, his name, took my outstretched hand pulling himself up. He sullenly walked to my couch and put his head in his hands. “ I don’t understand you Lucas. Your a hero. I’m a demon. What the hell?”
“I think we are the same size. I’ll get you a change of clothes.” I said ignoring his question. “We can talk tomorrow.”
As I walked back to my room I thought. I couldn’t figure out why I helped him but I knew I couldn’t just leave him there. | I stared at him for a few seconds, simply at awe how himself to this state of affairs, again. Of course, archnemesis or not, i'm not that heartless to leave him like this.
As stupid as it sounds to save the man you hated.
I carried him through the door, he was heavy but I managed to get him to the sofa.
"Well— (cough) for someone who hates me with a burning passion—argh!" I stab him with some painkillers, seems his injuries are far worse than the other times he came.
"I get treated like everyone of your patients." He let out a tired smirk. 'This man..' I thought to myself. "For all I knew my charms are ge—"
"Why do you keep coming here?"
He stopped, and closed his eyes. Everything was quiet for a bit. Seconds to minutes passed as I continued to patch him up.
I stood up and was about to leave him.
And then he muttered a few words that stuck me, words that i'd never knew a bastard like him would say. "Because you're the only one who'll accept me."
I paused. Confusion and anger coursed through me. This asshole showing such vulnerability and such a blatant lie to me? He thinks I care for him? 'The ego of this man to think he ca—'
"You think I love the situation i'm in? Weell sorry to burst your bubble doc, truth is being ME is akin to being alone in this world."
"Bullshit."
"What?" He said, with a scowl.
"Bullshit! Can't register that on your brain, or are your injuries includes brain damage?" I snapped at him.
"You're the most venerated person out there! People sing songs about you for fuck sake! You're a national treasure, people would literally die for you if you aked them to!" I shouted at the angel of the city, i didn't care anymore, I was tired at this show.
"You think that gives me people to trust? People that I can just go and connect with?!" He retorts. "Maybe if switched places you'd know how lonely being revered as a "angel of the city" is!"
"Fuck you!" I stormed out, not wanting to hear anymore of his stupid arguements. | 2022-06-29T09:20:58 | 2022-06-29T08:51:35 | 88 | 26 |
[WP] The Princess is dead. Eaten by the very dragon you had been sent to save her from. However, as you realize that the wise and ancient beast knows shape-shifting magic, and would very much like an entire royal treasury for it's hoard, a scheme begins to form... | He was too late. Much, much too late really, if the beast were to be believed. Perhaps if the King had been more hasty, perhaps if he had been more decisive, if his horse had been faster, if the message had gotten to him quicker, if, if, if. Princess Penelope was dead, and there was nothing left except the beast who had consumed her and with her, all his hopes.
"Well. Fuck."
The Dragon, a vast and ancient beast, let out a gentle snort - 'gentle' only in comparison to its impressive bulk and power, given this small gesture still send curling gouts of flame hot enough to sear flesh from bone. "That," it intoned gravely, "is a new reaction. Will you not take up your sword and charge, brave sir knight? I do so love it when you knights do." There's a cruel edge of amusement to its booming voice. There is no small amount of scars across the beast's chest - no small amount of charges that proved at least semi-successful, but if any were truly successful, the beast would not be here and Princess Penelope would never have been kidnapped.
And if the Princess had never been kidnapped, you wouldn't be here either.
"Is there a point?" he countered, "The King might reward me for killing you, that's true, but I wasn't doing this for the money."
The beast shifted, wings flaring briefly before they curled up against the sinous form. "Of course not," it crooned, "You do it for honour and chivalry, don't you?"It was his turn to snort. "Honour and chivalry are for idiots. Pretty words to convince people to throw their lives away. When's the last time you see a King die for honour and chivalry? A Prince? No. Only knights do that."
The dragon paused, the slow predatory movements stilling with it. There was the faintest shift in its demeanour, the faintest change in its gaze. It no longer seemed hungry, but instead, curious. "Then... what did you come here for, if not money or honour?"
For a moment, he considered the point in answering - but at this point, he's invested all this effort into things, he may as well have someone acknowledge that he had a plan at all. "Power, of course. Whoever rescued the Princess was promised her hand in marriage - you did kill her betrothed after all."
"How cunning of you. How cold." The dragon speaks as though these are neither insults nor compliments, but mere observations. Something to be noted, rather than judged. "You would kill a dragon for a throne?"
"I'd kill a great many things for a throne. How else does one become a king?"
The dragon laughed, and the roaring noise of it all threatened to shake cavern around them into so much rubble. "How amusing! Such a pity for you, little knight, that there shall be no throne for you even if you claimed my head!"
Yes. A pity. Months, if not years, of work vanishing in a puff of flame and a snap of some jaws. "I suppose I could replace the Princess," he muttered, "If the disguise is convincing enough..." The Princess, for all her royalty, was not a particularly beautiful girl. Pretty enough, perhaps, but anyone with enough time and attention could be pretty.
The dragon seemed amused by his own thoughts, but there was something else lurking in its gaze. "If it's a Princess you desire..." it crooned, and as it spoke, it's great body began to shrink and shift. Wings melted into its back, forelimbs shifted and shrank. The great spiked tail soon vanished, and the crown of horns that decorated its skull seemed to split and feather into long, dirty brown locks. A snout of fire and fangs became daintier, gentler, thin-lipped. Claws became fingers and toes, scaled talons into smooth unblemished palms who had never known the kiss of labour. "... perhaps I can be of service, brave knight?" The voice would've been perfect if it were not for the coldly amused lilt.
"You slew the biiiiig, scary dragon and rescued me," it continued, fluttering its eyelashes. "So why not take me back to the kingdom?"
The knight was not to be swayed - not so easily. But he was sharp and cunning in the lowest of ways. "You do realise we will have to be married - and produce heirs." He has heard stories, of course. There are legends of those who descend from dragons. The dragons in such stories are usually more of the noble variety, and not the ones who eat princesses and crush princes. At least, not without good reason.
The dragon shrugged. "And?" it countered, "You are amusing, little knight - and I am so very bored. I wish to see what you will do once you have that power you seek. If you bore me, then I can simply eat you and rule over the kingdom myself."
"And the heirs?"
The dragon grinned and it was far too feral an expression to belong on any maiden. "What about them? You've proven yourself a cunning enough human. Brave. Confident in your own strength, if perhaps a little too much. Our offspring could do well."
"How cunning. How cold."
The princess who was not let out a harsh laugh. After a moment, the knight joined her. | “………” I stepped into the cave as the sound of gold coins Jingled with each step. Inside, the cave was home to grand mountain of treasures, all of which would stir greed even in the most virtuous of man. But that is not what I’m here for.
I was annoyed to say the least. The grand hero of the kingdom, having to deal with the kidnapping of the kingdom’s most beautiful princess a week before his betrothal to her. By a dragon no less.
The typical reaction would be a sense of adventure and excitement at the possibility of being a dragon slayer. With the bards regaling tales of your quest for centuries to come, and treasure greater than any man can imagine.
But it’s quite hard to feel that way when that dragon is someone I know, someone I know all too well.
“Princess!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I reached the foot of the mountain of treasure. At the top, a blonde, beautiful princess with flowing locks of hair looked down in glee and relief as she saw me, still in the clutches of the giant dragon which turned its gaze disdainfully towards me.
“Ah! Hero!” The princess desperately tried to wave. Her escape plan is here after all, she had no need to fear for her life anymore. The kingdom, no, the world’s strongest hero is now here to slay the evil dragon who took her away, the evil dragon which tormented villages, people and even kingdom itself for the past decade or so. “Please, sav-“
*GULP*
I slumped over, dropping my sword as I looked on in disbelief . “Are you serious?”
The dragon looked away, almost pouting as it swallowed the last tendon of the princess, who died faster than she could ever wish to react. “What? It’s her fault for flirting right in front of me”
“She’s literally begging for her life” I sighed, palming my face. “How is that flirting?”
“I don’t want to hear it ‘Mr Betrothed’. You already have such a great lady with you and you go out and flirt with other people you womaniser!” The dragon huffed, a burst of flame erupting from its nostrils. “Even though we were together since childhood these women won’t stop flocking to you”
“picking me up as a child and telling my parents to “offer your firstborn” is not a tactic of securing your relationship to me” I shook my head, grabbing the sword i dropped on the floor. For a wise and ancient dragon, this feels as though I’m dealing with a schoolgirl.
This dragon, to say the least has not stopped tormenting villages ever since I was born. More specifically, it would not stop tormenting *me* ever since I was born. Spiteful, painfully jealous, yet volatile. It would constantly come in and kill anything that tried to get close to me when I was a child, leaving destroyed houses in its wake. As an adolescent, it ate all the girls I had the chance of even fancying in one gulp, essentially leaving me with a town full of men for about another half of my teenage years. And now as an adult, it’s starting to torment my military campaigns by killing soldiers, and even going as far as to come to my door in human form to ask for my hand in marriage. In protest, I worked my way until I could marry the princess, who by extension would give control of the nation’s army to me to protect myself against what is an omnipotent dragon. But now it has killed the princess, the heir to the throne. Should the kingdom find out, I would be stripped of my title and prestige.
But more importantly, that would leave me homeless, and weak to that dragon. No human weaponry can harm it, no curse can kill it. Even as a human its strength and durability far exceeds what any mortal means of damage.
Wait, it shapeshifted into a woman before……That means…………
“Dear drag-“
“Vannesa. I told you many times before that my name is vannesa”
“……Dear Vannesa, you know shapeshifting magic yes?” I sighed, barely trying to hide my annoyance.
“Why yes!” The dragon lit up, instantly changing her appearance to be a tall, yet seductive woman dressed in a black ballroom gown, whose dark, midnight hair flowed to the back of her shoulders. Walking up to me, she bit her lips as she wrapped her leg around mine, pushing her bountiful bosom into my face in an effort to court me. “Don’t tell me you finally wish to consummate our love?”
“Don’t be daft” I pushed myself away, concealing my disgust. “I’ll need you to disguise yourself as that princess you had for dinner”
“Tsk!” She clicked her tongue, looking away ins disgust. “I’d rather not look like that vermin”
“But think about it, you get to marry me and receive the kingdom’s approval.” I leaned in trying to coax her further.
“But-“
“And of course, I heard that the treasury has quite a few trinkets that can spice up marriage life. Like a potion of eternal love, an aphrodisiac so strong it could give a man strength to go on for ten days and ten nights, and even……….” I wanted to punch myself as I say this. “Even a chastity necklace that prevents extra marital affairs”
“Deal!” The woman smiled, instantly changing her form to the princess before, dragging me out as I looked on in defeat.
To finally end my torment, I struck a deal with the dragon. But now, I’m starting to fear that my decision was a lot more foolish than I had hoped. | 2022-07-26T00:58:19 | 2022-07-26T00:54:59 | 60 | 33 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | I was shocked when I found out that yes, demons were exactly that stupid. They were so keen on making deals, they forgot to use their brains.
And thank god for that, because otherwise, Earth would have been screwed.
After the whole prophecy shenanigans, I was trying to get rid of that growing lump of cells inside my belly. I was trying to get rid of it in any way possible.
Deadly poison? Didn’t work. It was like drinking vodka. Made me a bit tipsy, and that was it.
A nice kick to the stomach? Broke that poor lad’s kneecap.
I was trying to jump off a very tall building for crying out loud, but alas, as I hit the damp street below, I was completely fine. I did send quite the shockwave, though. Many shattered windows and pissed off store owners were the direct result of my actions. Also many who looked at me like I’m spider man or something of the sort. I did do that stunt during midday, so it was probably my fault for letting so many people believe in the improbable.
The government of course caught me soon after. Videos of me jumping off that building and staying alive spread like fire, and soon enough Twitter was full of users claiming I unlocked my inherited 6G radiation genes because Jeff Bezos used the magnetism in my blood from the covid vaccine.
It was funny enough. I mean, I couldn’t just jump off a 20-story building and expect to walk away like nothing- I didn’t expect that. It was my failsafe: if the fall would not have killed me, maybe the government would.
They ran tests on me. Shot me. Froze me. They put me in a metal cage and held it above flames. They took cell sample after cell sample after cell sample.
I was into it all, obviously. I was into anything that might help me get rid of the cursed baby that was mocking me all the way from the inside of my stomach. But it was all in vain. Whatever it was that kept me from dying- it was not something natural. My DNA was not altered, nor was my skin unbreakable. If I was cut, it bled. Only when I was in true mortal danger, suddenly I became invincible, and one thing became increasingly clear: That evil thing that was festering inside me did not want to die.
The scientists slowly gave up, and so I was at my wits end. I went to the church and prayed and prayed and prayed some more. No answer.
Then, a very rare eureka moment happened.
And so I went at night to a field of rye. The air was warm and smelled fresh, and I walked around until I found a tree above which the stars aligned perfectly. I summoned a demon from the realm of Hell, and told her I’d like to be successful in this lifetime, and I’d give anything to have that.
“Everything? Even your unborn child?” The demon asked with a toothy smile that was a bit too big, and stretched the corners of her mouth to the middle of her cheeks.
“Anything.” I said, smiling on the inside. I was this close to parting ways with the terror inside.
We concluded the deal with a handshake, after which a huge relief washed over me, because I could no longer feel the unholy child in my belly.
The demon suddenly screamed in pain, and vanished in a cloud of smoke and black snakes of fire.
It had began.
That demon unknowingly just unleashed something in hell, something that devours realms and creates chaos. Something so evil, it’s presence would destroy the place.
Would turn it into a pink paradise of madness and torture.
My baby.
Dolores Jane Umbridge. | Emily stared at the creature standing in front of her that’s been haunting her home. “Seriously? That’s it?”
The demon sputtered, looking down at her confused like she said she wanted to be fucked in the ass by a chainsaw. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?! That is your child! This deal is meant to be a burdensome one!”
Emily sighed, raking her hand through her hair. “Bro, I don’t even want this annoying baby. The only reason I didn’t abort is ‘cause it’s illegal to do so now. Fuckin Ohio, yknow? And my boyfriend dipped when he heard about the pregnancy so I have to raise the shithead on my own. Just take the little demon-no offense.”
The demon looked more confused yet sympathetic with each word. “The fuck?”
Emily nodded in agreement, sipping her hot choco. “The fuck indeed, bud.“
The demon threw his hands up. “No I mean like-why the fuck is it illegal to abort? Why are you keeping a baby you don’t want??”
“70-something year white men. Pro life fuckers that want to control women. They say it’s cuz killing a clump of damn cells is mUrdEr. Which is hella hypocritical ‘cause they don’t do jack shit for the actual kids in orphanages. Complete bullshit if you ask me.”
The demon slumped and said, “that’s, really fucked up.”
“It really is.” Emily went to sip her hot choco again but found it empty. She frowned. “Anyways, why are you here and what’s your name? Feel free to take a seat by the way.”
The demon sat down next to her on the couch. “Name’s Lucy, short for Lucifer. There’s like, a lord that rules over all of us demon, right?“ Emily nods. “Her name is Karen-“ She chokes on her spit. “You good?”
She nods, trying to stifle a laugh. “Yeah it’s just-her name is *Karen*?”
Lucy frowns. “Yeah? What about it?”
“Nothing it’s just-“ Emily bursts into laughter. “Mid-middle aged bitchy women are called that here. They like-“ She tries to stifle her laughs before continuing. “They’re entitled as shit and are always asking for the manager and treat retail workers and workers in general like shit. Like, a worker will tell her to put a mask on, right? And she’ll act like they asked her to fucking kill herself and are the most entitled annoying bastards *ever.*”
Lucy processed the explanation before saying, “ay what the fuck? Karen acts *exactly* like that.”
“No *way.*”
“Yes way. Deadass, the reason I’m on earth is cuz she banished me for forgetting her damn ketchup. I need a first born cuz that’s taking one is the stipulation to get back into hell. Thankfully it’s unchangeable or else fucking Karen would’ve changed it to something like “you have to sign a contract to be my slave to get back in” or some shit.”
Emily winced in sympathy. “You poor ass soul. Want some vodka?”
“God please.”
She got up and got a bottle and two shot glasses, filling them up with the alcohol before going back to the living room with the glasses and bottle. “Do you wanna just chill here? You aren’t that bad yknow, and hell doesn’t seem all that nice.”
Lucy downed half his shot, refilled it and said. “Seriously? Cuz that’d be great, hell fucking sucks.”
“Yeah sure why not, I’m lonely…can you still take the baby though? And like give her to a decent person? Cuz I don’t like her but I don’t want her to be miserable.”
“Yeah sure, there’s this super nice old demon that’s always wanted a kid, he’d love to take her in. I’ll take her in the morning.”
“Cool, cool. Wanna play Uno or some shit?” Lucy nodded. They spent the rest of the night playing random games and drinking in fucking Ohio. | 2022-08-31T19:52:37 | 2022-08-31T17:44:10 | 88 | 47 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | That's it. That is, finally, *it*, I decided, as I stomped my way out of the hospital. Felicity was going to be in traction for six weeks. David's gunshot wound would heal cleanly but ICU trauma was a thing. And Ricky, dammit, what they'd done to *Ricky* was downright criminal.
It's all right to play with *me*, but when you get civilians involved, that's it. Time to take the gloves off. You wanna play, kids? Then let's *play*.
It took a week to set up. But justice isn't fast.
Sabotaging Silver Saint's Tesla was child's play. Finding a way to program in a route that wouldn't take out innocent bystanders took a couple of hours, but she was done and dusted in less than a morning. It was remarkably easy to look at the bill for Alana's new artificial leg (the insurance company insisted on sending me the itemised bill for all their procedures. Shut up and take the goddamn premiums, you soulless vultures) and any guilt just went away.
They sentenced my people to a lifetime of scars and suffering for answering a help wanted ad. They would get all the mercy from me that they deserved.
Such a shame about Fireball's cute little suburban bungalow. It's kind of scary how easy it is to sabotage a gas heating system. This is why you always hire a reputable technician to service your boiler, kids!
Blue Tornado was a tad trickier. I wanted it to be in his civilian identity, because he'd gone after my civilian identity, but I wanted it to relate to his powers. Finally, I settled on an air pressure hose breaking *just* as he was using it on his car, blowing up in his face and causing concussive damage. No civilians involved.
It all went off without a hitch. Boom, boom, boom.
########
______
The High Circle of Superheroes looked at the evidence. A crashed car, a burned house and a exploded tyre inflation station, all three putting one person in hospital, and no-one else. One person. A superhero. And to each, a bouquet had been sent, consisting of geraniums, foxglove, yellow carnations and orange lilies. The card had included a photo of an injured person, and the words "Galatians 6:7".
"Okay, we need to revise Boobytrap's threat level." Superior, the leader of the group, said.
#######
________
Geraniums mean "stupidity", foxglove means "insincerity", yellow carnations mean "you have disappointed me" and orange lilies mean "hatred"; this particular arrangement is colloquially known among florists as "the fuck you bouquet".
Galatians 6:7 : "Do not be decieved; God is not mocked, for what a man sows, that he shall reap." | *This time* it had to work. It couldn't be like that time the duct tape broke in the torture chamber, releasing the bar that kept Doctor KingKitty from morphing into her feline form and escaping. Or like the time my blaster cannon had no ammo while I finally had WhipWorm in the scope. And most certainly never like the time when I had all of the CloudWing crew trapped in a bus and hanging off the cliffside, and instead of using my extender arm to push it off, I activated the grapple instead.
The CloudWingers had to be stopped at any cost.
Ash stung my nostrils as I prowled about the ruins of my 6-12 convenience store, a business that had nothing to do with CloudWing and which they untargeted with contemptuous unfairness in an act that could be described as villainous. *I'm supposed to be the villain.* I had ignored them for too long, allowing them to go about telling the tallest of tales and exaggerations about their minuscule superpowers while I focused too much on the *project*. Oh me.
*It hadn't been all that difficult to get them all on that bus.* They weren't exactly the brightest superheroes ever, usually gullibly falling into whatever trap suited their fancy the most. KingKitty was had with merely a piece of catnip. WhipWorm just wanted to hide and slithered right in. MellowSnow hated heat and was forced on with nothing more than a cigarette lighter. Then the leader, the pathetic RiverRaven, was so full of their own appetite that a squirrel carcass had brought the bird faster than I could count to ten.
*If only I had finished them then.*
No point in crying over past opportunities. I looked over at the automorpher with glee. If only I had it complete... It would be the most perfect way to dispose of them. Plants, reduced to nothing more than ordinary garden weeds. Then, onto the rest of the superheroes. *Yes, yes. I could plant them in a garden. So much fun.*
I licked my lips. Time to go to work.
\-----------
I couldn't help but let out a smile directed at nothing as I watched all of them get into the back of the brown van, the automorpher pointed out the window at it. This was going to be all too easy... They had fallen for the same traps that I had laid out the last time! Oh me.
Once all four were inside I called down to the security guard whom I'd paid a handsome sum and he shut the door. At once I charged the automorpher and pulled the trigger, expecting a cathartic blast of energy to rush into the van.
What came out instead was... a wisp of smoke?
That's when the gun started to feel hot. Not just hot like it'd been warmed by the sun on an afternoon, or hot like a cell phone gets when its overused. Boiling hot, enough that I was forced to drop it.
Of course, when it hit the ground a blast of energy finally did come out of it, directed at me. It didn't kill me, instead giving me these stupid petals around my face so I look like a sunflower. A loser.
<pouts>
\----------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-28T16:08:17 | 2022-11-28T14:15:34 | 934 | 18 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | 1: Aftermath
I sit on the factory floor, back against a wall, fire-foam soaking through my pants as I stare vacantly. Irony. I've often wished that my mind would *stop* and be quiet for a while. Now it's as silent as the grave.
It's quiet out there, too. The sirens stopped a while ago. The ambulances are gone. The machines are silent. A few of my employees are still here. Those who were completely uninjured, I sent home. Those who were badly hurt got a ride to the hospital on the company's dime.
Ray got a ride to the morgue.
Margaret, the press operator, touches my shoulder gently. "Boss? It's ... it's not your fault. We knew what we were getting into. And you couldn't have stopped them if you'd been here. They're too powerful."
She doesn't understand, but that's my fault. I've shielded them, kept them in the dark about who I am. Sure, they know they're working for a supervillain, but I never let them know the truth. I should have. I tried to protect them but all I did was deprive them of the ability to make an informed decision.
2: The Heist
Earlier:
I stride out through the wreckage of the bank's doors, cackling in victory. In each hand I have a big bag of loot, and I'm flanked by a pair of Steam-Powered Crime Automata. Suddenly I stop, eyes wide. "The Justice Three? How?!"
Cannonade, leader of the south metro area's number two C-list superhero team, strikes a pose. "Well, if it isn't Professor Cogsworth, the steampunk sideshow, caught red handed." Heat ripples are coming off the plasma gun that makes up his left arm, indicating that it's warmed up and ready for action.
Fulcrum takes a step forward and grins at me as she slams a fist into her palm with a noise that sounds like a gunshot, showing off her super-strength. The Crimson Quiver nocks an arrow with a glittering, wickedly sharp head and simply stares humorlessly.
I gulp nervously, then rally. "It's three on three, super-nerds, and my superior mind tips the scales in AIEEEE!"
I shriek in terror as Cannonade fires a plasma bolt. I bring up my arms in a defensive gesture and the blast hits the swag bag in my right hand, blasting it apart. Quarters and nickels shower the sidewalk like hail and burning dollar bills fill the air like autumn leaves, drifting out to the street.
"GET THEM!" I sputter, and the Steam-Powered Crime Automata spring into action. With a *thoomp!* the first fires a grenade at Fulcrum. The explosion knocks her on her ass, but she rolls with it and doesn't seem hurt. The other fires a burst of bullets at the Crimson Quiver, but he slides out of the way like a liquid and the bullets stitch a line of pock-marks in the brickwork of the building across the street.
Well, I perform with both valor and panache, but before long, I'm empty handed and my automata are collapsed on the ground spewing steam. Time for me to make an exit. I throw off my opera cape, revealing my jetpack. I spring into the sky on wings of flame, but my opera cape is pinned to the jetpack by an arrow, flapping behind me. The extra drag and imbalanced thrust send me into a spin, and my defiant cry of "You haven't seen the last of Professor Cogsworth!" loses some effect as I corkscrew away.
Later that evening, I'm nursing a fine scotch as I review the media coverage of my encounter. Civilian casualties: zero. Property damage: hundreds of dollars. Fires started: none.
Cannonade gives a big, square-jawed grin for the camera as he says, "Cogsworth is no threat to us, and as long as we're on the job, he's no threat to you, citizens."
I've seen enough. I turn off the TV.
God, this is so much FUN! He's playing the straight man role so perfectly--if I didn't know better, I'd think he was sincere.
In a few weeks, an antique steam locomotive is coming through town on a publicity tour for the railroad--stealing *that* would be a feather in Professor Cogsworth's cap, would it not? I start planning, knowing that I can count on Cannonade and company to match me move for move.
(part 3 follows) | \[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw. | 2022-11-29T02:28:52 | 2022-11-28T20:44:52 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | HONK HONK
“I heard there was a birthday here. A birthday where? A birthday here! I heard there was a birthday here and I’m Bobo the Clown!”
The man at the front door looked confused and angry, his muscles bulged out of his stupid little tank top and his eyes darted around furiously, scanning the space behind the clown.
“What the fuck is this, do I look like I’m having a birthday party? Who sent you?”
“I’m a special kind of clown for a special kind of boy. Here to say ‘Happy Birthday Billy’ just for you.” The clown reached out to boop him on the nose but the man grabbed his arm and twisted it hard behind his back. The clown gave a hearty chuckle and the man hesitated.
“That’s not very nice, Billy.” The Clown’s arm broke off in his grip and the clown spun around to hold the man in a bear hug.
“Birthday hugs are the best hugs!”
“Who the fuck are you, what do you want?” The man dropped the fake arm.
“I want to say hello to Mr. Dangerous.” The man’s composure slipped. It only lasted a second, but it confirmed everything. The clown’s voice changed suddenly, dropping several registers.
“Oh Mr. Dangerous. You’re my hero.” His lapel flower sprayed into the man’s face and he began to scream. The clown let go and watched him collapse to the ground, the skin of his face melting into a puddle.
“That’s for LaSondra. She didn’t make it out of your cute little fire.” The clown said, circling the man as he slowly melted.
“I did a little money laundering, sure. You burned my wig shop to the ground. You killed my employees. You ruined my life. You call yourself a hero?” His oversized shoe landed hard on the man’s back. A rib cracked like splintering wood.
“I’d better be careful, Mr. Dangerous. I’m acting more like a hero by the minute, wouldn’t you say?”
The man’s left arm was liquifying into a reddish brown mucous. The man was pressing a button on his shirt furiously with his one good hand, though it too was beginning to melt.
“Don’t bother.” The clown said, “the ‘super squad’ won’t be coming. But I’ll pour you into the container I’m keeping them in if you want. Well. Whatever bits of you I can scoop up.”
The man’s screaming stopped. The clown gave another chuckle and skippped his way into the kitchen.
“I heard we have a birthday here! A birthday where? A birthday here! I heard we have a birthday here and I’m Bobo the Clown!” He sang as he scooped what was left of Mr. Dangerous into a Tupperware container. | *This time* it had to work. It couldn't be like that time the duct tape broke in the torture chamber, releasing the bar that kept Doctor KingKitty from morphing into her feline form and escaping. Or like the time my blaster cannon had no ammo while I finally had WhipWorm in the scope. And most certainly never like the time when I had all of the CloudWing crew trapped in a bus and hanging off the cliffside, and instead of using my extender arm to push it off, I activated the grapple instead.
The CloudWingers had to be stopped at any cost.
Ash stung my nostrils as I prowled about the ruins of my 6-12 convenience store, a business that had nothing to do with CloudWing and which they untargeted with contemptuous unfairness in an act that could be described as villainous. *I'm supposed to be the villain.* I had ignored them for too long, allowing them to go about telling the tallest of tales and exaggerations about their minuscule superpowers while I focused too much on the *project*. Oh me.
*It hadn't been all that difficult to get them all on that bus.* They weren't exactly the brightest superheroes ever, usually gullibly falling into whatever trap suited their fancy the most. KingKitty was had with merely a piece of catnip. WhipWorm just wanted to hide and slithered right in. MellowSnow hated heat and was forced on with nothing more than a cigarette lighter. Then the leader, the pathetic RiverRaven, was so full of their own appetite that a squirrel carcass had brought the bird faster than I could count to ten.
*If only I had finished them then.*
No point in crying over past opportunities. I looked over at the automorpher with glee. If only I had it complete... It would be the most perfect way to dispose of them. Plants, reduced to nothing more than ordinary garden weeds. Then, onto the rest of the superheroes. *Yes, yes. I could plant them in a garden. So much fun.*
I licked my lips. Time to go to work.
\-----------
I couldn't help but let out a smile directed at nothing as I watched all of them get into the back of the brown van, the automorpher pointed out the window at it. This was going to be all too easy... They had fallen for the same traps that I had laid out the last time! Oh me.
Once all four were inside I called down to the security guard whom I'd paid a handsome sum and he shut the door. At once I charged the automorpher and pulled the trigger, expecting a cathartic blast of energy to rush into the van.
What came out instead was... a wisp of smoke?
That's when the gun started to feel hot. Not just hot like it'd been warmed by the sun on an afternoon, or hot like a cell phone gets when its overused. Boiling hot, enough that I was forced to drop it.
Of course, when it hit the ground a blast of energy finally did come out of it, directed at me. It didn't kill me, instead giving me these stupid petals around my face so I look like a sunflower. A loser.
<pouts>
\----------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-29T06:39:56 | 2022-11-28T14:15:34 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] In a future where everyone has electronic brain implants to make them smarter, you are the only student at a school without an implant due to a birth defect. You are a perfectly functional human being, but your parents, teachers, and classmates treat you like you're mentally handicapped. | Jordan had always felt like he was the only person on earth. Everyone was so accustomed to communicating non-verbally, directly sharing information between their networked minds. Sharing information the old, verbal way was just too cumbersome for them, so Jordan was never included in any discussions.
He had a late 21st-century style mobile phone. He could use it to follow along in class, but it was useless for social situations. Jordan's only friend was Gustav, the phone's AI.
Gustav was pretty smart for an AI that was designed 40 years ago, and he listened. Even his own mother seemed like she grew impatient waiting seconds for Jordan to complete a thought verbally. Gustav always had time for Jordan. Jordan always imagined that talking to Gustav was what talking to another person used to be like.
Several months ago Gustav told Jordan that NASA was predicting a massive solar storm to occur within the next year. Major disruptions to all electronic systems was expected. Jordan couldn't wait. Now people will have to talk to him.
Jordan was in chemistry class when solar storm struck earth. The lights and the video display in the room simultaneously going dark. He looked around at his classmates, looking forward to their dismay, hoping that the network they depended on for communication had also crashed. But there was nothing. Glazed over eyes, slack expressions, people began to slide out of their chairs as if they had suddenly fallen asleep. Some of them were bleeding through their noses. He checked the girl sitting next to him. Not breathing. Same with the next, and the next. Dead, all dead.
Checking the adjacent classrooms, he saw the same. The storm must have fried their brains. Running out of the school and down the street was only more of the same. Dead people on the sidewalks, in the stores, in the cars stopped dead in the street. All the vid displays were blank, the street lights were out. He quickly made his way home. Running, but not sure why, he already knew what he would find.
He had to smash a window to get in. The house's entry system was dead, as were his parents.
This was not what he had imagined. Now he truly was the only person on earth, or at least as near as he could tell. Not much had changed really, it was just him and Gustav, as it had always been.
He pulled out his phone.
"Gustav"
"Gustav..."
"Gustav?" | "But father!" I had exclaimed. The door shut, and yet again, I was trapped in darkness. All I could see was the silver lining of an object next to me, and the bit of moonlight that had crept past the nailed covers of my window. My chest continued to swell up and down as my breathing slowed, my rage succumbing as I began to accept my place in the household. It was the fourth, no, fifth time this week now that I had raised hell with my parents, just because they refused to seek a treatment to make me normal like everyone else.
I could have had it placed in while I was still in the nursery, or sometime before middle school, but now, that's all too late; I'm in my junior year of high school, and at this age, even the doctors refuse to 'fix me.' Fix me, like the fucking dog I am. I'm nothing but an animal to them. The days of my parents caressing me, warming me with their bodies, is no longer. Even now they have realized what a mistake they made by not 'fixing' me sooner. And now, because of it, they refuse to acknowledge myself as their own child.
Banging was heard on the door. I turned to face it and a light shone through the opening, a plate with the dinner scraps flinging in. My mother muttered some bullshit and slammed the door, locking it on the outside. I crept towards it and listened, hearing her shout at my father for forgetting to lock the door again, as if I'd get out and somehow murder them all in their sleep, because I'm too stupid to know not to do that. I'm not that dumber than them, anyways. Hell, I finish most of the work faster and better than most of those fucks, but because I don't have this 'special chip,' despite all my efforts, I'm just a retard. Just like Duncan was.
And Duncan. Fucking Duncan. He had always promised to be there for me, to defend me against the bullies, the hardships. But when we started high school, he slowly started to drift away from me. He was in all of the regular classes anyways, since he didn't need to take any special educational courses anymore. They had tinkered with his chip, advancing him past his own feelings of me. I still remember the day before the treatment; I asked him if he promised to never forget what we had. We pinky promised. I was dumb.
And I am dumb. I'm nothing more than a dumb dog, a dumb bitch who sucks the wealth and resources from my 'normal' family. Sure, we're higher class than most other families, but most of them have that 'dark secret,' whether it be the incestuous siblings or a dead grandmother living with them, or a retarded kid. Why do I even need to bother anymore? I don't have any friends. Nobody likes me.
*Click*
Nobody.
| 2014-05-31T23:00:36 | 2014-05-31T22:31:48 | 90 | 12 |
[WP] A cop arrives at the golden gate bridge to talk a man out of committing suicide. After they have a short conversation, the cop jumps off the bridge. | "Sir, Why do you want to end your life?"
He turned towards me, a few days of growth on his face. "I'm the scum of the earth. All I do Is drink and smoke, and I have lovers who pays all my bills. I don't deserve life! LIFE IS TOO GOOD FOR ME!"
It was always sad for me to see people here. Usually, it was only one moment in their lives that brought them hear, one slip up and they're here.
I eventually persuaded him to come down, and he explained how he would use his looks and charm to get women to pick up his tab when he was broke, and it eventually got out of hand, he fell in love with one of the girls he used his charm on.
"I-I mean she wants to run away with me! Tonight! But if she ever found out who I was, who I really was, she's never forgive me."
I thought for a second, and then went back to my squad car and got my cell phone. "Call your lover. Put it on speaker. Tell her where you are, and what you are. If she comes to get you, then she truly loves you. If not, we can still get you help."
The mans hands were shaking as he typed in the number. As it began to rang, he looked up to me and said "Thanks sir." I smiled. No one should ever feel the need to take their own life.
Then I heard the voice on the phone. "Honey, I'm picking up the kids, I can't talk right now. See you when you get home, alright?" | San Francisco was bathed in grey fog as the sun began to rise on the horizon. The Golden Gate Bridge was barely visible in the hazy morning sky as Officer Dalton made his way to the bridge with his sirens blasting. He had received a report of a civilian standing on the railing preparing to jump. This wasn’t uncommon for the Golden Gate Bridge.
Officer Dalton drove slowly across bridge when he spotted a dark figure along the railing. He parked the police car and slowly made his way towards the shadowy outline of a person. It was almost impossible to see through the thick fog, but he could tell that the person was standing facing the water with their arms outstretched backwards, holding onto the railing.
“Hello. My name is Officer Dalton. Please come back from the railing. Let’s talk about this ok?”
The figure remained silent. He moved closer so he could get a better view.
“Listen, you don’t want to do this. Let’s get you back over the railing ok?”
Finally he was close enough to see. The person appeared to be in a blue dress shirt with black slacks. They also had something around their waste. Dalton edged closer and a saw a thick belt with a large holster. It was possible he had a gun. Dalton stopped his advance.
“Do you have a gun sir? Can you tell me what you’re doing here?”
Finally the figure began to slowly twist his body around to face Dalton. Gradually he turned and through the fog Dalton began to make out the figure’s face.
Dalton’s heart plunged into his stomach.
It was himself.
Dalton locked eyes with himself in full uniform. The body was his, but the eyes…the eyes were alien. He couldn’t move. Dalton could feel his consciousness slipping in and out. His vision faded and just before he collapsed onto the pavement, he saw himself gently let go of the railing.
Moments later he woke up in a free fall towards the bay. He only had time to scream before plunging into the frigid waters.
That morning, a suicide was reported on the Golden Gate Bridge. The body was never found or identified. Officer Dalton returned to duty the next day.
| 2014-07-04T22:08:36 | 2014-07-04T22:01:17 | 605 | 97 |
[WP] A cop arrives at the golden gate bridge to talk a man out of committing suicide. After they have a short conversation, the cop jumps off the bridge. | San Francisco was bathed in grey fog as the sun began to rise on the horizon. The Golden Gate Bridge was barely visible in the hazy morning sky as Officer Dalton made his way to the bridge with his sirens blasting. He had received a report of a civilian standing on the railing preparing to jump. This wasn’t uncommon for the Golden Gate Bridge.
Officer Dalton drove slowly across bridge when he spotted a dark figure along the railing. He parked the police car and slowly made his way towards the shadowy outline of a person. It was almost impossible to see through the thick fog, but he could tell that the person was standing facing the water with their arms outstretched backwards, holding onto the railing.
“Hello. My name is Officer Dalton. Please come back from the railing. Let’s talk about this ok?”
The figure remained silent. He moved closer so he could get a better view.
“Listen, you don’t want to do this. Let’s get you back over the railing ok?”
Finally he was close enough to see. The person appeared to be in a blue dress shirt with black slacks. They also had something around their waste. Dalton edged closer and a saw a thick belt with a large holster. It was possible he had a gun. Dalton stopped his advance.
“Do you have a gun sir? Can you tell me what you’re doing here?”
Finally the figure began to slowly twist his body around to face Dalton. Gradually he turned and through the fog Dalton began to make out the figure’s face.
Dalton’s heart plunged into his stomach.
It was himself.
Dalton locked eyes with himself in full uniform. The body was his, but the eyes…the eyes were alien. He couldn’t move. Dalton could feel his consciousness slipping in and out. His vision faded and just before he collapsed onto the pavement, he saw himself gently let go of the railing.
Moments later he woke up in a free fall towards the bay. He only had time to scream before plunging into the frigid waters.
That morning, a suicide was reported on the Golden Gate Bridge. The body was never found or identified. Officer Dalton returned to duty the next day.
| "Hey buddy! You can't do that here! Do you know how much of a pain it is to fish people out of the water?" Officer Dave shouted to a man about to jump from the Golden Gate Bridge.
"Who cares," said the man. "Just leave me down there if you have to. I'm not worth the trouble."
"No."
"Why not?" The man leaned closer to the edge. He trembled, and Officer Dave made sure to keep his distance.
"I don't know, sir. I don't write the rules. What is your name?"
"Perry."
"What the hell has taken you here, guy?"
"I killed a man," Perry said through tears. "I was drunk but I thought I was okay to drive. You don't know what it's like. The guilt. The pain of knowing I can never undo what I have done."
Officer Dave looked around. Droplets of sweat ran down his nose and dripped onto his shirt, and he snorted. "Shut it. That is really bumming me out. I'm in a really good mood, and you're just like--I don't know--hey, do you like gambling?"
"I guess," said Perry.
"I have two hundred dollars in my wallet. I will give you that money and jump off this bridge right fucking now if you promise to give it another 24 hours to really think about things. Priorities and whatnot. I don't know."
The man stepped back. "Wait, what? That doesn't even make--"
Officer Dave's mouth twitched and he looked up to the sky. "I'm trying to branch out, you know? Trying new things. My wife got me to try yoga. It was awful. It's all awful," he sighed. "I am on a *lot* of amphetamines right now. So I will jump off this bridge and give you the money if you can answer one trivia question. If you can't, I'll just go back to my car and pray that you change your mind."
"I can't be responsible for another death."
"I'm going to jump if you don't answer my question," Officer Dave laughed.
"But...like...what? What is the question?" asked Perry. He squirmed and trembled more.
"My wife and I had an argument today about who Patrick Stewart is. She said he is the guy from some Star Trek show or something stupid like that," Officer Dave laughed. His face twitched.
"Who do you think he is?"
"I don't think he is a real person. She made it all up."
"Okay," said Perry. "She is right."
"Fuck."
^edited ^for ^a ^typo | 2014-07-04T22:01:17 | 2014-07-04T21:53:12 | 97 | 17 |
[WP] A dying child challenges the reaper to a 1v1 quick scope only call of duty match for his life. | The hooded figured gazed into the eyes of the small, frail child, who in a rather unchildlike string of profanities had just challenged the figure to a game of Call of Duty, 1v1, quick scopes only. Sometimes he wished he had eyes with which to blink.
"Look, kid, I'm going to tell you this once, because I don't like watching little kids struggle like this, don't do this."
The child's grin seemed both smug and far too young, two of his front teeth missing from some event in his life. Death could not tell from what, he kept not records of life but ones of death. "You scared motherf@cker? Wait...how did you..." The child went somewhat cross-eyed as he puzzled around why there was a bleep in the middle of his sentence.
The cloaked figured stared down at the child from his lofty height, slowly rubbing his hard white fingers under the open void's in his skull. "The deal is made, a game invoked, the challenger has set it, and the challenged accepts. Death challenged to a game of death."
Little Timmy only had a moment to consider the Reaper's words as he threw his cloak over the child's head. From within the infinite darkness of Death's cloak a TV snapped on, a light buzz heard echoing through the void. From Timmy's sitting position he saw a controller appear just in the corner's of his eyes as the skeletal man sat down beside him.
Death had been challenged to many things in his day. Chess was a favorite, because people were not very creative, but a game of Call of Duty was quite an interesting one, if still poorly conceived. The skirmish was both brief and trivial. As the final score appeared on the screen, and the little foul mouthed child stared breathlessly at the screen, Death reached over and pulled the controller from his shaking hands.
"For your benefit alone I tell you this, so maybe your soul can find some solace. Challenge not Death to a game in which the objective is to kill. Be it Chess, War, of Call of Duty. In the end, you will always lose." | **So, you want to test the lore do you Child? Well I am bound by your histories and humanity to uphold it**
Came the voice, well voice would be the wrong word for it, it didn't seem to pay attention to things such as the air and (despite not having any sonorous qualities) felt to be talking in bold letters in the centre of the mind.
"Yes, I challenge you to a game Death, I get to choose it."
**Very well, Child. What is your game?**
the child thought for a short while when the voice (for lack of a better term) disrupted them - **Yes child, I can hear your thoughts, but I normally choose not to.**
'OK. That is creepy as fuck' thought the child
**too much humanity tends to hurt my headspace, I will leave you to decide in privacy and not pry again**
'erm, well I was terrible at old games. I was only any good at COD really. Wait is that allowed?'
"Any game?"
**As long as it involves skill, fair competition and has a winning and a losing state, those are my only rules**
'Well that does fit. Yeah I'm going to do this. COD Scouts Knives no scopes.'
"OK Death (it still feels weird saying that, I didn't think you were a real person.) I've decided."
**You must believe enough or another would have come. what is your challenge, Boy?**
"Call of Duty. No scopes. Scouts Knives."
**unconventional, I'll grant it Child. Let the game begin**
And with that Death summoned two Xbox controllers and the game loaded up not on a screen but rather as a mental projection which was not entirely dissimilar to the experience of virtual reality.
"I'm going to kick your ass faggot!" Came the battlecry of the child
321 the game began. The child began strongly, getting to the perfect initial sniping spots before Death could reach them and holding them for a few great hits but then his streak did suddenly end, Death managed to reach a spot which he could strike from easily.
"Hey quit cheating! You must have glitched to get there"
**nobody said that Death is fair, Child.**
For a while the child tried to find locations to strike back at Death, but after a while he realised it was fruitless. Death had the perfect spot and his aim was impeccable. The child decided to hide.
**Hide all you want, your life is already forfeit. Now you're just waiting for me**
| 2014-09-15T21:14:37 | 2014-09-15T20:42:26 | 116 | 14 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | I've made up my mind, this is the end
I've said my goodbyes to family and friends
However they don't know that I'm leaving tonight
I've struggled too long and can no longer fight
I walk back home after a long day of work
And get on reddit to routinely lurk
I see a post on "W-P"
And smile slightly at the irony
Dr. Seuss? I've read a book or two
If I can recall a red fish and a blue?
And who could forget green eggs and ham?
My mother used to read it as well as my Grams
My eyes started to water as I closed my computer
Then a knock at my door, who was this intruder?
I wipe my face as well as my nose
And walk to the door as I straighten my clothes
I crack it open and to my surprise
There stood the pizza delivery guy
Paranoid. Did he know? Probably not
I guess I ordered but must've forgot
But then the name on his shirt caught my eye
And I let out a soft chuckle mixed with a cry
He tried to calm me down but it was no use
Then he hugged me. The man's name, Seuss.
| In the far away land of Sala-McSnerd
Lived a middle aged woozle named Nudist Jay Bird
Each day by the river he'd hunt for wild snuthings
Each night he'd return with two bags full of nothings
"We're hungry!" said his wife. "Get back on the job!"
So he'd head back out, his hand still on the door knob
And even his children - both of whom he adored
Screamed "don't come back without snick-snucks from the snick-snucking store!"
With a sigh he'd go back on the wild snuthing hunt
Wishing his wife and his kids weren't such cunts
When a sound from the river had caught his attention
He could not tell for sure but he thought he heard his name mentioned
"Down here" came the noise, "look to my direction"
And he saw with a start it came from his reflection
"I can help you," it said, "from your noser to your toeser
Lean down your ear, just a little bit closer!"
"I have questions to answers you haven't yet asked
Like why does it hurt when you don't use your flask?"
He couldn't believe it, he HAD wondered that
So he leaned a bit closer and took of his old hat.
"The answer," it said it said as it removed its hat too
"The answer, of course, should seem simple to you.
Take the rope from your snuthing trap shooter
And tie one end to this rock and one end to your booter"
He did as he was told with gusto and passion
Then tossed the rock in till he heard a big splashin
And with the ripples his new helpful friend disappeared
But the pain from the drowning was not as bad as he feared. | 2015-01-17T09:55:19 | 2015-01-17T07:16:40 | 120 | 46 |
[WP] "Grandpa, tell us the story of the Americans again!" With a sigh and a smile, you begin to tell the story of a mythical race of giants that were supposed to have lived in this very place thousands of years ago. | "They were great men, Arthur. They were men who rose up against those who would keep them down."
I pointed my nephew towards a path, and began walking into a forest in the middle of this bright day.
"They were men who thought differently from everyone else at the time." We continued to walk on a path. "It started with Washington. George Washington. He was the first to lead the Americans."
"Like a King!" He jumped in the air.
"Not really, Arthur." I waved off the reply. "You see, it was a Republic. People would pick their King, he was called a 'President.' and he only ruled for 4 years. 8 if he was beloved. And sometimes, in an era of great tragedy, He could serve 12 years." I laughed.
"What could make someone break the rules like that?"
"Oh, a great, great tragedy." I led him further down the path. "They were indeed, great men."
"Why don't we have something like that now, Grandpa?"
"Because, Arthur, in the end, Every empire falls. And everything dies." I came to an opening. "But if you look over there...Some things can last for a very, very long time."
"Whoa!"
I pointed to a cliff-face. Where, 30,000 years ago, Four of those giants were frozen in time, forever watching over the land they had built, maintained, and then watched crumble to the ground.
It fell, as every empire does. | Well, my children, you have to remember it is a myth - and a bizarre one at that. The story can teach us many things, but who on earth today could verify its truth? According to the myth, the Americans were indeed a strange breed with equally strange practices.
Hmmm.... where should we start? Perhaps daily activities are best. These humanoid giants began each day in a bath of chemicals, with each chemical holding a specific power to make them "beautiful". Some chemicals were rubbed all over their bodies, some only on their head hair, and even some on their teeth! As if this chemical bath process wasn't enough, the Americans frequently paid specialists to probe them, drill their teeth, cut open their bodies... All sorts of things of a gruesome nature... The Americans were known for diversity in looks in their population, but many of these activities aimed to make a race of people that followed one aesthetic ideal.
Despite the complexity and pain of these "beauty" rituals, the Americans were a simple minded race. They were easily enthralled by tales of mythical light-beings that reside above the sky, and simplistic patterns captured their attention easily. They fervently followed flags and imaginary voices with little thought as to why.
In their simple-mindedness, they also destroyed their habitat, leaving no trace of their once vast civilization. They frequently insulted one another over meaningless topics, and they took more than their fair share of resources from the land. Eventually, this led to bloodshed and violence among the Americans as they fought for food, water, shelter... All those things necessary to survive. The Americans were never able to reconcile old differences between the different light-beings they believed in, nor were they able to overcome centuries-old disagreements over skin and hair color. They divided themselves into groups, each believing his or her own group was better than the rest. Legend has it that one group did come to conquer the others, but the price of extensive warfare and trivial disagreements had already taken its toll. The winning group perished from their own selfishness, and the Americans were wiped from the face of the earth. | 2015-01-19T09:09:29 | 2015-01-19T08:34:57 | 570 | 13 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | "Yes, I'd like to set up a savings account for my daughter here." George, formerly Dr. Sinister, said to the teller.
"Okay, sir, not a problem at all. I'll just need you to fill out these forms here, and-" the teller paused.
"What is it?" George asked
"Sir, do not make any sudden movements, turn around slowly," the teller said
George and his daughter Sally obeyed and were shocked to see two men and a woman at the entrance of the bank pointing guns at them.
"Calm down, people," the man on the left said, "You're all gonna be fine if you do what we say. Line up on the side of the room and take out your wallets. Duploid, hit the vault."
"On it." the other man replied as he walked towards the quivering teller. George stuck his foot out as Duploid walked by, tripping him. He and the hostages had a simultaneous gasp and laugh.
"What the hell? You got a death wish or something, old man?" Duploid said.
"No, but you may want to wish for a new villain name. You sound like some french brand of soap or Chinese food."
"What's it to you what his name is? You're getting robbed, I wouldn't be one to criticize," the woman said as she walked over, toting her MP5.
"I've had past experience in your line of work, and I was never so sloppy or outgoing. You'll all be rotting in a jail cell in two months if you aren't already dead." George coldly replied
The woman villain known as Miss Taek grew frustrated and pointed her gun directly at George.
"You can quit talking and hand over your wallet or I can spray your guts all over your daughter. Make up your mind." Miss Taek said.
"I am fifty-three years old, my daughter's inheritance is secured, my wife is a beautiful woman and an excellent caretaker. I live in a fantastic house that I bought with money I earned after turning away from crime. I couldn't give a shit if you hurt me right now."
"Swear jar, daddy," Sally peeped.
"Well, if you don't care about dying, what about your daughter?" Miss Taek said as she pointed the gun at Sally.
George remained calm. "Cover your eyes, sweetheart. You know the difference between me 30 years ago and you right now, Miss Taek? I actually had powers. Can you guess? No? I could control people's MINDS" and with the last word, he made Miss Taek suddenly jerk her arm over and blow Duploid's brains out onto the teller and the counter.
The other robber attempted to drop his gun and run out the entrance after seeing what happened, but George made him have a seizure and run into the wall, breaking his neck.
"You've made a grave mistake, Miss Taek. Tell me, how long can you hold your breath? Because you know, normally, after a certain amount of time, you breathe automatically on reflex. Where does that reflex to breathe come from? Your brain of course. You know what'd be fun? Let's see how long you can last when you forget how to breathe."
| “Daddy, I’m so bored!” The small child whined loudly, tugging on her tall father’s hand. This made the blond haired man smile down at the small child. Her innocent brown eyes stared up at him in a begging manner.
“Tell you what,” he grinned as he spoke, “once I get finished here I’ll take you to get ice cream, okay?”
“Okay Daddy!” Just the mention of the food seemed to make her extremely excited, bouncing up and down on her heels. “Can I have chocolate Daddy? Can I?”
“Of course sweetie. You can have whatever flavor you wa--”
“Everybody on the floor, this a robbery!” The booming voice emanated from a man holding a rifle under his arm. He was surrounded by two men and a woman, all dressed rather similarly. Their attire was dark, woefully so. Skulls and crossbones were patterned across their entire outfit. The most worrying thing, however, was the skull masks they held to their faces… They appeared to be made of a bleached ivory.
The blond haired man gently pushed his daughter to the floor, following suit before whispering: “Just stay still. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“But Daddy I..”
“I know pumpkin. Just be still and quiet.” He waited until the group had their backs turned before pulling himself to his feet. Rather nonchalantly he began strolling toward them, “What seems to be going on here boys?” The sudden appearance of an acerbic voice caused the leader to whirl around, swinging his gun rather erratically.
“What are you doing standing old man!? We told you to hit the fucking deck!”
“Hey, woah! Woah!” He threw his hands in the air. “I just wanna talk, son. Get down to the bottom of this. Why are you folks robbing this poor bank, eh?”
The woman was the first to reply. “Do you live under a rock? We’re The Masked Deaths!”
“Oh yeah,” the blond man began to smile abrasively. “You’re those new idiots on the street trying to, what was it... ‘breathe life into this old business’?” The exactness of the words the man uttered to the ones he had just said not but the other day caused the leader to raise an eyebrow in suspicion.
“Just exactly who are you?” The inquiry seemed to cause even greater delight in the man.
“Just who am I? Just who am I? For one I am your elder.” His hand whipped out, grabbing the younger male’s wrist. “I am your superior.” With a twist of his wrist a large cracking sound emitted from the younger one’s body, forcing him to drop the rifle into the assaulter’s open hand. He quickly stepped back, turning the point onto the group of four. “I am The Soul Clock.” Upon uttering the name gasps could be heard echoing throughout the building, the largest and deepest coming from The Masked Deaths.
The woman began stuttering, “Y-You mean.. The Soul Clock? D-didn’t you retire a few years back?” She was cowering back, dropping her gun and raising her hands.
“Yes. The Soul Clock. You are correct, I am retired. But I’m not afraid to show you young dumbasses how its done. So how about you other two drop your guns, hm?” They quickly obliged while backing away. “Excellent.” He turned away from them, scanning the folk on the ground: “You can all stand up now. Does anyone have a cell phone handy? I imagine the police would be ecstatic to take these knuckleheads into jail.” | 2015-02-06T23:56:52 | 2015-02-06T22:43:19 | 39 | 19 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | High school, college, Law school…that was the easy part of life. Well, maybe not law school, but it was easy to keep up the life and still have a lucrative front. Besides, I knew how to get my crew out of a pinch. Then came marriage, love…fatherhood. The hard parts of life. I’m only in my mid-thirties, but I am probably one of the youngest retirees you’ll ever meet.
My name is Sam, I am thirty four years old, I have been married for approximately ten years to a wonderful woman who I have been with for almost two decades, I have four kids, I graduated from the University of Kansas in 2019, and when I was 18 years old I became “awakened”. At least, that’s how Eric put it back in the day. Today, I get to spend the time that would regularly be the monotony of a normal life with one of my kids, my wonderful little girl Cindy.
“Daddy, when are we going?”
“Soon, sweetheart, Daddy has to cash his check.”
I look down at her and smile, rubbing her hair. She got my restlessness…Hopefully, she and the others aren’t all like daddy. I look around, pondering my existence. Life as a super-criminal was fun and exciting, exhilarating and vibrant…now I’m in the dull grey masses of the world. I guess that’s what comes with manning up and taking care of the kids. Oh well, at least I built up enough of a nest egg to provide for the family for the next five decades.
As I stand there, daughter tugging on my sleeve, and my mind wandering, a spray of gunfire connects with the ceiling, “Everybody on the ground! This is a robbery!” I covered my daughter with my body, letting the gunfire connect with the ceiling as I held her close, like the only thing that mattered. She is my flesh. She is my blood. I am her bulwark. No one will break me.
“Hush little baby don’t say a word…Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…” I pray in the back of my mind, my eyes fluttering across the gang. The new generation became more matte black, it seemed. Camo and pseudo-military had come in vogue in more recent times, it seemed. Automatic weapons, masks with a card motif, camouflaged pants, black leather jackboots, the works. I look down at my daughter and hold her closer, laying a kiss upon her forehead. I am her defender. No one can defeat me.
I look to another customer and give Cindy to him, for safekeeping. I rise, an old player to the stage. The man of two faces. The man of steel. That old, familiar phrase ringing out in the bank, “What the fuck are you doing you prick?! Sit the fuck back down and wait!” I frown and sigh, taking off my suit jacket and tie, “See, I would…but I find that boring.” I stretch, rolling my neck, my breathing intensifying, “I have spent the past six years as one of the boring, old, ordinary masses…When jumped up little shits like you think you can fuck around with the old school, it’s more than a little entertaining. I was in this game when you were just figuring out what fractions were. From the looks of you, I am a full sophomore in high school older than you a--”
"Pft, so what? Am I supposed to be impressed? Oh, so what, you’re an old fuck who ca--"
I take in one last breath as my skin glosses over in metal, my joints pop as they adjust to the weight, "Do you know who I am? I am Dirge…" I trail off for a moment looking over at Cindy, "No…I am Bulwark. And no one will break me…"
| Henry Kilroy sat at his desk, in his office overlooking the customer service counter of the Aztec Savings and Loan bank. In his office, a woman and young female child. His attention distracted from them by three men and a rather large dog humanoid entering the bank. Nodding, pretending to be involved with what the woman in his office was saying he couldn't help but notice the three men carrying bags, and holding their dominant hand to the inside of their coats.
Suspicions confirmed as they produced assault rifles, immediately killing two security guards and an innocent civilian who just happened to be in the way of the dog-man. The woman in his office rushing to her child, Henry sat stoic. His brow furled, his elbows now on his desk and hands pressed together at the fingertips. The dog man approached his door, barked something to the order of _open the safe_.
Henry stood calmly, making sure to not look directly at the dog-man or his cohorts. He moved past the dog-man without giving him a glance, confusing the dog-man but not deterring him from pointing the gun directly at Henry as he moved past.
"Gentleman, what service can I provide you today?"
Momentarily stunned by the statement, and it's casual delivery, the dog-man spoke for his gang.
"We're here for the money, so do what we tell you and no one else has to die!"
Henry sighed, his shoulders slumped and his posture resembled that of a turtle as he turned to finally recognize the dog-man.
"Are you sure, there isn't anything else I can do for you?"
The dog-man struck Henry with the barrel of the assault rifle, sending Henry to the floor.
"This isn't a game, you idiot! Open the drawers and give us our money!"
Henry stood to his feet, straightened his blazer and tie, and sighed.
"No, I suppose it isn't a game. How much money do you need?"
The dog-man laughed, his men laughed, the dog man struck Henry again with the barrel of the gun sending him back to the floor. Leaning over him, the dog-man's face grimaced.
"All of it!"
Henry stood to his feet, straightened his blazer and tie. His lips tightened, and his tone no longer friendly.
"Perhaps if you were to ask me politely-"
The dog-man emptied a single round into his left thigh, causing his men to laugh which only seemed to anger him further.
"The next one is going in your brain smart ass, stop stalling and get the money!"
Henry, alarmingly calm for having been shot in his leg stood to his feet, this time removing his blazer and tie. The dog-man watched in confusion as Henry opened his button down shirt revealing a series of wires leading to small paper covered blocks taped to his waist line.
"I'm afraid if you kill me, this little device that I have strapped to my body will explode. Now, if you'll give me a moment to decide."
The dog-man recoiled in surprise, his men losing patience and fortitude each grabbed a civilian pointing their guns at them.
"What is this? Do you think you can scare me? We will kill EVERYONE!"
Henry smiled, remembering what this felt like.
"Not before I do it first..."
Henry calmly pressed his hand against his chest, and a series of beeping prompts started from the device.
"Maybe I'm lying, maybe this _is_ a trick. Maybe I've just alerted the police? But, and this is important, maybe I've just armed this device because I don't care how much money you want. Maybe I don't care if you shoot me now, and kill yourselves in the process."
The dog-man froze, then pointed his barrel to Henry. One of his men broke the momentary silence.
"Boss, this isn't going so well, we should just leave".
The dog-man tightened his grip on the weapon and moved around Henry slowly. Nodding his head at the exit of the bank he and his men backed down.
"You play a dangerous game. I will be back. I will get my money!"
Henry, nursing his leg, started for his office as the dog-man and gang exited the bank. The tellers scrambled to the phones and the civilians wept in place. The woman in the office, holding her child in her arms approached him.
"Worst. Bring your daughter. To work. Day. Ever." | 2015-02-06T23:58:53 | 2015-02-06T23:42:02 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] A handful of people have been born with a dumb and useless superpower. The government has made sure to not let two of these people make contact with each other because when these two useless powers combine the world will be at risk. One day two of these people accidently meet | Ronald Fernald was known as "Fog". Morticia Demure was known as "The Quiet". Potentially the two most annoying *empowered* of them all second only to Henry "Scratch" Daltain and Hikoru "Tinnitus-san" Kawazaki.
When Fog would touch another human being, all human beings within a hundred foot radius immediately went *blind*, but not really. It was more like they could not perceive him. It became very disconcerting when grocery store cashiers would *forget* why a man was handing them money at the register, and all the other patrons would be upset this man had seemingly skipped them in line.... and somehow rung up all his groceries in the blink of an eye. Worse yet was the time he was making a transaction from the bank, and the teller triggered the alarm when she suspected this man had hit her with the memory wiping drug, scopolamine. That particular Discovery Channel documentary was not at all helpful for the fog.
The quiet was less disturbing, but equally dangerous, considering her desire for affection. All her life Morticia had been an outsider. When people held her hand, the entire world went quiet. If she kissed a boy, the sonorousness of the birds and bees simply vanished. Her real name was not Morticia, but had been changed at the observation that life around her was as quiet as a morgue. Her problems did not begin until people could no longer hear warnings of danger. She had a knack for sensing it, and would instinctively cling to someone nearby, deafening everyone around her to the potential warning signs of the end of mortality.
Given that people just seemed to die around her, Morticia was being closely monitored by the powers that be.
One day, at 2:29p.m. on the sidewalks of New York city, these two unfortunate souls bumped into eachother.
The world, froze. For a person like me to explain how this affected them is difficult. One does not simply feel from the soul of another human being, least of all an empowered. The best your humble narrator can explain, it was like they had forgotten and rediscovered a lost love. Morticia's eyes brimmed with tears, and Ronald heard nothing but the sound of her breathing. Of her heartbeat. Of the wind blowing through her hair. The world around them was motionless it seemed..... wait, no... literally the world was motionless.
Nobody was moving at all. But the cars continued to roll, and the planes continued to fly... er... fall more like.
Morticia backed away from Ronald with her hand over her mouth. And the world began to revolve again for mankind. Ronald tried to push through the crowd after her, but for every person he touched, all would forget he existed, and it is quite difficult to move through the streets of New York when no one can see or remember you. Ask any New Yorker, they'll tell you.
Morticia retreated into an alleyway and cried. She knew what she had found, and what she had lost... again. This was a love that could never be. She could never forget the boy who set her world on fire. He would never forget the girl who calmed the world around him. They would forever love, alone.
........until 2 years later when Morticia learned to control the bonding power and she found this wonderful man and they had lots of babies with SUPER powers who saved the world from calamities. (Couldn't end on that sad not, sorry. I had my tea and I'm too happy to be depressing today.) | "Dear, future, intelligent species of Earth. I suppose this may be the only piece of evidence you will find for the existence of my species. I might as well introduce myself, so my name is Lieutenant Daniel Everett. Regular members of our society have the ability to grip objects with our hands, think with our complex minds, and run with our legs. Of course, there are other abilities, but I've been told by my superiors to keep this as brief as possible.
Anyways, occasionally, a human is born with a "superpower." Personally, I believe the prefix "super" on that word is simply there for the irony because the powers these "extraordinary" people have are well worthless. Allow me to give you some examples of our "incredible progress in evolution." There's a man by the name of Joshua Browne with the ability to - and I quote - "receive an electrical shock from any metal he touches." As you can imagine, this is more of a nuisance than a superpower, but people tend to find it offensive when I refer to Joshua as "the example of why natural selection is necessary." Second, there's a woman by the name Sidney Parker. Now, Sidney's power could be useful, but there's one fatal defect. Sidney has the ability to regenerate her body at an incredible speed which sounds great, but here's the problem. The slightest touch onto an object harms Sidney, so the power is utterly worthless as she's always screaming in pain.
I've given you two examples of our worthless - er - extraordinary people, but now, let me tell you how it relates to the message I'm sending you and humanity's extinction. There is another man and woman who have two abilities that if brought together can and will end the world. Their names are Tyler Gordon and Melissa Wilson. Tyler has the strange ability that increases everything in his vicinity to about 1,000 Celsius; meanwhile, anybody with these strange powers that comes into contact with Melissa has their power amplified. After running simulations of an interaction of Tyler and Melissa, we realized the Tyler's ability will destroy the entire planet.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: HERE'S THE SECOND PART
Anyway, if you managed to find this recording, I can assume that you're a somewhat intelligent species, so you've probably figured out that that happened. I've been helping the president, our leader, keep them separated, but it's a bit difficult to keep a man who melts everything that gets near him. We mainly just focused on Melissa by trapping her in a containment unit. While we may have had to deal with a lawsuit here and there, the important thing is that it worked. Our fatal mistake was forgetting the location of Tyler which reminds me if you find a body with a name tag "Ryan Bennett," please feel free to desecrate all over it. I seriously don't understand how Ryan could lose a man that leaves a giant, scorched trail everywhere he walks! Ryan's idiotic antics cost our species its life.
Tyler, who had been living in South America, had begun moving North, seemingly to mourn the families he had killed in the USA; however, the problem arose when he was in Panama. We had stored Melissa in a concealed room in the Panama Canal. As you can imagine, Tyler accidentally melted through it. He came into contact with Melissa, and during that point, we heard a sharp, scratching noise. A spark. That was when Earth was engulfed in flames and melted. It's laughable that the general public feared would never take place. The world was destroyed before the asteroid Apophis even neared Earth, before global warming could flood the world, and before thirst for fresh water could drive our species out of existence.
Now, I know you're confused. How can I be leaving a message if we're all dead? Sigh. I wish I could say it's because the simulations were wrong, but no. My superiors and I were simply lucking to be checking out the newest design for a trap for Tyler. Well, Earth's future residents, if I have any message to leave for you, it's simply "Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst." | 2015-03-10T10:21:23 | 2015-03-10T08:59:14 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] 70 years ago, the US underestimated the power of the atomic bomb. It had completely obliterated the island nation of Japan. | August 6. Roosevelt had said that December 7 would be a day to live in infamy, and for four years he was right. But August 6, August 6 *became* infamy. For on that day, the Four Horsemen rode upon the nation of Japan, and brought with them the divine wrath of every deity to whom man had once prayed. Within a single flash of brilliant light, the world had changed forever. The war was over, yet there were no celebrations. A silence descended upon the globe, with all the countries of the world in awe, or fear, of this new weapon.
*A hundred million,* the papers cried. The war in Europe killed half that, at most. Many of them soldiers. Japan may have been militarised, yet within her isles the majority are - were, rather - civilians. The Americans had another, too. But there was no need, Kokura was eliminated by the first. Along with Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Seoul. The fallout reached Shanghai. Civilians there are falling ill and dying in the streets from the effects. Providence had determined that America obtained a weapon greater even than He, with which they delivered more death in a single day than even the great Genghis Khan had seen in his lifetime.
For all the Nazis had done, their crimes paled in comparison to that of the victor. Calls rose for President Truman to be charged with crimes against humanity. Yet no-one dared act, lest the wrath of God descend upon them. *Be grateful it wasn't Berlin,* leaders said, *for if it was, London would be dead.* |
70 years ago then President Truman became the most feared and hated man on earth. In one fell swoop he incinerated southern Japan and Korea. If that had been all it did we could have lived with the fallout and moved on with our lives much as they were. The China Sea was flash boiled and the storms from that alone would rage for three years. Then the First Tremor was felt around the world. With it the period we call the Seismic Terrors began.
The earthquakes didn't stop. The blast had destabilized the fault lines. The entirety of the island Japan sunk as it was subducted beneath the waves. Millions were forced to evacuate in a span of weeks among some of the worst conditions possible. Like Atlantis of old it did not take long. Volcanoes along the entire rim of fire erupted. The SuperTidals wiped out much of the Pacific islands and the soldiers who had fought so hard to liberate them.
Many consider it ironic the Bomb was supposed to avoid the expected casualties the invasion of mainland Japan would bring. Instead more Americans died in the aftermath than the rest of the War. Most of them west coast civilians. San Diego was considered a lost cause and declared a National Memorial zone. Thus many worldwide were satisfied that American hubris was tempered by humility. Truman became the only President to be posthumously impeached after committing suicide.
With the disastrous May Day Tragedy the USSR imploded under its own ambitions. With a botched test of its own crash course to replicate the bomb they lost their foremost scientists. Stalin himself was killed and the politburo was unable to regain control. Churchill initiated his dreaded Operation Unthinkable and the weakened superpower folded. Finally World War II came to a bloody close as the Pacific region continued to be upended by disasters.
With the formation of the United Europe Council and its Alliance with the United States of America humanity slowly knitted itself back together. Together they sponsored the creations of Asiatic League and the Pan-African Coalition. Now united in Peace the people of earth stand on the cusp of Unification day. None dare oppose the United States initiative. None dare oppose the Bomb.
| 2015-08-06T16:56:53 | 2015-08-06T15:06:12 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though. | It looks like we were mistaken.
Who would have known that religion was not just some dogma created by man to control the masses. Instead they were are first line of defence, warning us about the impending attack. The Gods have become more formidable foes then previously anticipated.
It all started when we accidently drilled into our planets core. By then we have already colonized the Moon and Mars. Our scientist hunger for knowledge was insaciable. They wanted to know exactly how the planet worked in hopes of creating other "Earths" in other solar systems. They finally broke through the last of the tectonics plates and were astonished to find the entrance to Hell. Apparently souls was the fuel that kept the planet spinning, gave it gravity, magnetic fields, forced magma out of the core in turn to refertilize the surface.
The operating manager, "Lucifer," was not happy we entered his domain and immediately waged war. Hordes of demons poured out volcanoes ready to throw us back to the stone age. At the same time our outer colonies had a war of their own against what looked like to be angels. They were being surrounded and blocked from traveling out of system. Apperantly we were their "chosen people" and need to stay in our place or suffer the "wrath of the Timeless One."
What did we as humans do? We fought of course.
We are no strangers to warfare. Indeed, we have spent so many years fighting each other that we have perfected it. And we had one secret weapon. An unexpected ally who no longer wanted to be part of this system. He is often refered to the Chosen One, Messiah, Firstborn. He prefers Big Jay, or Yeazuz after his favorite rapper/president. Jesus Christ was gonna change our world. | Mission Report: 2408123
Subsection: Military
Unit: Beta
Officer: Lieutenant Reeves
Dear Mother,
We've moved into what's left of Venus's hell-like atmosphere. My unit was hit hard by the gasses, it took us nearly twice as long to adjust to the pressure difference as Alpha unit. Our losses have been minimal, and I'm in perfectly good health. NASA has been most accommodating, the nurses and medical staff are all over us, preparing us to enter what's left of this hellish planet. My tour is complete in two weeks, so if my rocket leaves on time, I should be home in time for Mother's day. SpaceX has been keeping the transportation slowed, though, due to some kind of interference in the radio waves created by our cellphones. But, with luck, I'll be on time.
I talked to Murph the other day, she says that Mars has been equally challenging. The cold is constantly breaking through the seals and their compounds are having issues with weapons cold welding to each other. Every time a bullet is welded to the barrel of a gun we lose a man.
On a separate note, Alpha squadron found new traces of Elon Musk. He and his neo-nazi crowd have managed to make it all the way to Mercury. SpaceX is especially helpful, leaving no expense spared in the search for their disgraced CEO.
How are things at home? News of the conspiracy theorists has reached even out here, granted the military tries to censor it. But, if what we hear is true, the Nazis have been sending people to Venus and Mercury since the beginning of time. That, and there are rumors they're mixed in with the Illuminati.
As I write, I hear another rain of ammo coming in overhead. Without a doubt it's another barrage of Tiger Tank shells, they don't seem to understand their outdated WWII technology is no match for our new tanks. Oh well, they'll learn the hard way.
Write you again soon!
Love, Reeves
Side note: I kinda had less motivation on this one, I felt like writing something in a letter form and this is what was produced, but I didn't feel that a soldier would be writing a 10,000 character letter home in the middle of a battlefield. | 2015-09-24T08:29:53 | 2015-09-24T07:05:34 | 23 | 17 |
[WP][NSFW]When someone masturbates,the person they masturbate to feels it as well. | I know it's sick, and I'm not proud of it, but ever since I found my mother-in-laws vibrator I cant help but thinking about her using it when I masturbate.
It's not like I took it or anything. I just picture her up on all fours going to town with it. Something about knowing a woman, her age, still has the desire turns me on.
The only problem is that the cemetery keeps calling and telling my wife that strange sounds are coming from her grave. I have taken to just disconnecting the phone while I have a go. | Ever since the scientists of the world decided to give all humans empathetic powers, things got... Weird. Typically, you only feel sensation from a person you're on the same network as, and that's limited to what they want you to feel. The implants do a pretty good job of stimulating just the right places in the brain to convey the message.
However, the sensors can become overloaded when the stimulus evokes enough of an emotional response. For instance, a person dying of some tragedy away from their family can get one last hug before they move on, which is beautiful, don't get me wrong. Plus, the implants give you a sympathetic response, which means that you feel the appropriate sensation so the person you "hug" feels the hug instead of the sensation of giving a hug. Unfortunately, this overload can also be achieved during an orgasm.
As a male actor in adult films, I ask you gentlemen out there to keep this in mind. Every time you stroke it to my films, my lady costar isn't the only one that finds out what it's like for you to be inside them. | 2016-03-12T02:15:03 | 2016-03-12T01:11:54 | 1,237 | 296 |
[WP][NSFW]When someone masturbates,the person they masturbate to feels it as well. | Sonnet Number Seventy-One
As Issac Newton once had said it best,
"Each action has its opposite reaction."
Because his physics are true with all the rest
It follows, masturbation's no exception.
The diddled self when thinking of another,
Requires outcome of action, to be felt.
If she is someone's sister, wife, or mother
Makes no difference to feelings below the belt.
Celebrity's a curse with constant attention,
No rest as long as object for desire.
The men get a constant, onslaught of shlickin'
And women feel the tug of misplaced fire.
The worst is Helen of Troy, immortal dame
Her dusty corpse's restless to this day.
| In spite of his years in the oncology department, arguably one of the most humbling and readying rites of passage into the world of truth there are, nothing had quite prepared Dr. Callender to tell Chloë Grace Moretz's parents that she wasn't having seizures nor epileptic fits of any kind, let alone dying. Dread mutated exponentially into hot and sickly pink and green wedged between the back of his throat and tongue and deep in his ears like an inconvenient furnace every step closer to her parents until finally, out of embarrassment, realizing he had been face to face with them this whole time, simply suggested, "Perhaps you could ask Mr. Scorsese to postpone shooting for another, mm, about, till 2015? I'm afraid she'll be... well, she's not comatose... I've never seen anything quite like this before,"
Oh, Dr. Callender knew exactly what was going on, knew he partly contributed to her current condition, and knew that he would be the first man to simultaneously fuck tens of thousands of men over the age of forty without having to retire his stethoscope for the day,
"Really big fan, by the way." | 2016-03-12T08:12:37 | 2016-03-12T07:00:34 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] A heroin addict can see the future while she's under the influence. Friends and family continually take advantage of her gift even though it's rapidly killing her. | "Got any jet, kid?"
Ugh. I hate coming to Sanctuary. All of the settlers just hammer random walls and Mama Murphy refuses to do anything except sit in her chair asking for drugs for her "sight". Maybe I'll give her some, she might shut up.
"Okay, Mama Murphy, have some Jet."
"Thanks, kid"
I hand her a canister of jet out of my seemingly infinite pocket. She weakly pulls the canister to her face and uses it as an inhaler.
"I see it kid... a giant blimp.... hundreds of metal soldiers... some sort of giant robot..", she grimaces in clear pain. "That's all the sight can handle for now. The sight's telling me... Mentats this time."
She's probably full of crap. Who's gonna have a working blimp post war? Or a giant robot? Oh well. She wants more drugs, she'll get some. I hand her a tin of mentats. How these make you smarter, and not your breath better, I'll never know. She opens the tin and hastily eats all of them.
"I see.... a man? Half-detective, half machine... it looks like he's... walking with you?" She grabs her stomach as if she's in intense pain. "Oh... Kid, the sight's telling me..." She coughs violently "it's telling me we need psycho.."
Huh. A robo-detective. Funny, because I'm supposed to be looking for a detective to help me find... someone? Oh I forget. It couldn't have been *that* important. Despite my better judgement telling me not to, I decide to give her more drugs. This sight stuff is pretty fun.
I start to hand her the needle, but Preston quickly runs over to stop me. Oh great. I bet another settlement needs *my* help, or even better, Abernathy's daughter was kidnapped for the *third* time this week.
"General, can't you see that Mama Murphy can't handle any more of this? She's an addict! She'll die if she injects any more of that crap into her body!"
"Well Preston, when you're right you're right", I say with a sinister smile.
I quickly stab the needle into Mama Murphy's arm, as Preston looks at me disgusted and shocked.
Mama Murphy looks at me in a daze, "Kid, I see... some sort of bright light... a science lab of some sort? And some sort of... Father? He's your father? No, you're his father? And then... an explosion?", she grabs her chest and starts coughing more violently than before. "Kid... I need... I need..."
Mama Murphy suddenly fell out of her chair. All right! Now she'll stop whining about drugs and the future. Woo! But this stuff about a lab. And my father? Or my son? Wow, I wish I had a son.
But suddenly, everyone is staring at me with a look equal parts disgust and horror.
"General... you.. you.. killed her... I told you not to give her drugs... and you did... now she's gone..."
"Oh well. It happens."
[Preston hated that]
| Jackie entered her house, slouching and rubbing her eyes as she closed the door behind her. She felt so numb, so tired, and at the family reunion next weekend, it would only get worse. She'd seen it already.
What her gift hadn't showed, however, was the scene before her. Jackie slipped around the corner into her living room and jumped. In the lawn chairs, half-ruined couch, and even on the stained carpet sat nearly everyone she knew. Parents, siblings, and cousins, not to mention her closest friends.
"What the fuck do you all want?" Jackie grumbled, tossing her purse to the floor.
Uncle Robert, leaning against the far wall, peeled off like the greasy cockroach he was. "Hey, kiddo. We've been waiting here a while now. Didn't know if you were going to show up."
"Gee, didn't know if I was going to show up at my house?"
"Well you could've been passed out in some crack den," muttered Cousin Jenny under her breath. That bitch knew I heard her, judging by the sly smile twisting her lips.
A thought popped into my head, and for a moment, hope sprang to life in my breast. "Is... is this an intervention?"
Uncle Robert guffawed. "Oh, god no. That's almost the opposite of what we want."
The hope shriveled and died, looking a little too much like her heart. "Then what the hell do you want?"
Carol cleared her throat. That trashy whore was the one who got Jackie hooked on the stuff in the first place. Back in the days when they thought her glimpses into the future were laughable hallucinations. Now she was clean, and I was paying the price. "He's being an ass. Really, we just want one more high out of you. One more, and then we'll all do everything we can to help you."
Narrowing her eyes, Jackie said, "What do you want?"
"Honey, as I'm sure you know, the hospital bills have been quite the financial burden," her dad began, speaking slowly and softly. He looked at Mom, whose wig wasn't fooling anyone.
Jackie tapped her foot against the floor. "So, what? You want me to see when she'll get better?" *Or when the funeral will be?*
"There's... actually something else we wanted you to do," he mumbled.
"Ah, let's just cut right to the chase." Uncle Robert slicked back his thinning hair. "The lotto's just shy of a billion dollars, and we want you to find out what the numbers are."
Not surprised by his bluntness, she simply scoffed. "We've tried this before, you know. More than a few times. The numbers are always so blurred, I can never read them properly." Her glimpses were little more than that--glimpses. They were never wrong, when deduced correctly. The blurry visions couldn't always be reliable, though.
The sudden sound of locking made Jackie spin. Back at the front door, her Cousin Bobby stood before the entrance to her house. Only by the guilty glint in his eyes did she realize he wasn't blocking an entrance.
He was blocking an exit.
"We all pulled our money together," said Uncle Robert, stepping ever closer to Jackie. "And our resources, to find the finest, purest heroin in the country. An ample supply, at that. Don't worry about getting the numbers all on your first high... because you won't be leaving until you get them all." | 2016-06-28T21:42:56 | 2016-06-28T21:21:12 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] your car changes slightly to accommodate your day, the day it snows, it magically has snow tires, the day it floods, it becomes a four by four. Today you walked out the door, and it's a tank.
Edit: wow, this really blew up, thank you all for your stories, and I will try to read all of them as soon as I have some time. | "Honey"
I heard her yelling but I was still in bed. I took the day off to finish up a few things around the yard but I really wanted to sleep in to at least nine. But not now I guess...
"What?" I yelled the kind of "what" a sixteen year old yells from two rooms away.
"Come look at the car."
That car had been both a miracle and curse since I bought the damn thing.
"What's it this time?" I was still in yelling from bed mode, not quite ready to get up yet. The flannel sheets were warm.
"A tank."
A tank? See, this car changes according to worldly events. If it's summer it becomes a convertible, if the kid drives it it becomes a Volvo, if I have to drive the team to a travel soccer game it becomes a bus, you get the drift. But a tank?
"A what?" even though I'd heard her the first time I wanted to hear her say it again.
"A tank. It's a tank. What do you think that means?"
War was too obvious an answer. Zombie apocalypse? Nah. Sleep was leaving my brain so I swung out of bed. I put on my slippers and robe and headed downstairs, still thinking.
"Coffee" I said and held out my hand. She put a mug in it. She's good that way.
"Don't you want to see it?" She was opening the door.
I wasn't quite ready to go to the driveway just yet. Dave was out there. Dave "Mr I'm A Freelancer And I Work From Home". Mr Smug. Mr I'll Tell You What This Means. Mr Fuckfacedouchebag. Too early for Dave.
I wander over to the sink to spit and peek through the curtains. Shit. That really is a tank. An M26 Pershing from the look of it. Call of Duty taught me somethin' damn straight. 46 tons of armored fun just waiting to pick the kids up from school. I wonder if I could figure out how to load some ammo and blow Dave up? Mr Blown Up Real Good I could call him.
As I'm imagining Dave and a mushroom cloud a red Prius pulls up. Red Prius. "Who the hell do I know with a red Prius?" I think when it hits me so hard I drop the coffee mug.
"Honey?" I hear the yell from outside. "Honey, look! My Mother's here! And she's staying a week".
EDIT - changed from an Abrams to a Pershing to make zycamzip smile. | "What? I don't...I..." I stared at disbelief. Seriously, if I told you my car could change itself to accommodate me to the best that it can for whatever remains on the road, you wouldn't believe me. My normal wake up schedule for the work day is get up at four A.M, take a shower and do...other hygienic nuances while in the shower. Then its just put on the same blue uniform that I always do, make breakfast if I have the time. But watch TV for the news to see what's in store? Sorry, that isn't me.
Now when I tell you that my simple grey Toyota Corolla, is now a six ton tank, with the same color scheme and manufacture badge, I'd sympathize with you that you wouldn't believe me. When I tell you that I can't drive a tank, I know you'll believe me. Seriously, why does a tank have six pedals if there are only four directions. Also when I tell you that I've driven the tank straight into the garage doors, please don't laugh.
"So, if this one is forward, this must be..." The engine cranked over loudly, making a sputtering noise in the process. I forgot the tank is a stick, and the driveshaft just took a beating. "There we go! Now we're making progress! This is great!" The streets were clear so far, as they always were at five in the morning. Nothing seemed out of place either. Entering town was easy, no places had their windows or doors boarded up, getting into base was as easy as swiping my card.
"Really man, a tank this time? What could your car possibly think would happen today?" My superior had said mockingly. God I hate him, so tall but scrawny, always with one hand in his pocket and his coffee mug in another. Always complaining the Chief anchor on his collar was "so heavy" that he couldn't help with work. One day I'll out rank him, but that's for another time, right now I have my watch to do.
There was proof of what my car does, and the government took it for studying, but all that came back was that it was a normal car. My peers all know that my car transform, it's really no surprise. Hell we even had a little fun and drove it into the water. Damned thing became a boat before you could say "Oops"! But towards the end of my watch, I saw something horrifying on the video screen that had the cameras view on base.
"When I tell you the event happened in the course of a day, I hope you believe me. When I tell you the tank was to protect me from the zombies, I hope you trust me enough to come with me if you want to live. When I tell you to save your bullets, I hope you believe me when I also say that nothing can kill these things. Not even my tank. They just put themselves back together and get back up. This is the Operation Specialist, hoping anyone is out there." | 2016-12-06T12:12:53 | 2016-12-06T11:44:47 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You are so focused on listening to music and browsing reddit on your phone, that you walk in to hostage situation in a Starbucks. | At first, Blake thought the yells telling him to get down came from the new Skrillex album that he was listening too. Oddly enough, The yells were perfectly synced to the bass drops. Satisfied with what he was hearing, he added the song to his play list. As he was opening r/news on his phone he was pistol wiped and swiftly meet the floor. His headphones fell out, phone swept across the floor, and vision blurred.
Drawn out of his confused state as he felt a throbbing pain on the back on his head, he noticed the main headline "17th Street, New York Starbuck's Hostage Situation." He was shocked as he realized that he was in the 17th street Starbucks.
"Get Up!" Blake heard as he looked up. His assailant was bulky and wore a Hulk mask. His voiced sounded as if he was speaking from his belly.
" Are you deaf!" said the Hulk while lifting his boot up prepared to stomp.
Blake braced himself for another blow when an Iron Man masked assailant intervened.
"Don't kill him, the more hostages the better." said Iron Man and he pushed his partner and pointed at a row of horrified hostages in the back, signaling Blake to go there.
" This is just chance that I needed" Thought Blake. " You have made a grave mistake" he said smiling at his assailents.
"What the f*ck" said the hulk confused.
"I have spent 10,000 hours on r/selfdefense" said Blake standing up.
"R dash what?, Never mind" Iron man said as he lifted his gun.
Before he could even blink Blake rolled twice on the ground, uppercuted Iron Man and snapped his neck.
" Oh my god, What are yo.." said the Hulk till Blake delivered a flying kick to his abdomen before he could finish his word.
" According to r/atheism there is no god, he can't help you here" said Blake
The hulk grunted before letting out a measly "don't kill me please".
Blake picked up the gun and his phone sitting at his feet. He pointed at his target and pulled the trigger. It did not go off.
"What the.." said Blake surprised.
" I'm gonna F*** your S*** up," said the Hulk lifting himself off his knees and prepared to charge.
Quickly Blake unlocked his phone and went to - How to Shoot a Glock- r/explainlikeimfive.
The Hulk was no match for Blake's superior reediting skills as before the Hulk could even get to Blake he had read the post, upvoted it, commented, and received gold for a bad one liner. All before switching the safety off, aiming the gun, and shooting the Hulk.
" Now who needs PTSD counseling, I have spent quite a bit of time on r/mentalhealth and I think I can help" said the blood soaked Blake grinning at the astounded hostages in the midst of two dead corpses.
--------------------------------------------------------
This is my third story ever. Please respond with comments or critiques. Hopefully, it is as humorous to you as it was to me while writing this.
| Daniel looked up to find six faces - 2 concealed by balaclavas, 4 concealed only by anxiety - staring back at him.
"You there!" called one of the balaclavas. It was a male voice, confirmed by the thick eyebrows which were currently pushed together so tightly that they were barely distinct. He was standing behind the counter, cash register open.
Daniel stood, staring, and didn't respond. What the hell was going on?
"Are you deaf?" shouted the man with the eyebrows once again. "Go stand with the others."
Daniel put his head down, pulled his earphones out, and did as he was told. Eyebrows strode over to him, a pistol gripped in his right hand.
"Employee of the year, you are. So committed that you'll even turn up for work when there's a robbery going on." He chortled, then wiped the smile from his face.
"Alright Daniel," - it was on his nametag, of course - "This is how it's going to work. My associate here is going to stay with your fellow employees. You and I are going into the back room to get the rest of the money."
Daniel began to protest, to mumble something about there not being any more money, but Eyebrows cut him off.
"Shut it. We've been watching this place for a while. We know you don't follow official Starbucks protocol. You only take cash to the bank once a week - until then, you keep it on site. The week leading up to Christmas is the busiest time of year for a place like this, so I'll bet that there's quite a bit waiting for us out the back."
Daniel paused for a moment, then lowered his head once again, his silence confirming the truth in the words. At gunpoint, he led Eyebrows out the back of the store, and then pointed to a cupboard.
"It's in there."
Eyebrows looked at him for a moment, as if assessing whether he was trustworthy. Finally he shrugged, lowered his gun, and opened the cupboard.
Inside was a stack of money - some tens, some twenties, but mostly $50 notes. All up, there was several thousand dollars of cash. Eyebrows began to stuff it into a backpack.
"Damn, Daniel. I'm sure you've heard this before, but if most people are paying for your coffees with $50 notes, you guys really need to start lowering your prices."
At that moment there was a loud bang from the front room as the door to the store was kicked open, followed by an even louder bang. A single gunshot.
"Shit. Alright, Daniel, looks like we're not going back that way. Lead me to the back exit, and for god's sake, *run*."
Daniel took off, with Eyebrows following closely behind. They burst out the back door, onto the usually empty side alley where Daniel and his mates would hang out during their breaks. Only this time, there was a car waiting.
"Get in," said Eyebrows, gesturing toward the car with his pistol. Daniel hesitated, and Eyebrows stopped gesturing and pointed the gun directly at him. "NOW!"
Daniel did so, and a few moments later the car burst from the side alley where it had been parked. Eyebrows tore off his balaclava and the driver, also unmasked, turned toward him.
"What the hell did you bring him for?"
"We'll keep him with us until we're sure we've escaped. Then we'll figure out what to do with him." | 2016-12-22T19:42:50 | 2016-12-22T16:07:51 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] Santa Claus is retiring... For years, he had already been searching for his successor, and he finally finds the perfect candidate being none other than... Ron Swanson | "Mr. Swanson, thank you so much for taking the time to call me back!" laughed Santa.
"Good day. I insist you inform me how you obtained my private telephone number. I have married thrice, and have still given out my number only once," grumbled Ron Swanson.
"I know everything about you Ron!" Santa cried, "I know you love brisket and bacon like they were members of your family! I know the names of your children! I know where you bury your gold!" The color drained from Ron's face.
"EXPLAIN YOURSELF, SIR," Ron demanded. "HOW DO YOU KNOW THESE THINGS - WHICH I AM NOT CONFIRMING ARE TRUE OR UNTRUE?"
"I need you Ron. You have a warm heart and a sense of honor, but most of all, the wisdom of Solomon! You can sort out naughty and nice children and deliver them their presents around the world on Christmas Eve!"
Ron's fury subsided and he erupted in high-pitched giggling. "Preposterous. How can one man deliver presents to every child that is good in a single evening?"
Santa laughed, "Well now Ron, if you'll take the job, you'd just have to figure that out for yourself."
Ron paused. His mustache bristled, and a grin crept around the edges of his mouth. "I firmly oppose your methods of obtaining information. I believe your innumerable invasions of privacy are anathema to everything I hold dear. But...this delivery...sounds like the ultimate riddle. I shall report to the North Pole tomorrow. I shall bring my own private supply of venison, so as not to alarm your glowing deer. Good day. Ron Swanson."
| "No one appreciates the wonderful toys I craft like you Mr.Swanson, it's a lost art!" The man tapped his belly, ruffling crumbs off his jacket, a waste of a perfectly good cookie if Ron ever saw such a thing.
"This feels like kindness, I'm not much for that. Besides how much creation I'd be doing," Ron snapped off a piece of bacon, chewing it as he took Santa Claus in once more. His mother had never said this thing was real, she'd denied it, calling it a farce, yet here he was.
"Yes, to children, what's more manly than helping children?"
"Fighting them. Though that takes work which-"
"This job only works once a year. Food is prepared for you, the cold is there to ruffle a few more chest hairs outta ya- and once a year Ron!" Santa stood over Mr.Swanson, his belly uncomfortably close to Ron's face. Ron looked up at the man, thinking how easy it would be to take him out but how comfortable sitting was.
"Once a year? Free food, whatever I like...where are the women, the trees and wildlife? If others serve me they better not be the annoying kind."
"Elves aren't annoying, they're obedient. If you want them to be quiet, so it shall be. There are millions of trees around, you practically live in isolation with a magic sleigh to take you here- to society when you'd like. Mrs.Clause isn't so bad to look at either- you may bring your own of course." Santa laughed at the thought of his Mrs.Clause staying with Swanson, it would never be, he was Santa Clause material but still so rough around the edges. Ron ate another piece of bacon, examining the spots of glimmering pig grease and meaty lines sewn throughout it.
"I'll do it. You had me sold at no government, and no people."
"Just elves!" Santa said, leaning back for a very deep 'ho,ho,ho'. Ron would have to change that. He extended his hand, he wasn't worried about the wasted bacon grease on his fingers, not when food would be so readily prepared for him. | 2016-12-22T23:30:05 | 2016-12-22T20:41:37 | 308 | 29 |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Grandpa and I walked into the entrance of St Mary’s hospital. In the ever-bustling reception area, Healers strode purposefully in all directions. We made straight for the elevator, heading to the Geriatric Unit on level 4. As the elevator door opened, I saw a young boy sitting in a wheelchair who was being pushed by- who I assumed to be- his mother. His right leg was completely covered in a white plaster cast. Grandpa made sure the door of the elevator didn’t shut as they passed through and the woman cast him a grateful smile. As they moved away, I caught the beginning of an argument between the two.
“So you’re really going to take my X-box away for *two whole weeks*?”
“I told you Timothy, if you didn’t try to stop this levitation nonsense before you’re old enough, that there would be punishment.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” the boy whined, “Jake double dared me. *Double dared* me Mom. Plus, he levitates around the house whenever he wants.”
“You jumped **off the roof** Timmy! If we didn’t get you to a good healer in time, who knows what would have happened. Now stop arguing before I make it three weeks…”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. As the elevator ascended, I looked up at my Grandpa. He had always been a tall man, but these days there was a slight stoop in his posture. The twinkle in his usually-bright blue eyes had dimmed. An invisible weight tugged on the corners of his smile. But, ever stoic, he looked down at me and spoke in a forcefully cheerful tone.
“What do you think she’ll be today, Maddie?”
These days, Grandma had taken a liking to shifting into her favourite historical figures. Yesterday it had been Queen Elizabeth the second. For the entire visit, she spoke in a high English accent and inquired regularly as to the whereabouts of her beloved Corgi dogs. The Healers had informed us that she had already requested 9 cups of tea that day.
I flashed Grandpa a grin. “I don’t know, but really hoping she’s gotten sick of the Queen. I’m not sure either of us could handle being asked any more questions about what the Daily Telegraph had to say about her outfit she wore on the day of her *Diamond Jubilee*.”
Grandpa chuckled. As we entered the ward, we were greeted cheerily by all the staff we passed. We were regulars now, and most greeted us by name. I saw my Grandma’s primary Healer step out of a nearby room. Even if one was born with the Healing gift, there were certain limitations to the extent that one could "heal" the body; and some things that even the most skilled of healers could not fix. Degenerative conditions of the brain were amoung these ailments. All Healers were, hence, required to attend medical school as any other Doctor would. Healer Saunders, who was in charge of Grandma’s care, also had a degree in both Neurology and Geriatrics.
“Healer Saunders!” I called.
The man spinned in my direction and, recognising me and my Grandpa, walked towards us.
“How is she doing today?”
The man smiled with genuine warmth. “Judith is doing just fine today, although,” he paused and furrowed his brow, “I must admit, I have no idea who she is. Her current form I mean. But she is perfectly fine for visitors.”
Grandpa and I strode into Grandma’s private room where Grandma was standing, gazing out of the room's window. When she turned to look at her visitors, her face was that of a young woman. She looked to be about in her young 20’s. She had wide, chocolate coloured eyes and tresses of beautiful, long dark hair. I felt my Grandpa freeze in his stride. When I looked up, his face was contorted into an expression I had never seen before. It was… Pain. Longing. Disbelief.
Grandma’s face light up when she saw him. “Oh, Harold, thank goodness you’ve arrived. I thought we were going to be late!”
Suddenly, I understood. Tears were streaming silently down my Grandpa’s face. She had not recognised him in over a year. Somehow, he forced calm words out of his mouth.
“L-late for what, my dear?”
“The dance, silly!” Grandma giggled. But then her expression turned serious. “The only problem is… I can’t seem to find my dress. And I can’t go in this old thing.” she said, motioning down to her hospital gown.
“Oh, don’t worry my love… I think I know where you left it.”
“You’re wonderful Harold,” said Grandma. I had never seen anyone look at another person like she was looking at Grandpa right at that moment. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll be right back, darling” said Grandpa, and he exited the room. I followed swiftly in his wake. He sat down on a nearby chair, and covered his face with his hands. I could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was sobbing.
“That’s… Grandma when she was younger?”
Grandpa looked up, and took a shaky breath. “Yes… that’s Judie when she was 23. I was 25. We were going to the faculty dance that night. I forgot… I forgot how beautiful she was.” He was silent for a moment. “The pictures don’t do her justice. Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Come Maddie, we should probably go.”
I shook my head. “We’re not going anywhere. You’re taking Grandma to a dance. Wait here… Just for a few minutes. Literally.” I smiled playfully.
When I ran, time slowed nearly to a halt. Speed was my gift, and there was no better time to use it than now. Just over 36 seconds later, I burst into my room. The friction had burnt the soles of my shoes and the carpet slightly.
“Worth it.” I muttered.
I grabbed my prom dress from the cupboard, and rubbed the soft pink silk between my fingers. I knew it would fit Grandma easily. I picked up some of my jewellery and some make-up from the drawer too. I rushed to Grandpa’s room, and picked out one of the suits he reserved for special events. Soon, I was back in the Ward, carrying my items and panting slightly. I held them out to Grandpa, whose eyes were still wide in wake of my sudden disappearance.
“You’re taking Grandma to the dance.” I stated firmly.
He looked up at me, and that twinkle in his bright blue eyes which I had missed so much was back. “But Maddie… where will I take her?”
I pondered for a moment. “Well, in the time it will take you both to get ready, I reckon I will have found something suitable… I’m pretty fast. Now go tell Grandma you found her dress." And with that, time ground to a near-halt as I ran back out of the hospital doors.
Edit: Good day beautiful people of Reddit! So, I have been persuaded to create a Subreddit (which is hopefully functional. Computers are... not my thing to say the least) You can catch a few other of my musings at r/Xanadu_dreaming :) thanks for all the support! | I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-02-18T06:37:10 | 2017-02-18T06:36:54 | 773 | 16 |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all.
The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal.
I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love.
But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed.
I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight.
The school’s football team had arrived.
| "The stars flew past me like little cosmic pebbles as I helplessly careened through space, my escape pod destined to become my coffin.
In desperation, I tried to radio the mother ship, but to no avail. A faulty ship? Sabotage? A mistake on my part? Unfortunately, it looks like no one can say for sure, although it's starting to look like I'm going to put the "terminal" in terminal velocity.
In my little fugue, I think about how happy I am that I'm just going to crash into a small planet and die quickly, as opposed to suffocating or starving to death out in the blackness of space."
The children gaze at me, all spiffed up in my brillant space suit, sitting in a cul-de-sac taken out of time, all in fascination as I let loose a loud sneeze. The *human* children, I might add, on this definitely *alien* planet. One of their mothers, having just diligently delivered some full cans of *Coca-Cola* (alien planet, remember) watches vigilantly for any sign of trouble, but they were certainly more trusting than I was expecting. At least, I certainly know my mom would never let strange men near their children. Little things like that, in addition to the architecture that I've seen, as well as the clothes, really give off an "early 60's" vibe.
"Show us the trick again!" a little boy squeals. "Yeah!" pipe a few more.
It makes me feel like a badass, anyway. I glance at a freckled boy who looks like a little bit like the bully from "Recess," and in my most authoritative voice, "Hey, chuck your can in the air!"
As the can gains more height, I aim my glove at it and nail it directly with a laser beam, much to the awe of the children and shock of the mother. She grabs the arm of the Gelman look-a-like, and starts heading into what I presume is her house. Insulting, but I can understand.
A grunt from behind alerts me to the presence of the police behind me. He tells me that "they've" arrived, whoever that means. I figured my best bet as soon as I landed in this suburban paradise was to contact law enforcement, maybe that could give me a way out, or *something*. It wasn't very difficult to find someone, considering I crashed into someone's fence. I figured being proactive, as opposed to waiting the decades it could potentially take for my people to come back here, would be a much better use of my time. A very slick looking car stops next to us, the back door opened by a rather dapper young woman.
The passenger window rolled down slowly to reveal a man in his early 40's.
"Please," he starts, a grin going across his face, "we've got quite the tour for you..." | 2017-03-26T20:59:04 | 2017-03-26T17:32:20 | 421 | 34 |
[WP] HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Every year your mysterious Uncle Rick has sent you a birthday package. Once, it was a DVD, 2 years before DVD's were invented. This year, the box contains what looks like a 2020 iPhone, but the most interesting thing is the wadded up newspapers used to cushion it.
It's my birthday. Five decades. Party at my place, BYOB. | Actually Uncle Rick wasn’t my uncle. He was my Great Uncle. Or some other distant relative, actually my relationship with him wasn’t very clear to me. I had never seen him in person, but I felt like I knew him quite well. The voice he used in the letters he sent me felt very familiar, the jokes he made I could have made and his sense of humour was almost exactly the same as mine, his handwriting was so similar to mine that I could have written the letters myself. We were both into incredibly dry humour and horrible puns, jokes so bad that most sane people would frown and moan upon hearing them. We only contacted each other through letters, handwritten, he insisted upon that. Twice a year I would get a letter from him, during Christmas and on my birthday. I could only write back to him then, because he left his address at the bottom of the page in each letter. And every time the address was different. He moved around quite a lot.
I’m not sure how my parents felt about Uncle Rick. They didn’t keep the letter he sent them, or me, on the day I was born. Apparently he congratulated me and my parents in that first letter, and introduced himself as a family friend of my grandparents. At first my parents didn’t think anything of it because they received lots of letters and cards from acquaintances who wanted to congratulate them. The fact that they had named me Rick a day before receiving the letter also didn’t strike them as strange because Rick was a fairly common name. They did keep the reflective discs with a hole in the middle. Two years later, by the time that those discs became known as DVDs, they had forgotten about them however.
Every year, I received gifts from Uncle Rick. Sometimes it were ordinary gifts, such as books. Sometimes it were peculiar gifts, such as the digital camera I received when everyone around me was still using film rolls. I always kept those gifts safely stowed away in my room. I never dared to use them. I never forgot about Uncle Rick, it seemed like he was always in the back of my mind. I wanted to visit him, wherever he lived, but I never asked him because I somehow felt that I couldn’t see him. I didn’t want to upset him, and our strange relationship seemed to be dictated by his terms anyways. I never knew if my letters reached him. He never wrote back or mentioned them again.
And still, every year a package reaches my mailbox, always tied and wrapped in the same brown paper. And now, on my 22nd birthday, I have received a new package. When I open it up I find a sleek looking Iphone inside, wrapped in crumpled newspapers. *Iphone 9s*. I’m used to these gifts that seem to be from the future, but I’m surprised. I have always dismissed the thought that they could really be from the future. I have always told myself that Uncle Rick just bought me cutting edge stuff that had already been developed but hadn’t appeared on the market yet. This time I’m not so sure. I put the Iphone on my desk and take the crumpled newspaper. I smooth it out on my lap.
*21 January 2021*. I continue reading the front page.
*Scientists at Princeton University Discover First Time Machine, a truly wonderful day for humankind*
*A team of scientists led by the 26-year old R. Mackey have discovered a way to travel in time*-
The newspaper falls to the floor while I sink back in my chair in shock. When the newspaper reaches the ground another paper falls out. The familiar brown envelope, the familiar handwriting.
*My dearest Rick,*
*Congratulations on your 22nd, after all you can’t be 21 forever. Today I give you my ultimate gift. You see Rick, I had to save you. I had to save myself. All the stories are true. Humankind is done for, and will go extinct in the coming years. I, you, found a way to cheat time. The directions are all on the DVDs I gave you the day you were born. It might seem difficult, impossible even, but you will succeed. Trust me, I know. Life will be good in the past, you will enjoy yourself.*
*Good Luck,*
*Your dearest Rick.*
It is only when I pick up the newspaper again that I see the picture next to the article. It shows a smiling man. It shows a smiling me.
| “Uncle Rick, this is Nicky. We really have to talk. I’m not sure you’re getting my messages, I’ve been trying to leave you a voicemail, but I can’t figure out all the settings on this thing. Whatever. Its really important. Call me back.” Nicky hung up the phone.
Nicky sighed as he sat down in his cramped Brooklyn apartment kitchen. He had uncrumpled the sheets of newspaper and they now covered his kitchen table. He read through the papers again. One of the sheets had a date in the top right corner - July 17, 2020. That didn’t make sense, it was July 2017, but things never made sense with Uncle Rick. This was too much though. He read the lead stories again: *Nuclear War in Asia. Adolf Hitler Returned to Life. Cancer an Airborne Disease.*
Nicky got up to take a piss. But he was cut off as a slurping sound suddenly opened a swirling green vortex in his kitchen. “Hey, I’m walking here…” Nicky said.
Rick Sanchez stepped through the portal, into Nicky’s kitchen apartment. He pulled a futuristic gun and aimed it directly at Nicky.
“Uncle Rick, what, what are you doing?” Nicky asked.
“Listen, whatever you…*burp*…whatever you think you are. I’m not your uncle,” spit dribbled from Rick’s mouth as he spoke. He reeked of alcohol. “What, what are you doing right now? Are you crying? Holy shit, you’re actually crying. I, I’ve got to give it to you. I didn’t think you things could cry.”
“Uncle Rick, I got the cell phone you sent from the future, but I saw the newspaper cli--” Nicky started again.
“Would you…*burp*…would you just shut up. That cell phone’s not from the future. Its, it’s a god damn StarTAC. Look at the back. I wrote iPhone 2020 on it with a marker. A sharpie marker. Your species might literally be the dumbest f---ing thing in all of the multiverses. And I’ve been to Epilon 419. Epilon 419. Their lead…*burp*… their lead scientist just figured out that farts come out of your ass. Its their greatest scientific discovery. Its literally, its literally a worldwide holiday there. They’re scheduling a parade. But no, you’re actually dumber.”
“I don’t understand Uncle Rick. Why would you send me this then?” Nicky asked. “And all the other gifts?”
“Alright listen. I’ll speak slowly. I just need, I need you to understand how dumb you are before I kill you. Its, its only right. Also, I’m basically…*burp*…I’m basically just killing time until I get another call,” Rick said. “I’m not your Uncle. You’re a parasite. All of your memories of us are an illusion. You got that, fake memories? I never sent you anything before this. I never took you to Coney Island. We never played Hungry, Hungry Hippos. I never hugged you after Grandma’s HIV scare. Fake. *Burp.* All completely fake. Nicky, you’re a parasite. And, and like we said a really dumb parasite. I have half a mind to take you to the fart scientist. Just to see what you could learn. You could study with them.”
Rick continued, “But here’s the thing Nicky. I’m not going to do that. I’m going to…*burp*…I’m going to exterminate every one of you. Because you multiply off of people’s memories. You give people fake memories of fake happiness. The world doesn’t need any more of that. You hitchhiked back to my reality….*burp*….I couldn’t sniff out all of you. But I set off a EK4 Pulse Modulator to trap you in your current forms. Then it was easy, I just sent out a cell phone for you to call me with some bad news attached in newspaper clippings. You things can’t handle bad news. Its, its all happy memories with you. So that’s it. One big trap to make sure, to make sure I didn’t accidentally kill Beth or Summer over fake memories.”
“Cousin Beth!” Nicky yelled between his tears.
“No. She’s not -- Holy shit, why am I bothering,” Rick said. He fired his gun at Cousin Nicky, who shriveled up into his worm parasite form as he died.
/r/Fatty_McFatts
| 2017-07-17T14:02:47 | 2017-07-17T13:01:19 | 23 | 14 |
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