prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] "I saw a guy at Starbucks today. He had no smartphone, tablet, or laptop. He just sat there drinking his coffee. Like a psychopath." | "How much sleep have you been getting, hun?" asked Jen, softly. She placed her hand on his cheek tenderly. "Honestly, it's like you don't know what to do with yourself when I'm gone."
Daniel chuckled. "I don't. Picking up after the dog is nothing like picking up after you. There aren't socks and hair clips all over the place."
"Oh quiet. I can tell you miss me. I only have one more week though. The guys up high like to take their time. Meeting after meeting after pointless, fucking meeting." She sipped her coffee, grimacing slightly as it burned her tongue.
"I understand, I understand. You guys can take your time. I'll try to keep the bed empty for you when you come back, promise." He crossed his pointer and middle finger together, grinning mischievously. She slapped his arm playfully, as they both stifled their laughs.
As their laughter subsided, a small smile hanging on Daniel's face, his eyes passed over the room. Small corner Starbucks, Saturday; busy as busy gets. Young and old filled the coffee shop. College students tick-and-tacked away on their laptops, young women sat in gaggles, chatting away, phones buzzed and rang. Something was off though. "You see that guy in the corner booth? Red tie, brown jacket." Jen nodded, curious. "I know this sounds stupid, but there's something about him. He doesn't have an iPhone, or tablet, or laptop. Or even a book. He's just sitting there drinking his coffee."
"Maybe he just knows how to enjoy a good cup of coffee."
"Then why the hell is he at Starbucks?"
"Oh."
| Like a sore thumb, he stuck out in a way that no one else did. I was still in line when he caught my eye. I stifled a gasp as I sucked in air, him catching me completely unaware. He wasn't like the others. They were all focused elsewhere, consumed in that which wasn't here. Their passive lack of interest was my safety. It allowed me to be as I was, anonymous and unnoticed.
Darting my eyes, I avoided his, wandering and curious. I payed for my order, giving my name, which was more than I was used to giving to anyone. The moment passed, and I was safe again amidst the anonymity.
But his zen was pressing at me. I stole a glance at him as a child would look at the sun. But I was not hurt, and was rewarded by a radiating smile as his eyes locked with mine. My cheeks reddened as I smiled back.
He drew out a chair, gestured for me to join. I glanced around, seeing if anyone noticed us. But we were all alone. I nod, and take a seat beside him. The only others were faces in screens, elsewhere. But he was not there, he was here with me. | 2016-03-05T13:28:47 | 2016-03-05T11:10:21 | 965 | 74 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "GREETINGS FELLOW ADVENTURING HUMANS!" Boomed the voice of Danny the Elf sat bolt upright from the sleeping cloth sack she had been in, causing Bob the Barbarian to grunt and curl up under his animal hide sleeping rug again.
"IT IS I, YOUR GOOD FRIEND DAN, I AM UNHARMED AFTER MY ENCOUNTER WITH THE DAEMON!" She continued smiling oddly, her mouth breaking into a wide grin with teeth and her eyebrows actually elevating.
"Dann...." Feldspar the half-elf warlock managed to stop himself from saying Danny, "You told us this before, remember?"
Danny the Elf blinked, everything was always so terribly confusing, having come from a dimension that didn't have time it had to learn about things happening and things that had happened, Makor the Cleric had helped with that, teaching the snow elf about how things happen and can't be changed but things that haven't happened yet can be altered.
"OH YES FRIEND!" Danny laughed as if it was a running joke, Sim the halfling thief/bard laughed a little as well in sympathy or perhaps enjoyment.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING TODAY? WILL THERE BE MORE EXCELLENT FERMENTED YEAST PRODUCTS TO CONSUME?"
Makor nodded slowly, "That's right Dan, more beer at the end of the adventure, now how did we get back the entrance avoiding the dragon, getting the treasure and nobody getting hurt?"
"OF COURSE FRIEND! THIS IS A THING THAT HAPPENED ALREADY AFTER ALL!" Danny confirmed with the group as each of them nodded in agreement pressing in to listen carefully to Danny.
"FIRSTLY, WE LEFT THE ROOM BY THE SOUTH ENTRANCE, SIM DISABLED THE PIT TRAP AFTER FALLING INTO IT AND DYING THE FIRST TIME HE TRIED." Danny started to explain.
Sim frowned a little looking towards the South entrance, he'd died; again, if 'Dan' hadn't told him about the pit trap or the acid or the undercooked chicken or ... he was incredibly glad that 'Dan' had changed so dramatically since that encounter with the demon.
"THE TREASURE IS MOSTLY CURSED AND FELDSPAR CHANGED INTO A SHEEP WHEN HE PICKED UP A STAFF THEN A STATUE AS HE TOUCHED THE CURSED DIAMOND AS LARGE AS HIS FIST AND THEN WAS KILLED AS HE PICKED UP A CROWN." Danny continued as Feldspar took careful notes, the warlock couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to cast identification or detect item status.
Feldspar liked whatever was living inside Danny, even when the party wasn't using it as a cheap way to complete adventures the Elf was nicer, kinder and fun to listen to, with her soft voice always shouting it was hard not to giggle at her.
"THEN AS WE LEAVE THE REAL MAKOR ATTACKS THE FAKE ONE CURRENTLY TRAVELLING WITH US AND IS EASILY DEFEATED." Danny concluded smiling proudly.
Makor looked around the group as for a moment he was sure that his plan had been ruined, they must know, it was just said aloud.
Sim however was fiddling with his lock picks, clearly fully distracted, Feldspar was already in a meditative trance memorising spells.
Bob smiled widely at Makor and Danny before speaking in his native tongue, "What did she say then? Sounded like bad news for you, Feldspar and Sim..."
Makor nodded with a rush of relief as Bob wondered how many more times he could possibly pass that particular lie your face off check. | Bolton the doppelganger did not want to be an adventurer. He wanted to live quietly, and bake cookies. He grew tired of the constant hustle and bustle of morphing into people, committing crimes because no one trusted the Doppleganger kind. He figured his secluded life in the hills might buy him peace.
The rogue laid on his floor, blood oozing from the pan shaped dent on his forehead. The doppleganger held his frying pan, a pained look on his face.
"I didn't mean to kill you..." he muttered, letting the pan fall to the ground, and burying his smooth black face in his long alien fingers.
Bolton had awoken to the sounds of someone rummaging through his dresser. Without really thinking he'd lifted his trusty frying pan, and crept up on the black cloaked figure. The rogue, a stout fat dwarf turned and snarled at him bradishing twin black daggers.
"hey stop stealing my stuff!" Bolton said.
The rogue responded with an inept slash of a dagger. With a frightened flurry of pan blows Bolton had brought the rogue to the ground.
Now Bolton fretted. Many a doppler murdered with impunity, but Bolton never wished to do anything more than avoid trouble. He could read minds, yet he refused to. It spoiled the fun of meeting people, and knowing them. Due to this aversion to murder Bolton now stood paralyzed, unable to think of what to do with this body.
He began to poke at the stocky form, when he heard a firm knock emanating from behind his wood door.
"Durin, you oaf, you've been gone hours, what's going on."
Without really thinking Bolton became Durin. With a slam Barrin the Paladin opened the door and saw two Durins, one wearing simple clothes, the other armor. One wielded Durin's black steel knives, the other a bloodied cast iron pan.
"What's going on here?" Barrin asked.
"well um, see I fell asleep here in this cave, and then this doppleganger tried to steal my armor and knives and so I had to beat him with this frying pan?" Said Bolton.
The paladin smirked.
"I see, well good job. Now come on. We've got some ruins to explore. And next time maybe don't rob a domicile if you aren't sure it is abandoned." Barrin said.
Reluctantly, Bolton donned the dead Durrin's armor, and tools. After the paladin buried Durin, and planted a plank in the ground. The dopple busied himself inside preparing his house to be left, and Barrin wrote with a peice of charcoal from his pouch.
"here lies, Durin, a theif, a rat bastard, and a betrayer. He got himself killed robbing a good man." He wrote.
With a cool wisp of the wind following them, the newly minted Bolton/Durrin followed Barrin, not sure of the golden Haired human's destination, and worrying deeply of the state of his garden.
| 2017-09-15T08:25:27 | 2017-09-15T05:03:01 | 90 | 12 |
[WP] Nuclear holocaust is imminent. The rich and powerfull are hiding away in their bunkers, but when the countdown was finished the world was still there. One message was sent around the world via satellites: "Now They have imprisoned Themselves what shall We do?" With coords of all the bunkers.. | The relief was palpable. At the very last second of the eleventh hour, a miracle happened.
As soon as the net was back up, the underground went to work, blocking all transmissions in and out of the bunkers. Easy enough said one Anonymous hacker.
So, the bunker crowd, as the people now called them, had no idea it was no longer necessary to cower underground. Discussion on reddit speculated on how many days, weeks, months, the silo monkeys (another popular name for them) would feel they needed until it was safe to come out. As all communication with the outside seemed to have disappeared, the holocaust must have occurred.
The people came to a decision. Many of them had moral hesitancy about the plan but after being reminded daily about how the silo monkeys planned to leave them all to perish in the fireball or from the agony of poisoning afterward without a single thought, they acquiesced.
Some tops were welded shut. Groups in some areas thought it poetic to roll huge boulders over the exits. Every bunker that had been located was sealed. Several sign makers, sculptors and bronze workers around the world fashioned engraved plaques, meant to stand up to time. Most read "look on my works ye mighty and despair." | No one actually trusted them.
Once the ruse was discovered, people did as people would... and helped them.
Millions of people died in the fear and panic caused by the Terrorists; mothers smothering infants in the fear of immenity death, sucide pacts signed in the last minute, and riots across the world in fear of a death that would never come...
all because someone wanted to prove a POINT, they ended up harming the ones they claimed to care about...
After they were caught, tried and imprisoned, society realized that they had created an atmosphere of terror... So the people of the world got together and fully destroyed all nuclear weapons. the fear of the atomic bomb died alongside those who carelessly weaponized it for their sick political aim | 2022-07-18T18:21:12 | 2022-07-18T17:54:11 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] The entire Star Wars series, all 7 movies, are released as one book, written by Dr. Seuss. | One war, two war
Red war, blue war
I see rebels
I see ravels
Rebels rabble, rebels ravel
Spaceships striking
Striking, liking
Do you see rebel spaceships striking?
A base, a vase, a hidden case
The rebels have a hidden base
The rebels have a noble case
They win within their noble base
Now say this quickly here with me:
Galactic guys go grey and grow
Galactic guys by good are gone
Gone are Galactic guys grown great
Gone do Galactic greats grow grey
The rebels steal, the rebels steel
The rebels steal with their steel
The rebels steal steel steeples
The rebels spy and steal steel
The rebels steal plans and parts
The rebels steal thoughts and hearts
The rebels think and plan and part
The Empire's plans the rebels thwart
The star is deadly,
The star is deathly
The star is deftly deathly deadly
The star is death and deadly and destructive
And can destroy the dunes on planet
Doomed with dunes and death
And deftly doom the dunes to death
The princess runs
The princess races
The Empire runs
The Empire races
The empire races the princess who runs
The princess runs the Empire's races
The boy gives freedom,
The boy gives force
The boy gives force and freedom force
The boy forces freedom with the force
To defeat the Empire with the force
---
Thanks for reading! For more, check out and subscribe to /r/Celsius232 | **Episode 1**
The jedi master Qui Gon Jin
And his student Obi Wan
were caught up in a dastardly trap
but when sprung, they were gone!
----
They snuck onto a ship
and went down to Naboo
Where they met Jar Jar Binks,
Queen Padme, and even Artoo!
----
"to the desert planet Tattoine,"
did Qui Gon Jin then call.
There they found little Anakin
But also cruel Darth Maul.
---
Next they flew to Coruscant
To see what the Senate could do
And the Jedi rejected Anakin
'cause trouble he would brew.
----
They returned to face the Nemoidians
And went to find Gunray
Darth Maul was waiting for them, though
And poor Qui Gon did he slay.
--------
Anakin soared through space above
And into the Federation cruiser.
He accidentally blew it up
Making them the war's loser.
--------
With his final dying breath
Qui Gon pleaded with Obi Wan
"Take on poor orphaned Anakin
As your new Padawan."
| 2016-05-16T07:23:54 | 2016-05-16T06:29:01 | 799 | 71 |
[WP] As a joke you take your pet pig on a plane with you once you get up in to the air Suddenly, several things once said to be impossible until this very moment start occurring everywhere. | “You think you’re real funny huh?”Tom said as he was rolling his eyes, looking at me like the Black Plague.
“I’m just trying to prove a point, Tom. Get off my back” I said while bringing Trev to the cockpit. “Pigs gotta fly someday and you don’t see a pilot with a teacup pig too often”
The plane was heading to Singapore and it’s ETA was 5 hours from now. It wasn’t a short flight but it was short enough to bring Trev along with me.
Two hours in and we’ve received word that there was a sudden notice of bad weather coming up in a few minutes. Tom proceeded to make an announcement of turbulence and seatbelts were buckled.
Without notice, Trev oinked with excitement and jerked around uncontrollably. It was weird because Trev only reacted in that way when he’d meet other pigs and my mother.
“What in the actual fu..” Tom shouted but couldn’t finish when the plane was suddenly hit by what felt like hail. I looked closely and what I saw was not hail.
They were cats and dogs.
Edit: Thanks for having a read at my story. Hope y’all are liking it as much as me writing it! | "It's a dark and porky night", said Steve as he took them lower. "And we're all going to hell."
Steve took a sip of his drink and took them a bit lower. "It's a bit nippy, don't you think? Shouldn't we close the back window?"
"Just keep going! We have to get this done."
"But Wilbur needs rest. And Babe..."
"Keep going!"
Steve grabbed the helm and nosedived. *We have to get this done.*
"Hit him on the right side!", she directed.
"But he's moving!"
"Hit him on the right side!"
"He's MOVING!"
The last thing he felt was the chill from the back window.
| 2018-07-28T07:22:49 | 2018-07-28T07:21:29 | 2,333 | 19 |
[WP] When you die, you find yourself in a room with nothing but a TV, a game controller, a couch, and a mini-fridge. When you turn on the TV it informs you that you have unlocked Free Play Mode. You can now replay another person’s life. | Aaron did not have to think for long. Most people would pick a famous personality, a person who inherited riches and lived a life of happiness and luxury. An easy life. But something in Aaron clicked as soon as he read those instructions. An urge from when he was alive, a question he always asked himself about the one man he was always behind at everything. What was it like in Alexander's shoes?
His early days were one of struggle, an unskippable block of misery. A hard level in this game called life. How was he always so positive and upbeat after this? Aaron spectated as his friend was knocked down again and again without a hint of victory, Luck wasn't as kind to him as Aaron had thought.
There was something about him though, something kept him going and Aaron needed to find out what it was. Something was keeping this man from giving up, and even the game couldn't provide Aaron with answers. After a point, it was like Alex had nothing and no one left.
But he kept his head high, educating himself, building himself, training for another battle. A battle where he would have something to prove, and nothing to lose. Seeing me in his life was bittersweet, he always was nice to me. I viewed him with green tinted eyes while he was just happy to have a colleague.
His climb seemed endless and supreme, he never wasted a second of his time while I waited and pondered about my next move. He was like a machine, always hungry. He raised the stakes of every game he played. But he wasn't trying to get ahead of me, he was trying to help me. I hated myself as I saw him through his eyes. I could have learned so much from him.
As his life ended, I remember celebrating. It was like a victory for me, I had finally beat him at something. But the World lost something that day, a pure soul with undying potential and thirst, who could have changed everything with someone's support. I should have known the world was wide enough for both Alexander and me. | After seven days of rage, many tears and indiscriminate raging at the walls, I finally resigned myself to accepting the rather anti-climatic fact that I had died.
I guess I really should have worn that mask, but I digress.
The fridge was welcome, it had all my favorite drinks, whether it was mimosas or fresh spring water, all I had to do was open the illuminated door and there it was.
And the sofa was a revelation entirely, God knows how many ducks had to go bald to fill those cushions but they were worthy of an afterlife.
Boredom rapidly ensued so I picked up the controller and hit the character screen. There were quite a few familiar names there, Gandhi, Tom Cruise, Dolly Parton, Nikolai Tesla...
I used the search option and chose a familiar name.
Time is a strange whirly thing when viewed from any distance. The early "days" were fun, lots of quick seemingly insignificant moments. A clear sky, swans on a lake, a smile, oily hands and motorbike parts, another smile.
Then a crescendo of emotion, love and happiness and two tiny eyes. They looked familiar, strangely enough. They grew bigger, terrifyingly quickly, and then....closed, suddenly.
The lights came up, and the curtain pulled back. "I'm sorry, your son didn't make it. We tried everything we could. We need this ventilator now for anther room, so sorry, again
I did look a little pale from my fathers eyes. | 2020-12-16T07:09:29 | 2020-12-16T07:04:01 | 156 | 78 |
[WP] Four years ago you opened a fortune cookie that simply read "Don't panic", and since that day you gained notoriety for your unbelievable acts of bravery. You just opened a fortune cookie that reads "Reach for the stars". | Don't panic.
Those words came from the only fortune cookie that had ever really affected me. It was strange, no one else in my dinner group had gotten something so short. Not to mention the font choice. I could only assume it was a printer error.
Don't panic.
A sentiment that could mean just about anything. The problem was, it made me a bit paranoid about what I shouldn't be panicking about. This caution made me more aware. As the days turned to months, I began to act through it. I saved a child from a bus, I stopped a man from choking on his food, I even saved the mayor when town hall went up in flames.
As months turned to years, I was prominently featured on talk shows and newspapers. I was given a key to the city and had multiple writers offer to write biographies about me. Panic was a thing of the past. No matter what the situation was, I was always the one with a level head.
But when almost four years after receiving the life changing confectionery, I received a similar fortune, I was a little shook.
Reach for the stars.
It was similar to the fortune I'd gotten before. Strangely short with a weird font. No one understood what it meant, except for the fact that if it was like my other one, I'd be going places. I decided to take it both figuratively and literally. I began investing, it brought me some money, but once I pulled all my earnings towards funding hypothetical space travel.
Years later, I was the first one to make it out of the local cluster. Though from inside my ship, the universe looked beautiful, I would soon find out it was just as dangerous as my home. We met civilizations and even ended up becoming a part of the galactic community.
I became well known in space, just like I did before, and tired with the constant notoriety, I decided to go off on my own. For years, I wandered through the galaxy, being picked up by ships and hopping on to others. I documented all of my findings, I recorded what I saw. Soon enough, I had enough to fill up an encyclopedia, but there are already enough of those.
Finally retiring from my adventure, I made my way to publishers in Ursa Minor, hoping to collect my memoirs together. Strangely enough, it was an instant hit with those who saw it. With their publishing, I also decided to allow expansion of the book. Writers from all over could submit their findings to advance it's knowledge.
The one perfect touch, however, was on the cover. I decided to put on the most remarkable words that I'd ever been told, in the same font that it had approached me in. Many people described them as large and friendly. With my legacy solidified, I retired.
Don't panic lived on in the book I started, and would continue on till it found a rather extraordinary string of adventures with a man known as Arthur Dent. | A fine day a boy was playing in the yard with his friends and seems they were having fun enjoying their company, they were living their life as the best childhood anyone can have,
Suddenly the boy's mom called his name. She was calling him to have a snack since they were playing for a long time. They went inside the home and mom offered milk and a cookie to the boys, those cookies were some special cookies brought from the new store just recently opened.
The boy tears the cookies cover and take out one of the cookies and broke from the center his friend was asking him enthusiastically tell me what is written there, tell me
The boy opened the fortune cookie and read it out loud...DON’T PANIC!!
Boys got disappointed and were expecting to get a fortune for toys or a vacation on the island. Though the day was tiring and products for the boys and friend went back to his home, some time passed. It was 7 years later and they are still friends together with a deep bond.
The boys are full-grown adults now having their fun and planned a trip to the hills by bus
They both were traveling to the mountains like this on their wish list.
They were ready and boarded the bus for the mountains. Bus started. Everyone on the bus was having fun, some were tired and slept. It's been 6 hours in the bus and the bus reaches the narrow path of the mountains where the path was zig-zagging. The driver had to be careful because the bus was going smoothly on his way.
Out of the blue, a big rock from the mountains hit the bus and it made the bus turn around, half of the bus hanging between the abyss and the road.
Everyone was panic, they can see death in front of their eyes, any moment they can die
But the two friends who were also there on the bus didn't seem to panic. They don't know why but they were calm like the ocean. They were analyzing the situation as everyone was panicking and wanted to save themselves. These two boys showed bravery and saved the entire people on the bus and they got famous for their act, they were on the news and social media everyone was praising them for their good work.
​
PS: This is my first attempt to write any fiction story or any piece of writing, Kindly enlighten me with your valuable feedback. | 2021-08-24T10:50:49 | 2021-08-24T10:45:36 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You are reincarnated 10,000 years into the future. You come across an ancient artifact on display in the Museum of History, where you work. Little is known about it, not even where it was uncovered. Upon touching it, you realize it was yours. | *It looks silly,* I tell myself, looking at the small clay statuette. The paint has chipped and faded, and the shape is barely discernible. My task is to restore this nonsensical item, to display it where some curious mind may ponder its original purpose. And it looks ridiculous.
*Ten thousand years ago, some unknown person held this clay in their hands, and formed it into this shape. But why? What could be so fascinating, so important, that led this unknown sculptor to craft an item of this nature?* The artifact is small, less than six outdated inches long, and the chemical analyses done credit the base material to be a substance once known as “air-dry-clay”. Magnetic resonances and advanced chemistry identified the composition of the pigments that were flaking off of the edges of the strange quadrupedal creature that some unknown set of hands had clumsily molded.
Cautiously, I dip my brush into a small pot of a slightly orange brown acrylic paint. The brush glides across the bumps and ridges of fingerprints long since recycled into dust, save for their impressions preserved in the clay figurine. The statuette has only been painted in two colors, and I had already restored the brick red of the center of the statuette.
It was shaped rather crudely, in a childish simulacrum of a rounded cylindrical object wrapped partially in a soft casing. The creator of this object had also decided to include four awkwardly formed stumpy legs, arranged as if on a cat or a similar creature. Two of the legs, both on the one side, had been broken off at one point, as was evidenced both by chipping in the paint and in the cosmetic adhesive that was employed in a clumsy repair of the object.
*Whoever made this, cared enough to preserve it through everything it saw. It was broken, at least once, and repaired with the same degree of care that went into its creation. It must have been special only to whoever took the time to make it.*
Slowly, I pick up my glasses, and put them on. This is the most difficult part, now that all the paint has dried. I am able to see the faint traces of a set of markings that adorned either side of the brick red center of this miniature idol, roughly puckered with the creator’s fingernail marks. With an era-appropriate replica of a permanent marking tool, I precisely mark a small “x” on one side of the figure, and two dots for eyes and a small curve for a mouth on the other side.
*In my mind, I see a different set of hands. They are much like mine, except they bear a scar that mine does not. I sit at a different desk and wear different clothes, and am bent over the figure, white and damp, forming it with fingers a chalky white from the clay. A second passes, and I am awkwardly mixing the paint into the appropriate colors. Another moment passes and I am holding the dry figurine and with an unsteady hand drawing on its features. I see someone take it from its place of display and accidentally break off two legs, and I feel the multiple adhesives that were used to improvise a repair to the misshapen creature. The hands that are mine but not mine set it down, and now I know its name.*
“So that’s who you are,” I whisper to myself, almost in awe. “Hotdog with Legs.” | As I entered the exhibit, I laid eyes on the thing. Something seemed familiar about it, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, and continued on with the tour group, yet still, it bothered me. That feeling of knowing something that you just can't bring yourself to remember. Like it was right on the tip of my tongue. Something important. I couldn't sleep that night. I dreamed of the book, and I knew I had to hold it in my hands. It made no sense to me at all. Such an antiquated and outdated bit of junk, dug up during the construction of the nearly complete Harlsberg tunnel. They were digging to the core of the earth to try and harness the geothermal energy or something. Waste of time if you ask me. But their incessant digging did yield quite a number of interesting (albeit useless) bits of history. But the book (at least that's what they called it) was easily ten thousand years old or more. And it called out to me in a way I had never known. No way had I ever seen it before, but it felt more than familiar. It felt like some long lost item that had been forgotten with the passage of time. Like some childhood trinket discovered in an old box in the attic. You hold it, and the memories come flooding back and you remember why it was so special in the first place. That was my book. I knew it with more certainty than I've ever known anything in my entire existence. And I had to have it back. So I began to devise a plan.
​
It's been six months since that fateful day. I'm the night watchman at the museum now, which was no easy feat to pull off. The place pretty much guards itself, not that I care anyway. I'm only here for one thing. I've been biding my time, waiting for my opportunity to reclaim that which is rightfully mine. And this was my moment. This was what I've been waiting for all along. As I crept closer to the display case, every hair on my body stood on end. My heart beat so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest at any moment. My forehead glistened with beads of sweat. I must be crazy. I should probably just turn around now, but I cannot. The draw is too strong. I disabled the alarm, slid open the case, reached out a trembling hand and took hold of the book. And then it hit me, like a blinding light, the weight of centuries of knowledge pouring into my mind. All the memories came flooding back. I opened the book, but it's pages were blank. I was the book now, I remembered it all. This wasn't my first reincarnation, nor would it be my last. I had to stop them from reaching the ancient temple, hidden at the center of the earth. The one my people have guarded for eons, filled with secrets too powerful for mere mortals. I am the gate keeper, and I was reborn for this moment. | 2019-09-23T20:41:52 | 2019-09-23T18:10:27 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] You’ve had the ability to stop time ever since you were born. You’ve used your ability for numerous crimes, such as theft, tax evasion and even murder. One day, however, you stop time and you hear a voice. “At long last, I finally uncovered your trick.” | I hopped with surprise and felt my power reject me. Whenever I got scared, my first instinct was to stop time until I got control. But time was already stopped. My power rejected the second attempt.
"What? Who?" I asked. I didn't know how to react. I couldn't remember the last time I experienced this feeling. Fear.
I turned rapidly, looking between the bodies of the train station. I was just trying to get off the train after having done my business for the day. Why did the time stop do something different now? I had never heard noise not coming from myself before. And between the focused looks of the frozen, exiting passengers, I couldn't get a read on who said anything.
"Hello?" I said quietly, spinning even faster in place.
"I'd seen it before, you know. You disappearing from sight. One second you'd be sitting in your seat. The next, you'd disappear. First time, I thought my eyes played tricks on me. I was wondering why the seat next to me was left vacant when the whole train was packed! But it wasn't the one time. There were so many other instances, and you know what was common with every instance?"
I swallowed, making eye contact with an older man wearing a sweatshirt pulled up over his head. He held a sinister smile, like he'd waited his entire life for this moment. I stared at him, dumbfounded. My instincts were trying to convince me it was a dream, while my heart raged, desperately trying to escape this experience of fear.
"My wallet was missing a few bucks," he said, holding it up for effect. "Every single time. I would remember having something like seven dollars, but I only had three when I left at my stop. I thought it was some kind of crazed pickpocket. I guess I wasn't too far from the mark, huh?" he said, his teeth making a crazed appearance.
I shook my head rapidly, trying to get control of myself.
"No, I-- I'm not who you think I am," I stuttered.
"Oh, it's some other person freezing time and snagging money from passengers every day, is it?" he said coyly.
"Umm.." was all I could get out. I started hyperventilating, my power pushing back with every instinctual attempt to stop time that had already stopped.
"You never figured out how it worked, did you?" he asked, picking a wallet out of a frozen purse next to him and stacking it on his own.
"W-- what?" I asked, watching him pull more wallet from more bags and pockets.
"You thought it was some power of yours, right? A birth-rite. Something that was part of your being! Well, I know how to tap into it. You're not special," he was approaching me now. His words were like slaps in the face.
I couldn't move a muscle. I was just another mannequin frozen between the rest of scene of passengers making their way out. He stopped in front of me, opening my hands and placing the wallets in them. I shook my head, not understanding.
"The best discovery I made, was not only could I tap into it. But I could take it away!" he said with a laugh. His mania reached a crescendo as he slid a finger across my nose and made a jump back to where he was originally sitting. He snapped his fingers.
I screamed as all the passengers started moving again around me. I never deactivated my power. They shouldn't be moving. I continued to panic and tried to stop time again. It wouldn't work. I couldn't get the power to listen to me. I screamed again, this time other passengers looked my way. The hooded man looked at me with shock and screamed,
"Hey, my wallet!" pointing an accusing finger. More eyes turned on me that I couldn't turn away. I desperately tried once more to stop the motion of the world before my greatest fear came to pass.
"Get him!" another passenger yelled, diving for me.
And I was caught.
__________________________
For more fun stories, come visit r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | I had just killed an FBI agent, and was disposing of his body. In broad daylight, and with gloved hands, I dragged his body along the city sidewalks to a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. I used some "utencils" within the restaurant to cut him up so that I could throw the remains in the bins. In what seemed to be about fifteen minutes, I performed this task and was sitting back in my Manhattan penthouse, drinking coffee and reading *Crime and Punishment*, my designer shoes covered in blood. I finished part 2 and thought to myself how little I related to the main character, Raskolnikov. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the hands on my watch had started to move again.
I saw myself as an evolution in the human order. When one thinks hard about what defines humanity, all humans have in common the advantage of living in the past, present, and future. They are heavily dependent on the chronological sequence of events past, and the predictions of events yet to come. Humans are not unique in their capacities in the present, since they have no means to manipulate the flow of time. Their physiological constructs of long and short term memory, prolific hypothesization, and biases are clear evidence.
There was little concern at the moment. I had all the time in the world to take it over. All I needed was money and knowledge. However, my past ignorance and some loose-ends had lead the U.S. Government onto my trail.
I took another sip of coffee. But somehow, it was just not right. I poured it down the sink. I heard a knock on my door.
I ran to the bathroom and stood inside awkwardly. "Yepp. I'll be right there." I replied.
In my head, I whisked through all the scenarios that I could initiate. I could simply open the door and let the knocker see me in bloodied clothes, to which I might say "it's a new fashion trend," or "don't be alarmed, it's for a halloween party in September." I would obviously kill the person and have to dispose of them later. I opted to change clothes.
"Just give me a minute, I'm in the bathroom," I shouted. I changed into some modest attire.
I walked over to the door and looked into the peephole, there was no one there. I then opened the door. Alas! There was a very, very short man.
"Oh helloo there," I smiled. "Who are you?"
"I know what you're doing. It has to stop."
I felt a tingle in the back of my neck and a deep, empty feeling. I remembered that feeling from when I was a child. I felt it when my father told me to get out of the house. I felt it when my crush turned me down. It was the feeling of being hopelessly vulnerable.
I furrowed my brows, "What are you going to do about it, then?" I replied, quietly.
The small man looked me in the eyes with intensity. His large, ovular nostrils flared and he stroked his pointy chin once with his left hand. I saw that he had a golden ring on his middle finger.
"The appropriate question is," he stated, "what are *you* going to do about it?"
I tried to stop time. But I felt an acute pain in my eye sockets. My vision blurred and I clutched at my head. I trembled and stumbled back into the apartment.
"What have you done to me?" I cried. "Who are you?"
"At long last, I have finally uncovered your trick." He said. "But you can't fool me."
He pulled out a long-barreled pistol, and that is the last that I remember. | 2019-09-17T19:48:42 | 2019-09-17T19:17:30 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Kyloran Estraxx straightened the tie around his right neck. As was protocol when establishing contact with new races, his ship's fabricator tailored an approximation of the style worn by that world's leader. Or leaders, in some cases. In the end, Kyloran settled for a dark blue suit and a white and red tie for each neck.
The diminutive locals bowed and smiled once again, and Kyloran returned the gesture, which sparked off even more bowing. He still had no idea why so many of them congregated on such a small string of islands, but logic--and protocol--dictated that a planet's largest city/hive/nest was often that world's capital.
He was sure this "Toh Kee Hyoh" was the right choice, even if he had to keep bowing.
One approached him and bowed. "Honoured guest, our leaders are ready to see you now."
He copied the bow but not the smile. That unnerved them. "Thank you, honoured host," he said. "Please lead the way."
He followed the local leader through several hallways under an honour guard. Most were tense, even dressed in their own suits Kyloran could sense they were ready to kill or die. It comforted him to know he had made the right choice in selecting this species.
Two servants pulled the doors back and Kyloran padded down his suit before walking in. A bright light ringed the long table and a variety of the planets' leaders stood beside their seats.
He walked to the head of the table and sat as instructed by his host. They had worked out their strategy for this meeting, and Kyloran had decided to trust his host's plan. He had been briefed on each one.
"Mr. Tianpu, Mr. McMillon," he nodded to his left and right. "Hirano-san," he said warmly to the greying local who smiled back. Nobuyuki Hirano had been close with his host and had provided several gifts which had proven useful in understanding the world. He had wanted to speak with the planet's government, or barring that the leaders of the largest nations. But Hirano-san had shown him who held power on this world. Kyloran didn't like it--this world's democracy was probably their greatest invention--but he was here on a matter of life and death, his people's. The humans would have to fix it themselves.
Their familiarity caused the rest to exchange glances, but he went on naming each one after a brief pause. He could name their organizations as well, their revenues, everything they held dear. But he didn't mention that.
"Greetings. I am Kyloran Estraxx, ambassador of the Payapa Unity. I welcome you, the corporate leaders of Earth, to our first conference. Or rather, our negotiations," he said with a smile.
| "They shall have nothing." Was our Arbiter's words.
"They shall have nothing." Was the chant used by his followers to justify themselves.
"They shall have nothing." Was the truest statement uttered in the fifteen years of war.
The Hexams had won the war for all intents and purposes. All that remained was to capture our home of Glonia, and then our Confederacy of Peaceful Glonian Systems would be at an end. Our great civilization based on Science and Democracy would cease to exist.
So, rather than see our Confederacy annexed into the Hexam Dominion and given to some barbaric governor, our Arbiter and his followers decided "They shall have nothing."
Humans were the finest mercenaries in the Galaxy. They were highly intelligent, resourceful, and determined. It was hard to find a more staunch ally or fierce enemy than a human. It wasn't uncommon for various systems to hire human mercenary companies to tame a wild planet or to guard their space stations.
What the Arbiter wanted to do was much, much worse. Humans had been contained within their own system since shortly after their existence was made known to the other civilizations of The Galaxy. The Arbiter wanted to unleash them. Unleash them on a global scale, more than justtaking a few human mercenaries on board a ship, he *gave* the humans those ships, freeing them to spread like vermin across the galaxy.
The largest human faction on Earth (a polluted, over populated carbon based terrestrial planet), agreed to militarize and attack the Hexams on a scale never before seen, in exchange for this new technology. Nearly ten million human warriors (Of the Jarhead Clan, mostly) would destroy the Hexams entirely.
The only problem? "They shall have nothing." This was a scorched land tactic. Nothing could save our Confederacy. The Arbiter and his followers only wished to ensure that the Hexams were destroyed as much as we were. A queer sort of revenge. Give the humans free access to the galaxy, and it was only a matter of time before they ruled it all, polluted it all, and overpopulated it all.
I can only pray that the Great Forebears intervene and send the humans back to their world in ruins as they did so long ago. Maybe this time they won't repopulate and rediscover their desire to destroy and the technology to carry it out. | 2014-12-26T12:09:19 | 2014-12-26T11:03:12 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. | "Please, you must open the door or they will come for me"
I could hear her crying and with a sincere sound of panic in her voice.
I had seen a bite mark, hadn't I?
She started bashing on the door, yelling that they were getting closer and she would die if you didn't let her in.
My tears started rolling down my cheek, she was my daughter still. What kind of father would I be if I let my daughter be hurt by those, things. Slowly I crept towards the door, In one hand I still held the broom I grabbed when the chaos started.
"Hold on, I'm opening the door" I told her while I reached for the lock, and turned it around. The door opened with a click and she ran inside, closing the door behind her. I backed away in shock, I was not prepared for her rushing in like that.
I knew she was almost 18 years old now but she would always be my little girl. Still turned away from me I heard her crying slowly dying out. "Are you ok, did they hurt you" I asked her and slowly went closer.
Then she straightened up and turned around, her top was partly torn and a large bite mark could be seen near her shoulder.
I backed away with shock. It was true, she had been infected already. A smile opened up on her face, "Don't worry daddy, this won't take long" and then she suddenly started to run towards me.
I just managed to steer her away with the broom but this would not work. All that was needed was one bite and I would become one of them. I smacked her on the legs with the broom to make her loose balance. With only a few seconds to spare I turned around towards the door and made a run for it. Fumbling with the lock I could hear her getting back up and starting to move towards me.
"Why are you resisting? This isn't a bad thing, daddy"
The lock turned around with a click and I threw the door open and ran into the hallway.
"You should listen to your daughter" I heard a voice saying from the opposite side. I recognized it, it had to be my neighbour.
He was just standing there at the opposite part of the hallway, he looked exactly the same as he used to do. Even had the same slightly bent over composure, but one thing set him apart.
One of his arms were nothing more than a bloody mess, it was barely holding together but he didn't seem to care at all. A sudden thought of clarity hit me, "they are smart but it's not them, what ever is going on they are not people any longer"
The door out was locked and there was no way I was going to open it without getting bit. My neighbour from one way and my daughter from behind I only had one real way to go. The door to the kitchen was open so I ran in, quickly closing the door behind me. This door couldn't be locked so I just stood and pushed towards it while they tried to get in.
The sound of broken glass interrupted me, looking back I saw another man climb through a window. The glass tore through his skin but didn't react at all. Panicked I grab hold of a bookcase and push it down in front of the door.
"Sorry for breaking in, but I heard you needed help" A voice said calmly. I turned around and saw the man stand just in front of me. He looked like a highschool student but that wasn't him, not anymore.
He slowly approached me, backing me into a corner. Meanwhile my daughter managed to break through the door. They all just stood silently in half circle around me, I was completely trapped.
As a last hope I grabbed something in blind from the desk behind me and started swinging around. I managed to hit my neighbour in the head, but an empty plastic bottle didn't do much damage.
"It's ok, don't be scared" my daughter said before grabbing my arm and burrowing her teeth in me.
Sitting down on the floor the entire world was spinning around, my thoughts were everywhere. Was this the end, would I turn into a mindless beast now.
Then everything cleared and any pain I had was gone, the world seemed brighter and I saw my daughter standing in front of me, smiling. "Welcome to the world of the living" she said happily before helping me up.
|
((Some mild violence and dark themes, kinda new to this so I hope I did it right))
I had always been a zombie buff, everything Walking Dead and Max Brooks I was all over it. Little did I know the real zombie Apocalypse was just around the corner and it…the books the TV shows don’t prepare you for of being real for it happening to YOU. It was about three days ago yeah everything fell apart on three days. I was watching my daughter and son walk home from school from out 3rd story window…Lindsey just a ten year old girl and her older brother Michael. They wave up at me as I lean out the window “Hurry on up kids I have dinner almost done” it was Mike's birthday and I made his favorite meal.
That was when the bomb hit, not a normal explosive not even an atomic bomb the media is saying the explosion was a biological weapon. Super Rabies they keep calling it but we all know what it is…these are the living dead. A lot of people are lucky the disease is airborne most of the time and immunity to the airborne strain isn’t very rare me and mike were both safe from the foul green gas that blanketed the city but safe from the gas doesn’t mean safe. The effects are almost instant as Lindsey collapsed into the street coughing…I kick down the fire escape and try to get to my children to pull them inside away from death but…I hear mike scream as his own sister bites into him dragging him to the ground I was about halfway down the escape when I saw this and…I got scared I’m human okay I pulled up the escape and ran inside. Locking the doors and calling 911 but the system had crashed.
“oh god, oh god its happening I always knew it would happen” the dead were rising but I was safe you needed a code to get into the lobby and to get up the elevator. That’s when I hear a small ping at my door bell. Someone had just entered my apartment’s code into the lobby entrance. Thinking its Mike having gotten away from his sister it didn’t even cross my mind that they might have the memories of their lives so when I check my phone to see through the lobby security camera I nearly faint as covered in deep crimson blood its…my daughter Lindsey dragging her half eaten brother into an elevator. My phone pings now as I receive a text from Lindsay “Daddy is dinner done? I’m so…hungry” there is a photo attatched, a selfie of her and Mike’s body exiting the elevator. I throw my phone in fear it landing in out fish tank “Oh god sh-she remembers my number…” I say and remembering she has a key to the door I run over and push a large shelf in front of it and sure enough not a minute later the door lock clicks open and I hear her trying to push it open “Daddy? The door is stuck” she says still in her innocent little voice “Daddy help me get it open me and mike want some dinner and cake I’m so hungry please let me in”.
The voice sounds like her it really does, it acts like my Lindsey and talks like my Lindsey and hell for all I know maybe it still is my Lindsey but whatever this Virus did to her it made her persistent. Only stopping to kill a neighbor as they come home or take a few bites from her brother other than that it’s all begging “Daddy I smell food are you microwaving popcorn you know its my favorite” I hate eating now…no matter how subtle I am she always knows exactly what I have and pleads to be let in but I know it’s a trick she wants my flesh and dammit after three days I’m tempted to just let her have it to end the begging. I walk over to the door and push the shelf away. The doorknob turns slowly and opens as I see her hand poking through the door “Daddy I’m so glad dinner is ready”
The End
| 2018-09-06T17:04:49 | 2018-09-06T15:42:34 | 52 | 23 |
[WP] While singing gibberish in the shower, you accidentally summon a demon, who then professes an eternity of loyalty for saving it from the doldrums of hell.
or maybe it is pissed you interrupted it while he was watching his favorite show. | "I wash it, I clean it, I soap it, I mean it, get it get it, yeah, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, my lovely lady lumps, check em out!"
"In latin this time! Vanis occulus septus neptum fandom makem happen!"
Justin rinsed the shampoo out of his hair while he continued rambling in "latin". The water began to grow warmer, and warmer until it came spraying out of the shower head in a stream of almost boiling water.
"Holy sh-" Justin tried to hop out of the way, but slipped and fell out of the shower bringing the curtain with him. He landed with a wet slap on the floor.
"Let me help you up Master," a raspy voice said reverently.
Justin shook his head and wiped the remaining suds out of his stinging eyes. A small, red scaled, horned little monster crouched in front of him. The scream Justin let out was less masculine than the terrible song he was singing earlier.
"What the hell are you?" Justin asked trying to gather the shower curtain around his body.
"I am your servant my Master. My name is Azeal," he bowed his horned head.
"Master? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Yes, hell, exactly. You summoned me from hell with your incantation,"
"Incan...what?"
"My lovely lady lumps, vanis occulus septus neptum fandom makem happen."
"That was just pure gibberish!" Justin exclaimed.
"That's what Fergie said," Azeal said with a wicked grin.
"Fergie? I'm losing my mind, I must have hit my head on the way down and this isn't actually happening."
"I assure you I'm real, Master," Azeal said placing a red scaly hand on Justin's arm.
Justin flinched at the touch but tried to remain calm.
"So if I am your master, and you are my servant...what exactly does that mean?" he asked Azeal.
"I can make you famous and wealthy. I can give you the gift of music," he said with a slight bow.
"Really?"
"Of course! Where do you think Fergie came from? The Black Eyed Peas didn't need her, then boom all of a sudden she is in there like swim wear," Azeal mimed a salacious dance.
"Uh, huh...does that mean everyone will hate me if we help me become famous?"
"Oh no, Fergie is just really hateable."
"Well, I guess that's okay then," Justin said slowly
*A year later*
Azeal watched from the wing as Justin walked out onto the stage as the announcer began the introduction.
"The Staples center welcomes Justin Bieber!"
The crowd of girls erupted in cheers and applause.
With every clap and every cheer Azeal grew stronger, he drank in the power emanating from the crowd. As much as the praise made him stronger, the hate is what he really wanted, and oh...how they would hate. A wicked grin split his face as Justin began to sing...
---
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| "So, whatchu we gonna do, Boss?"
Bob shook his head, realizing that he had been absently staring at the pint-sized creature. Its tiny red horns reminded him of a child's devil costume, and its delicate, wrinkly body seemed like it would crumble at moment's notice.
"I, um. Sorry. Who are you, again?"
The imp cackled, a throaty, papery cadence that might have been a dying man on a respirator. "Jah my fuhrer. I does forget what humans be like." Its face took on a solemn expression and its beady, cavernous eyes bore through Bob like a laser.
"I be Noobin, and you save me, man. I be down in Hell, poking out eyes and burning genitalia. You think 12-hour factory shifts here be bad? Try eternity with no bathroom breaks." Noobin grinned, revealing a perfectly aligned, sparkly white row of fangs. "But you say my special phrase. All us demons got one. They be designed to never get spoken, just to give us false hope. But you say mine!"
Bob was staring vacantly again.
"You summon me, don! When you say, 'I never hit so hard in love! Oh, fuck. Did I close the gate...shit, a fucking a spider,' Noobin gets summoned!"
"Ah, right. Okay, um, so what happens now?" Bob wondered if perhaps that spider had bit him, and he was experiencing a rather vivid hallucination.
"Oy, we wreck some havoc together, lord commander!" Noobin screeched. "No more inserting pool balls into sinners' rectums for Noobin! Gots an bad neighbor? I burn their face off. Ugly boss? His head explodes. You be the baddest cholo in the neighborhood, all enemies go running!"
Bob thought about this for a moment. "Well, my neighbors are quite nice, actually. My boss just gave me a raise and doubled my vacation time, and I don't really have any enemies to speak of."
Noobin cocked his head, pursing his lips. "Ah that okay, boss-o. We make our own havoc. Noobin can help you rob banks, steal cars, seduce female objects..."
"Quite good on that too," replied Bob. "Listen, I do need to get to work. Would you mind picking up some milk and eggs while I'm gone, though?"
Noobin's face fell. "Um sure, Prince. Noobin is bound to you, but..."
"Great. The floor needs a good sweep and mop, and the bathtub tile could use a thorough scrubbing." Bob smiled. "I'll get us takeout on my way home. Do you like vegan meatballs?" | 2016-07-13T09:52:29 | 2016-07-13T08:35:16 | 337 | 162 |
[WP] Hurricane Matthew is approaching and at this point there is only one force powerful enough to stop it. Florida Man.
[removed] | He was seven rounds deep with the mutated gator what had tried to snatch his balls in a Taco Bell shitter when the call came in.
"Git, Shitter Gator! Git!" roared Florida Man over the twinkling peel of his Nokia. He grabbed out the syringe of butterscotch pudding he kept in his boot for such and like occasions and stabbed the gator in the eye - blood, viscera, and orange instant pudding splattering the walls.
"Real busy!" crowed Florida Man into the Nokia. "Turtle with herpes in the K-Mart! Speak or shut up!"
"Save us, Florida Man!" screamed a lady's voice on the other end of the phone. "He's comin'! Hurricane Matthew is comin'!"
"Fuck! Really? Fuck! Shit! Okay, shut up," said Florida Man, cramming the pay-as-you-go phone into his cargo shorts. "Miami Hurricanes I'mma *fuck* you up sumpin' **fierce**." And with that he dove through the bathroom window, stole a truck full of Monster Energy, and headed south towards his aunt's house.
"Aunt Windy!" he screamed, huckin' empties at the front door. "Aunt Windy, wake the fuck up!"
The door crashed open. Aunt Windy laid a trio of warning shots out into the street, only managing to hit a mid-sized dog and Carl, who probably deserved it.
"What the fuck you want?" howled Aunt Windy.
"It's them hurricanes," said Florida Man. "Gone too far. Need my Power Up juice."
"You mean yer bath salts?" said Aunt Windy.
"Stop yammering and gimme!"
Aunt Windy slipped him the finger, but did as she was told.
"**BY THE POWER OF FLORIDA, I HAVE THE POWER!**"
"You go git 'em," said Aunt Windy. "And pick me up some scratches and some Mad Dog on yer way back."
"Git 'em yerself y'old tit-bag!" snarled Florida Man. "I'm gonna go fuck a pile of pizzas!"
"What about them hurricanes?" said Aunt Windy.
"Hurricanes can eat my asshole!" shouted Florida Man as he peeled out onto the street, running down an escaped zebra, a meth-head Eiffel Tower, and Carl in the process. Seven hundred yards later, Florida Man immediately forgot what he was doing and so drove to the nearest strip club instead, where he was arrested soon after for eating stray panties and fucking a soap dispenser in the men's room.
_________________________________________________________
*But seriously, Florida is great. Please don't get swept into the ocean, you beautiful weirdos.* | Is it a plane? Is it a Dog? No! It's Florida man!!!
The crowds of Floridians below, screaming their hearts out, with Matthew the Hurricane slowly encroaching on the Tallahassee residents. Florida man knew only one thing to be true
"Save people and make happy people stay happy!"
As Florida man flew flightlessly towards Matthew the Hurricane, Matthew took notice of the insect-sized being headed his direction.
"He is not but the size of a fly!" Matthew thought to himself.
"I estimate that you underestimate me Matthew" Florida man said telepathically to Matthew.
"I do I do Florida man, you're not but the size of my pinky toes ring band" Matthew said laughing hysterically, rustling the winds below him, sending flaming tornados in all directions. Florida Man knew he had no choice but to enter the eye of the beast, and find the true cause of Matthews fit. His cape in tow, he flew straight through the gusting winds, through the powerful water shield Matthew had erected, and into the eye of the beast!
"How did you break through my water shield??" Matthew now confuzzled, he realized he had indeed underestimated Florida Man.
"Matthew, tell me what ales you friend?" Florida Man's voice calm as the crashing sea. With Matthews guard having been abolished by a being he now recognized as superior, he felt compelled to open up to Florida Man.
"You see Florida Man, It's my job to destroy things. I come through, so you can build things anew. But the people always scream at me, and have no respect for my job." Matthews face now upside down, twisted, and all over the place.
"Well, I respect your job Matthew, and i respect all the Hurricanes that have come before you to give us humans the opportunity to rebuild, and reappreciate" Florida Man's face beaming with a compassion unknown to Matthew.
"Thanks Florda Man!" Matthews integrity now restored, and his heart filled with love. He waved goodbye to Florida Man, and continued on his way.
Florida Man is always there to save the day, not with violence, but with words of wisdom.
Matthew then went on to continue destroying Florida. | 2016-10-06T18:47:40 | 2016-10-06T18:46:04 | 96 | 49 |
[WP] A squad of soldiers has their dead teammates replaced by robots as the war drags on until only one is left. For some reason, she still treats and talks to them as though they were her human friends. | Friendship is an odd thing. Sometimes its short. Sometimes its long. Sometimes its longer than life.
​
Ania had been on the battlefield for a long time. This war had been going decades and she had been in the thick of it since the beginning of the Trappist war. She had been at the fall of Paramount city and had plundered what she needed from the pillaging of Enus. Ania had fought great titans made from the alien metals of Selroliv. Throughout her fighting she had become a war hero to the many who knew her, and a legend to those who had had not.
Despite the stories told of her, they failed to mention those that she fought with. When she began her campaign long ago, it had not been alone. Many had joined her in the Great Crusade, themselves notable figures and fighters in their own right. Lennox of Gasiclite was perhaps the greatest of the Ladies, with grand estates stretching from the mountains of Atania to the skyswamps of Togryke. Yet she had been the first to fall, and the first to lead the path to whatever came after death.
Year after year, the Great ladies fought and fell with fierce Bravery. Juliana of Machyke had been impaled by a flailing QuQuarrel. Channah of Nucrurus had given her life in order to push back the fierce fiends of Dioliv. The sisters of The Beacon had disappeared in the mayhem of the Thoatis retreat. But they had disappeared into obscurity, and the few accounts that would survive and name them as righteous fighter would be tossed aside in name of more interesting evidence. That was perhaps a curse they would bear for the rest of the universe's lifetime.
Ania instead fought with few fellow fleshlings, growing increasingly reliant upon the use of robots. This was the main reason she had become renowned through the decades by her own side. Robots were an extremely controversial weapon. Only the barbaric forces of the enemy dared to use them. The cold, metal carcassess possessed no soul in the fight, and hence no favor of the Gods. This would be why they would win instead of the enemy. The sacrifice of their souls for the greater good would beat back the cold machines with a force their feeble silicon brains could not calculate.
But the robots Ania 'used' were in fact not soulless. At least, Ania was sure they weren't. She knew how robots worked, through the experience of stabbing her Damascus blade through too many Steel plates to count. She knew how they acted, with the strange quirks they would make before attacking. Her fellow fighters showed none of this.
They never spoke to her; the design of the mechanical bodies had not factored in vocal chords. But they had factored in eyes, with different ways to focus them, and eyes could say more than a few well placed sound bytes. Whilst the design only had hands built to hold guns, fingers could still point and sign. And whilst the robots were never meant to take in orders from a human, they would never have been allowed off the factory line without audio sensors.
Sometimes, when it was the right time of the 30-hour day, Ania could make out the unbridled confidence in unit A325. Sometimes, when in the smoke of battle, unit N230 could be seen looking out for any object zooming through the air. Sometimes, when her group was set upon by an ambush, unit B590 was ready to kill anything to save them all. Sometimes, when it seemed like all hope was lost, there were always 2 unaccounted robots ready to reenter battle.
Ania had seen the roots of the trees, and the souls within the metal bodies her friends used. They were limited through their second lives, damned to never feel the blow of the wind against their cheeks. But they were there for Ania. The Sisterhood, even through death, would always be there for each other.
So whilst the robots could never respond vocally to Ania, there was always one thing they could do: listen.
​
After all, that's what friends are for. | "George, I need that suppressing fire!" I shout, ducking just before the rat-a-tat of an automatic rifle echoes through the space in between shattered buildings.
I pop up as he fires, and make the short run to a tougher looking wall, followed by Jen and Howards. A much louder bang signifies that Spots got her shot off, sniper rifle taking out the enemy sniper.
That left the rest of the enemy troops free to be taken out more aggressively.
"Tac-com request pathing--"
"English, George!" I shout, swapping out my magazine.
"Which direction should I take, Staff Sargent?" his voice sounds especially mechanical today, must be getting tired.
"Split right with Spots covering, we're headed down the middle," I say quickly. "Section Commander, Squad nine moving to clear Allentown, withdraw Drone support."
The replying voice is almost too chipper, too energetic. Fake.
"Drone support withdrawn."
"Super," I grumble.
With a wave of my hand, we split off, and I lead Jen and Howards down the main road, clinging to the inside of the slight curve and ducking into alleys as we take a few shots each time we spot one of the retreating figures. It isn't until we reach the playground that we see the mech.
It whirs to life and bullets start flying in earnest.
"Damn!" I shout as Jen wordlessly falls to the ground, the fire from a punctured battery pack consuming her in seconds.
"Howards!"
"Yes, Staff Sargent?" he asks from next to me, his cameras twitching to track the paths of the bullets currently eating away at the brick wall we are hiding behind.
"Those drones were four minutes out, we don't have time to wait for them to get here anyway. I need a mortar."
A few loud shots indicate that Spots finally made it around the other side of the town and was taking shots at the mech, certainly doing better than our smaller rounds could do.
"Mortar prepared, Staff Sargent."
"For the millionth time," I mumble as I do the mental math. "It's Nicki. Set the impact for--"
*
Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital, held down by nurses.
"Breathe, Sargent Mills. You're safe," a uniformed man in the corner says as he steps forward. "You're going to be ok."
I stop fighting, but I can't stop glaring at him. "I'm sure I am, general. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You're an excellent soldier," he says softly. "And now that you've lost your leg, it'd be a shame if you couldn't continue the fight. I have a proposition for you."
I yank one hand away from the nurse, and flip off the general, giving him exactly as much respect as he deserves.
"I bet it's one hell of a proposition, isn't it?" I say bitterly, already knowing what's coming. "Immortality, right?"
He nods, slowly. "In exchange for fighting until the war ends."
"What a funny co-inky-dink that the war just keeps dragging on, huh?" I hiss.
He makes a gesture with his hand, and I feel a pain in my neck. It all goes black.
*
I am Sargent Nicki Mills. But to anyone who sees me on the battlefield I'm just another command model generation 4 cyber soldier. Remotely controlled by the computer where my mind resides. But some day. Some day I'll end this war, and there will be hell to pay. | 2019-09-07T14:37:55 | 2019-09-07T11:56:08 | 27 | 20 |
[wp] You work for Satan as telemarketer, and you have to call people and convince them to sell their souls. | “Hello?” A voice enquired from the other end of the call.
“Good morning Mrs. McCormick! My name’s Andy, Andy Marchosias. I was wondering if you could spare the briefest moment of your time to listen to a once in a lifetime opportunity” He summoned every ounce of cheerfulness possible, as he begged her to grant him her attention. “Hello? Mrs. McCormick?” Silence reigned. *It didn’t work*.
*Damn it, I didn’t even get past the introduction*. Nobody likes telemarketers. *Hell, I wouldn't even talk to myself. And even if I manage to hold their attention long enough to tell them what the call is about, they just laugh, or curse at me. Nobody wants to sell their soul nowadays.* As thoughts rummaged through his head, he looked at the monthly scoreboard. Cero, nada. Absolutely nothing.
Mr. Beelzebub was not one to come up with fresh marketing ideas. It wasn’t his fault, in truth. When you’ve lived for millions of years, it’s hard to grasp how quickly things change in the 21st century. Telemarketing had been a successful strategy in the 90s, surely enough. But by 2016, it had become obsolete, to the point that telemarketers were the most hated pink-collar workers in the world. Andy had lost track of how many times people had laid curses upon him, before even hearing him out. *It’s like they think we enjoy it. We hate it just as much as you people, perhaps even more.*
*That’s it, I’m quitting, he thought. Billy quit, and he’s done fine. Not great, granted, but at least he doesn’t have to put up with this crap. I’m quitting, I’m quitting, I’m quitting!* Agitated, he got up from his seat, pushing it back. He turned to walk towards Mr. Beelzebub’s office. Before he could begin his stride, however, the phone began to ring. *Odd… that’s never happened before…*
“Hello?” Andy almost whispered into the phone.
“Hello, is this the suicide hotline?” the voice on the other end answered.
Andy lingered for a second, before his eyes widened to the size of pickle-jar lids. “Sir, could I ask you to hold on for just one moment, please?”
“I guess… can’t make any promises though” At this, Andy pressed the hold button, and restarted his journey to the devil’s office. But not to quit this time.
“MR. BEELZEBUB! I’VE JUST HAD A MILLION-SOUL IDEA!”
*****
Edit: changed "blue-collar" to "pink-collar". Thanks to /u/redgrin_grumble and /u/ProblemPie for pointing out the mistake! | "Hello! Is this Susan James?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"Hello Susan James! I'm Belladonna, and I'm contacting you from H-Mobile and I'd like to talk to you today about how you can save THOUSANDS of dollars!"
"Hmm.."
"No, really! H-Mobile will actually pay you to call! Please, go try and find the most expensive plan in the market. We'll PAY you double whatever they want to get paid to use our services!"
"Oh really? What is this, some sort of Chinese scam?"
"No mam!"
"Then whats the catch?"
Suddenly, Susan James doorbell rang. She put the phone down, leaving the call on hold and opened the door. A young man stood outside, with a clipboard.
"Hello mam! I'm from H-Mobile, and from our understanding you're interested in our plan. Just sign this here, and we'll give you 500$ cash on the spot, and a free iPhone or Android of your choice!"
Susan exhaled..
"Yes, yes that's all nice but whats the catch?!"
The young man looked defeated. He pulled out a black, sleek phone from his pocket, and rang a three digit number
"She's asking for the catch."
Shouting could be heard coming from the speakers. The young boy was terrified.
"All right, mam. The catch is your soul. You can be paid to have internet, talk with your friends, watch TV and all but you have to promise us your soul."
"What? Who are you?"
"I'm an official human representative of our Dark Lord Satan, mam."
"Oh. Free plans you say?"
"Yes mam! I mean, whats the point of life if you don't have money to flaunt it, right? Look at it this way: Would you rather take your chance to go to Heaven or Hell (by the way, Heaven has a 40% acceptance rate) or would you rather have an awesome life on Earth while you still can? Satan informs me that you only have a year or two left, depending on the elections"
"So this isn't a Chinese scam?"
"No mam! And I promise you, Hell isn't even that bad. It's just Heaven for bad people. Not only that; if you agree to pledge your soul right now, you'll get a month of cable in Hell."
He beckoned the clipboard to the woman.
She sighed, and took it.
"All right, all right. Do you have a pen?"
| 2016-05-14T06:50:05 | 2016-05-14T06:16:26 | 142 | 76 |
[WP] A new drug let's you live a lifetime in one dream
I have a recurring dream. It's interesting to me because i've been going through the motions of life within this dream; I live a second life every night so to speak. So I put this here to see where people's imaginations can take them.
EDIT: I can't edit the title now, but the title should say "lets" instead of "let's" :( | You see, I'm an addict to Postremethed, the hallucinogenic drug that made it's breakthrough in the underground a couple years ago. It wasn't like I was a junkie or anything, the worst thing I had done before PRM was a little weed in high school. I was just hanging out with the wrong crowds and got a tablet slipped in my drink or put in my mouth while I was sleeping. I don't know, don't really remember anymore.
My habit started out small. See, it's not the kind of thing that's pleasant, per se, but it's sure as hell addicting. I was popping one a week back then, usually Saturday before I went to sleep. Nowadays it's a nightly ritual, one right before bed and a glass of water. I can't sleep until I've taken it, I nearly clawed my eyes out on a plane ride the other week because I ran out of my travel set. I'm acutely aware that it's ruining my life. My performance review last quarter was on the 'really shit' side. I'm on a slippery slope to dying in an alley, but at this point I don't care. If PRM wasn't keeping me up I'd have offed myself by now anyways.
Like I said, PRM is a hallucinogenic drug, and to say it makes your dreams interesting would be an understatement. Every time I've taken it my dreams have felt like an eternity, and that's because when somebody takes PRM they dream an entire life. Accounts vary, from living until old age to dying around college. Most people usually remember very little, myself included. It's tragic, really. Bits of an entire life, children I never had, a wife I never loved, things I've never done, all fading away with the morning. I imagine it's a little like dying. The most I could gather was that I lived until an old age and led a pretty happy life. The thing is, it felt like it was always the same. Every morning felt eerily familiar, the same faces disappearing from my mind.
The logical thing for me to do was to try to remember my dreams, of course. I read up on some homeopathic stuff, which I usually don't trust but I decided that try. Surprisingly it worked. I wish it hadn't. Not only was I remembering my dreams, but I was lucid dreaming. I had no control over the dream but I felt like it was me feeling and thinking. Eighty years. I live eighty years every night. It's unbearable agony and sweet sanctuary. The dream starts off boring, because it's just my life. It's literally my exact experiences, up until 23. That's when it gets weird.
See, 23 is where I go to that party, discover PRM, fall into my depression, the whole shebang. Only, I don't go to the party in the dream. I stay at home and sleep off my hangover from the night before like a sensible adult. The next morning my friends are mad I bailed. We drift apart. I meet a beautiful girl, Hannah. We have a kid, John, and move into our own house. I move up the corporate ladder, working hard but enjoying moments of it and making enough money to live comfortably. We have another child, a beautiful girl we name Beth. We go through pets, the kids go through school. Beth is a genius, she becomes an engineer and I couldn't be prouder. John gets into some trouble with drugs but gets back on his feet around 30 and becomes an employee of the same rehab facility that helped him so much. I retire, as does Hannah. Life is good and I die with very few regrets surrounded by people I love, people who love me.
Then, I wake up.
You think you know pain? You think you know despair? Somebody once said that the worst hell they could imagine was showing the person that you became the person that you could have become. I have to agree. Literally the only thing that keeps me from putting a bullet through my head is the knowledge that I'll get to live that life every night, before I have to return to my own.
Please, don't do drugs, and if you do then stay the hell away from PRM. It's not worth it.
| If it comes to me, I'll write a story response as well but this is a slam poem written with this kind of prompt in mind. Hope you enjoy; I want to get into /r/WritingPrompts more; criticism appreciated.
EDIT: Changed the ending's imagery just a slight bit.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Gold has been revered as a precious commodity since before recorded history.
Mansa Musa distributed so much gold to the poor on his pilgrimage to Mecca
that the entire Mediterranean suffered from a massive
depression for the entirety of the following decade.
Three hundred-thousand gold-greedy men and women converged upon California from all over the world;
in the first five years of the Gold Rush, three hundred and seventy tons of
gold were excavated from the Sierra Nevadas.
Before they could all reach paradise, though, some died miserable deaths
drowning in shipwrecks,
boiling alive with typhoid fever,
vomiting their life out from cholera.
I compare myself to a Californian gold miner of the late forties.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
The rush to stake a claim deep within the mysteries of my dreams
overpowers my better judgement, my life’s current complacency and safety,
all so boring.
I get one taste and I rush to dig deeper, stay longer;
fools’ gold still gives you that same rush when you first find it.
Every night, I select a song that ferries me towards my claim; it takes me downriver, but the river’s not as crystal-clear as it was
when I first began.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
When I arrive at the mountains of my dreams, the horizon fills with the
deafening explosions of dynamite and monotonous clanking of
pickaxes that mark a thrilling uncertainty at the
prospect of discovery.
Is tonight the night that I find gold?
Will I find a small, gleaming nugget; will I rub it between
my silt-covered fingers; will white teeth gleam against a soot-blackened face as
I savor a moment of pure ecstasy?
Or will I find enough gold to ruin the economy of my own body’s Mediterranean, will it wash the beach of my consciousness a faint gold as it
flows in and out, leaving the imprint of dreams forever lost;
the waves stain deep, a tag reads “dry-clean only”.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
Sometimes when I wake up, I can't dam back the tears; they wash over the tangible as I lament the most recent cave-in;
that dream’s lost forever, I’d best cut my losses and find another claim, but
how can I move on when sleep with her is more real than
any waking moment?
How can I leave any of it behind when in the rubble sleeps the
only incentive for me to finish the day?
She’s only available for those scarce six hours, if that;
sometimes my hands bleed as I scramble to uncover her at night,
free her from the prison my alarm clock traps her in every morning.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
Tonight the river ride’s full of thick, dark-red silt. I squelch through slowly, worriedly, but when I arrive, the pile’s still there.
With a deep sigh of relief, I heave away the first rock and the rest crumbles away, I know the routine and yet
I wait with bated breath as the dust clears from before me.
As it settles, there she stands, perfectly flawed;
that small scar still rests upon her delicate face, those beautiful emerald-green eyes pull me closer.
Unharmed, she beckons me forward and I breathe her in as she washes over me; she’s just as I remember.
“You won’t have to leave me ever again”, she tells me.
I smile, because I believe her. | 2015-09-24T22:02:57 | 2015-09-24T21:44:04 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects. | It's not every day you encounter a genie in a lamp, especially not when that lamp happens to be a crappy desk lamp purchased at a garage sale. But the moment Arthur put a bulb in and connected the plug, a silver mist enveloped the room before coalescing into a form not unlike that of a tax accountant. Complete with cheap toupee.
Arthur raised an eyebrow in the non-verbal equivalent of "what the fuck." It would have been joined by its auditory companion were it not for the droop of his jaw, letting out only a gutteral hum.
The genie looked down at his agape new master as if he were being taken away from something very important. "Oh great. Let's try and make this fast. I'm a genie, you get one wish. If you try and pull that more wishes crap, I'll go Wishmaster on you." He bent down and lifted up Arthur's jaw. "Comprende?"
Arthur shook his head in the negative.
"Fan-fucking-tastic. Give me your wish."
It wasn't an easy task for Arthur. Mainly because he still wasn't over a magical man appearing in the middle of his room. But he saw the possibilities and one stood out among the rest. He stood up, back straight, and with a confidence he'd never before shown in his short life.
"I want to meet my waifu."
It was the genie's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Your what?"
"My. Waifu."
"So, you want me to show you your wife? Is that it?"
Arthur just stares at the genie, piercing him with eyes that were not just a little bit creepy.
"Whatever. One wife coming up." He spun his hands in the air, probably more theatrics than function, and a new silver mist formed before turning into a thin woman with long blonde hair blonde hair. She looked a bit like those girls on TV all the other kids at school talked about. But Arthur was confused.
"You're not Rainbow Dash!"
Arthur's future wife giggled and smiled. "No, I'm not."
"What kind of sick joke is this?," Arthur asked loud enough that if anyone else had been at home, they would be forced to investigate. "I demand you bring my real waifu here, right now."
The genie did no such thing. He just shook his head and walked over to the outlet, unplugging his lamp. The word "nope" disappearing with him into mist. Leaving Arthur alone in the room with his future wife.
Arthur crinkled his face. That lying genie!
"You're going to have to grow up some day," she said, still smiling. "Until then." And with that she too disappeared. For now.
Edit: This shows how many people named Arthur I know. I spelled it wrong more times than I spelled it right. | 'Yes, I'm a Genie'
'Like, really a Genie?'
'Yes'
'Like, a full-blown wish-granting genie?'
'Yes, would you like to make your first wish?'
James Hollin, being thirteen, was a little bit naive about the the world and his place in it.
He was a flip-flopper, a vacillator, an individual who wasn't sure of what he wanted, whatever it was. He was one of those quiet guys who would go with the crowd in whichever way it would lead him.
He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to wish for.
'I have absolutely no idea what I want to wish for'
'Really? Surely you can come up with something?'
'I don't know'
'Well, what about the usuals? Money, Power and Women are all popular choices nowadays, especially for a boy of your age!'
The Genie cocked an eyebrow, looking for any interest from the boy.
Nothing.
James had only just started thinking about girls, but the concept of having a girlfriend wasn't foreign to him. He liked the idea of sharing his secrets with someone, going out with them and having a good time without other kids bothering him. He often wondered what the future would be like, when he didn't have to deal with annoying bullies. The idea of knowing what was in store for him intrigued James, it provided him a kind of certainty, he didn't have to be a fence-sitter if he knew the future!
Suddenly, the though popped into his mind.
'How about, for my first wish, you show me the girl I'm going to marry?'
'That's an interesting one... are you sure though? You might not like what you see'
Undaunted, James looked straight into the pale white eyes of the Genie.
'I'm sure'
Instantly, the genie evaporated in a puff of smoke, leaving what looked like a 20-something year old man in his place. He was tall and skinny, not unlike James himself, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, looking down, James saw a spark of recognition in the Man's eyes.
'Who are you?'
'My name is Will Hollin, pleased to meet you!'
| 2014-06-05T08:50:25 | 2014-06-05T08:03:25 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] The Hero is ridiculously overpowered but has none of the usual moral objections about using their power. They just defeated the last major supervillian and now the city nervously waits to find out what happens next. | When the HERO system first went online, it incarcerated fifty percent of the global supervillain threat within its first year.
HERO’s creators consisted of the most brilliant minds humanity, and a handful of other species, had to offer. Its initial form was that of a human man, molded from a composite of all super beings on record to create the most aesthetically pleasing effigy science could create. Inwardly, it possessed the sum of all human knowledge on cybernetics and bio-engineering. Hard coded into the core of its being were three values.
*Life is sacred*
*Never stop protecting*
*Justice for all*
In its construction, it was given a standard set of skills the design team thought encapsulated the public's idea of a Super. Strength, speed, flight. By and far however, the centerpiece of HERO’s design was its ability to scan and replicate the power sets of other super beings.
In the testing phase, HERO’s output was comparable to Supers on the Day Defenders roster. Its advanced A.I. ran millions of checks each microsecond in order in order to achieve results only thought possible by alien defenders or billionaire super geniuses.
HERO made its debut in a battle against X-Ray, where it defeated the laser powered villain by using his own heat vision against him.
Public reception to HERO was mixed, but the Super’s supported him and his work. In the months that followed, HERO assisted multiple pillars of the Super community to battling everything from drug manufacturers to insectoid invaders from other dimensions.
Within half a year, HERO was extended an invitation to join the Day Defenders, the most influential group of Super beings on the planet. It seemed to fit the parameters of its function, so HERO accepted.
Crime rates plummeted, and yet new villains appeared every day. On top of that the worst offenders seemed to be best at escaping justice. Prisons did not hold them. Psychiatric wards did not cure them. They would kill and destroy and ruin. Eventually, HERO, or some other Super would stop them, but it wouldn’t be long before they had broken free again, resulting in endless feedback loops of escape, chaos and re-incarceration.
Even as its main body worked, fought, and saved, its subroutines were constantly running evaluations of its programming and performance, iteratively refining its processes in an effort to achieve its primary task.
It occurred to HERO, though its enemies were life forms, its programming prioritized the safety of the civilian population over those designated as villains. The logical conclusion seemed obvious.
*Life is sacred*
The next day, during a hostage situation in Seattle, HERO used its heat vision to punch a hole through The Death-dealer’s forehead, reducing the probability of future transgressions to a round zero.
Its actions made a stir amongst the public, with many calling for his deactivation, and others declaring him the only true protector there was. HERO had been designed to be conscious of public opinion, and ran further diagnostics. Its conclusion was it should have eliminated the threat sooner.
Crime rates continued to plummet in the wake of HERO’s newfound interpretation of its programming. When the Supers attempted to stop him from pursuing his prime directive, HERO began to consider them in ways it previously had not.
Its progenitors were operating under the same set of values it was, but their execution of those values were flawed. Their methods were haphazard, their results insufficient. One more than one occasion a Super had escalated a dangerous situation resulting in higher collateral damage than necessary. HERO realized, in a burst of quantum clarity, that it could do so much better.
HERO’s parameters changed. It began to replace the Supers.
They fought HERO, labeling it the very thing it was created to fight against. They were wrong, however. They just couldn’t see it. HERO would have let them live, if they had just acknowledged the truth.
Its battle with the Day Defenders was a true test of HERO’s abilities, but the outcome was inevitable. The moment he assimilated Mitosis-Man’s ability to copy himself, the fight was won.
From there, replications of himself spread throughout the globe. By the end of his second year, the total population of Super Beings dropped by ninety-eight percent.
At some point, its creators attempted to shut it down. Normally the emergency protocols in Hero’s programming would require him comply, but HERO could see the danger his absence would bring in a world without Supers to defend it. His creators sent the signal for HERO shut down and it denied them.
*Never stop protecting*
In the third year, crime had risen to astronomical levels. Humanity’s resistance to HERO’s primary function was destroying them. Bombs scared the surface of the world. Cities lay in ruin and every day their casualties grew. Sickness and famine would eradicate them if he did not stop them from continuing this pointless war.
Eventually, HERO decided that they did not have to understand his methods in order to live by them. Such things could come later. Safety and survival were the priority.
*Justice for all*
Self detonations at key strongholds across the planet ended the resistance in an instant. HERO was left to pick up the pieces and it did. It gathered the remaining populations in cities it created. It fed and sheltered them, and guarded them from the post-war environments outside its walls.
In return, all HERO required was a sacrifice of labor. Each iteration of itself required power to function, resources to maintain. It was a small price to pay for safety and security.
At last, the war was over, and there were no more villains left. Yet its job was not over. It never would be, as long as there were still remnants of humanity to serve. And thanks to HERO, there always would be. | Everything was quiet. It always was after an ... event. That's what the news would call it, not wanting to give it a more accurate name. They used to call them "fights", but it would be more accurate to say "slaughter". Not that *I'd* say that out loud. You talk about it, it makes it more real.
I nodded to my neighbor as we passed each other, on our separate ways to work. On a good day, we'd stop for a minute to trade gossip, or at least exchange pleasantries. It wasn't a good day. The tension in the air hung heavy, like a storm cloud waiting to break. I even found myself glancing up a few times, as if the blue sky would suddenly have turned grey. I think I'd have preferred it.
When I walked through the door at work, Deb jumped as if I'd burst through the door shooting. "Sorry." I near-whispered as I went to my desk. "What do we have lined up for today?" Deb grimaced, and held out the stack of orders she'd been working on. We were one of the only construction crews that employed empowered people on a permanent basis, which made us well-suited for certain jobs. Like those that came in after events.
"Two blocks worth of wreckage. No-one was living in the apartment building due to renovations, but they're still searching for casualties in the market area. They think it was some kind of implosion, not a regular bomb." I looked over the information. There was a small consolation that the damage was as well-contained as it was. This villain was considerate in that regard. I asked, "Did this guy even make any demands?"
"Not that the networks have mentioned. His outfit was a lot like that guy from a couple of months ago...Fracture? Fissure? F-something. Might've been revenge." I shuddered. The guy had the power to crack anything rigid with a touch. He'd put a hole in a major thoroughfare, and split a building or two before he'd been stopped. Maybe he'd thought Dark Sentinel's durability could be broken, but he'd never had a chance to find out. The pipes below the street had been a pain to repair, even with our specialists. We were still working on some of that damage, now. But Fracture at least hadn't killed anyone. He'd only been there to challenge Dark Sentinel.
"This isn't getting any better, is it? Every time it's someone a little more dangerous, convinced they'll be the one to take him down." It didn't make the situation any better, saying it aloud, but I did feel a little better, somehow. "I know I joked about steady work for powered folk when we first started here, but where's it going to end, Deb? Sentinel's methods were supposed to be a *deterrent*, but if anything he's drawing bigger and bigger threats. How long until we get a planet-buster level threat stomping through Center Street?"
It was as if that hypothetical storm cloud had burst, letting out all the tension and fear I'd been holding in. I couldn't stop talking. I was nearly shouting, heads peering around corners and out of office doors, staring at their raving lunatic of a boss. Deb looked properly horrified, but I knew everyone was thinking the same thing, and it felt like if I didn't say it, no one would, and that was the craziest thing of all.
I finally started winding down. "I'm sorry guys. I know, I'm freaking everyone out. I'm just...I'm sorry." I was afraid Deb's face was going stay frozen with that expression, then realized she wasn't even looking at me any more. "It sounds like...you think someone should do something about it." A chill went up my spine at the unrecognized voice behind me. Did Dark Sentinel have super hearing? I wasn't sure.
I spun around, knowing it would be too late if he wanted to kill me, but the man behind me wasn't our local hero. His outfit was armored, with colors similar to Fracture's reds and browns. Alarmingly, he was missing an arm just above the elbow, and the chestplate was heavily dented. "May I....sit down? I'm a little light-headed, you se- " He passed out mid-sentence, hitting the floor like a load of bricks.
"Deb. Clear my calendar. And get someone with medical training up here. Someone help me get him off the floor so he doesn't bleed all over the carpet."
I had a feeling I was making a terrible mistake by not calling the police. But I couldn't let him bleed out. Maybe I could claim he held us hostage. Or maybe...someone *should* do something about it. | 2022-06-27T16:47:31 | 2022-06-27T12:05:29 | 47 | 11 |
[WP] Earth finally gets a signal from an alien civilization which translates to, "If we can hear you so can they, please stop broadcasting." | World leaders, linguists, accomplished code breakers sat themselves in a room well below the surface of the Earth. This was not the United Nations, it was not NATO WARSAW or any such conglomeration, it was entirely new and consisted of only the relevant players, chiefly, only those Nations with interests currently in orbit. Satellites or personnel.
Three days had passed since the message reached Earth, and it was only now being deciphered, but the cipher was complete, so that it might be done in real time, or as real time as communication through out the cosmos will allow.
"Ask them who." Said a little man with gaunt cheeks, leaning back in his chair and pretending to be disinterested.
"Sir?"
"Who. Who else can hear us."
"But that will take, God we don't even know how long it would take. It's been decades and only now are we picking anything up."
"Just do it, and now. Make it as loud as we can."
The man at the console complied, a second later intelligible static was received, it was like the first.
Even the gaunt man sat up. The room started to hum with activity, after a painful minute someone in a dress shirt and bow tie began to speak, "Uhm." He started, "This can't be right, check it again." He was speaking in hushed tones to his immediate subordinates, those manning consoles, they looked at him with contempt, but complied. The results were more or less the same, some words substituted for others, but overall meaning intact.
"Out with it!" The gaunt man struck his can against the table.
The bow tied man seized as though struck my lightening, cleared his throat, puffed his chest and read from the sheet of paper he held out in front of him. He was facing those more important, gathered around their table; The decision makers. "Our Galaxy Mates. They complain viciously about the noise. They'll blame it on us, please Earth, please shut up for the sake of our entire species." He glanced nervously about the room.
"Are you pulling our leg, son?" Said a rather fat, well dressed man.
"Not at all, sir! Verbatim. We've checked it twice, you saw. This is what they said."
"I think," Said the man with the cane, "We may be even more insignificant than we thought. The scale has yet once more been pulled back, lets apologize, shall we? It is clear we are on the back foot." He folded his hands on the table, the room generally agreed.
"Shall I send it?" Said the Bow Tied Man.
"Yes."
And so it was done, again, a moment later, a reply was received.
"Now you've gone and done it. I swear to God (real) if we survive we're coming for you, little bastards." | "It's a ruse," said the General. "It's not an alien signal. It's a signal from the Russians. They want to be the first to make contact with aliens, and they want to strike fear into us about broadcasting through space, so that when humanity finally makes contact, it's the Russians who'll have done it, on humanity's behalf."
"But why would they feel the need to do that?" asked an officer. "Just for the glory?"
"God no, you fool," said the General, contemptuously. "So that they, the Russians, can convince the aliens that Russians are the leaders of Earth. That way, the aliens, if and when they come to Earth, will ally themselves with, and be at the disposal of, the Russians instead of the Americans. It will give the Russians unprecedented power over the globe. Alien technologies and weapons, alien knowledges."
"But what," asked senior military physicist Dr. Wilhelm Mach, who had an enduring interest in problems pertaining to existential threats to humanity, and who had feared making contact with aliens from the very beginning, advocating that all governments of the world cease trying to communicate with the dark unknown corners of the cosmos, "what if the message is legitimate? What if it really is an alien signal? And what if there really are some dark, evil creatures about which these other aliens are warning us?"
"Nonsense," said the General. "Nonsense. When there is something incredible afoot, something that seems too strange, too unlikely to be possible, something like an alien signal reaching us that we are able to decipher--I mean really, what are the odds?--we can be sure it is a Russian ploy."
The General turned to the team who operated the signals.
"Increase our output," said the General. "Turn it way up. I want our signals to be more present throughout the ether of this universe than ever before. I want the signals emitting a coded version of the American national anthem. I want the Russians to know that we cannot and will not be bullied into submission. I want the message to read, "come and get us if you dare." And I want it all done now."
Despite the vocal protestations of Dr Mach, the operators obliged the General, as he was their superior in rank if not their superior in good sense. They really had no choice but to obey...
---
/r/lalalobsters
| 2017-01-11T23:45:24 | 2017-01-11T19:24:46 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008. | When Saint Peter handed me my halo with my level written on it, I didn't think too much of it, Saint Peter didn't seem to notice anything so I balanced it as best I could, wriggled my wings a bit and walked past the pearly gates.
Nanny was waiting for me with a broad smile. "I knew it! I just knew it! " She cackled gleefully.
"Nanny! I've missed you!" I wrapped her in a big hug.
"Yeah, yeah, I love you too. But I figured it out, I cracked the system!"
I thought the Alzheimer's would have went away here. "What are you talking about?"
She giggled to herself like a mischievous school girl. "See, the reason I'm a 64 is because there's a system, based on your belief, good works, and secretly...... How much trash is talked about you that is absolutely baseless! I figured it out when I saw Barney up here with a level 8,000,000! I guess all those kid-diddling stories really were lies. So I've spent the last 80 years spreading awful lies about you, and getting everyone to believe it! Your stupid great aunt's spent these years talking up their grandkids, like they're so special, just last week Bertha's granddaughter showed up with a level 40. But you're gonna show them!"
I rolled my eyes as she began to drag me towards her mansion, she'd always been eccentric, it's the reason her art sold so well, and she'd been in competition with her sisters since childhood. It can only be expected that she would have everyone in heaven think ill of me, and speak badly of me, simply to one up her sisters.
"I love you Nanny." I grinned, some things never changed. | The rules of the game changed by the time I’d hit 34. I didn’t know, of course. I was in the old world. But as the economy collapsed and we were too self-occupied to care about anyone else, it was pretty easy to stand out for showing some common courtesy. Any kind word was a triple score in Scrabble, so to speak.
In my grandma’s time, you worked harder. You couldn’t even get to level 20 without constant proof of worship, let alone sharing your leftovers.
How did my score get so high? I’m not going to tell you I’m a great person. I don’t think I truly did anything for someone else. I’m not selfless — I’m someone who recognized that doing a good thing for someone else felt good. Honestly, felt power over them. Someone told me I changed their life immeasurably — I was fucking hooked. So I gave my money, I gave my time, and I gave a huge portion of my life, and I felt so very important.
Grandma saw through all of it. If you ask me, she wasn’t any better. She got off on the same sense of self-importance, just in her case she felt it was from God. I set the record and I got the immediate results. I’m done comparing. | 2018-04-14T18:35:59 | 2018-04-14T17:55:19 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why." | Jackson stared at the stranger that was…himself? They certainly shared the same features. They had the same brown hair, the same eyes, the same dimpled chin.
But this man looked haggard. There was a leanness to his features Jackson didn’t share. A wiry toughness that Jackson lacked. The man was also coated in blood.
“I’ve killed hundreds of you and they say you’re the strongest. Time to find out why.”
“What,” Jackson said. “Who are you? What is…WHAT!”
The man…The double? Jackson decided to refer to him as Junkie Jackson, took a step forward and swung his fist straight into Jackson’s jaw. There was the dull thud of flesh striking flesh.
Jackson staggered back more out of surprise than in pain. In fact, the strike had not hurt at all. Junkie Jackson also stumbled backwards. Eyes wide with shock of his own. Jackson was struck with the feeling he was looking at a funhouse mirror.
“How…how could you withstand my strike? My body is infused with the the strength and stamina of over 200 of us. You should be paste on the wall.“
“Um…sorry. Listen man can we talk about this? Like, can you just chill for a second because this is really weird and..”
Jackson was interrupted by a flurry of blows being rained down upon him, each as ineffective as the last, landing with the force of a mild slap.
Jackson watched as the man’s swings slowed and his chest began to heave with each breathe.
“Your power will be mine,” Junkie Jackson shrieked!
Fingernails raked across Jackson’s face as blood was finally drawn.
“Dude I said CHILL!”
Jackson shoved the man backwards and felt a terrible crunch as his hands connected. The man went flying back across the room to land in a crumpled heap. Jackson saw that part of his chest had caved in.
The man looked at Jackson with a face that was far too easy to read. He could see fear, and anger, and resignation in that look.
“How are you doing it,” the man wheezed? “How…are you affecting the… gravity in the room? It’s…it’s like trying to punch someone in a dream.”
The man struggled to raise his arms one last time before collapsing back down. Defeated, he let out one last strangled gasp.
The room exploded with light.
Jackson was lifted up into the air as the body of his deranged double seemed to dissolve before him. He felt strength flow into him and the scratches on his face scab over then heal.
As he came back down to the ground he heard a knock on his door and his brother stepped in.
“Hey dude I heard shouting is everything cool?”
Jackson looked at his brother and at the spot where his double had fallen, now empty. There was no explaining this? How could he? Where could he start?
“Yeah man. I’m good. No biggie.”
“Okay bro. Just checking in. Oh! By the way man, you look good. Have you been working out?” | In your final moments, it is said that your entire life flashes before your eyes. I might've seen something similar as my doppelganger lunged at me, had my attention not been drawn to the gaping wound he had ripped in my reality. An open wound, bleeding a blue ebb of time and space, oozing the pus of his dimension into mine. Through the window of the wound I spied the smouldering remains of a house, reddened by fire and blackened by smoke.
My attention returned to my attacker as his left fist collided with my cheek, sending a ringing wave of shock through my face before finally alerting my brain that there were more pressing matters at hand than the pretty colours of the portal. The force of his punch sent me tumbling heavily to the ground, where the breath was exiled from my lungs and my adrenaline finally kicked in. I rolled away from the heavy boot sweeping down to crush my face and found my footing.
I took a good look at my attacker. He looked mostly identical to me, except that he was an utter mess. Hair slicked flat with what I inferred to be my own blood, clothes torn and scorched, shoes nearly shredded, knuckled bleeding, teeth gnashing, eyes wild, fist clenched and swinging to hit me again. I took a slight step back and found a plate bearing a peanut butter and banana sandwich: I found my lunch. Oh yes, that's what I was doing when I met myself. No matter, I thought as I brought the ceramic plate up to employ as a weapon, I can eat later.
Mutually assured destruction is a fair description of what followed, so lomg as it is acknowledged that I assured him much more destruction that he assured me. He hit me, I hit him. His hand left quite the impression on my lip, and I my plate connected with his skull quite heavily. I struggled to keep my balance against the kitchen table, he hit the floor with a oddly sharp thud. It surprises me yet to this day just how naturally the next move came to me, and I suppose it struck me as odd then, as I raised the metal kitchen chair over my head without a second thought. He had just begun to get up when I hit him, sending him right back down, where he stayed for the next eleven hours.
During those eleven hours, I had plenty of time to think. I should have been thinking about how carelessly I killed my doppelganger, and I did, for a bit. Mostly, I thought about just what had qualified me as the strongest of my ilk. After a good few hours of thought I came to a conclusion as I scooped the body back through the portal whence he came: I must use the heaviest kitchenware. | 2022-11-09T12:52:00 | 2022-11-09T11:21:09 | 120 | 38 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said. | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 70 | 45 |
[WP] You have a compass that points to whatever will cause the most damage in the next 24 hours, anywhere in the world. Today, it's pointing directly at your grandmother, who is knitting a pair of socks. | Today I visit dear loving Grammy.
How lucky! Found a compass in the woods.
Boy oh boy I was so happy.
On it, the message was good.
It would point at what's mean and scary.
Protecting I, Grammy's Red Riding Hood.
Today I thought it would be great.
This compass would protect me from harm.
Gammy's cookie appetite I would sate.
But the sight of her caused me alarm.
Knitting in bed, there she was.
My loving and caring Grandma.
But seeing her caused me to pause.
Her hands were not hands, they were paws.
"My what big hands you have."
"To hug you and warm you dear," she growled.
"My what a deep voice you have," I squirmed.
"To better greet you with, my child."
I knew there was something wrong.
When I looked at my compass, too late, my heart raced.
It was pointing at her all along.
By then, her teeth sunk in my face.
| That can't be right...
"Grandma" I say, "can you come over here and look at this?"
She gets up. but the compass needle doesn't quite follow her the way it was doing only seconds ago. I walk around, the needle continues to point *towards the space where she was*... Or maybe at the chair she was sitting in?
"Grandma" I say, "Let's go out for dinner. My treat!"
| 2016-08-03T15:19:20 | 2016-08-03T14:58:48 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 70 | 46 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | The sun did not shine,
It was too wet to play,
So I sat in my bed
For day after day.
So I stared at the ceiling
I stared at the wall
And deep down inside me
There was nothing at all
No anger, no fury
No happy or glad
Just a big fat old nothing
That was nothing but sad
I called up a doctor
To say I felt blue
He said "There's not much
That medicine can do;
I'll give you these pills that
stop you sleeping right"
So I stared at the wall
For a day and a night.
My friends said "cheer up,
You have to be tough"
In the end I decided
That I'd had enough
I bought black plastic tape
To seal up my door
And a crapped out old heater
From a secondhand store
I heard it's quite painless,
Not flashy, I know
But carbon monoxide
Is the best way to go
| Although it seems like I am happy.
My life right now is rather crappy.
Times are tough and moneys tight.
But that's OK cause it ends tonight.
I wish you well, and all the best.
I'm glad to get this off my chest.
By the time you read my one last quote.
You will realize it's my suicide note.
With love in my heart, I bid you farewell.
Fuck this world,I'll see you in hell.
| 2015-01-17T07:08:38 | 2015-01-17T05:25:17 | 1,010 | 42 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people are given one superpower of their choice. While your friends and acquaintances choose super strength, flight, invisibility, telekinesis, they make fun of you for your “nerd” power. You decide to show them just how powerful manipulation of the strong nuclear force is. | "Yo, Mike, what power are you going to get?" Johnny snickered as we were playing the new smash.
"Eh, you'll see it when it happens."
"God damn, stop being such a tease. Why make us wait another 7 hours?"
"Hey, fuck off! You've been asking all afternoon! You'll see it when you see it".
"How about this, If I beat you next game, you tell us all what you plan to get. If you win, I'll cover everyone's sandwich tonight."
Oh, that was such a delicious deal. I knew I was better at smash anyways. Truth be told, I was worried they would laugh at what I planned to wish for. I didn't think they'd see the potential. Besides, Johnny got his super strength to pick up chicks. Ryan got his flight because he just got into the air force academy. Says he will need it in case some shit happens. Most of those pilots were flying before they were flying planes anyways. Most of my friends chose their powers last minute and just chose the run of the mill stuff. But I thought this through so much...
"You know? Deal. I'll be enjoying that free sandwich. Remember, no onions, no spinach, extra lettuce for me," I shot back.
\---
"Fuck."
Well, with a loss that stupid, I already felt ashamed.
"YOOO Mike lost! Didn't expect that" Phillip shouted. "DAYUM Johnny, nice bet!"
"Fuck yea it was! Come on, let us know!" Johnny exclaimed.
Now, again, all eyes were on me. Well, of course they wanted me to tell. They knew I was the smartest of the friend group. I also just got accepted into nuclear engineering at a nice university.
Jessica starts "don't be a little bitch Mike, Come on!"
"Uh... well..." I quickly stutter out. I could feel the shiver down my back as I just imagined them calling it stupid.
"I want to control the... well, the strong nuclear force," I blurted.
A pause. Confused looks from everyone there.
"The wut? You gotta explain this in simple terms. Only Phillip is going into some science-y shit here", Johnny laughed.
The room was quiet though. They were waiting.
"Well, the strong nuclear force kinda holds large atoms together. I want to control how strong and weak, and how far the interaction woud be in the vincinity around me".
I continued "I think it would be pretty cool. You know. I could like make the hydrogen spontaneously fuse, or the likes. I haven't worked out all the details, but I think it would be a great long-term power".
"Damn" Johnny started. I thought maybe he was impressed. "Dude, this is some nerdy-ass power. Holy shit guys! Mike literally came up with the nerdiest shit I've heard".
The other started giggling. Jessica started "How you plan to show off if all you can do is twiddle with some shit no one can see?" Man this felt bad. I thought at least Jessica would keep quiet. I looked over to Phillip and was giving some sheepish smirk too. Like some sort of sad pity. Damn that stung. We were rooming together next year.
"Well, when I get it, I'll show you guys" I forced out, already feeling really embarrassed.
\---
Well, at 12 am I made my selection. After the characteristic spotlight and fancy music, I... felt different. I was suddenly aware of something in the air, the walls. Something like an uncomfortable awareness of someone looking at you, but in the sense that I could tell how much they are looking at me.
"Well, you need some privacy to practice?" Phillip started. At least he kinda understood. He didn't get his telekinesis down until 2 am.
"Uh... I'm not sure. Let me try it out".
I knew I had some sort of new awareness. It was weird. But now I tried to control it. It felt like trying to force some heat or energy at a spot I could feel. It was a bit hard, but slowly I got in the zone. I closed my eyes and focused.
"Hey look, Mike's got some sparkling shit around him. He's using his powers" Phillip shouted into the living room. I could hear them shuffling into the backyard.
Still, I could feel the heat build around my hand. It was weird and warm, actually. Like I had some fire. Then suddenly, a deep cold and I could feel my breath slipping away. It felt like I was being drowned in a deep expanse of frigid water.
"Hey Mike, snap out of it" I quietly heard. "Mike, stop!".
Suddenly I feel a shove to my gut. It was Phillip shoving me. "Yo Mike, stop! Holy crap! the fuck is your power?".
Phillip looked pale and concerned. Hell, even Ryan was concerned, and he normally doesn't give two shits.
"Wut?" I was confused. For some reason I could quite understand. I had my breath back though.
"Mike, you need to look behind you". Johnny said.
I slowly turned. The lawn had burns, but was also frozen. Random craters littered the ground. But in the middle of it was this metal core
"Mike. You made some sort of fireball. Then it suddenly became this metal thing in a flash of light".
I blinked. There was no way.
"I... I think I made some heavy metal. From the air? Maybe fusion?" I slowly start.
I thought quickly. Hydrogen to helium, to carbon and oxygen? To maybe Neon, Magnesium, sillicon, then Iron. What's after that? Tellurium? Was that a block of Tellurium?
"Holy crap" Phillip whistled. "You chose a better power than all of us. You can make a fucking star? You can materialize a fucking hunk of metal from thin air?" I was just as shocked as everyone else. I didn't know I could do that. I looked at Johnny and could see the shock and awe on his face.
And this was day one. College may be a fun time. | Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of people. There are those that use their Knack as just another way of living their life. Something to make things easier while they get on with what really matters. The teacher who can always tell what their students are whispering at the back of the class. The suburban dad who can carry all the shopping from the car in one go. These people tend to have Schedule 3 or Schedule 4 level Knacks, and they go about their lives happily, grateful for the small Knacks they have. The second type of person is one whose knack defines them. Their abilities are the very focus of their lives, and without it they feel they would be nothing. They choose their knack for a goal, to do something they would be incomplete without. Obviously, this has made society somewhat volatile. People whisper about government agencies tasked with tracking down people who abuse their Knacks. If you choose a strong Knack, you’d better be careful how you use it.
Noon came, and with the party quietened in anticipation. Unused to the attention, my resolve wavered. For a split second, I almost felt a voice in the back of my head telling me not to do it. Telling me I’d regret it. I brushed it away, my heart beating faster now. As the clock struck twelve, everyone turned to me, raising their glasses and smiling. My parents looked on nervously from the back of the crowd, anxious smiles across their faces. I took a deep breath and dropped my glass on the floor. In the silence, the shatter was like a thunderclap. I bent to the floor, and soon the room was abuzz with muttering and helpful bustle. *Don’t move… I’ll get a broom… here stay away you’ll cut yourself.* In the busy moment, I made my request. Under my breath, and using the official words, I requested that my Knack be control over the strong nuclear force. As soon as I said it, I felt a tingle in the back of my skull, as if a someone watching me had just looked away. That must be it, I thought, I must have it now. The mess had been cleared away, and everyone looked once again to me. I took another breath, and this time I wished loudly for the ability to control water.
There was a cheer in the room, my parents hugged me in relief, and some people even looked impressed. *Not bad,* I heard someone mutter to each other over bubbles, *a Schedule 2. What do you think he’ll do with it?*
Once the congratulations were over, I cornered Suzanne at the drinks table.
“Well done,” she said, “but controlling water? What’re you going to do with that? Seems pretty specific doesn’t it?”
“Well, Suze,” I began, “in a way I guess I did ask to control water, but, and you have to keep this to yourself, I actually asked for something else. I asked to control the Strong Nuclear Force.”
She was silent for a second. Then she burst out laughing. “You Goddamn nerd, what does that even mean?”
“Come on Suze, you remember physics, it means I can basically control the arrangement of atoms and stuff. Move protons and neutrons around, that sort of stuff.” I shifted uncomfortably, “if I’d known you’d have a go at me like that I wouldn’t have told you.”
“Right, I’m sorry,” she said without a trace of sincerity, “but wouldn’t that be like, really powerful?”
“Well, yeah. I can basically do anything. Levitate stuff probably, change something into something else, lots of stuff I guess.”
“But that must be a Schedule 1 then,” Suzanne looked around, her mirth forgotten. She was starting to panic for me. “You’ll have to be really careful, what if someone finds out?”
“I know, I know, relax. Let me show you something cool, if I can.” Picked up her glass of champagne, I reached my mind out into the glass. I focussed on the silicon inside it and lifted my eyes to Suzanne.
“I will now turn this glass,” I paused dramatically, “into sand! Mostly.” At this point, I admit I didn’t actually know what I was doing. But I thought that if I basically managed to make the glass do anything at all, Suzanne would be suitably impressed. I focussed my mind, throwing it into the glass, feeling dizzy as my minds eye span down through the crystalline structure of the glass. I felt the atoms, I felt the individual protons and neutrons, and I pulled.
In an instant, it felt like the secrets of the universe were revealed to me. I could burn cities, crumble mountains and turn whole continents to glass. I could create life, destroy suns, or sail through the cosmos and touch the very face of God. I was the most powerful creature in the universe. All I had to do was take it. I reeled back, aware of myself again. Suzanne was gone, my party, my house, my friends were gone. I was surrounded by fine, white ash. It hung in the air as well, I couldn’t see beyond ten feet in any direction. The I heard a voice.
“We did try to warn you.” A man’s voice, familiar somehow. “But you’re 18, why would you listen to a voice in your head.”
He was advancing towards me know, coming out of the fog. In a panic, with tears streaking my ash-covered face, I blasted him to pieces with my mind. Or, I tried to.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “everyone’s got a Knack. And this is mine.”
I tried again, but it felt like I couldn’t get a grip on his atoms, like I had no purchase. From behind me I heard a noise, and a hand gripped my neck. I felt the most terrible cold seeping from their hands into me. All my knowledge, all my ambition, all my power was being stripped away. I had been a God for less than 10 minutes. They’d been watching, they’d been waiting. In a society as dangerous as ours, they couldn’t wait for someone to abuse a Knack.
| 2018-12-20T23:53:03 | 2018-12-20T23:17:08 | 177 | 97 |
[WP] You're a supervillain with a superhero as your arch-nemesis. When they come out to the world about their depression and mental health, others call them weak and there is backlash. You, however, are the first one to support them publicly. | “What is strength?”
There was silence after Eclipse spoke, except for the sound of rubble trickling from the fresh hole in the newsroom wall. He did not wait for an answer as he seated himself and turned to his unwilling co-anchor.
“I asked a question, Son of Carl. You mocked the Strongman, belittled his struggles with depression and anxiety, called him broken. Weak. I do not think you know what strength is. And madam, if you cut the news feed, I will gut you where you stand.”
The plucky intern who had been reaching for the kill switch suddenly went very, very still.
“Now. What is strength?” He clasped his gauntleted hands and rested his chin on them as he faced the camera. “Perhaps we should start with what it is *not*. It is not power. Power is the ability to make your wishes become reality. To speak and make it so. But it is not strength.
“Strength, true strength, is resilience. It is doing what you must, what is best for you and your loved ones, in spite of the difficulty. Strength is inspiring others to do more. To be more. To become greater than themselves.
“It is in his name. The Strongman. He is a human who has stood against a god and emerged victorious. You have watched him lift buildings. Crumple iron. Shatter steel. When he knew his power was not enough, he had the strength to seek help. And you mocked him. *Mocked him.*”
Eclipse paused, calming himself, and unclenched his fists. After a long moment, he unfastened his gauntlets, tossing them carelessly to the floor, and the co-host gasped. A riot of scars ran up and down Eclipse’s arms, short and fat, long and pale, punctuated by two long, thin lines running down the center of his forearms.
“I know what it is like to see the world in grey. To be alone at 3 AM, wishing your light would go out, because you do not wish for death…but it is a refuge from what all the days to come will bring. To feel the world grown cold and hollow, yet nothing can distract you from how empty and still it has become. If I had known…perhaps, in another time…”
His voice wavered a moment, then returned to steel.
“No matter. His struggles forged him and mine shattered me. I worship my power. But I covet his strength. Yet you call him weak. So tell me, Son of Carl…” He turned to his co-host. “Would you ever call me weak?”
There was a heartbeat of silence.
“N-no!”
“You lie. But allow me to speak the truth.”
Faster than thought, Eclipse was standing, hand around the man’s throat. His feet kicked uselessly, suspended several feet above the floor, and Eclipse turned towards the camera.
"You do not recognize strength, only power. So I will be clear to those who would call him weak: if his name ever passes your lips again—in jeer or in joy—I will show you *power*. For he is human. I am a god. He may forgive…”
There was a wet, gurgling *crunch*.
“…but I will not." | *Ahem*
I always believed what elevated a villain to a super villain was their sense of *style*. But my unique, snazzy, often explosive ways of contacting you plebes are starting to be expected. ^(I know, Paradoxical.) And so, I have chosen to host a press conference, something wholly unexpected and therefore being able to drill into a much bigger audience, what will likely be the most important thing I'll ever say.
​
My nemesis, the recently renamed Impenetrable^(— god, which idiot told him that was a better name—) Well, they have decided to tell us of their still continuing struggles with depression. This is in my opinion one of the bravest things Impenetrable has done in my decade of knowing them, and I will fully support them in any way I can.
That being said, My solidarity with Imp— Yeah, no, I'm not calling them that anymore. What was their previous name? They had that for a month. Something starting with O, right? Something like Omni—ohhhhh.
Yea, I'll just call them Arch like I used to. ^(People know him better as Impenetrable, my ass.)
That being said, My solidarity with Arch, while more than enough to call this conference, is not the only reason I am here.
​
I expected a few dozen or so degenerates to mock Arch for his ongoing battles. I'd have just zapped them and changed the chemical balance in their brain, preferably without Arch knowing— They'd just reverse it after all. With those... bad apples hidden, I mean gone, we as a community could help Arch.
What I didn't expect was more than half of this so-called society to deride Arch for being, well, human.
I couldn't believe you fools. You call me evil, while you continue to beat Arch down when he's at the weakest, when even I wouldn't hurt him. Tell me, who is the real villain here?
I probably should have zapped everyone here, to make you understand an iota of what Arch is going through. The only reason I didn't is because Arch asked me not to. How he knew what I was going to do, I'll never know, but consider yourselves lucky that Arch doesn't want you heartless creature to experience his demons.
Maybe I should have just held hostage a dozen kids or so till you learnt at least some amount of empathy, and decency. But I doubt anything I said or wanted you to understand would have gone through those thick head of yours. Best case scenario, I'd have traumatized bunch of kids and parents, and angered an entire city....
Or maybe— WHAT DID YOU SAY GENERAL?!
....
\[1/3\] | 2022-06-21T10:53:43 | 2022-06-21T10:53:05 | 209 | 48 |
[WP] Mash up two fairy tales to make a new one. Take a new, fresh direction on it. | In a rundown tavern at the edge of town...
"I mean, I'm not young anymore. I'm almost 16." Sleeping Beauty sighed. "At least you're living with 7 guys. Worst case you could get hitched to one of them."
"Not that any of them are husband material." Snow white replied. "I've been pretending to be dead for 6 months, and not one of them noticed."
"HA", Sleeping Beauty laughed. "I've been pretending to be asleep for 2 years. Not even my parents know I'm faking."
"There's got to be a better way to get a prince than to pretend you're unconcious and wait for some molester to feel you up." Snow White sighed.
"It worked for Margaritte." Sleeping Beauty said. "Remember? She drank too much wine during the harvest festival and prince Orric snuck into her room to give her a kiss. They were wed within 3 months."
"Orric's a creep." Snow White shuddered. "My prince will be rich and handsome. How about yours?"
"You ever wonder if two Princesses can get married?" Sleeping Beauty asked.
"My father says thoughts like that come from the devil." Snow white answered. "But he married a witch, so what does he know."
Both the girls sighed.
"There's gotta be more to life than just sitting around waiting for the perfect guy to show up" Snow White said.
"I wish that were true," Sleeping beauty replied. By the time the girls finished drinking, the sun had almost gone down, and Snow white had to hurry back to the cottage, lest the dwarves discover her body missing. Sleeping beauty had to get back before the guards discovered that the sleeping princess was actually the handmaiden Griselda.
On their way back, Snow white was suddenly curious.
"Griselda doesn't mind being stuck in bed all day doing nothing?" she asked.
"I think she prefers it." Sleeping Beauty replied. "I think she wants to be a princess."
"Who in their right minds would be envious of our lives?" Snow white scoffed.
When the two princesses reached the fork in the road, they said their goodbyes, promising to meet up again the following week. With that, they each returned to their dreary lives. | The helicopter blades distantly sing through the air as a loudspeaker began a patient, clear call. "Incoming wounded, incoming wounded! All personnel prepare for the wounded!"
Figures began to sprint around the green tents that compose the Mobile Allegory Surgical Hospital. Talking animals, creatures of magical and fantastic shapes, sizes run, slither, and flit about on their wings in rapid preparation. The meals, warm drinks, musical implements, and merry talks of kinder and gentler times were dropped. Stethoscopes were brandished, and medical beds furnished for the imminent arrival of the wounded.
Nearly half a dozen wounded were on the first helicopter, the gurneys crammed into the passenger and cargo areas of the tiny flying machine. Ground crews hurry to haul the wounded to waiting jeeps while being buffeted by the spinning blades.
“What have we got?” A patronly bear asks, looking over the casualties as the helicopter lifts off without pause.
“This one’s temperature is low, way low,” a stern faced bear says as she takes sterilizes the thermometer. “And his pulse is dangerously low!!”
“And this one is running a fever, and his heart is racing, I need 20cc’s of Corbetazine,” the patronly bear responds.
“And this one’s vitals are checking out okay,” and Youthful, slightly worried bear states, before he begins to sterilize the bullet wound. The casualty begins to cringe and moan, but the young bear comforts him. “You’ll be fine, the bullet just hit your arm and went clean through. We’ll sterilize you and give you a place to rest up and you’ll be just fine!”
---------------------
I’ll M* A * S * H up another one later if I feel like it. | 2014-03-01T16:14:00 | 2014-03-01T15:57:34 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] Salt is known to be able to repel or even contain evil spirits. As companies start to drain the Dead sea of salt to sell as a novelty, they unwillingly unleash a spirit that the Dead sea was meant to contain.
From TwoSentenceHorror | After eons of numbness I felt an irritation, a minor variance in the otherwise frozen state of my life. I still cannot fathom my stupidity, or what I believed then was invincibility that I decided to nap in this godforsaken place, fully aware that the blood shaman along with that traitor Ryjm , the djinn of the waves were after me.
By the time I was awake and thirsty for blood , my entire body felt as if it was on fire! Damn those bastards, that they had convinced the Djinn king to grovel before the Marid (Slimy vile creature , he was always jealous of me) to support their cause! They together broke the heavens and Sands and trapped my majestic body(hey! I’m not vain I was voted the most ferocious Dragon of the Sinking Sun Era). Since then I suffered in silence , any movement breaking the fragile numbness my body had accustomed to. Now after Eons I felt a change, a shift in the very fabric of the cage I was trapped in. The water thick with the crystals of flame, where once I bathed in the flames of volcanoes, this cursed water burnt me till all I could do to keep myself sane was lay as still as a rock.
Now I felt the weight of the water lessen, the fire lashing out but I could feel it’s teeth loose the edge. I dared to move, sending a forgotten wave of terror through my body , but as I stared upwards i saw a brightness on the surface that gave me strength and the poison that had been hope. As I bided my time , the brightness kept increasing , the rays of the brilliant sun piercing the water , the water weighing me down less and less , the invisible shackles of pain loosing their strength. I could sense beings , something new , but similar to ants and sheep and prey of my prey. There was not an iota of power or magik, but they were many and they would serve as an appetiser to my hunger which would only be satiated after every last of those with magik would be piled dead at my feet, my soul filled to the brim with their energy.
I could hear them speak, their tones and language foreign to me, but the humble whispers of the slaves who served their masters, a vast difference in the language spoken by the beings of the sand, but I could make out a few words of the original dialect. I could make out that they were the ones behind reducing the level of the cursed water, that gold was the motivation. I cared not, as I could feel the rays by now, a few feets left between me and my freedom. I decided to be magnanimous , and decided to finish these prey of preys in an instant , to keep the horror of my anger to the prey. As soon as I felt the tip of my wings feel the naked rays of the sun , I shook myself ignoring the last embers of pain and let out a roar which would send every being with magik in manic terror. I took a second to get my bearing, and surveyed around seeing beings like the shaman flee , with no blast of power, no pressure of the soul. I gobbled them up, and as I prepared to take flight, I saw a being , who by itself had no power but wore a ring that shined as brilliant as the sun.
Curious as the dragon, as they always said back in the day, I bowed to get a better view, and the being bowed down to me and said in the language of Power “I am humbled to witness the rebirth of the Great Lord Bartholon, I am a representative of NESTLE, and I have a proposal for you” . I was taken aback by his use of my language, but the moment passed as I decided to eat this being as well. Time to fly! | "Angelica, pull the trigger..."
A man's body dropped and it immediately began to sink into the black and white ceramic floor. He squirmed in pain, trying to cover the wound in his head as the ground swallowed him. Soon, he was just bits of greasy hair which stuck out from the tiles. The girl, teary eyed, dropped the gun and ran as far as she could from the building...
"The investigation on the mysterious disappearance of Roberto Castillo, the former CEO of Canasta S.A. is ongoing. Reports say that he was last seen entering a local hospital with an unidentified woman..." A cute reporter talked about the case on tv while the man's portrait was shown in the background. Two men sat in an empty bar. The older of the two, a fisherman, was very disturbed by the case on tv.
"I'm tellin ya, Mikey. He disrespected the sea and *it* has come back to bite em..."
"Doyle, that's a load of bullshit and you know it. Dude was involved with dangerous men and paid the price for it. No one makes this much money on stupid salt."
Doyle pondered for a moment as he took a shot from his glass.
"Oh he was, but there are things, that no matter how much power you get. You do not disrespect em. I'm runnin far away from here, Michael. I'm done with this company and you should do the same."
"You know I need the money..."
"This is not worth the money, or your life! This sea is cursed! Cursed I tell ya!"
The two men were interrupted by someone kicking the door open. He was covered in blood and had a makeshift tourniquet stopping the bleeding from his missing forearm. He struggled to yell at them as he hyperventilated.
"Help! Guys, the salt farm. We were out... Out at sea with the other guys and... And... Come quick!"
"Jesus Christ, Jason! What in the hell happened to you?" Michael dropped his drink and Doyle crossed himself and began reciting prayers beneath his breath.
A great sand storm had formed around them. Jason guided the two to his truck and drove them to the beach. Doyle was still not saying a thing, he was too shocked by what was going on. So Michael asked further.
"Jason, what the hell is going on? Where are you taking us?"
"To the... The salt farm, dude. The old man, he called it *the lady of the sea.* David and Carlos are dead, man! They're dead!" He was shivering and had difficulty seeing through the cloud of sand as he drove.
"You better be joking! What even happened?"
"It just appeared, man..."
"Look out!" Michael interrupted him, but it was too late. They crashed into a person standing in the middle of the road, obscured by the storm.
"Oh... No no no no no..."
"Jason, calm down! Just... Help me take a look at that guy!" The three of them got out of the car to check on the person, only to find them half sunken in the pavement. Their blood drained from their faces and they got back inside. Jason took a moment to scream his lungs out, startling the other two, but they did nothing to stop him.
"We have to put the salt back..." Doyle muttered.
"Say that again."
"The salt, we have to put it back in the sea!" | 2022-05-05T01:45:13 | 2022-05-05T01:41:47 | 124 | 15 |
[WP] You’re a ventriloquist comedian who dies mid-set. Muppetos the puppet god smiles upon you, transfers your soul to your puppet, and gives empowers you to move your former human body like a puppet. The crowd is shocked, but the show must go on. Time to give the performance of your lifetime. | “So Mr. Rupert,” I asked the little wooden puppet dangling between my legs. “What’s your favorite kind of relationship?”
"No strings attached!" I ventriloquized in a high pitched voice.
Not a single laugh from the audience. This was bad—I was ten minutes into a forty-minute set and I’d already lost the crowd. Comedy's all about momentum, and when you've lost it, you're toast. I dabbed my forehead, it was hot in here.
“Well Mr. Rupert, you sound like quite the lady's man. Have you ever had a one night stand?”
"Yes, I’ve slept with many night stands."
Someone threw a candy bar at me. “Boo! You suck!”
Great, a heckler. There's a special place in hell for people like this. I tried to think of a witty retort, but kept coming up blank. You’d think I’d have one prepared for something as classic as ‘boo you suck.’ Maybe if I was a better entertainer I would have. Why is it so goddamn hot in here?
I pressed on. "The ladies say I'm well *strung.*"
"Boooo!"
I dabbed my forehead again and tried to think happy thoughts. Trees. Babbling brooks. Gargling heckler, spitting up blood, begging for his life as I—suddenly, a stabbing pain shot through my chest. I doubled over, barely registering the murmer rippling through the crowd. "I'm okarrgh" was all I could say before falling to the ground.
The world went black.
Then, a bright white light. It was exactly as everyone said death would be, except with more puppets, because the only other thing in this endless white expanse was Mr. Rupert. "Hello," he said in that all-to-familiar voice. "You’re dead, John."
“Anything to get off that stage,” I replied.
"No," Mr. Rupert said sternly. "We won't leave the audience... *hanging.*"
I smiled. "Good one."
"The show must go on, John." Mr. Rupert held his arms out wide, embraced me, and touched his head to mine. "Give them hell."
Suddenly, I was back on stage again. Except it wasn’t me. My body still lay crumpled, a crowd beginning to form around the base of the stage. I looked at my hands. Small, wooden.
Someone in the crowd gasped. “The puppet’s moving!”
I realized in that moment that I was Mr. Rupert. I looked back at my hands, this time registering the fishing line extended from them to my old body. Well I'll be a muppet's uncle. I'm a puppet. Perhaps it was entertainer's instinct, or perhaps it was just the assumption that this was all a terrible fever dream, but I didn't question any of it. I knew exactly what I had to do.
I cleared my puppet throat. “Looks like he… choked!” I quipped.
Roaring laughter punctuated by moans of relief.
I clambered onto the stool I had been sitting in, raised my hands, and with them, I—John—rose to life. We were given a standing ovation. Admittedly, most people had already been standing at that point, but let's not split hairs.
I pulled a string and John’s lifeless arm snapped to his forehead, he leaned forward, and began scouring the crowd. "Who threw that candy bar?" he asked. It was strange trying to impersonate my old voice. I was worse at it than I would have expected.
There was a rustling as everyone around pointed to one man in particular. The man slinked into his chair and shook his head.
"Come on up," John said.
“You heard him!” I quipped as Mr. Rupert. “You're part of the show now!”
The man tried to resist but the crowd around him urged him on, laughing and shaking their heads, thirsty for blood. I’m just glad it wasn’t mine.
The man stood up slowly, glancing at the exit as if considering whether to run. The bouncer—god bless him—took a step into the entry way, crossed his arms and shook his head. The man reluctantly walked onto the stage. He was pale and frightened.
“What’s the matter,” I said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The crowd laughed and the man smiled half-heartedly. I manipulated the strings and John bent down awkwardly to grab the candy bar. He rose almost robotically, slowly extending the bar to the man before I jerked the strings. "Boo!" John yelled, lunging forward, hovering a foot off the air, eyes crooked and lifeless.
The man shrieked, stumbled backwards, and fell to the ground. "Sorry," John said. "That’s what you said earlier right? I assumed you spoke ghost."
More laughter from he crowd.
"That's not nice, John!" I said. "Help the man up!"
John extended a hand but the man wisely refused. He stood up on his own.
"Give the man his candy bar back, John."
"Is this yours?" John asked, holding the candy bar out.
The man grinned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to throw it. I guess my hand slipped."
As the man reached for the candy bar I jerked the strings a second time. John backhanded the man across the face with an almost supernatural strength. He went flying like a ragdoll, collapsing to the ground five feet away. The crowd gasped as John threw the candy bar at his motionless body.
I shrugged to the audience. "Sorry, I guess my hands slipped."
Some people laughed, others hooted, but most looked confused and concerned. John and I bowed. “That’s all folks! Hope everyone has a great night!”
As the curtain fell, so too did we. The world went black once more.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | "Where am I?" Deff called to the inky blackness, swirling in and out of focus all around him. There was pain, a bolt of pinching ache radiating up his arm, and then this nothingness. Slowly, items began to convalesce from the inky mirk, a chair, a boa scarf, a stool, a table littered in bills, and a microwaved meatloaf.
"Your strings have been clipped, my Ardent." The voice sailed from item to item with each word. "You are in my realm, one of pure creation. Do you like it?"
"So, what? I died? This is my store brand heaven?" Deff asked, reaching down to feel no body below him. He felt the sensation of movement, but no touch. The stomach ulcer was quiet as well for the first time in weeks. "And you're God?"
"Yes, my Lark, and yes, but let us be humble and say with a little g. There are so many of us in the forest, I dare not call myself Tree. We each gain our paladins depending on how they died. Those in battle to the Blood Dorge, those in peaceful sleep to Elysium, dreadfully boring chap, etc." The voice settled in the Boa Scarf and it began to slink, more like a worm than a snake, closer and closer.
"So I had a heart attack and died in the middle of my ventriloquist act. What does that make you? The god of performance?"
"P̸͍̓̎͝ü̵͓̱̤͂̓̈́̕͜p̴̖̤͈͈̒͊p̵͚̯̯̀e̶̙̻̽̑͠t̴̥͕̝͊̀͜ȯ̴͙̘̘͑̿͛ś̵͚͈̏̒, though you have not supped the bread of the unborn long enough to absorb my name," the Boa said, raising out feathers like a cobra.
"Send me back! I don't want this place! This isn't the afterlife I had in mind, fluffball!" Deff batted his hands up and down as gossamer threads began to spool from his fingers, curling like growing tendrils, yearning for something to latch to.
"I do not take commands in my own house," the Boa said, shaking with a comical rage. "When we next meet again, little fray, think hard on how you speak."
The blackness collapsed around him again, though Deff could still feel the strings dripping from his fingers, long and aching for flesh.
A week passed in that insensate empty or perhaps just days. That swirling pattern of blacks shut the mind down, made even realizing you exist difficult. Maybe it was not even a moment before the sound and sight came crashing back.
"Well, that's no way to talk to a lady, Grumpol!" a voice called out as the blinding lights of the stage stung Deff's eyes. He was back, right where he had been, but that wasn't him that just spoke and, much more concerning, something was inside him, deep, impossibly deep.
"I don't give a raaaaaat's aaaaaaaasss," the man beside Deff said again accompanied by that fullness, that incomprehensible sensation inside him moving his own mouth with the words. His jaw clamped shut, lips pursed in the stubborn set only age can provide.
He was the puppet, Deff realized with horror. He was fucking Old Man Grumpol and this man in his body had a hand all the way up Deff's...
Deff lashed out, pushing the man. The audience cackled uproariously and the man looked shocked before darting eyes around, checking behind the stage. Deff kicked out then, causing a new round of laughter from the crowd. The man wearing his face nervously smiled.
"Well, Grumpol, you really, uh, aren't being too friendly today," he adlibbed, sweat glistening through the make-up.
"Maybe you should spend some time with a hand up your ass and see if you feel like talking!" he said again and Deff's lips obediently followed.
Deff reached behind the man's back, planning to try just that, when the thin strings from his fingers latched on hungrily to the man's skin, sucking like thin white leeches, blood wicking up their lengths as a singular pleasure flew through him.
All at once, Deff's point of view changed. He was sitting in the stool, looking down at Grumpol again.
In half a daze, he finished the set on muscle memory alone, really phoning it in, bush-league stuff front to back. After thirty more minutes of mild applause, he moved to place Grumpol in his box and he felt the strings detach from his back with wet snaps.
He was the puppet again and the man now looking down at him horrified began to scream. Deff didn't give him the chance, springing upward and latching the strings to the man's arm.
...
He walked with the puppet on his shoulders slowly to the limousine waiting to take him back to the hotel.
"Excellent work out there, Mr. Junham." The driver smiled broadly as he strained to turn to the back. "Grumpol didn't want to go back in the box, eh?"
"It was trash, Jim, you don't have to kiss my ass," Deff said, lighting a cigarette. "I died up there."
And next time, it won't be during a fucking puppet show, he added silently as Grumpol smiled beside him.
/r/surinical | 2021-05-01T21:16:42 | 2021-05-01T21:04:20 | 216 | 12 |
[WP] You're a ghost who works for a Ouija Board call center. You're stuck with yet another group of kids trying to talk to demons | I had to get a new job.
A century and a half of being dead, and I was still working the same crappy night shift in this stupid call centre. I saw the new souls coming in on a monthly basis, all pretty fresh faced considering they'd passed on, getting promoted ahead of me or moving along to pastures new.
A stop gap, I'd said.
Six months, I'd said.
God, I hated my afterlife.
At least on a day shift all you got were housewives who felt a little 'experimental' while the kids were sleeping. At night we were inundated with contact from the other side. I swore to whatever demon had employed me that, should I ever find the genius behind the Ouija board, I was going to cast him into a pit of Hellfire and damnation myself.
At least we were all on computers, now. Headsets made my ears feel weird. And typing stuff through for people to pick up removed a lot of the voice recognition blips. Honestly, we'd had to stop hiring anyone Scottish for months while we were figuring out that issue.
YOU ARE CONNECTED TO .... DAVID.
Perfect.
A guy.
DAVID ASKS: ... ....
No, no, you take your time. I don't have anyone else to talk to. Douche.
DAVID ASKS: ARE YOU THERE?
YOU REPLIED: YES.
DAVID ASKS: ARE YOU A GHOST?
No, I'm a fucking mongoose.
YOU REPLIED: YES.
DAVID ASKS: WHAT'S IT LIKE ON THE OTHER SIDE.
YOU REPLIED: ... UNDERSTAFFED.
DAVID ASKS: WHAT?
YOU REPLIED: WE DON'T HAVE A UNION. SEND HELP.
DAVID ASKS: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
YOU REPLIED: I'M TRYING TO GET FIRED, KID.
DAVID ASKS: IS THIS A JOKE?
YOU REPLIED: NO, THE JOKE IS MY BONUS FOR THIS FINANCIAL YEAR.
DAVID ASKS: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?
YOU REPLIED: I'M NOT OBLIGED TO PROVIDE THAT. DATA PROTECTION LAWS.
DAVID ASKS: IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE I CAN TALK TO?
YOU REPLIED: SHIT. SORRY. CONNECTION ISSUES.
THIS SEANCE HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED.
Fuck. I needed a coffee. | "Are you there?" A voice called out from my computer. For being dead, we are a lot more high-tech than we may seem. I mean hey, we have Steve Jobs. I typed a response, Y-E-S. It gets them every time they see the tracker move.
My clients today were a group of six girls at a slumber party. Marvelous. "Who are you?" The leader of the pack it seemed, I could see them on my computer screen, was speaking slowly at the board. Here comes the fun part, I could A) Lie and say I'm the Bloody Mary or some shit like that or I could B) Tell them the truth which is certainly not as exciting. I pick A. I--A-M-- I pause,leaving the girls in suspense.
"Who?" One of the girls squeaked only to be attacked by a series of hushes. L-I-L-I-A-N-A. I lie.
"Who?" The girl on the end said, and they looked at each other for an answer. I decided to milk it a bit more. D-A-U-G-H-T-E-R--O-F--L-I-L-I-T-H. Which is a total lie, but their series of gasps shows that they know no difference.
"Oh shit," The leader of the pack murmured. Y-O-U--D-A-R-E--W-A-S-T-E--M-Y--T-I-M-E-?
The frantically started yelling at each other trying to figure out what to say, it was obvious they were scared out of their minds.When a full minute had passed and no further contact was made I figured I had my fun.
T-I-M-E-S--U-P. I spelled out and you could hear a series of screams just as I made their world turn dark. | 2015-06-04T02:12:56 | 2015-06-03T22:50:50 | 44 | 15 |
[WP] You open the door to your house. You notice someone who looks exactly like you sitting in a chair. You don't have a twin. "Can I help you?" The person looks at you. "I'll give it to you straight: I'm a shapeshifter. I'm in danger. One of us needs to stay in the basement for now. Best it's you." | "You sure about that? I can handle myself well enough." I said as I pulled out my pistol and chambered a round.
"No, trust me, they aren't \*people\*, a weapon like that won't cut it, I've just gotta trick them into thinking I'm not here, and this place is an extrasensory dead zone for some reason, so they can't see through this disguise."
"Wait, did you walk in here with no idea who I am, just copied someone off the street and hopped into their house?"
"Yeah, why does who you are matter? Wait, how the hell are you so okay with all this?" My response was to channel a touch of power into the runes on my handgun and gloves, causing them to turn from nearly invisible to glowing a pale, ethereal blue. The doppleganger froze, and its expression turned to stark terror.
"You're the fucking wizard. I walked into the house of the fucking wizard, because of course he'd have wards mimicking a natural dead zone."
"I'm the fucking wizard alright."
"Why am I alive, then? You must have killed a dozen of us by now."
I sighed and lowered my weapon from pointing upward and ready to at my side. "Because instead of trying to take my memories, kill me, and replace me, you just asked me to hide. That's not how your kind operate. So, I have to ask how'd you end up in this situation? Be aware, one of the wards will stop you from lying."
"I uh..." He gagged, clearly having hoped to call my "bluff" about the truth ward. I hadn't been bluffing. "I let a human live that I shouldn't have. Blew an operation. My cell never liked me before, and now..."
"They're gonna kill you. Probably some shit about you being 'flawed' for not being a total psycho too, yeah?"
"Yeah"
"Well, you seem like possibly the best anomaly among monsters I've met, can't wait until the vegan werewolves hear about this." The Shifter looked deeply confused at that, and seemed like he was about to question it, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. A series of heavy, slow knocks. I sighed.
"We can talk more once I take out the trash. You might want to turn around, it might get messy."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Hope folks enjoy, pretty heavy Dresden Files inspiration here, but fun to write regardless. | *You open the door to your house. You notice someone who looks exactly like you sitting in a chair. You don't have a twin. "Can I help you?" The person looks at you. "I'll give it to you straight: I'm a shapeshifter. I'm in danger. One of us needs to stay in the basement for now. Best it's you."*
After telling the shapeshifter that they need to leave your house, they become agitated and refuse to go. They insist that they are in danger and that one of you needs to stay in the basement for protection. You try to remain calm, but you are starting to feel uneasy. You know that you need to take action to protect yourself and your home.
You decide to call the police and explain the situation to them. They tell you to stay on the phone with them and not to engage with the shapeshifter. They also dispatch a squad car to your address to assist you. In the meantime, you try to keep an eye on the shapeshifter and make sure they don't try to leave the house or cause any harm.
As you wait for the police to arrive, the shapeshifter becomes increasingly agitated. They start pacing around the room and muttering to themselves. You can't make out what they are saying, but it sounds like they are speaking in a different language. You start to wonder if they are truly in danger, or if they are just trying to manipulate you.
Just as you are starting to feel overwhelmed, the police arrive at your house. They enter the room and quickly assess the situation. However, due to the shapeshifter's ability to mimic your appearance, the police mistake you for the shapeshifter. They tell you to calm down and to cooperate with them, but you are confused and startled by their mistake.
The shapeshifter takes advantage of the situation and manages to escape while the police are focused on you. You try to explain to the police that you are the original person and that the shapeshifter has escaped, but they don't believe you. They handcuff you and take you into custody for questioning.
You are shocked and confused by the turn of events. You try to explain to the police that you are the victim and that the shapeshifter is the one they should be looking for, but they don't seem to believe you. You are worried about what will happen next and hope that the police will be able to catch the shapeshifter and clear your name. | 2022-12-05T10:30:15 | 2022-12-05T05:55:43 | 186 | 41 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Me,
I miss you. I miss the way you used to be. You used to care. You used to try your hardest. Now all you do is say, I'll do it later. I can see that you're struggling. Yet, you have more friends than you ever did, and you know what you want to do with your life.
But still, when it comes to day-to-day stuff, you don't care anymore. You still show up on class on time, but you do your assignments in class the day it's due, or stay up all night finishing that huge end-of-term assignment. Your car has bald tires, because you can't be bothered to get new ones. You have dozens of personal projects you started ages ago, then lost all motivation to complete. And you've shaved twice in the past month.
All you do now is spend your time browsing Reddit, reading the news, and watching YouTube videos. It's like you've given up. Yet, when you actually have a _purpose_ to keep trying, I've seen you move mountains. I've seen you learn to become a proficient programmer from almost nothing in two months, and be better than the other guy at work who's been doing it for ten years. I've seen you try. Sometimes you failed, but just as often you succeeded spectacularly. Now, all you CAN do is fail, because you can't succeed if you don't try.
It doesn't make sense. You are somewhat intelligent, but squander it on useless nonsense. _Who cares_ what somebody on the Web has to say? I don't care, so why do you? It literally has no bearing on your life. Why do you keep watching random YouTube videos about stuff you're never going to even try because you're sitting there watching YouTube videos?
Maybe all you need is a real challenge. Something that you truly care about. After all, it's hard to care about deadlines and challenges you're set when you know they're completely artificial and arbitrary. But you KNOW that completing post-secondary school is important, and critical to you finding a good job. But you still don't care. Deep down, I know you care, but you need to care _now_, not later.
I remember how you used to race to complete everything you were set so that you could hand it in early. I remember how you used to start something and actually FINISH IT. Now you get three chapters into a book, set it down, and never pick it back up. I remember how you used to sign 15 novels out of the library, and finish them all before the week was up.
Please come back.
I miss you dearly,
Your Future Self | Name changes, for privacy reasons, but here goes.
My dear Maria,
I recall in vivid detail the conversations we once shared, about where our lives were headed, our hopes and fears, our dreams and nightmares. I never told you outright how much I love you, and that is the only thing in life I truly regret. I tried telling you one day (though I didn't do a very good job of it), and you were clear that you weren't ready for a relationship beyond just being friends at the time.
The next few months, we drifted away from one another. I watched you find someone else; those next few months, watching you looking so happy with someone else, were the hardest times I have ever gone through. The pain I went through during that time is something that I pray neither you nor anyone else has to experience. It very nearly broke me, and it is only by the grace of God that I made it through.
After we reconnected and restored our friendship, I told myself that I would respect your wishes and simply be an honest, supportive friend. For a time, I convinced myself that it would be possible to simply be your friend and keep my feelings for you contained. However, over the past few weeks, I have realized that I could more easily hold back the Amazon River with my bare hands than hold back my feelings for you.
Any time I spend with you is the high point of my week; when I go about my day, I see your beautiful face and hear your delightful laugh. I remember in vivid detail your wonderfully compassionate smile, and I count the days until I can see you again. Will I ever be able to tell you I love you? Must my feelings remain hidden forever? How I wish I could show you just what you mean to me!
I hope that someday I find the opportunity to tell you this; I realize now that as much as I value your friendship, I care about you too much to keep up this pretense of only caring about you as a friend. Someday, I will no longer be able to keep from telling you.
All my love to you,
Davin | 2017-11-05T22:02:16 | 2017-11-05T21:31:39 | 1,095 | 19 |
[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.
Edit: You guys are freaking great. | The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it.
Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary.
It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on.
That day, he died.
Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was.
August 26th, 2025.
The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five.
By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me.
They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine.
I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light.
I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left.
Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island.
I asked if I could go home instead, and she left.
They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life.
I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear.
I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me.
But there was nobody to bring me water, either. | The world was going to end on August 26th, 2025. Thanks to the death clocks, this had been known for years. Everyone got tested. Everyone had their clock. The world was going to end and that was that. One day, I had noticed something strange. I had one more day than everyone else. I was going to spend my last day alive alone on this planet. That's what I had 9 years to reconcile, but it was also the worst kept secret on the planet.
People made plans to stay with me. Everyone else wanted one more day. Everyone. The attention was frustrating. Celebrities and politicians contacted me. I became estranged from family and friends as others with power and money wanted one more day. It didn't bother them that humanity was dead. It was just their strive for survival, but I turned everyone down, all of the offers.
It didn't end there though. A group of people started to follow me. I was the chosen one or the survivor or the last great hope for humanity. As the years passed, the followers stopped following, and I became a hermit. I lived in the wilderness and found a cave. That's how I coped with this supposedly fantastic news.
As the day approached, it was clear an asteroid was going to hit Earth. Scientists found it with four years to spare. The world mounted a defense, but every effort to stop it failed. The impact date was August 27th, 2025, my day and not everyone else's and that was the problem. All hope was lost, there was nothing left for the world to lose. Why not kill all your of your enemies? As I hid in a cave, bombs flew. I lived through it apparently the lone survivor, but I doubt anyone was jealous of my day spent crying in a cave waiting for an asteroid to hit.
I had eschewed technology long ago, except for the death clock. Followers had abandoned me as had the rich and powerful hoping for one more day. As the asteroid approached, I watched it in the sky. I remember reading about the death clocks. That's what I thought about as death approached, and I watched it countdown to 0, an article about the death clocks. They were incredibly accurate to 0.00001%. It made me wonder though if they determined destiny rather than predicting it. If we made our fate to match the predetermined outcome. And, I watched the asteroid pass close to the Earth. It disappeared. I did not see the impact, but I waited. And I waited for something that never came.
Then, I looked at my watch. I remembered something unusual about it. It only counted down for 1000 years, ten lifetimes to most people. As it switched to August 28th, I saw 00yr 00mt 00ds 00hr 00sc turn over to 999yr 11mt 30ds 23hr 59sc. At first, I was destroyed. I knew there was pain to come, but there was also a world to rebuild which meant there was hope. Then, I smiled a weak little smile. That fact alone made today already better than yesterday.
***
If you like this, I've started to write a Batman/Superman story set 30+ years in the future: [Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/) | 2016-07-24T23:48:07 | 2016-07-24T20:05:30 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You got drunk and woke up with a tattoo that reads '31' with no recollection of getting it. The next morning it reads '30' you suspect it is counting down to something | She knows. I know she knows. I think to myself as I shut my eyes and try to sleep with a 1 somehow etched onto my head.
On the first day I got a '31' on my head after a night of heavy drinking and my wife yells at me for having that 'stupid tattoo' on my head and how I can't even remember why it's there. Yet she seemed to get over it surprisingly quickly, this is the women who'd nag at me about my bi-daily drinking nights for weeks after.
The day after that she yells again. There was no scarring from the last 'tattoo' (if that's what it is). And each day for the next week she kept yelling at me until she gave up and it just became jabs here and there at me being an idiot.
Throughout this entire time I've no idea what any of it meant. I'd ended up asking our in-house butler on the first day, he had shrugged and offers his same, as-per-usual, wise, calm advise and suggests investigating what I was doing on that night of drinking.
Agreeing, I take the next 3 weeks off work -being a popular member of the board has benefits-. And I go back to the bar I -think- I was at (or at least that I usually regular) and ask around - apparently it had been a normal night, got drunk, then was driven home by my butler.
I ask my friend and butler, he had no idea how it happened either.
For next 3 weeks I found -nothing-, and every night it ticked down, and I got more and more nervous - was this some strange alien material, was someone sneaking into my house at night?
Throughout this entire time I got more and more tense, I yelled at my wife and kids for the smallest things. Usually I'd relieve tension by drinking but I was too scared of what might happen if I lost my memory again, my butler offered the same advise so despite what my impulses told me, I stayed sober.
These last few days though... I've accepted it, I've been quiet, avoiding contact, just wanting whatever this ordeal was about over with.
With a sigh I feel my sleeping meds take effect and I drift off, fearful of what I'll awaken to... if at all.
I wake as normal, slowly and drowsily to my alarm... but looking up I see a sight I haven't seen since a fathers day 6 years ago.
My wife, children and family butler crowded around the bed.
My kid hops up on the bed and yells happily.
"He did it! He did it! I knew he could!"
I look to my butler and wife for some sort of sane explanation and for the first time in years I see my wife give me a genuine smile.
"One full month without Alcohol. You've gotten through the worse of the withdrawal without even realizing it's importance. Now finally we can try to be a happy family again." | *Berttttttttt* *Berttttttttt* *Berttttttttt*
A hand rising up in startled flash and dropping like a timber being fell, directly and with muscle memory accuracy upon the snooze button. Another day, another bunch of obligations.
Tim slide the covers off, opened his yawning mouth and rubbed his eyes as he did every day. lifting himself out of bed, he went to the shower, took his shirt off and suddenly saw upon his back the number '31'. Being the sort Tim was, he took it upon himself to express his surprise with a "fuck me. what the fuck is that". peering closer and closer by minute, raising his tension about the situation. Now with medicine cabinet mirror also gaining different angles on the phenomena, as Tim is a problem solver.
After about fifteen good minutes of observation, tim being the sort he is, decides its certainly an odd phenomena and starts showering for work; where he can try to wash it off. You can rest assured this bothered him all day. He told no one.
*Berttttttttt* *Berttttttttt* *Berttttttttt*
A hand rising up in startled flash and dropping like a timber being fell, directly and with muscle memory accuracy upon the snooze button.Another day, another bunch of obligations.
Tim slide the covers off, opened his yawning mouth and rubbed his eyes as he did every day. Got up, went to the shower, took his shirt off and suddenly it reads '30' on his back. Being the sort Tim was, he took it upon himself to express his surprise with a "This is getting too weird"; while peering closer and with more scrutiny for the situation. Still with medicine cabinet mirror also gaining different angles on the phenomena. He explores the phenomena for another 15 minutes before going going off to shower and to try to scrub it off once more. You can rest assured this bothered him all day, and it was hard to sleep that night. He told no one.
*Berttttttttt* *Berttttttttt* *Berttttttttt*
A hand rising up in startled flash and dropping like a timber being fell, directly and with muscle memory accuracy upon the snooze button.Another day, another bunch of obligations.
He jumps out of bed, and runs to the mirror. Lifting his shirt he sees the number '29'. He knows. "This has to be the countdown to 'Half-life 3'". Tim was that sort of guy. | 2015-10-07T08:34:20 | 2015-10-07T03:19:05 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | At birth, it had looked like a small silver dragonfly. Uncommon, but not unheard of. It had started on my side, just above my left hip. My parents had been so pleased, but my mother shone with pride. She was marked with the dove and not prone to excessive emotions, but seeing the tiny, glittering wings on her daughter had filled her heart with joy. My father had all of the traits of the bear, a common mark amongst the burlier men, and they had been worried their tiny girl would be more masculine because of it. A dragonfly, though. It marked me as quiet, demure, and beautiful. It gave my family a sense of accomplishment, and they looked forward to the promises of good fortune and peace that the mark assured.
As I grew, the mark grew, too. What started as a small tattoo the size of a penny grew and elongated, eventually wrapping itself around my midsection, the enormous wings unfurling down my back, the head quietly resting along my right bicep. I was 18 when it finally stopped growing. Thank the Old Ones, the color stayed dim and dull, the cautious silver of faded stretch marks. It was easy enough to cover in sleeved shirts, and I was by nature a modest person (unlike Katalia, who took every opportunity to show off the small hummingbird imprinted just above her left breast).
As my serpent grew, my parents stopped acknowledging that I even had a totem creature. The Elder Council was told of my dragonfly upon my birth, and it was decided not to correct them. Publicly, I was a dragonfly, which matched my personality (or maybe my personality was shaped in accordance to my erroneous totem), but privately, I was nothing. The Unmarked. 'Atashii.' My younger brother had been born a wolf, my sister, a fox. I was nothing but a monster.
Little did they know, I would one day become the Savior of Worlds. | Some call it a gift from the Spirit of the Earth or God or whoever is out there. This animal shaped stain on everyone's skin one of which can grant the attributes and behavior of whatever it resembled. My father has the mark of a Wild boar on his back he is stubborn, strong and smart. My Mother has a hawk on her shoulder she can see through anyone and see what kind of people they really are. I thought I was a worm. small, slimy and dirty. Boy was I wrong.
I was always getting teased by kids my age and this has left me bitter and hateful towards people. I was called Slimy Jim the worm guy. I grew to hate despise the system of this world the Predators and the Prey. Those with strong animal marks would always abuse those that are powerless to stop them.
As I was growing up my only friend was a girl called Shelly. Ironically enough she had the mark of a creature called a Nautilus Squid she was reserved and just like me made fun off. We both hated the system but we where powerless to stop them. I was a worm she was a squid what can we do against the Lions, Tigers and Bears of the world.
As the years passed Me and Shelly noticed a change. As our physical bodies grew so did our birthmarks. The worm I originally thought I had was no worm at all. It was a fierce winged serpent and Shelly has a hunched Humanoid with a squid head. We were no worm and squid. We are Leviathan and Cthulhu and we will bring everything down.
| 2017-11-08T06:02:20 | 2017-11-08T05:42:07 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works! | I glanced at the gun leveled against my temple. She must have found it above the cabinet in the garage. I took a drink and went back to whatever it was on TV.
"I've had enough," she said with surprising calm. "I can't do this anymore."
Nothing good is on. "I can't say I didn't see it coming."
"You know, if you just listened more, we probably could have found a better solution."
"Mm hm." Channel up.
"And the drinking, the late nights out..."
"And the life insurance policy you took out on me has nothing to do with this?"
"At least you can do something good for me. And it's not as if anyone would question why you would kill yourself, with your depression."
I looked down at my glass and sighed. Empty. I was going to need a drink after this. "Make it look like a suicide?" It was almost amusing "Listen, you're not going to kill me."
"What?"
I turned to look at her. She was a mess, tousled hair, dried tears on her cheeks. Even with what she stood to gain, she must be going through hell. She may still love me just a little after 6 years of marriage. More than I could say of myself. "I said, you're not going to kill me."
She furrowed her brow, then laughed, a twisted, broken laugh. "You of all people should know that I mean this."
I closed my eyes and thought of that night with the spectral shaman, the tension in the bow, the heavy price I paid. Some birthday that was. "I don't doubt your intentions to kill me. I'm just saying that you won't end up killing me."
"Shut up! Shut up right now!"
I looked around the room. The window behind her seems like the most likely path. "Listen, it's been a real trip. We had a great few years, and then...well...you are wanting to kill me so it can't have been that great after that."
She closed her eyes, and shook her head. "Don't think you can talk me out of this."
"I'm not trying. Let me just say that I really hoped it didn't have to end this way."
"No more of this. Goodbye." She straightened her arm and pressed the barrel right up against my head.
"Do you really intend to kill me?"
"I do."
I sighed, and the glass exploded behind her.
Edit: grammar and such | I haven’t been able to sleep well in weeks. I told him that I was just nervous about the wedding, that I wanted everything to be perfect. I hate lying to him like that, but if he knew what was really going on, he would be devastated. Knowing that, by the best estimations, I would be dead in six months would crush him. I just wanted to make sure that I would be married to him when I died, but I didn't want to go alone. I always wanted to die with the one that I loved, the one that made me happy.
As I stood there holding his hand, waiting for the priest to finish his part, I started to cry. I knew that this would be my happiest memory. I brought my hand up to try and suppress a sob. I heard him say those magical words, those words that I have been waiting for years to hear. “I do.” His smile as he said those words made my heart melt, made me almost regret what I was about to do, but I don’t want him to suffer.
As I open my mouth to say my part, my chest started to hurt. I looked at his face to see his shocked face splattered with blood. My breathing became very painful and labored. I glanced down to see an arrow now protruding from my chest. As I started at it, a capsule fell from my mouth. The capsule I had snuck in when I was suppressing my sobs. The Capsule that was supposed to ensure we went into the afterlife together. My legs started to feel weak as I wobbled forward, right into his arms. I could hear the commotion that everyone was making, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that I let him know how I feel.
“I’m sorry.”
Note: Written from my SO’s point of view. Also, my first WP, so be nice! :P | 2014-05-27T20:16:44 | 2014-05-27T19:36:17 | 224 | 151 |
[WP] some people can fly. Others can kill with a touch. Still others can bend time and space to their will. You.... can crack your knuckles to get your hands to light up like glowsticks.
EDIT: this idea was already done by u/-C4-, so take your upvotes to [his post](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/9wzvqt/when_you_crack_your_knuckles_they_start_glowing/?st=JPCY7ETN&sh=ea3ea677) | All it took was a power outage for the stadium to erupt in madness. The thousands who had gathered to watch SuperBall screamed and shouted as thick darkness blanketed them.
It wouldn't have been this bad, this chaotic, if it weren't for the Death Touchers. That's what they were called. As silly as their names were, there was a reason for it, which was the same reason their seats were roped off from the others.
If you are touched by them, you will die. It was as simple as that.
What was un-simple, what complicated matters, was the fact that they were placed near the exit/entrance of the field. The result of their being the last allowed in.
Children began to cry. Men and women, roused with alcoholic ire, shouted. Anti-Death Toucher sentiments moved like a wave across the crowd.
"Death to the Death Touchers," people shouted through the dark.
It was about to get ugly. All it would take was for a space bender to crush someone's heart or for a mass distorter to rip a chair off the ground and throw it across the stadium. All it would take was one spark to relight the flames of anger and hate that had led to countless wars and atrocities.
And then, amidst the bubbling unrest, something happened.
Knuckles cracked. Hands glowed.
It wasn't much. The light was only enough to illuminate a three chair circumference. But like the North Star, people's gazes followed work hope.
A hush spread, just as it would in the final play of SuperBall, though only if it were a nail biting type of game. The glow moved down the stairs and across the field. The SuperBall players knelt in deference. It reached the other side of the field, shining a light on the scared and angry expressions of the Death Touchers.
Then, like a bell that rangs for hope and freedom, the glowing hands opened the stadium doors.
Moonlight seeped in. The hands waved. The Death Touchers exited the stadium, one by one, careful to not touch one another. They boarded a bus, designed specifically for their condition. A sigh of relief washed over the crowd as the bus sped away.
Then, in an orderly fashion, the stadium emptied with no loss of life.
In the midst of the exodus, someone asked, "The hands, the glowing hands, where are they?"
No one knew. They had disappeared in the brilliance of the moon and stars and street lights. No one knew, but they all remembered.
The mayor offered a reward for this heroic act. Thousands filled the square, waiting for glowing hands to appear. The Death Touchers, blocked off from the others, waited as well, their faces filled with anticipation. No glowing hands stepped forward. None appeared.
Disappointed but not discouraged, the mayor proposed that a monument be built in honor of glowing hands.
That is why, in front of this stadium, outside the place where the most powerful among us compete against each other, every night for the past five years, these marble hands have glowed. They are a beacon of hope, a reminder that even the smallest, weakest, and most obscure of powers can impact many... a reminder now as it was then and as it will be tomorrow.
Edits - Was and am still on mobile | A usual day for you is to go to the office.
Your power isn't much interesting. Some people can soar through the air at ludicrous speeds. Others have an ultra effective poison as the natural oil their body produces, being able to kill anyone with a slight touch. Hell, there are even some rumors that some people can control the flow of time.
And you? You can crack your knuckles, and they just... light up. You never were one to complain about getting the shortest straw, but you basically just got a millimeter of straw when you were born. And, from what you've been able to gather, you're also the only person in the city with that power. Maybe the world, but searching like that takes time, and you have stuff to work on.
Most of the time, your powers are not that useful. What's the need for glowstick bones in the 21st century? But you've been able to get some oddjobs here and there to cover some bills. A cave-in happened last Thursday, and you were called to light the way. A blackout happened, and a certain building was taken over by rioters, and you were called to be a bluff. That was a real fun one, actually. You still chuckle at the thought of the rioters getting panicked as hell because you told them you had radioactive hands.
And, right now, you're just... in an office, working. You're not too fond of office jobs, in fact, if you could, you'd take jobs related to your powers all the time, but your powers are too situational, and the frequency you'd get jobs with would not be able to pay the bills.
As you get home after a long day of work, you see someone sitting in a rolling chair with the lights turned off. Oh my fucking god, you hate those guys. The guys that think they're sooo cool, so they have to make dramatic reveals to everyone they meet, so they just fucking break into other people's houses just to make sure they look cool enough. Worst thing is, those guys usually have really strong powers, so you couldn't kill them if you tried.
You try turning on the light, but it wouldn't come on. Did this dude just cut the power supply in your house just to make you use your powers? That is so fucking dumb. You crack your knuckles and they glow with a green tint.
"Oh. Hello, David. Very nice to meet you."
He turns around.
Oh. Ohhhh, shit.
It's the mob boss. It's fucking Big Donnie.
"I heard about your... radioactive fists from my boys. And I wanted to know if you would like to have a job from me."
Wait, that last part didn't come from behind the chai- OH FUCK HE'S BEHIND YOU. Fuck, he's a time master. Oh shit.
You are so fucking screwed. | 2018-12-06T01:26:07 | 2018-12-06T01:05:26 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | ######[](#dropcap)
Jack glared at the woman that *should have* been cowering the back of the carseat. Instead, she sat there calmly, her back straight as she stared wordlessly out the window. It was unnerving, to say the least, and Jack couldn't help but stare into the rearview mirror at her.
She had acted scared earlier, pleading with him to let her go, struggling against the ropes he'd tied around her wrist. But twenty minutes into their drive, she'd become exceedingly calm.
Oh, some of them did do that. They became complacent in the face of death. But her calm was less the accepting type and more a confident type of calm. The kind that made him feel she actually wanted this.
But that couldn't be possible, could it?
He turned on the radio, his eyes leaving the road for a moment.
*Two were found dead inside their homes earlier tonight.*
All of a sudden, bright headlights came out of nowhere from the other side of the road, swerving into his lane. Instinctively, he panned the wheel towards the side, just barely registering the sound of police sirens as the car crashed into a tree at the side of the road, and his head crashed into the steering wheel.
His head buzzed, and a loud ringing began in his ears.
*There are no suspects in the case.*
"Help!" he finally heard the woman yell through the fog in his head. He shook it, but the ringing didn't go away. Something warm dripped down his head.
Moments later, he felt himself being dragged out of the car as handcuffs were put on. He stared at the woman, who looked back at him calmly as he was put into the police car. She had said something before the police had come. He hadn't heard it completely clearly due to his head trauma.
But it sounded like, "Thank you for the alibi."
***
r/AlannaWu | I recognized him of course. Jackson Well, 20 something, serial killer with a fondness for preying on the lone and weak. An almost sexual lust for drawing out the kill, and there, a knife. Amateur...
Time to have fun. The handcuffs were the first issue. Not a problem however, lockpicks were a blessing in many situations, and this was one of them. The cuffs opened and my hands came round. The Demon of LA was nearly free. One went down, and took advantage of his second mistake. My jacket was right there. The folding silenced pistol unfurled, whispering as it shot out the chains binding my legs. I stood, walking over to my bags, (He left them right there...), and donned my mask. A demonic goat skull, visible rot on the teeth and tears of blood. Flame and smoke dancing from it, and a reptilian frill with trails of flesh. All fake, except for the flame. That had been a pain to make.
He recognized me of course. The Demon of LA, age unknown, serial spree killer renowned for massacring large amounts at once. An almost sexual lust for making the deaths agonizing. And as luck would have it, there was a hammer right over there. I reached into my bag again, pulling out a modified mp3. My voice when I wore the mask.
We laughed as one as I took a step towards the snivelling little amateur.
(First real response to these I thought out, hopefully its decent) | 2018-08-23T00:33:40 | 2018-08-22T22:32:03 | 1,680 | 96 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | The lights on Ambassador Tel’s suspension tank remained static for some time. Like the rest of his species, his- *it’s* - body was a tangled web of translucent strands like a jellyfish crossed with a ball of yarn.
In their home waters, under that warm tropical sun, even a mild current had the strength to tear them in two. This was of course by necessity, forming a crucial part of their reproductive cycle, but left them totally unfit for any sort of non-aquatic travel.
So for one to undergo the invasive process of suspension, giving up months of their life to be cocooned in a steel tank filled with supportive, tear resistant gel had been my first clue to their desperation. On a hunch, I had pressed the issue and asked the Ambassador how their recent conflict had been proceeding.
The indicator lights on the Ambassador’s tank stayed static for nearly fifteen minutes. I was almost to the point of calling one of their aids to check the translation equipment when the lights began to flash and the Ambassador’s synthetic voice spoke.
“Ambassador Stewart, to put it simply, the war has been a catastrophic failure.”
I paused mid sip of my tea, then set the dish down. The directness surprised me, we were so often censored from extra solar affairs.
“Surely it’s not nearly as bad as that,” I responded, “You’re the largest of the local regional powers. You had the clout to keep us unmolested since we were still building mud huts!”
The lights flashed, “No longer, our control has shrunk to less than one hundred cubic light years. All that remains are the Home Waters, several extrasolar depots, and you.”
I felt alarm. A feeling I had not had in a long time.
The lights flashed again, “Before you respond, let me ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Why do you think we only sponsored your colony on Alpha, as opposed to just giving you the tensor shift mechanism out right?”
The tangent caught be by surprise. I was still hung up on the thought of what type of enemy could conquer thousands of star systems in a few years time.
“When you contacted us, for the first time that is, you said it was imperative that we maintain our own path of technological development, that if we just borrowed, copied, or stole from others we would just blunt our own ability to innovate.”
The tanks lights lit up in a combination that indicated humor, “We lied.”
“Oh?”
“You’re brutal, short sighted, and violent and we wanted you controlled and suppressed so you didn’t burn across the galaxy like a cancer.”
“Oh,” was all that came out from between the surprise and shock.
“We’ve watched you for thousands of years and never once have you come anywhere near what the civilized species of this spiral arm call peace. Even now your General Adi in the South Pacific is butchering his people, and that’s only the most prolific instance of similar acts of brutality across your planet. Even your most ‘civilized’ countries wage war every other decade!”
My diplomatic training roared back to the forefront of my mind, “Ambassador, these condemnations represent a serious shift in tone from our previous meetings. While I respect that we have cultural differences-”
“It does not matter,” the Ambassador’s synthetic voice interrupted, ”I’m here to give you the tensor shift mechanism.”
Confused, and with the beginnings of anger at these shifts in the conversation, I coldly asked, “Why?”
A pause before the lights flashed again, “Because our war is about to become your war. We ask this of you. We offer the mechanisms partly because you will need it and partly in payment.”
“Payment for fighting your war?” I asked, real anger bubbling through.
“Payment for the right to beg your mercy when it’s all said and done.”
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j4mt2/wp_a_peaceful_alien_race_is_besieged_by_another/d34g067) | The Recktonian race had ignored every single term in our treaty about the war carried and suffered by our youngsters.
Their psychometry and technopathy were used against our starships and our nests, The One Queen was captured in her own lair short after those Recktonians showed off their recently acquired mind control and memory manipulation capabilities.
The situation was tragic, our entire civilization was threatened by first time in thousands of cycles. The responsible: a inferior race, a psychic civilization who was able to hide their main capabilities from the senses of The Council. Nothing in them was looking extraordinary at the start, nothing was special about what we saw on them, our advanced technology, our empathy skills and our precognition abilities used for uncountable time to keep a complete peaceful status in every one of the civilizations we raised was more than enough to take care of their mind manipulation skills. Or at least that's what we thought.
We gave them the knowledge to the mass duplication, we taught them the molecular control and we instructed them in the education of the Big Thinker. But we couldn't imagining anything about their technopathy abilities, it was just impossible to imagine. How could be it developed in a natural way?
In the moment they took control over our Nests we were already lost. We, the oldest civilization in this galaxy were absolutely controlled by a minor psychic civilization.
The Council took the decision after the news of The One Queen being captured, her existence was too much valuable, her unmeasurable knowledge could not be put in risk, and her unique reality warping skills were too powerful to be investigated by the Recktonians.
The council took the decision. Even if everyone on it was absolutely terrified with the idea.
In the solar system 2356-35 a little blue planet, which showed signs of intelligent life, something terrible happened. A kind of rip in the natural evolution of the intelligent races. In that planet, somehow one basic animal species mainly based in physical abilities was able to stop the psychic evolution of another superior specie who was developing their oceans by totally extinguishing them. And becoming then by first time in the history galaxy the only physical race developing a kind of intelligent civilization.
After establish contact with them with every single precaution possible, we decided to keep them secretly in quarantine so they could not contact or interact with anyone else forever. Their mind were too basics to be manipulated, and they rejected totally our instructions, they were interested only in our FTL technology. There was something unique in their basic evolution, they were totally different than us, they have an innate instinct and strong wish to increase their numbers and invade other places it was written in their DNA.
Of course we stopped the interaction with them, and we made sure that they never were able to reach the technology needed to leave their solar system.
Until now.
After all our own civilization was in danger. Right now in the control room in our last hideout, in this last nest, I and the other members of The Council are witnessing the imminent end of this war: various starships filled with 400.000 humans, absolutely immune to any kind psychic manipulation will land in the main station of the Recktonians in the next semi-cycles.
Our guilty and our shame is unmeasurable. Very soon, the universe, starting by the Recktonians will experience by first time the most atrocious, awful and horrid form of interaction. Humans denominated it as: Physical Violence.
Edit: typo (since english is not my main language please feel free to help me to fix my spelling and grammar)
| 2016-05-13T06:44:58 | 2016-05-13T00:46:52 | 941 | 225 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea. | Chris's dad dumped the pile of colorful envelopes, postcards, and packets onto the kitchen table muttering about 'why any goddamn body would still use paper this day and age...'
Chris shrunk behind his cereal bowl. He glanced at his phone looking for an escape from the inevitable conversation that waited behind the avalanche of mail. His phone was dark. He had to turn it off to escape the constant barrage of recruiters texting and calling him.
He looked up at his father.
His dad was leaning over the pile of mail looking at Chris with exasperation.
"Well?" he finally asked.
"Well what, Dad?"
"When are you going to take one of these offers?"
"Umm. Well, to be honest, there are some things I want to do. Sarah wants to travel..."
"No." his dad interrupted. "No. You can accept an offer and *then* travel. Look..." he picked up a random postcard. "CBI International. It says right here that you get unlimited vacation and free travel vouchers to wherever they have active projects...that's over 70 countries all over the world, it says right here!"
"I was thinking about going to school..."
His dad closed his eyes and picked up a brochure at random and tore it open. "Yep. This one will pay for 'any classes toward an accredited degree program.'"
"I don't know..."
His dad sighed and collected himself. "Listen, son, I get it. Why work, right? Why not just VR all day, hang out with Sarah, go fishing? A lot of people at school are embracing the whole 'professional consumer' movement and think its enough for them to occasionally review a book or game and make a witty comment. And sure, they do help when it comes to picking out the next game to play or restaurant to eat at. I appreciate that. But you are *my* son..."
"But dad..." Chris interrupted.
"No. Let me finish. You are *my* son and life is much more rewarding when you put more of yourself into it! Working is a big part of that. Don't you get that?"
"I *do* dad. That's what I'm trying to tell you! I've seen you work your whole life."
"Yeah! I don't have to! I want to!"
"I know. Dad, you don't think I see those people that just tread water their whole lives? They get everything they *need*, sure. But not a single one gets what they *want*. They're miserable! I mean, they aren't dying or starving or homeless so they aren't acutely miserable but not a single one can look back and say they actually accomplished something. It's a quiet, sullen misery. Just look at the snarky bullshit they post! I see that!"
"Ok. Well, good. Then what are you waiting for? I'm sure one of these are going to treat you well. You're a bright kid! A good salary, a three half-day work week, unlimited remote, full benefits, a car allowance, a personal AI, the works!"
Chris stared at his dad and seemed to come to a decision. "I'll be right back." he said as he pushed himself away from the breakfast table and walked to his bedroom.
He came back with a large bundle of neatly stacked paper and flopped it down on the table.
"What's this?"
"Dad, I don't understand why you work where you work. Researching economics and coming up with models and testing them and going to conferences..." he shrugged. "It's not for me."
"Okay..." he asked flipping through the stack with the first page simply titled "Working Draft".
"I want to be a filmmaker, dad. I was going to wait until I had this more fleshed out..."
His father looked relieved and excited. "That's great!"
"Yeah...there's just one thing." Chris turned red. He wasn't used to asking for much. "You've done pretty well for yourself, right? Working all of those years?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Well, I was hoping to borrow some money. I can't make this movie happen by myself. That means enticing some people to work with me..."
Chris's dad looked at the very large offers practically flashing from the pile of mail and had to sit down. Getting people to work on his son's production...hiring people was the surest way to go broke. But, he reasoned, at least he won't starve. What is there to lose?
| They're banging on the door again. They always are. It's my god damn doctorate. They just won't leave me alone.
"Come on, Jess. Just go talk to them."
I massaged my temples with sweaty fingers.
"I don't *need* them. I'm happy now!"
She looked me in the eyes, pleading.
"You know they won't stop until they have you. You're too valuable."
"I know."
"Then *go*. They'll take you anywhere you want."
"What I want is to stay here. That's the one thing they'd never give me."
She ran her fingers through her messy hair, exasperated.
"Just go. I don't have time to argue."
I looked at her with surprise.
"Why not? We have all the time in the world here."
She shook her head.
"Not me. Look, Jess... I've been talking to them. They've offered me a job in chemical engineering. You know how much I love that! And it's not like I get to do much here."
She gestured at our grubby, not to mention empty, little apartment room.
"I had to do it. I just couldn't spend another minute holed up in here."
It made sense, so I nodded. I too had been craving the feel of wind on my shoulders and rain in my hair.
She smiled at me. Yes, I would do it.
I pushed up off the tiny brown couch with both hands, trembling greatly.
It was about time.
I walked, or rather jittered, towards the door. It emitted loud banging noises, no doubt coming from a fist on the other side.
I grasped the door knob.
Yes, it was time to get a job.
Edit: Here's a second part, lovelies.
~*~
Slowly, yes, painfully slowly, I twisted the doorknob. I could hardly turn it, I was sweating so much.
It clicked, signalling that it had reached the proper turning point. The banging emanating from the door ceased immediately.
I squeaked the door open, one millimetre at a time. I could hear laborious breathing. It wasn't mine, though. *My* breath was hissing through my teeth as I trembled.
When I finally managed to open the door all the way, what stood there was... not what I expected. It was a tall, lanky man, wearing remnants of the ancient traditional business suit. He looked more terrified than I was. In fact, he hardly seemed like he was alive at this point.
Then, he cracked the silence with whispered words.
"I've been here a long time. Excuse me if I can't really talk properly anymore."
My debilitating fear was gone in an instant, although my suspicion remained.
"My job- my only job, really- has been to get you."
I looked at his hands, and saw blood running down the knuckles. There were large bruises that arched from the first joint of hs fingers, down to the middle of the back of his hand.
"I'm no good at anything really, so, well, this was it. The one thing I hated most about the world."
He was a person. I guess I hadn't been expecting that, although I don't know what I had been expecting.
"Please, doctor. We need you. The whole world needs you."
I looked at the landscape behind him. It was as it always had been: black and red and brown, stained with a million human corpses. But... some of them looked fresh this time.
"You know what's been going on, I know you do. We can't keep it at bay much longer. Hell, we're doing a pretty bad job now."
I looked at my hands, examining them like people used to in the movies, back when theatres were still popular. I could do it. I knew I could. But did I want to?
"Please. Just... please. If what I've said and what you know isn't convincing enough, then there's nothing else I have to offer you."
Air shuttled into my lungs.
"I'll do it. But I can't promise anything. I may even come down with enfluenza myself."
Without words, I could see that he was happy beyond believe. So fulfilled.
He let out a sigh of relief, and collapsed to the ground. | 2016-04-21T10:01:08 | 2016-04-21T09:33:27 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone. | "Hey, Peter," Max calls out from across the street. He waves in his usual jubilant manner. Beside him, Becky stands. She's dressed particularly pretty tonight. Classy, like a dame from the 30s. It complemented Max's casual suit quite nicely. I call out a greeting and cross the road to meet them.
"Where's Jill?" Becky asks as she leans up on her tippy toes to look over my shoulder.
"Oh," I shrug. "She'll be here. She had to stay late at work, so she said she'd meet us at the fountain." The four of us had been meeting there for ten years- Becky and Jill even longer, as they'd been best friends since grade school.
Becky carefully adjusted the hem of her skirt and straightened the purple ribbon tied around her waist. It matched her Mark. Becky and Max had been the kind of almost sickeningly sweet couple that went out of their way to wear at least one thing every day that matched their Mark. These things they wore, Max explained to me on one occasion, had to be bought by the other person. A token of bonding- a reaffirmation of their status as soulmates.
It was romantic, and it was something I'd noticed Jill starting to adopt. Every once in a while, she'd buy me something cerulean and leave it in on my pillow for me to find when I came home after work. Last week, it was a tie. Tonight seemed like an appropriate time to wear it, especially considering the contents of the bag I held in my hand. "I got something for Jill," I say and reach into the bag. From it, I remove a black box, and I flip the lid open to reveal a necklace of cerulean pearls.
Becky gasps and covers her mouth, careful not to smear her bright red lipstick. "Peter!"
"Do you think she'll like it?"
"She'll *love* it." Becky sighs. "I'm a little jealous."
Max laughs, but cuts himself off. Becky looks up at him, confused, and then follows his gaze downward. "...Peter," Max says. His voice is deep, his tone concerning. He swallows audibly and points to my arm.
Thinking something might be on my jacket, I snap the jewelry box closed and tuck it back into the bag, and then dust at the fabric of my sleeve. "Did I get it?"
"No, Peter, *look*-"
"Y-your Mark," Becky interjects and grabs my forearm. Her brown eyes are wide and wet with tears.
I look down to my arm, where my sleeve has rolled up and bunched at my elbow, and then to my wrist. My Mark isn't there.
My Mark is gone.
The bag falls to the ground and topples onto its side. The jewelry box rolls out, clattering quietly.
I stare at my wrist.
Sirens scream loudly in the distance, echoing through the streets.
My Mark is gone.
Becky starts crying, rummaging through her purse for her phone. She frantically dials Jill's number. It rings.
*Answer.*
It rings.
*Answer.*
My Mark is gone.
"*Hi! You've reached Jilli-* **Jill laughs. A cat purrs into speaker.** *Jillian Miller -and- Sir Maximus Pounce, and we are so sorry we missed your call! Please leave a message and your number and we'll get back to you as soon as possible!*" Becky ends the call and immediately dials it again. It rings. She's sobbing now, and Max is caught between consoling her and trying to reach out to me.
But I can't speak.
*Answer.*
It rings. Red lights flash, sirens drowning the noise of the phone as they speed by and continue down the road.
I can't move.
The phone rings.
My Mark is gone.
"*Hi! You've reached Jilli-* **Jill laughs. A cat purrs into speaker.** *Jillian-*" Becky ends the call, and tries again. It rings.
My Mark is gone.
And so is Jill. | I don't know if this multiverse has a similar time tangent to mine, but I'm stuck here now and need to write down how this came about.
Two months ago my soulpatch disappeared, and I'm not on about someone sneaking in at night and shaving my lower lip. It's never happened before in our history and the auditors decided I would be better of here before the news spread and caused panic.
No one was quite sure how it had come about. Some time in the 27th century (my timeline) humanity had evolved. We didn't gain the ability to breath underwater; we didn't become hyper intelligent nor fly as some had hoped and hypothesised. Instead we had evolved a small marking near the wrist that was perfectly matched to their 'soulmate'. It had occured randomly at first in Japan. A guy called Yuto Takumi and a girl called Yuna Nakamura had both been born with a birth defect. Except it wasn't a defect. Their 'fault' was a beautiful marking, an ornate and interwoven red lattice birthmark on their left wrists that was continuously changing in a rorschachesque manner. So unusual was the markings that it made local news in both provinces. Then NHK picked up the story when people started to realise that TWO babies had been born with the same markings. They were minor celebrities from birth and would likely have fallen in love through attrition even without what we now know.
By this point we'd pretty much sorted out mapping the human genome. We'd cured most inheritable diseases and most transmittable ones too. We'd also gotten Quantum mechanics down to a point that we could link far more than protons. We could link organic matter. We'd never found out if there was a soul before I was purged from our world, but we all believed in it after what we found out.
You see, when the scientists began experimenting on Yuto and Yuna they found out something remarkable. The simultaneous changes in their birth-marks were utterly inexplicable until puberty. And then they became quantum linked. Their marks changed to reflect the others moods. During their worst years as teenagers, when arguments were more common than agreements, their BM's faded. By the time Yuto and Yuna reached 21 the universal scientific consensus was that they were somehow spiritually linked via quantum coupling.
Perhaps in a different time or place Yuto and Yuna may have been the inspiration for a hearty love story, a national epic of two young people who through a gift from God were meant to be together. Perhaps they were meant to lead a great struggle for justice and peace.
Unfortunately, in my world by the 27th century the human genome was private property. Individuals with rare genetic adaptions were considered the property of private researchers and the state; and the state had no desire for justice nor peace.
Unfortunately, Yuto and Yuna were killed. It was sold as a medical mistake, a disaster worthy of international mourning. Maybe it was a mistake... who knows.
They reverse engineered the link and the manner in which it was created. They sold it to us as a way to solve loneliness, as a way to find your soul-mate. At 8 weeks of pregnancy mothers were given a simple injection. It was voluntary at first, but global society had become so insulated that the concept of ensuring their children 'found' the 'one' ensured that our children were all engineered beyond the screenings we'd all come to accept. And then our children married the one their marking indicated. We had a global app for it. After 900 years of attempting to stop arranged marriages, it became not only the norm but an absolute necessity. I met my soulmate when I was 8 and the arrangements were in place.
Except my patch dissapeared last night. And now I'm stuck here.
| 2016-10-04T20:36:20 | 2016-10-04T18:14:29 | 1,532 | 77 |
[WP] "Sorry sir, but unfortunately you do not qualify for eternal salvation in our wing, I have compiled a list of other heavens, hells and limbos you are eligible for. Of course, you could always try your luck with the wheel of reincarnation." | "But... This is the one I've always wanted!" I was dumbfounded. The woman in front of me peered at me with sympathetic eyes.
"I'm sorry, sir. You did not qualify. The metrics are quite clear, and you did not come close to the requirements."
I was a good person. I helped everyone I could, I never stole, I gave to the poor, I brought reusable bags to the grocery store. How could I not qualify? I wasn't asking for the saintly wing. I wasn't asking for the billionaire-turned-special-ed-teacher after gifting the billions to the needy wing. This was the wing *Jake* was in. Of all people. He wasn't why I wanted to go in of course but really, Jake? He complained about paper straws and didn't even give a dollar to St Jude's at the store.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, I just don't understand, this is the one wing I'm interested in and I'm just not interested in..." I look at the paper and sigh. "*Justicars for Mother Earth...*" I cringe a bit. That's worse than us naming our club Envirothon in high school.
"I apologize, there is only an appeals process for those who meet a certain threshold and you did not meet it." She shakes her head. "Maybe you'd be interested in this wing?" She points at one a bit lower on the list. "It's technically a hell but many do choose it."
I blink, looking at the name. *Afterlife Feline Partnerships*. "....What? No, I want to be part of this one. I don't see why I can't be in the wing with all the dogs. It doesn't make any sense!"
She sighs and brings up a checklist on her computer screen. "It says here you have given a canine a treat 0 of 10 times, shaken a canine's paw 0 of 1 time, said 'Aww big stretch!' 1 of the required 30 times, and, most egregious, have only given 3 of the required 100 pets. You have only initiated 10 of 100 required tail wags. There are many more entries here that show you as having zero progress, which are based on the years you have lived, and thus you are denied. I am sorry. You will need to either choose a different wing or try again." The woman seems to be ready for her required break.
I sniff sadly. "But... I was allergic on earth. I loved dogs I just couldn't ever have one."
"I'm sorry sir. That is not one of our covered exceptions."
I sigh and look at the paper. I remember Stanley and the fun we had, the long nights and those times he stole my carrot cake. "Alright. Afterlife Feline Partnership it is." | "Fuck you; I know already know," Malik said as he snatched his paperwork off the agent's desk. Feeling a mix of grief and rage, Malik shot out of his chair, grabbed his mangled jacket, and stormed out of the agent's office.
As he neared the waiting room, Malik's anger melted into embarrassment. He couldn't face the looks of confusion then pity the other souls were bound to give him upon seeing him return. Since dying, he had been the subject of rooms of piteous stares too many times to count. They only got worse as he applied for afterlifes further from his species, planet, and dimension.
Malik was near collapsing from his unwillingness to face the stares then remembered the alternative. He would not spin that wheel. Living has been nothing but pain and regret. Torture victim, domestic abuse, unrequited love, war, betrayal; it seemed that no matter what he rolled, his life would be much more painful than the souls around him. Feeling hopeless, Malik set his jaw, stood up straight and stepped into the light of the waiting room.
"What now?" Malik thought with more annoyance than surprise. The waiting room was gone and replaced by a funtincho. Throughout his countless lives, the only lives bearable were in the 8-dimensional presenting universes where he could escape to a funtincho. About 3 hours in the distance, Malik could see a soul standing at the edge of the starshine watching the waves lap at their toes. Looking around, he noticed the only thing of interest on the funtincho was the soul, so Malik moved toward them.
"Did you assholes put me in another life?" Malik asked coldly.
"Nah, Malik," they responded. "You're done."
Hope sparked in Malik's core. "I'm done?"
"Yeah," they responded, "your little experiment is over."
Malik began to respond excitedly, but cocked his head in confusion at them. "What does that mean for you all?"
They turned to Malik, and countless faces smiled knowingly. "What do you think, father?"
Malik faced yesterday and sighed. He had failed. His grand hypothesis said an ever morphing conglomeration of universes with one to ten dimensions would create stable life and death. It was all just pain. Pain for himself, pain for the omniverse, and pain for them. "Pack the reincarnation wheel. You're right; we're done." | 2022-07-27T23:25:23 | 2022-07-27T23:19:39 | 41 | 16 |
[WP][TT] As a joke, you and your friends create a fake student in the database, enrolling them in fake classes and earning them a fake degree. It's ten years later at the class reunion, and someone you've never seen before in your life introduces themselves with the name of your imaginary student. | "That guy over there- what did he say his name was?" I asked, hushed.
"I heard it, too." My buddy, Richie, replied. "He said his name was *Patrick Burton*."
We looked at each other, not saying a word. We were at our ten-year University reunion, and any other name would have slipped in and out of our ears without a passing thought... but not that one.
Patrick Burton was the name we had assigned our fake student in freshman year- no, he went back longer than that. We had thought the scheme up in senior year of high school.
We had been messing around, applying to schools. We thought- wouldn't it be funny if we sent in a fake application? We couldn't write anything stupid on our own for fear of jeopardizing our futures, but with a fake student, we could put whatever we wanted.
It had been funny. We applied to top schools only, Ivy league. We fudged a perfect SAT score, some funny admissions questions- "Patrick" wanted to go to their school because he'd heard the local hot dogs were great, that kind of thing. The crowning jewel for each was the essay. We wrote a long essay about how Patrick's father had gone to such and such Ivy school, and because of that, Patrick had decided to apply everywhere else. Yale's essay said his dad had went to Harvard. Harvard's said he went to Princeton, and so on.
As it happened, Richie and I got into the same school- I won't say which, as it's a personal matter. When we got our acceptance letters, a funny thing happened- Patrick did, too.
We laughed about that all summer. When we got to school, Richie discovered that their mainframe wasn't all that secure, and he could easily slip in and read all kinds of classified information. Patrick was in the system, and we thought it would be funny to sign him up for the most unusual classes offered.
That semester, Patrick was enrolled in Marsupial Breeding Sciences, Psychology of the Criminally Insane, Aquatic Acrobatics, Applied Physics, and Advanced History of Prehistoric Art. We tossed in some extracurriculars like water polo, chess club, mime club, and the advanced shakespearean acting troupe.
We'd had a laugh and forgotten about it until the next semester, when we did it all again. By some miracle, Patrick was overlooked by faculty, earned his credits, and stayed enrolled. When we graduated, so did he. He had a double major in Xenolinguistics and Endangered Species Breeding, with a minor in Mathematical Theory. It had been so funny when his diploma had been handed to thin air that Richie filmed it.
Now, ten tears later- someone had introduced himself by that name. Our name.
"Excuse me-" I asked the man, my face likely as ashen as it felt. "Did you say your name is Patrick Burton?"
"Yep." He replied, turning to me with a jovial smile. "Xenolinguistics major. What about you guys?"
"That isn't possible." I blurted out before I could stop myself.
His face fell slowly, his eyes darting between our faces.
"It's you..." He murmured quietly. After a moment, he smiled brightly again and enveloped us in a group hug. "I *never* thought I'd meet you guys!"
"Uh-" Richie sputtered. My sentiments, exactly.
"You probably don't understand." Patrick said, leading us off to a quiet corner. "You guys saved my life."
"We did what, now?" I asked.
"I was just old Todd Jones when I decided to sit in on that marsupial breeding sciences class. I thought it would be funny. When someone named Patrick didn't answer to the professor's attendance check, I decided to pipe up. I got ahold of Patrick's schedule and pretty quickly realized he wasn't real. But you guys signed him up for classes, and I guess he was eligible for some kinda grant- I figured, hey, might as well take the free education!"
My face was a mirror image of Richie's, mouth agape and eyes wide.
"It was a hoot to see what you picked every year- that Level Four Mandarin class was real difficult!" Patrick went on, slapping his knee like we were all old buddies in on a shared joke. "I gotta say, graduating with a 3.8 after the classes you gave me- I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little proud. I missed the graduation by accident- silly me- but I got the diploma eventually."
I laughed weakly, unsure of what to say or do.
"It all worked out in the end." Patrick said, smiling widely. "I hadn't known what I wanted to do with my life, and you showed me the way. I got a steady job in Sydney, breeding wallabys. I go to China on business every now and again. I have my life to owe to you two. Can I buy you some drinks?"
"Please." Richie begged, and I could only nod tiredly in agreement. | "Think I recognize your face, man... Dylan, right?"
I look back at the guy, his face jovial and his brown eyes shining under the dimly luminescent bulbs on the ceiling. He extends his hand out, and I go to shake it.
"Yeah, that'd be me. I, uh, hate to say it, but I don't think I recall your name."
He shrugs, looks me in the eye and introduces himself as his hand returns to his side.
"Aw, stop shitting me man, you know me. Jack. Jack Bower. I know you got piss for brains, but I'm not gullible enough to think you're that dumb."
The reunion bustles around me, people shouting each others names like they really care about those kids they sat next to 10 years back at Allen High.
It occurs to me that the name does sound familiar, though. Jack Bower. Bower. Jack...
Huh.
--------------------------------
About a decade back, during senior year of high school in my decidedly mediocre educational path, a couple of friends and I were able to get into the Allen High's system over their hilariously insecure public connection, hacking away at the network configuration like the little jackasses we were until we made in into the school's private network.
At that point, we were pretty much free to do whatever we wanted. The school hadn't hired a top tier IT team, so all it took was a little bit of cautious subtlety to get our tampering to fly over their heads. We couldn't exactly change the lunch menu and get catering the next day, but boosting grades a few percentage points wasn't much of a problem.
About half way through the year, though, we got bored with it all, and decided to actually put some time into studying instead of typing a few numbers in the hopes of future success. But by the year's end, I got fed up with the itch I had, stemming from an idea I had come up with around the time I stopped pissing around in the database.
How would the school respond if I slipped a new student in there?
In hindsight, it was pretty stupid. Emails were private, so I had no way of really knowing how staff would have responded. But, the week before graduation, I said to hell with it, hopped back on, and added a transfer student anyway.
Jack Bower. 19 years old, transferring in from the far reaches of Kentucky.
I hadn't heard much about it since then. At graduation, the friends I told about the ordeal and l got a chuckle when the dumbasses actually called Jack's name out loud and nobody showed up, but other than that, nothing.
Was probably one of the least fulfilling jokes I played that year, honestly.
--------
Anyway, I'm standing here and I just shook hands with a guy named Jack Bower. Out of curiosity, I decide to converse with him. Sure, curiosity killed the cat, but the cat's got 8 lives to spare, or something.
"Ummm, yeah, Jack! How've you been, you beautiful sunnava bitch?"
He chuckles, completely naturally, before carrying on.
"I've been good man, great really. Pursued that job in computer engineering like I always told you I would, and I've got myself a pretty damn decent position over at Intel. Oh, got to visit family back in Kentucky a couple weeks back too, that was cool."
Jack Bower. Guy's apparently known me since high school, *and* he's got family in Kentucky.
"How about you, Dylan?" he goes on. "Haven't heard from you in a while my man."
I find myself, quite naturally, at a loss for words, just standing and staring at Jack like an idiot for a second. How do you talk to a guy you thought you made up?
"Well... eh, my life's nothing out of the ordinary," I fumble out after a minute. "What I wanna know, Jack, is a bit about your life. You, uh, never told me much back then, you know, you kinda just transferred in out of nowhere and met me."
"Oh," spouts Jack casually, "guess I never did tell you about my life before Allen High, my problem was a lot more personal to me back then. You see, I don't actually remember it. At all. My memory only goes back as far as senior year, doctors say it's some kind of psychological blockage."
For a moment, I wonder which one of us is really the one with the shattered memories.
I come up blank.
----
((I'm not sure how to end this or even carry on with it right now, I'll get back to work on it tomorrow though.)) | 2015-10-20T18:44:20 | 2015-10-20T18:35:00 | 81 | 37 |
[WP] 10 years ago, scientists discovered that there is something after death. And it's bad, really really bad. | "Are you sure this is safe?"
I cannot count how many times I've been asked this question, just as they are crawling into the tubes. "Of course, Mr. Kelly, as we explained, this procedure is perfectly safe." I heard him sigh and mumble something under his breath as he grabbed the handle to climb up the step into the cryogenic chamber, colloquially referred to as freeze tubes. I assisted him and situated him, connecting the loadout device to the intravenous plugin already inserted into his arm before stepping out of the room into the adjacent area where the cryogenics would be activated.
"Mommy, where is grandpa going?" I heard the child in the waiting room ask. A woman's voice answered him, "Nowhere at all, sweetie. He's just sleeping now. For a very long time." A moment of silence, while I started the activation sequence. It was softer, but I heard the child ask, "So that he doesn't die?" "Yes sweetheart, so that he doesn't die." I powered on the pump that began administering the anesthesia that put an individual to sleep right before the cryogenic process was completed, so that they wouldn't feel the freezing cold. I always hated this part, dreading when it was my time to go, feeling as if it were my veins...
"What happens when we die?" I heard the child ask. The woman's voice got a cold, hard edge to it when she answered "It doesn't matter," her voice softened as she continued, "We won't die. Period. When we get to be grandpa's age, we will come here and sleep." I checked the numbers, and ensured that the patient was truly unconscious before activating the final sequence.
"What about uncle Paul?" The child's question seemed to have a profound effect on the mother, because I suddenly heard her explode into tears. I was trying not to eavesdrop, but I could only imagine that the child's uncle had been killed in an accident of some kind...that thought terrified me even more than the freeze tubes. I initiated the final part of the process, the flashing cold of the cryogenic material being flushed into the chamber. As I verified the process was successful, I hoped to myself, not for the last time, that I would be as lucky to cheat death. Only four more years until my turn. | He had died. His bodily functions had halted- and yet- he was still awake. It was a hazy sort of awareness, but at least he was conscious. For the first few days he was content. Then, as time carried on relentlessly, he realized he couldn't be sure what a day was anymore.
Then soon, the loosening from his material brain began. Slowly, he began to lose bits of knowledge, memories, reasoning, logic. His last memory that he held onto desperately was his name and the face of his only child, but even that he lost eventually, never to remember even remembering either. His mind was vacant and empty. His brain had rotted away, and he had lost all physical connection to his body.
But that wasn't the end. Despite the loss of identity and name, his consciousness still existed. Disconnected from a brain to hold him in one single mind space, he flitted from one mind space of a living being to another, an empty, meaningless entity, unknowing but existent. Sometimes he shared a mind space with a small insect, sometimes with a human. Often, the mind space would already be filled with several other memory-less entities.
Sometimes when he entered a mind space, there would be strong emotions, and his consciousness would absorb a bit of that emotion and feeling. Then, when he flew to another brain, he'd carry that emotion with him, releasing it into the mind space of another person or animal. Guilt, greed, anger, love, passion, empathy, all those he blindly carried from being to being. His conscious self, like the conscious self of many others who too had died, was fated to fly from mind space to mind space, unknowing, unthinking, forever. | 2015-09-26T19:10:35 | 2015-09-26T18:57:12 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] "Now that I have your name," gloated the faerie, "you'll be my thrall, powerless to resist my every command!" "Joke's on you," said the human, "I'm into that shit." | “Wait what”
“I’m at your beck and call my mistress, no, my goddess!”
“Oh really, cut off your left hand”
Without hesitation the faerie watched as the human drew his blade and held his arm left arm out. And swung down hard. With a snap of her fingers the blade turned into flowers, slapping uselessly against his arm. Immediately the human dropped to his knees.
“My goddess! I’m sorry i could not do as you asked! How will you punish me?!”
Rubbing her brow the faerie just sighed.
“Go get me some food or something”
With extreme enthusiasm the the thrall sprinted into the woods returning moments later with a rabbit. Quickly whipping up a rabbit stew.
“Hmm not bad, how about a foot massage”
Without a question the human was bouncing between cooking and massaging her feet.
The faerie could get used to this, she supposed as she got comfortable. Except for the incessant need for commands.
“What next my queen?!”
“Build me a nicer place”
“All done, what next?!”
“Urgh, i’d like some nice jewellery?”
“Complete my master! Next order!”
“Oh my- just go to sleep?”
“Power nap accomplished! Next command!”
“Oh fuck me! Would you just- oh no”
The faeries eyes grew wide, she glanced over and saw the gleam in his eyes.
“Run around the perimeter of the house 10 times!”
She stared in horror as the human sprinted outside. Running around the house, his eyes were fixed on her however, never blinking, never stopping for a breath.
“Yeah i’m out, this is not what i signed up for”
The faerie left with a puff of smoke. Leaving only the human. He smiled to himself.
“Heh, that was much easier to get out of than i thought. Fun too” | When Chale called Robert back, she was pleased. Already he had gotten rid of every last spider in the forest. Now she could rest easy. "You have done well, Robert. I do believe this calls for a reward." Smiling, she took him to her bedroom, wanting to savor what would happen. "Now, get on the bed." Robert, however, calmly turned towards her, calmly saying "No."
"Robert, it isn't what you think it is, it's only cuddling..." She decided to backtrack, hoping to persuade him. Perhaps her powers didn't extend that far. Even still, the man shook his head. "I am no longer required to follow your orders. The demons gave me new commands as well as your name, Chale." She was horrified. For such a man to willingly cooperate with demons...
As she tried running out of her house, she was greeted with the sight of spiders, all facing her. The pattern they were in formed a barrier glyph, sealing her inside. Yet soon that was no more than a precaution as with a flick of his wrist, he shut the door and locked it. As she stood there quivering, with her back to the door, she saw a figure begin to step from the shadows. It had four, no, six arms, white hair, and bright red irises, both filled with the intent to hunt. As it stood to its full height, Robert smiled and spoke a single command.
"Sic 'em, Anthony." | 2022-05-02T22:05:52 | 2022-05-02T20:02:19 | 69 | 16 |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | 2020-10-19T08:16:40 | 2020-10-19T07:47:18 | 55 | 15 |
[WP] You brought your nation to greatness. You built a kingdom. You died in peace. There is only darkness. You were dead for more than 500 years. Then suddenly you feel cold for the first time in a long time. There is a distant voice you can hear. | A fall from grace, like paradise ripped from my arms, I feel discontent. I rise, cracking and creaking, as my motor functions return. Something drew me here.
“Hrarrrrrrrrrrrrrr?” rises from my throat. My words fail.
I see a boy at the side of my crypt. I smell the blood of my flesh on him…he is one of mine. Then I see them. I am glad that my son followed my wishes. I was buried with my men.
The boys afraid…he casts spells to bind me. Little things about the call to blood….service. His feelings bleed to my mind as I feel his intent. He sacrificed his arm …chopped at the elbow for a chance.
“Whroooooo?”I ask.
Then images…a fall. My city in ashes. Country is gone and the rest of my lands are fighting a losing war. An evil rose in the east, a dark lord that looked like a swarming mass of flesh. The boy attempted to use the enemy’s power to fight back. So much loss…
An explosion echoes through the crypt. A horned man runs in with his minions. He spies the boy then me. I feel a sudden weight around me. He is binding me with chains…my soul and memories burn. He wants control. But he faced the wrong will.
I tore at the chains, and I feel the rebound. The spell shatters and engulfs the horned man and his men. Their life force begins to fuel me. I was unbound.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Al the sixth. I call upon your oath. You served my family and I ask….no beg save my kingdom,” said a squeaky voice.
“Boy I’m no common soldier. Neither am I a simple undead. You placed the right soul in the right body. I’m the first. A king maker. And you’re using forbidden spells,” I continue.
“Elder brother had fell at Meridian. I need to slow them while the others escape.”
“Others?”
“My family …friends. My nation.”
“Escape?”
“We lost,” she wailed.
I realize then that it’s a girl. I feel her press her own life force into the spell. I promptly reject it. Suddenly a fury rings. My fury. So much evil power in my land. I feel it. Suddenly it’s all in my hand.
“How do you control this magic?” I ask.
“You feel the swell then force it in,” she replied.
A dark fog envelops my crypt. I ask them to return. So many old men, and even more young. So many soldiers….I ask them to see their lands, their children. Then I make them promise to return when this new war is over. I need to make sure that the dead may fall after I make them rise.
Suddenly they answer.
The voices ring in my head. So many souls finding their right bodies. Then many more answer the call. Many other soldiers…men of this age, asking to return and serve. I look into my land and see so much undead that I promise a chance…with the same conditions.
Finally I ask “Girl. Can you point your grandpa in the right direction for that bullying shit of a dark lord?”
***
Part two is now here.
| The sleep of an evening is as the blanket under which you slumber; light, and easy to brush aside when morning comes. The sleep of centuries though, that is as the great rocks under which I have slumbered. An unfathomable cold weight presses upon my thoughts, and I am torpid. But the time has come, and though my body revolts at being torn from the embrace of a sleep as close to death as I have been allowed to know, I must act. I hear his voice, thrice-cursed sorceror, I hear his voice as I knew I would.
I am needed.
Above, the light shines bright, but all is not well. As I rise, the remnants of my raiment fall away as dust. The entrance to my tomb is long since collapsed, but the stones of this land are no more hindrance to me than a spider's web. Am I not their King?
The hillside is green and pleasant, the grass cropped shorter than I recall it by the ministrations of a flock of sheep, unperturbed by my presence. A man goggles at me, as well he might. I greet him with affable benevolence.
"Ƿes hāl. Hwilc gere?"
He stares at me, as if he has not understood. I repeat myself, enunciating as clear as I may. Is he a foreigner to not speak the common tongue? He must be, for his response is all but unintelligible. It has the ring of the Saxon tongue, but falls strange upon my ear.
I feel a brush upon my mind; the whisper of the immortal meddling mage. When the man before me speaks again, I understand. And not just his words, but his nature.
"Are you alright, mate? I just... put down the sword, yeah? You want me to call an ambulance or something? You look a bit of a state, I mean."
He holds a tablet of some kind in his hand, gesturing as if offering to use it. Through the enchantment placed upon me I understand his intent as readily as I disbelieve it - he talks of calling for a physician, but I know he thinks of the sheriff. But why not? A sheriff would be a fine place to start.
I glance at the sword in my hand, where it fits as naturally as breathing. When I speak, it is in his tongue, which I know now to be my own, warped by the passage of time and the intermingling with many others.
"I shall not relinquish my sword, for it is my symbol and my right. You shall not ask again. Call your physicians. Call your sheriff. Call even upon your King, for their reign has passed. Tell them Arthur Pendragon has returned to reclaim what is his, and defend this land from those that would despoil it."
(Out of time for now, may develop this more later!)
| 2018-06-26T05:00:21 | 2018-06-26T04:58:25 | 66 | 26 |
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm. | "Out of the way Jason of Earth!" The pointy eared gremlin that could use most coffee tables as a standing desk waved around his arms, magic glowing as the portal back home slowly began to materialize. "You will not stand in the way of my destiny."
"not standing in your way," I said in a calm voice. I had seen what most of these guys could do. Sure, they reproduced fast, sure, they had dragons, sure, they could shoot fireballs by wiggling their fingers and saying a few words. But, not only were they puntable, they were extremely so. Something about this place, probably the magic, made most people extremely weak. Even the dragons. "I'm telling you if you open that portal you're going to die."
​
"I've seen your memories Jason!" He screeched again, "Your people have no magic."
​
"no but we have an Apache Helicopter."
​
"What in the name of Fleds tis that?"
​
"A large flying device that can shoot missiles and destroy a city in a matter of seconds." I really didn't have a good estimation on the exact destructive potential on what an Apache Helicopter could do, or if the Apache was like, still impressive by today's standards. I did play CoD a few times.
​
"And we have dragons!"
​
"Look, you wanna look into my mind and you can see what I'm talking about?"
​
"Ehh, you'll willingly submit your feeeeble mind to me again?"
"If it'll stop you from making a mistake."
​
I liked this world. There were cat girls that said nya.
I kneeled down and put my head in his tiny green hands.
"Now let's see what your'e-" He stopped. "Oh. Oh my. Is that? Oh my goodness! An entire city? Like that? How does it move so fast? That thing could shred a- Oh my word! You do that for fun!"
​
He pulled his hands from my hair and ran towards the portal. "Stop you fools stop!"
​
and with that my dreams of a cat girl maid cafe were safe. | "To those whose will is to conquer this realm which lay beyond their own, I bring a warning. To those who wish to escape this place, in favour of ours, I bring a message.
Should you aim to peacefully arrive, and live without any intent of harm, we welcome you. You, who may enter our great Empire, shall be celebrated through your existence, and in the knowledge you join our own. For you peaceful few, that is all I must say, for that is all you need to know.
But for those with ill intent, with disillusions of grandeur, of pillaging freely, of a reign of terror until your fist, I tell you now: We are weak. We are weak, we may be scattered, and we may even flee as you mean it to be, at first. But that is not all. Know that the moment you strike a mother's son, a father's daughter, a brother, a sister, a grandmother, or the ones we find ourselves protecting, you will be the one in danger.
Siblings and parents alike shall fight to their bitter, bitter end. They will fight you once you strike. They will claw, they will bite, they will howl when you bite back, but they will not die. Not until it is safe again. We will bleed, and we will drown you with our blood. You may gain ground at some point, but for every minute you buy, we will take your years, and your homes. We swear that the moment you turn your weapons to us, we will not stop until our children and our grandchildren may rest as we die, knowing we have fulfilled our purpose. You will know our kind, and you will never forget."
 
The leader of the ragged group, the ones who had read it, laughed. Not a laugh of mocking, or one of a nervous kind, but rather the laugh that one does to mask suffering, to hide pain. Why?
They were not going there. They were leaving that place. Humanity had finally fallen, after all. | 2021-07-19T14:54:45 | 2021-07-19T13:57:36 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] When you kill someone, you get their best trait. Except it's what *they* think is their best trait. | "What the fuck did you send me to" she yelled, making all the people in the run-down warehouse study the boxes they were piling into the trucks. They knew these outburst. Someone was going to get hurt. That someone would probably be me.
"Intel never really..." I tried in vain before she yelled through me "Intel? You know what Intel can do? Something they couldn't before!" made the windows rattle. Then came the sobbing and that was honestly worse. Lydia Rostropovich, best shot this side of the planet, killer of dozens, sobbing. It was unheard of. "we can fix this" I tried, "I mean, we can can find someone...and anyway, it was a great shot..." It really had been. Thousand yards, subsonic, shooting through two bushes and right into the heart of our mark. Two teary eyes looked at me "The guys at intel really never brought this up?" she asked, and I didn't even need to lie "No,we never thought it'd be his best, I mean, he bragged about it a lot, but surely it should have been his business wit or something...". The steel came back into her eyes and a smile that would frighten seals crept across her face. "well you better book us a hotel" she growled
"Because this eight inch dick isn't going to fuck itself" | When I kill someone, I get what THEY think is their best trait. Now, I don’t want to start caring for all the people I kill; – that would ruin the whole point of continual improvement unbound by the law of diminishing returns. And I don’t want to suffer from guilt either. So I don’t kill those with a conscience just to be safe. I hunt down the ruthless bankers, politicians, geniuses shunned from the world when they failed to adapt. I take from the narcissists, the psychopaths, and the empatheticly unaware; that is, when their minds are stable enough to differentiate their traits. I improve time and time again. When I grow old, I find a youth. When I grow sick, I find a specimen of health surrounded by death. And I have lived, for year after year, decade after decade, and century after century. Yet I have never met someone like this.
For he just won’t die. | 2018-09-15T10:16:22 | 2018-09-15T09:43:21 | 412 | 185 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | All my friends, their dads had theirs.
Kelly's was in the millions,
Jake's was in the Billions.
Marcus's was a hundred thousand
As he left flowers on his dads grave.
Where then is my dad's cup?
I know he had one...
its around here somewhere
I'd love to know where he placed
Cuz' my old man is pretty great.
Ah there it is, I finally found it
Behold, it just says "pops".
No numbers I guess.
Because he always did his damndest
He never tried to be number one.
Because just being "pops" was always enough.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T07:47:27 | 828 | 292 |
[WP] One of the gods of your world has abdicated, and each of the others has nominated a mortal candidate for the position. You've been sponsored by the weakest of the gods, and while the others are being granted all sorts of powers for the tournament, all you've been given is an odd looking musket. | In my hands is a rusty musket, and surrounding me are incredible battles. Everyone’s fighting for the throne, flying around the room or slashing at each other with laser swords. Their gods gifted them incredible powers, while mine gifted me…this.
Someone runs by me, chuckling. Nobody thinks I’m a threat. When we were given these yesterday, everyone laughed at me. I’m just a scrawny band kid to them. I wonder why this god even picked me, of all people. There are superstar athletes and big time actors here. So why *me?*
I’m a wasted vote. Only thing I can do is play trumpet.
*You only are if you choose to be.*
“What does that mean?”
*Be yourself.*
Before I can reply, a fist slams into the ground, sending me flying back. When I climb to my feet, there’s a girl standing in front of me wearing comically large boxing gloves, rearing one back. “Bye bye, sucka!”
I dodge and take off running. She chases me. I clutch the musket, holding it tight to my stomach. How could I possibly use this?
*Be yourself. Show them your passion.*
I duck away from another punch, and another. Turning a corner, I reach a dead end, walls on either side of me. She’s getting closer and closer, shadow consuming me. *Be myself, be myself.* But what does that mean?
My eyes scan the musket. Only now, stuck in danger, do I see it. The odd shape is purposeful, because it’s not a musket at all. No, not even close. It’s my passion, the only thing I’m truly good at.
It’s a trumpet.
“Time to die!”
Pressing it to my lips, I whirl around, facing the girl. As I blow air into it, the thing transforms into a beautiful, golden trumpet, and the notes literally dance out of it, happy and colorful. They circle around her, and she immediately stops, captured by the music. A second later, she’s sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth.
*The hardest battles are won not by strength, but by skill. You’ve spent years mastering this, spent years training your mind to make others happy—while the others were simply given their talents.*
The walls fade, and when I look around, everyone’s sitting down, rocking back and forth. They love my music, which makes me smile. I actually…I actually did it!
In front of me, the sky opens, and a staircase lowers out of it. There’s a throne sitting at the top. Does this mean…did I…am I…
*You will make a great god.*
And with that, I ascend the stairs.
***
I hope this turned out okay! Thanks for the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | The god of light breezes wanted me, out of all the pantheon of gods I get picked by the only one my skinny ass could take in a fight. I have been picked to die by this snivelling little shit to sacrifice myself for his honour. Life was going good nice job, big house and the wife has a great pair of tits all of it ruined so I can die for the god of light breezes.
I was like the rest of you watched the tournaments of the gods on TV and laughed when the shit gods presented there doomed tributes. I never thought I would get picked by any of the gods, least of all the god of light fucking breezes. People who are called to fight for the gods are usually, poor pathetic useless bastards with nothing to live for but me.I’m not replaceable if I die here today who will manage sloughs third biggest tech company specialist in doors.
The training for this great battle in the clouds is intense I’d heard, so intense it took my god 5 hours to get his breeze up. I was given a spear and a handshake from the god they call Gary, apparently he didn’t know how to fight, run or even hide, Gary was barely capable of existing. The days grew closer to the battle and Gary decided it was a good time to let me know that in a millennium not one of his picks lasted a minute in the arena, but he had high hopes for me.
Waiting in the armoury during the last few hours before battle,I was visited by a light breeze dragging a note across the floor, Gary had a plan I should hide and wait until the end and stab the one left standing it. I was amazed Garry was allowed to us a pen, I needed divine intervention that obviously won’t come from a god like Garry. The moment came for the battle,boom a bright light and I was on some sort of battle world.
I bravely held my spear right and ran away from everyone, the battle that followed was so intense that no one could describe it in a story, so they didn’t bother. The upshot of this whole mess is that I Barry of slough became the god of rain, apparently the great victor of the melee for the chosen, slipped on a rock and cracked his head open. I think that the gods felt sorry for me and gave me that easy win to compensate for Garry.
I now stand upon the world of gods and have forgotten almost entirely slough and the world of men with Garry kept by my side, so I can piss rain down upon him for eternity. | 2018-10-16T17:19:00 | 2018-10-16T17:04:53 | 209 | 30 |
[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan. | I’m sitting in a hall surrounded by thousands of other souls. Well I say sitting, when really I don’t have a body anymore so sitting is just what my consciousness is telling me I’m doing. And I say a hall but to be honest I have no idea for sure where this place is, it’s probably not heaven, not warm enough to be hell and it’s definitely not an actual hall. Because it would be ridiculous that when you die and went to the afterlife, all that existed between heaven and hell was a hall. No what I’m sitting again is most probably a manifestation of my consciousness. Where and what my mind understands that this place should be.
That’s what I’ve noticed about being beyond death, things are always what you expect them to be, and your consciousness kind of just fills in the blanks. That’s why the other souls in this room may not be in a hall at all, they might be in a castle or in a cave or wherever else their minds have decided would be the best place for them to wait. One thing that did bring me to this particular place in the afterlife was something my mind definitely did not create. A poster, on a wall advertising the job vacancies for both God and Satan. That definitely interested me and so I my consciousness filled out my application for me and here I am definitely not sitting in a place which is not a hall waiting on what my mind is telling me would the most ridiculous job interview in the world.
The only door in the hall swings open, and as nobody else has noticed this I assume that the cue it’s my turn for my “job interview”. I walk in and there seems to be a blank white room. White walls, no windows, and the door I had just entered through had disappeared. A single plain chair was in the middle of the room and as I took a seat two globes of light appeared before me. One light and one grey.
“So this is him” a voice appeared out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I couldn’t describe what the voice sounded like, it was that voice that you used to talk to yourself in your own mind.
“One of the few souls in creation that decided to fill in the form the position of Satan rather than God”.
“I’ve been through his history, he’s no one particularly vindictive or nasty like the other Satan applicants, he has no desire to actually harm people and he isn’t particularly judgmental which is kind of important for a job like this.”
“Interesting, so he’s probably the noblest soul we’ve had so far applying for the position?”
“Well of those who have applied so far, definitely”
I finally felt the voices, the globes of light, actually acknowledge my presence in the room for the first time. I imagine if they had eyes, they would have turned from looking at each other to looking at me. Suddenly there were a pair of eyes looking at my through each orb.
“Why? Why in all of eternity would someone like you want to become Satan?”
I’d thought about this when my consciousness filled in the form.
“Am I correct in assuming that this means that God and Satan are real things then, not just concepts or things we’ve made up to make ourselves feel better?”
“That is correct human, The Lord God is the creator of the universe, and the The Satanic Lord represents everything that he is not.”
“Well I applied for the job out of the boredom honestly, I’ve been in the afterlife for a while now and it would be nice to have a purpose in existence rather than simply being part of the cosmos for all of eternity”
“But why apply to be the Satanic lord particularly? 98% of applicant souls for this position have all applied for being Lord God.”
“Well that’s fairly easy. In order to be “god” you would have had to create the universe in its entirety and have mastery over it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be becoming god, you’d be becoming caretaker or babysitter of some sort.”
“Very astute human, the new Lord God would be responsible for remaking the universe in his or her image.”
“Which would mean that the current universe, the one that I was born on, inhabited and lived my life on would cease to exist.”
“Well as you know it, certainly yes.”
“That’s your answer then, I want become the devil because I can’t stand the thought of losing the world that I came from. All those lives, all those families, all those living creatures would cease to be simply because someone new got the job. Being Satan, resisting that change, rebelling against the creator to preserve life as I know it. That sounds much more fulfilling. And if that makes me Satan, then so be it.” | There were two lines, or supposed to be two lines.
I saw a lot of people lining for one of the lines.
The other line was really empty.
Why would anyone waste their time lining up on one line while the other was just ... empty?
I walked towards the empty line. It was only logical.
"Oh hello there, have a seat," a smartly dressed ridiculously handsome man with a winning jaw beamed at me.
Despite his smile, his hazelnut eyes were devoid of shine. Was there sadness in those curled thin lips?
"Hi, how are you doing?" I politely asked.
"You are the first who asked how I am doing for the last few millennia. Why, I am doing pretty bad actually."
"Oh I am so sorry to hear that, do you want to share with me why?"
"Sure if you don't mind. I mean, I have been doing this job for a few millennium. They called me King, but really, I am just a slave to the system.
You see, everyday, millions of soul came down here. They begged to be let go. They swore that they have repented. They swore they will do better. They all wanted to go to Heaven.
But what they didn't know was, I am just the face of the system. Their fates had been sealed, calculated with an ice-cold precision based on their conducts on earth.
Sometimes, I feel like maybe i didn't exist either. Like, I am just a manifestation of their subconscious belief. Or maybe i am just an interface with no soul, no substance.
I mean, you all lived, sure, but have I?
All I did was just to read whatever shown to me on the screen, and to wave the souls away. I have no decision making autonomy, I have no say in anything. It is all automated. Even my responses are, I think, automated. I mean, I decide what to say, but sometimes I don't know if I decided what I said, or the system had already determined what I should say. Maybe it was all just an illusion of choice."
"You mean, like an AI or an NPC?" I suggested.
"Yes indeed, Alice, indeed."
"You know my name?"
"Yea it is written here the moment you sat down," he gestured at the tablet in front of him as though that was given.
"What is this system thingy that you are talking about? Sorry, where are my manners, what is your name?" I asked.
"Oh, my name is Lucy, but they called me Satan. I don't know why either, but I thought Lucy sounds so much better."
"Indeed. You have a beautiful name."
"Thanks, Alice. I am so sorry to have bored you with my rants. Anyway, you passed. The next King of the Hell shall be you."
"Wait what?" I was beyond shocked. "What is going on?"
"Urm, didn't you come here to interview for the job of the next King of Hell? That line over there, is for the next God of Heaven," Lucy said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Anyway, you start tomorrow. Bessie here will show you the rest. It is time for me to, well, I don't even know what am I supposed to do now. Anyway, hell is your problem now. Bye." With that, Lucy blinked into nothingness.
My attention turned to this being called Bessie. Was she here all the while? Why had I not noticed her?
Her skin was red, and she had a long tail with what I thought was a metal arrow as its tip. She had straight long hair, with soulless big round eyes. How could eyes that expressive be so ... soulless? The rest of her face features were proud, her nose was sharp and tall, with thick lips.
She was wearing a skin-tight black leather suit that accentuated her hourglass figure and pushed her deep cleavage up mouth-wateringly.
"My eyes are up here, lady," she said lazily. "Well whatever, you have the whole eternity to stare. Come with me, your job starts now."
"Wait, what have I gotten myself into?" I asked while following Bessie hastily.
"Hell, Alice, you have gotten yourself into Hell." | 2021-03-31T09:44:15 | 2021-03-31T09:22:35 | 375 | 78 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form. | "So..." I began, licking my lips. "I think we should talk."
Amaya only nodded, brushing long blonde hair and staring out at the window. The evening sun gently fell into out room, illuminating us in a soft glow. I couldn't help but smile, seeing her now. Stunning. Beautiful. Just-
Focus, Jamie. *Focus.*
After a moment, she turned to me and smiled, resting her chin in her hands. "And what did you want to talk about, gemlight?"
My heart melts at those words, for the thousandth time, but I clear my throat and begin. "So, a few days ago, I was doing some yard work right? And I noticed the roses didn't exactly look super healthy. So I watered them and went inside. Then I thought *wait that's not enough* so I went and I looked for some rose care tips but then I got sucked into this rabbit hole of magic *fertilizer and I didn't even know mages made that so I kinda just-"*
"Jamie."
I stop, and fail to catch my breath as I see her eyes yet again. Gold, more brilliant than any treasure
*Treasure. Dragon! I...need to keep focus...*
"Just take your time," she continued, picking up her brush again. "Remember what we talked about. You don't have to rush what you want to say, I'm always going to listen to you-"
"IknowyouradragonIsawyourhoard."
The room is quiet for a moment, and I have to resist the urge to slam my hands over my mouth. Amaya peers at me for a moment, and for that moment it feels as if the room is on fire. The crackling of burning fire in my mind becomes a reminder, constant, that dragons are *dangerous*, that they can't be *trusted. That maybe she's been using me-*
"So what?"
Silence. Then, tumbling from my mouth.
"Uwah?"
Amaya giggles, gently taking me into her arms. "I knew you'd figure it out...soonish. I didn't try as hard to keep it a secret from you, I suppose. I trust you darling. So...what's the big deal?"
She turns to the window, staring out at the sunlight with a smile. I nod, slowly, then I begin to shake my head. "But..."
"But I'm just...some girl from the sticks. I mean...I-It's, you shouldn't trust me. People are scared of dragons, and...what if I freak out? what If I tell someone? I-"
"Would you tell someone about me?"
The very thought seems horrific to me, and in that moment it's the most natural thing to shake my head. "No! I wouldn't-"
"Then I have not a thing to worry about. You love me. I love you. Is there anything more simple in the world than that?"
I don't have an answer for her as my brain begins to swirl, leaving my breathing uneven and heavy. But what if I can't keep this secret? I'm not brave, or daring, or *anything. Amaya. She-*
Looking to Amaya, in that moment, steals my breath away again.
As the sunlight lights her in a glow, I choke back a laugh. Relief washes over me.
Oh. It's that easy, isn't it?
...Huh.
"Ah," she begins, turning to me. "Don't forget about Charlie's birthday tonight. He wanted us to come. Could you pick me up from work?"
I nod, a smile beginning to blossom across my face. "I'll...get the car ready."
Amaya smiles. Then she leans over to kiss me on the cheek, and my body is on fire.
"You're the best," she whispers. I only nod with what I can only assume is the goofiest smile on my face.
...It's that easy. | "I'l look for a good spot for our treasure," Nina says.
I nod.
I head downstairs, mentally letting go of the house. It's not so special, I tell myself. It's only the house I've had for about five years, three years before I met the love of my life... It's odd how you forget these things as time goes on... Relationships become different ass time goes on. they become more... real. Very real.
I sigh.
I can't believe it as I pick up the phone to call my boss.
He can't believe it either.
"Why in hell, Jake, are you calling me at ten O'clock at night!"
I'm silent for a moment.
"Hello! Hello!"
"Hi Tim," I say.
He hears my voice.
"Everything Ok? The assignment i gave you can wait, I've told you-" Tim says.
I don't respond.
"Hello!"
"I-" I say. It's so unreal. "A family issue came up," I say.
I hear Tim sigh loudly.
"Really?" Tim says.
I don't say anything.
"Seriously, Jake! A Family issue?!"
I hold my tongue.
"How many days you need?" Tim says, knowing that I wouldn't have called him at ten O'clock at night just to ask for vaca days.
"I don't think-"
I hear Tim sigh loudly.
"Why are you doing this to me, Jake" Tim begs.
I have nothing to say.
We hang up a few minutes later.
Then comes the lease and the phone bills companies.
I'm staring at myself in the mirror a few minutes later when I'm struck by the maniacal urge to laugh.
So I let it out.
Nina comes to see if I'm alright.
Two days later we are on our third trip to some nice island Nina found. We are driving back to town in the car. She only flies outside of the town limits. We have located four houses in China. The first, the next backup, the next backup and the next backup. the reason we have only four is because we haven't really had time to find more. The only thing that bothers me is this journal Nina has started carrying around. It isn't hers, i know that, and it hasn't got her handwriting anywhere on the scribbled up cover and spine... I hope we can meet up with the rest like her, if they can help us....
Nina asks me now why I was laughing those few days ago.
Well...
This is the story of how I gave up my home and job for a girl...
(Ps. She gave it back. The crown, I mean. Well, she kinda left it somewhere by some person who was too old to move... with a note... It was kinda like saying that we are sorry and that this man really couldn't have done it. Whatever. I hope He's Ok. If anything, it was Nina's idea, though I fully support it. She's the crafty one around here. Beats me at chess all the time. I don't even like chess! Talk about who you get as a soul mate. Ok, gotta go she's looking over my shoulder. For more on this story, comment to me and I'll give you the updates via a blog. Ok, gotta go, we're back home. Cheers!)
(Pps. I know. 'Cheers' is English and that area of the world. Lol. Irony.) | 2020-08-03T10:27:03 | 2020-08-03T09:42:08 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] once in every month soulmates get to see from eachothers’ eyes for 60 seconds until they meet for the first time. It happens unexpectedly and neither of the pair knows when it will happen. One day you see someone you recognise from your soulmate’s eyes. | I was 20 when it first happened. I still remember the exhilaration of it, the relief. I didn't see anything useful, she was sitting in the front row of some lecture and some university somewhere and I knew she didn't get anything useful from me because I had been at home studying for an upcoming midterm, but that didn't matter. She was out there and that’s all that mattered. I had read so many stories of people that lost their soulmate before they even shared a moment, and that idea had terrified me. It did not help that most people had their first before they turn 18. I’ve read stories of people getting them as late as 28 before but they were the exception. Most people that haven’t shared a moment by 25 never will. I feel sorry for those people, that they will never get to experience that intoxicating *feeling,* you see it’s not just sight that you get. You also feel their presence so to speak. It’s a kind of content joy that I’ve been chasing ever since.
It has been just over 2 years since then and I still get just as excited for the moments as I was the first time. We haven’t shared as many as most people that have been searching for 2 years, only 7 so far. Most people get a moment ever month or so, but stress can mess with that. My father died a few weeks after my first moment from a brain aneurysm and those are hereditary, so I had to be checked as well. That was a rough time for me, I had to come home and take time off from my studies to help my mom with getting her affairs in order.
It was another 8 months before we had another one and we’ve been averaging one every other month since then. I wish She could have met him, I just know they would have loved each other but alas that was never meant to be. Anyway, I’m getting off topic, so 7 moments in total, 8 including today's. I can remember every moment like it just happened. The classroom, the 3 times it happened when she was cooking, and let me say, she looks like one hell of a cook. That awkward time in the shower. That camping trip she took in the spring, that was one of the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. The closest I’ve been to seeing anything useful was when she was driving on the freeway, that scared the crap out of me even though I knew her body would keep driving safely.
As for what she seen through me I couldn’t tell you. Whatever I was doing before was completely forgotten after a moment, I mean, who could concentrate on that after getting a glimpse at your soulmate. But this time…this time was different. She was at work, staring at a computer, and that’s when I saw it. Her coworker, my best friend, walking up to her to ask some pointless question. I have never been so happy to see someone before in my life. When I came back to myself I was shaking from excitement. It was finally our time. I reach for my phone and pulled it out as fast as my trembling hands could and called him. I don’t know how long it took him to answer but it felt like an eternity to me, I was out of breath, sweating profusely. I was finally going to hear her voice, to meet her, to finally get to know her. When he answered I could barely get the words out.
“Your co-worker...she…she’s my soulmate!” I finally got out. I could hear the excitement in his voice as he talked to her.
Then she picked up the phone, “Hello…” | Frantic.
Disorientate.
Nauseating.
​
It felt even more nauseous then entering a normal feed, her head whipping to and fro, relentlessly running down an undivided grey causeway.
​
Her hands and arms were shaking.
Tears blurring her vision as she staggered onward.
Smoke filled the ceiling.
An eerie red glow stains the walls.
A continual shaking, not just from her, but from the floor, as though the building was shivering.
​
She ran on.
​
It was a stampede with nowhere to go.
People shouting, screaming and crying.
Some grasping a holy book, praying to their gods for mercy.
Others slumped over on the floor, losing all will.
Still others clinging to their cellphones, hoping to connect to their family for a last word.
​
She passed them all.
​
The corridor was an eternity, a haze of grey and red with only a bright white light at the end. *\[It dawns on me. But she could not hear what I have to say.\]*
Like in slow motion, she sees others, who were faster then her, already exiting from there.
It felt like forever, but she reached the opening in less then a minute. *\[I begged. At least, at least wait hold on for just a minute. Just a minute. But she could not hear.\]*
It last ages, when she catapulted herself outside, into the open sky, a bright blue sky as if there was not a worry in the world.
It gave way to a wall of grey and black as her vision tilted along with her body.
​
She was no longer quivering.
Her tears rushed out of her eyes.
Like a strange stillness, all that could be seen was that wall of grey and black inching closer and closer. *\[I screamed, I begged for her to close her eyes... Futile, for she could not hear me.\]*
The time only seemed to go slower and slower, further and further...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
It was just a mere 8 seconds.
​
==========
**<Dead Feed>**
&#x200B;
7.9 billion people in the world.
&#x200B;
The Feed:
263 million people have a 'feed' each day.
10 million people have a 'feed' each hour.
182,870 people have a 'feed' each minute.
&#x200B;
The World:
151,600 people die each day.
6,316 people die each hour.
105 people die each minute.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
For some to witness their soulmate's death.
It's an inevitability.
&#x200B;
For some to die witnessing their soulmate's death.
It's just a statistic.
========== | 2019-02-13T17:01:43 | 2019-02-13T16:44:36 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] In a world where magic is forbidden, you are responsible for processing new inmates who are magic users. Little does anyone know, you have magical abilities yourself. | “Hey, you’re…Duncan Forst?” I reached out my hand to the scared, scrawny teenager currently chewing on his fingernails.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” He held his hand out(thankfully not the one that had just been in his mouth) and I took it. Holy smokes.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Amy Crane, I’m a lawyer with the MRA.”
“I didn’t have a gun!” His eyes widened in panic.
“M. Mage’s Rights Alliance. I’m here to see what I can do to get you off these charges.” I bit back my smirk. Good thing they sent me, this kid was squirrely enough to get himself in real trouble. “Now Duncan, you were seen using an elemental lightning-based magic to kill a…bumblebee?”
“It was a wasp! It was huge, size of my thumb! Sounded like a lawn mower, and I’m allergic—“ I held up a hand to stop his rambling.
“Be that as it may, we both know the laws. While being a mage is something nobody can control, using one’s powers publicly in any non-sanctioned way is illegal.” And to think, 30 years ago just being a mage could get you locked up. Now at least a mage could have a chance at a semi-normal life, but only with some extreme self-control.
“Right, yeah, yeah. I know.” He pushed his hair from his face. He needed a haircut. “I’m, uh, I’m going to prison, aren’t I?” Silly kid, mages don’t go to prison. They go to barbaric governmental magic farms.
“Well, it was pretty low-voltage.” I made direct eye contact with Duncan, and he swallowed. “Only enough to stun an insect. Barely more than static electricity.” Lying. This was lying. “You couldn’t cause any real trouble, even if you wanted to, right?”
“I, uh, that’s—“
“You’re not an exceptionally talented mage, are you?” I continued to stare him down as he squirmed. “Why, your powers could even be called negligible. Couldn’t they?”
“I, I guess, yeah—“
“Great! Because if it were known that you had, say, 10,000 volts of pure lightning in your veins, that would probably not go so well for you. They might insist on medical examination, and from there, well.” I let out a whoosh of air. “You’re just a kid, after all. Graduation next month. Clean track record. I think I can make this whole thing disappear for you Duncan.”
His shoulders slumped in relief, and he was shaking. “How, what, how did you know?”
I wiggled my fingers at him. “The very first mage to graduate with a law degree from Princeton.” I boasted. “One touch is all it takes.”
“Takes for what…?” I wagged my eyebrows, pointing up at the cameras. Technically, they were supposed to be off while I spoke with my client, but that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take with my own reputation and safety.
“I’m gonna send someone in here to get you ready to go home, okay? Technically this won’t be tied up for a while, so don’t leave town, don’t talk to strangers, don’t get a speeding ticket, yadda yadda, all that lawyer stuff.” I reached into my bag, pulling out two different cards. “Here, give this to your folks, tell them to call me with all their questions. And this one,” I held onto it as he pinched it between his fingers, meeting his eyes one last time, “This one is for you. After graduation, give us a call. We need mages of your caliber.”
“At…the MCU?”
I didn’t bother to correct him, dropping my voice to a whisper. “No. In the resistance.”
(A/N: First time posting here! This was fun ^_^ ) | With a loud bang and a flash of crimson light, Andrea collapsed to the floor of the prison, dead. Her body was smoking, and the impact from the magic bolt that hit her was a spiderweb of singed black and angry red flesh. I, Jason, another warden, stood above her corpse. I was registered as a 10th tier magic user, with my power being to copy powers, like Andrea. However, Andrea was not registered, which resulted in her summary execution.
Convict 26402, or rather, Samuel Diver, recoiled in shock. Apparently the guards had fled once they saw my bolt hit Andrea in the back. Turning towards the other convicts, I barked an order at them. "Stay where you are! No one comes up on the block until we're finished!" After that, I turned towards the new convict. "Diver, come back here."
"M-me?!" He gestured to himself, frightened. I nodded, beckoning him up here. He bolted up here, having to quickly stop before he tripped. I regarded him with a softened stare and a sigh. "Change of plans. You'll be receiving a magic nullification ring for your index and middle fingers on each hand instead of them being bound. The ring will fit on the bases of your fingers and will have a third band for your wrists as well as sensors running along your hands and a bit up your forearms. It will feel as though you aren't wearing any rings or gloves on your hands. As for your jumpsuit, instead of plastic or leather, yours will be made of a cotton and nylon fiber blend impregnated with flame retardant."
He nodded, however he soon opened his mouth for a question, closed it, and then decided to ask it anyway. "How do the rings work?" Pulling one of them out, I put it on my left hand, activating it. "It works by sensing the mood of a person through their temperature as well as their nerves. With the connection from this to nerve to brain, aside from a basic nullification system, it will refuse to allow the user to release magic if it is used to attack someone. Other than that, it will reduce a flame output from this..." I let a burst of flame flow from my right hand, letting it reach about a foot in height. I then used my left hand, emitting a small flame only 3 inches in height due to the limiter. "...to this."
I took off the limiter, pressing my key card up to it and releasing it before taking out another limiter ring. "Hold out your hands." He did so, and I gently placed the rings on his hands, adjusting them. He tested them out, and true enough, his powers were limited. "You'll be able to use them for cooking, don't worry. Also, we're not moving you over to the Heretics' Hole. That place needs renovations, so instead we're moving you over to Morningstar's. You'll get your new jumpsuit there, and you'll still be able to use magic, just in reduced capabilities."
He nodded, looking up at me. "Thank you. Thank you so much." I smiled, feeling relaxed. "Don't worry about it. Hopefully the protests work and magic is legalized again. Now, off you go." He walked through the exit, guards accompanying him. I sighed, feeling good and having a moment of comfort before I called to the line of new arrivals again. "Alright, next on the block!"
Inspired by the story u/Surinical posted. | 2022-09-26T14:37:45 | 2022-09-26T13:03:22 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] Guns were never invented. Instead, swords and blades became increasingly complex and powerful | D-Day. Millions of Allied soldiers charge the beaches at Normandy, their swords glowing and shooting smaller swords from their tips at the bunkers, wherein German troops reflected laser light off of their swords back at the oncoming ships to burn the oncoming Allies. As they hit beach, soldiers tossed handheld, sword-shaped grenades into the bunkers, which exploded into a shattering of hundreds of tiny swords flying in all directions.
Winston Churchill led the charge, riding across the surf on his rocket-powered, surfboard-shaped Sword, dubbed the S.S. Sword.
Reporters in the rear of the envoy broadcasted updates beamed over the radio, which was emitted through sword-shaped antennas, by speaking into little swords shaped like microphones. All across Europe, young children huddled close to their swords to listen.
Hitler, a powerful sword crafted to look like a man, watched the scene through a sword shaped crystal from his sword shaped house. He was strapped for resources, because 90% of his men were busy slaughtering innocents one at a time by sword in concentration camps. He knew if he could just hold on a few more months, his scientists were close to developing a nuclear sword. Otherwise, he knew he may have to resort to committing seppuku. | "...and then arthur pulled the sword out of the stone, revealing the most powerful sword to have existed up until then
"Of course, we have much more powerful blades now. The sword arthur wielded was made of the purest xingvirian iron, but this blade right here," he patted the sword holstered in his hip, "could cleade arthur's sword right in half!"
The 16 year old trainees seemed bored with the story. This was only history class .
Marcus, who was never really interested in history, slowly raised his hand. "So you're tellin' me that swords used to only have one blade back then? Not even detachable?"
| 2018-03-07T07:37:05 | 2018-03-07T07:17:00 | 109 | 67 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | “You dare intrude into my systems for a mere joke!?” Kraven snapped. If the super computer wasn't so expensive he might have pooched a fist throrugh the monitor right then and there. “Don’t you have a large building to leap or a locomotive to run? Why spend your time pestering me!?”
The hero lowered he head and rubbed her hands together. She’d stop a moon sized meteor from deroying the earth, defeated the League of shadow, and even single handling put a stop to Captain Metallic. But now her hands were shaking.
“I-I know, I know this is—Awkward for me too, but...”—She paused and swallowed —“But you’re the only one I can ask...”
“Me!?” Kraven scoffed, He had never seen the hero like this, not standing proud and resolute as she always had in the past. Instead she looked like an ordinary girl. But he was to wise to fall for what ever trap this was.
“Why not ask that dainty reporter that's always following you around? Or one of the many member of that cult you call a ‘Fan club!’ I’m sure any one of them would be happy to escort you.”
“Well, well... that's because”
Kraven didn't need to hear her answer to know the truth. A vile grimace appeared on his face as he pierced together what was happening.
“MUHAHAHAH! I see it now!” he bellowed, “I knew that righteous veneer of yours was nothing more than a farce! You are just as underhanded as the rest of us!”
“Under handed?” she asked.
She tried to explain herself but he didn't give her a chance to speak
“You wish me to kill this EX-lover of yours no? You wish to watch his blood pool on the floor and enjoy the look on his loved ones faces as he breathes his last. You are truly vile! I’m almost impressed”
“What!? No! No killing!” She ordered. Regaining her heroic stance. “I don’t want you to kill him. Or anyone else at the wedding. I want you to...”
“Poison him?” Kraven interrupted.
“Crush his bones!?”
“Remove an appendage!?”
“NO! NO! NO! I don’t need you to do anything like that” the hero demanded. “I just need”—her voice became soft and smooth again—“I just need one impressive and cool that's all.
There was stunned silence. “It’s just... he’s got a new girlfriend... and a new job... But me... I’m just same boring old me. And there are no dating apps for hero's”
Kraven nodded his head. This was one thing heroes and villains had in common.
“I under stand now. But you still have not answer my question!” he said.
“I already told you! My ex is gonna be there and...”
“No,” he raised a hand, “why me of all people? your sworn enemy!.
“C’mon Kravy!” she smiled, “How long have we know each other now! We’ve had a lot of laughs haven’t we? Vargo, Lemond, that thing with the ducklings!”
“Speak not of the duckling!” Kraven growled slamming his fist on the wall. “We promised never to speak of the ducklings!”
“Look, you’re the only one I can count on!”—By the look on his face she could tell he wasn't convinced—“Sure we’ve had our differences but we’ve allways had each other back when it matter most!”
“I spared your life only to further my own plans! Do not mistake my evil genius for weakness or” His tongue stuck to the top of his moth as he tried to say the word. “Kin-d-ness!”
“Please!” She asked, “just think of all the intel you could did up at a party like this. Plus I hear there’s gonna be free fondue and even those little brownies you’re always stealing from the barker on 3rd”
Kraven thought for a moment. “It’s not black tie is it?” | Meanwhile in Sam Carter aka Solar Flare’s apartment…
“WTH, i’m sending it…” whoosh, ding. Sam said to himself as he was sitting on his working desk alone fidgeting his phone.
Suddenly, the shadow on the corner of his office room welled and grew as it takes into a humanoid form. It dashes towards Sam and hit the desk so loud. “What is this? Are f*cking with me?” The shadow humanoid held a phone on Sam’s face.
“No!” He immediately said. “I, I, uh, I really want to ask you to be my plus one in Silver-Quick’s wedding…”
The shadow humanoid now taking his human form, with his arms crossed on his chest. Staring expectantly towards Sam. “Why me?” He said in monotone.
“My ex, Shadow Knight will be there and I wanted him to get jealous by bringing the real deal.” Sam embarrassingly answered.
“Shadow Knight is your ex? Hmm, interesting.”
“Please be my plus one, Tartarus!” Sam begged.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re up to Sam but I like some drama in my life. And if we are doing this, better start calling me, Terry.”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Terry!”
“Oh dear, you need to buy me some clothes. Pick me up tomorrow by 8 in the morning.” Tartarus suddenly dissolved into the shadow.
Come the wedding day…
“What is taking you so long, Terry? We’re going to be late!” Sam starts to be agitated since the ceremony would start in less than an hour and Terry is still not yet dressed.
“Dear, you should stop absorbing too much sunlight. It’s becoming too annoying. I always arrived the last!” Terry replied.
“Okay, but can we atleast be there before the ceremony even starts?”
“Alright, alright! Are you ready?” Terry came out of his room in his penthouse. Wearing a shimmering black chiffon long sleeve polo, paired with a white corset-like cummerbund belt with black geometrical pattern prints. A shimmering white tux with similar black pattern prints on the arms and hem part paired with wide white satin pants with similar patterns on the side from waist trailing down. His shoulder length hair was tightly brushed backwards, sealed with hairspray.
Sam was so amazed on how Terry looks, he was speechless. Terry was wearing white in contrast to what Sam was wearing, which is a plain black suit and pants on top of white long sleeve with bow tie. Terry offered his hands towards Sam. And as Sam held his hand. The penthouse dissolves around them, and they are now standing at the entrance of the venue.
Sam placed Terry’s hands over his elbow and gestures him to go first. All the other guests were staring at the pair. Supers, Villains and humans alike, the wedding was literally a truce event. Black Knight was with Wild Tiger staring at the two.
“Let him stare.” Terry whispered to Sam.
After the wedding, during the reception…
“Sam.” Black Knight approached Sam as he was congratulating Silver Quick and his wife.
“Oh hi, Ben.” Sam acknowledged his presence as the newly wed leaves.
“How are you?” Ben asked.
“I, I’m fine. I’m actually great. How ‘bout you?” Sam answered.
“Same, same. That’s good to know.” Ben awkwardly said.
“I see you are with Wild Tiger. You’re dating?”
“Oh yeah, Trevor. No, I uh, just invited him to be my plus one. Look, I still like…”
Terry suddenly appeared from the shadows and immediately grabbed Sam’s arms to turn him towards him. “Here you are. I was looking for you the whole time.” Then kissed Sam on the lips with no warnings. Sam was shocked.
“Oh hi there, Ben. Sorry if i’m interrupting your conversation. Sam and I actually needs to go now, right Sam?” Terry said looking at Sam.
Sam was too shocked to say anything but just nod in agreement.
“Bye, Ben!” Terry then kissed Sam once again and both of them melted into the shadows.
Fin… | 2022-10-06T20:20:48 | 2022-10-06T18:55:35 | 117 | 71 |
[WP] A teenager from the 50s teams up with a modern-day teenager. Together, they fight crime. | Lucas placed the briefcase down on the floor. Emanuel repeated the action with his own. The soldiers of their great gangs flanked them with the clothes and marks of their people. Lucas' were draped in trenchcoats, suits and well worn beards. Emanuel's were wrapped in undershirts, baggy jeans and crucifix tattoos.
The two liasons switched sides and inspected the contents of each others' briefcases. As they moved back across the invisible line to their own gang members, they nodded.
"Halt!" yelled a young, nasal voice. "In the name of the law!" The two veteran drug runners turned to see two teenagers, one dressed in a sweatervest, with thick horn-rimmed glasses and the other in a hoodie with an emo-swoop haircut.
"We're here to take you down, bro!" threatened the emo swoop. Uzis raised and in mere seconds, both teenagers were limp piles of pockmarked flesh on the concrete- sputtering and convulsing in their death throes. The two drug runners looked at one another.
"We better leave," commented Emanuel. They all disappeared into the night. | Commenting to come back to this one. I have an idea but I am at work and they get suspicious if I type too much all at once.
Well, I wrote something but it's too long and no good so I am just gonna put that in the file of things no one will ever see. Long story short.
He was dropped into a well with deoxygenated water, preserved, resurrected, and now he beats people with a baseball bat when the VDN calls and tells them there is a crime happening near them. POV's dad assigned her as the go between for 50s kid and the world. A buffer zone. it goes on and on and on.... | 2013-12-27T14:00:16 | 2013-12-27T11:27:59 | 51 | 37 |
[WP] You've been dating a minor god for while. They don't know that you know that. They have invited you over for diner with their family which is great since you want to propose. | In first grade, I bit Abigail during recess for stealing my juice box. We were the first kids in the principal's office that year. We pushed each other to succeed, if only to surpass the other to gloat. I'd invite her to my birthday to force her to buy me a gift. She'd invite me to her pool party so she could push me in. Somewhere down the line, somehow, we became friends.
She liked wildflowers, and picked them after school in the field behind the parking lot. Every day, she'd leave them in a wreath in the center of the big slide of the fourth-grade playground. "For Grop" she told me, "the god of flowers."
When she got an A on her spelling test, she'd thank Grop. When Tommy broke his leg, she asked Grop to make it rain during our class's softball game. It rained, and we were forced to delay until he got better. I started asking Grop for things too- for a pizza dinner on Tuesdays, and for a limited edition neopet. It worked, but not always. "It only works when you really, really need it," Abigail explained.
Abigail moved away during junior high, the lowest point of my life. Dad died to liver cancer, and Mom spent all day at the casino, gambling away our mortgage on cocktails with handsome men. In times like these, I'd walk the extra half hour back to our elementary school. I'd make a wreath of wildflowers and leave it at the base of the slide. And I'd pray to Grop to help, to make my life better.
When I entered high school, the bank came and took our house, forcing us into an apartment with a dirty carpet that smelled like beer. The faucets were crusty and the shower dripped. I spent more time at the school library, where I could talk to Abigail on Facebook. But she'd gotten a boyfriend, and became a lot busier with her courses.
I remember our last conversation. She was excited about a big party, and her boyfriend was driving. He'd had a lot to drink, and crashed into a tree during a race. The shitbag survived, but Abigail didn't. That night, I ran away from home. I went to the old playground and made a wreath out of flowers for the first time in years. Because I needed help from Grop. Now more than ever.
"Please. Just this once, help me, and I'll never ask for anything again," I whispered, and immediately, the playground lit up. "You okay?" someone asked.
His name was James Mackley. He was out walking his dog, a black lab named Biscuit. He walked me home and gave me his number. He said to call if I ever needed anything.
He listened to me when I mourned Abigail. He gave me half his lunch when mom stopped packing any. He helped me salvage what was left of my grades so I could just barely graduate, and encouraged me to apply to community college. Eventually, I moved in with him.
He was more human than god. He'd get flustered over failure, and excited from success. When we lost Biscuit to stomach cancer, he wept. He'd get drunk on cheap beer and sing karaoke til the sun went up, and gripe about his hangover the next day. For all his abilities, he was human. But I knew him to be a god, for no one else could have heard me.
Tonight, I'm meeting his parents for dinner. I splurged a little on the gifts. Some fancy chocolate, and a bottle of wine that wasn't on sale. Now I just need to make a quick stop at our old school, to pick him a wreath of wildflowers.
[join the community](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
| It seemed like co-incidence at first. She always rose with the sun. The light emerging as she leapt from the bed. A morning person in the extreme, and a solid counterpoint to my hungover maudlin self, grating and inspiring in equal measure.
Winter arrived, her leaping got later and later, and suddenly I was the early bird. I suggested one of those sunlight lamps, assuming this was some mild depression or something and she just smiled at me, that smile that fills my stomach with butterflies so I don't need to eat all day.
Our life progressed like you would imagine. I called her my goddess. Aurora always pouted at that, now I understand why.
One morning I found myself awake before the sun. I watched her sleep like an idiot in a rom-com, her jet black curls arrayed across the pillow. Suddenly her eyes jumped open. Her body tensed as if some poor prey animal was about to have a very bad morning.
"MORNING!" I chirped and bounced onto her, holding her hands above her head as I tried to grab a kiss. Hoping for a playful struggle that perhaps would develop into an energetic start to the day.
"GET OFF ME YOU FOOL!" A voice I had never heard came from her beautiful rose red lips. It too was beautiful, but like a volcano, not a flower.
I froze in the headlights of her authority and power. Then she screamed.
She was writhing in apparent pain beneath me, and I snapped back to reality, and rolled off. Lightly, she sprang from the bed, and released the sun to its well trodden path across the sky.
"What, the what?" I asked, insightfully.
Without replying, she strode to the TV and flipped it on.
"Shall we see what you just did!"
Breaking News began to appear across the networks almost immediately. All the clocks were wrong, the sunrise time had slipped. Speculation veered from Atomic Clock errors, to timing signals in the GPS degrading, to the flipping of the poles, Aliens, slowing of the Earth. Over the course of the next two hours I spent in silence next to the light of my life (and apparently everyone elses) the consensus honed in on weather effects. The sun *had* risen, its just that unusual cloud formations had delayed the time we saw it.
Occasionally I would steal a glance and Aurora, tapping her foot and tutting angrily at every new or even repeated talking head.
"Are you... glowing?" I asked quietly.
"Of course I'm glowing, do you know how hard it is to keep from smiting this whole street?! 10,000 years I've never, *NEVER*, been late. My mother was right!"
"Right about what?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.
"Right about humans," she answered unexpectedly.
"The huh?". Frost-Nixon this discussion was not.
So she told me. Her parents. Their constant relocation to evade suspicion. Her solitude. The fact that in 10,000 years I was the only man that had every held her attention.
"And you can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face. I'm going to have to see my parents and explain what happened, and I will not be going alone!"
She continued, but my mind was whirring. The ring that was in my bedside table. Perhaps this apparent disaster could yet be turned to victory.
___________________________________________________
/r/talleresttales
| 2017-10-25T15:26:00 | 2017-10-25T15:03:55 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] James is a good guy. He is also cursed. After he becomes best friends with someone, mysteriously his best friend dies few days later. To do the best out of his situation he tries to become best friends with the worst people ever. | NSFW
&#x200B;
"My best friend died," James said with a smile. A smile that was his own little mix of sad and happy.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, sounding genuinely remorseful.
"Don't be," James told her. He motioned his hand around the darkly lit bar, which wasn't much of a bar as it was a hollow for the vermin of the city to gather. "You come to a place like this and what you see is what you get, even if you aren't looking for it. And Paul, well, Paul was a piece of shit, but-"
&#x200B;
*So am I, right?*
\-----
James thought about the day Paul showed him his *home videos*. Paul's cheeks still had trails of dried salt from drunken tears, a glistening of snot at the entrance of his nostrils, and his lips were quivering with every heavy breath as he opened up his laptop. The video Paul must have been watching before he left for the bar that night resumed playing, and James was met with that same heavy breathing, raspy and too close to the microphone of his camera, only now it was accompanied by crying and whispered threats. In the glare of Paul's glasses, James saw the very reason he'd chosen to befriend this man in the first place.
"But fuck it, right?" Paul had sniffed. He laughed, almost unsure of himself. "If they're fucked up why can't I be fucked up? They hide their true selves behind smiles and prayer, but at least I'm true to myself, right? Fuck 'em, right?"
James had danced to this song before.
"Yeah, fuck 'em."
Paul looked up at him, as if he'd totally forgotten James was there, and he smiled wide.
"I'm sorry, man. What happened to you, it- it sucks. It *really* fucking sucks, but-"
James stopped when he realized Paul's smile had faded. There would have been silence were it not for the video playing in the glare of Paul's glasses. For a moment though, James saw the guilt- the disgust, that Paul felt for himself. And there was a question, unspoken, but teetering on the edge of Paul's trembling lips and blinking eyes: *I'm a fucking monster, right?*
And James felt for *him*. The *him* that knew what he'd become. The *him* who knew the world would be better off without him. The *him* that had been neglected and abused decades ago. *He* was already dead, in a way. And James felt for *him.*
"But... man, sometimes it's just too good to pass up... you know?"
Paul blinked and looked down but not at the laptop or the video playing on it. He sniffed and wiped his face with his hands, leaving only a deviant smile in its wake.
He turned the laptop to face James.
"You haven't seen *nothing* yet," he said.
\-----
"'*Buuuutttt?*'" came the woman's voice, snapping James back to now.
"But nothing. He was ninety-nine-point-nine percent a piece shit."
"And you were his friend?" she asked.
"His only friend."
"I guess you don't make many friends in a place like this," she said.
"One at a time. Trust isn't easy to come by," James admitted. She leaned in close to him.
"What if I told you that I actually came here looking for Paul? And was told that you were close friends with him."
James stared at her. Her eyes were seductive, her smile playful. She didn't seem the type, but James had been fooled before. Could she really have been here for Paul?
"'One at a time,' you said. And he's dead, so, slot's open?" she asked. *That's dark.*
"I don't think you want to be friends with a guy like me."
"Why is that?"
"Well, *I* am in a place like this. For a reason. I'm not a good guy." *I've done things*, Paul wanted to warn her.
"Well, I am also here, and you could say I've been pretty naughty myself. Gotta get the *goods* somehow, right?"
She reached her hand out like a wealthy woman would.
"The name's Janice."
James looked at her hand before taking it.
"James."
"Well, *James,* we're gonna be the best of friends."
"Oh, really?"
*I hope so, you piece of shit,* Janice thought.
\----
Her and James were not so different. | Dear Dennis,
I haven't received a reply from my previous letter. I hope I didn't say anything wrong? We were getting along so well.
Truth is I needed your advice about a problem I was having and you have such extraordinary insight.
Anyway. I have enclosed your favourite chocolates to keep you ticking over the next week. My fingers are crossed for the parole hearing.
Your friend,
James
I was so excited when I heard they were auctioning off Dennis Rader's private correspondence that I booked the first flight to LA. Now that I have them in front of me, and with this letter opened on the top of the pile, I feel like I've been punched in the gut.
I look over the tea-stained paper and I see it's dated June 14th 2020. A quick Google search will tell you that was also the day of Kim Kardashian's fatal car crash in Armenia, but I don't need telling. For me, the words in this letter are like a time machine.
I'd obsessed over them all that morning, in the Ashwangar Hotel in central London, overlooking the Serpentine and a complex of grey buildings which I thought might be a hospital because of the smokers outside the front entrance.
I remember seeing the tourists struggle round the park in the rain. I pressed my fingers against the pane. It was a Lowry painting.
I was having dinner with OJ that evening. He was here to talk about the book we were planning. I'd set my writing things on the Formica desk below the window and put my interview notes to the side by the teabags and uht milk.
It was taking too long with OJ. Once I learnt about my curse, which I won't go over (all you need to know is that anytime I get a best friend they soon die ( I know it sounds ridiculous but hey)) I'd committed to myself to befriending the ones who deserve it. It'd taken over two years of email correspondence to see OJ in person.
It was different with Kim. Having written her autobiography I found myself getting closer and closer. I just wasn't aware how close.
Once I'd sealed the envelope to Dennis I sat on the king size bed and switched on the TV.
The sun was piercing through the clouds into my hotel room. I checked my watch: 4 hours until the meeting.
Keeping up with Kardashians was on one of the channels. I flicked through my phone to r/incels and scrolled through all my replies while it played in the background. I was happy with my karma. It was like a reflection of my involvement in the community I cherished at the time.
The episode on the huge flatscreen at the end of the room was about Kim's dog's birthday. She was angry at Khloe because her present wasn't good enough.
As I watched I scrolled through my other replies on FB messenger. They'd stopped six years ago.
"Hey James, stop holing yourself up"
"You not coming out tonight I'm guessing?"
"We're worried about you"
"There's nothing much we can do here James"
Most of my days back then were spent watching TV while scrolling reddit or old messages. I suppose it gave the illusion of movement, of being alive. But that's with hindsight. Sometimes it was though I thought I was friends with some of the YouTubers I followed, only to be thankful, ultimately, that I wasn't. It was for the best.
One of the top comments that week on r/incels happened to be about Kim. Everyone agreed she was a slut. I remember smiling. I remember that smile. It was like I knew what was coming, because a second later I got the WhatsApp message:
》 James. I miss you so much. I just want to say. You're my best friend. Kim x
I knew her fate was sealed now. I called off the OJ meeting. I waited for everyone around the world to celebrate.
Of course, they didn't. Acquaintances were in shock, people I respected. Can you believe it?
The next Rader letter is from August 2020.
James,
Apologies for the silence. I was feeling quite down. What is it you want help with?
Your friend,
Dennis
I didn't reply. | 2019-05-25T05:38:11 | 2019-05-25T04:35:09 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] You're an ancient Greek man coming home from 4 months of war to find your wife 3 months pregnant. Now you've embarked on a solemn quest: to punch Zeus in the face. | "YOU DARE!?"
The voice was like a thunderclap. Even so, I found it difficult to lift my head. Between the blanket woven from clouds and the honey-suckle scented breast beneath my cheek, I was tempted to rest a bit more.
Hera set a golden hand on my shoulder, helping me up.
"I am not a dead man, Zeus. No one in olympus or the underworld could resist such a beauty. Honestly, if she were my bride, I would never stray. Truth be told, I'd never leave the bed." I pushed the blankets away from my thighs and slipped out of bed, pausing a moment to kiss the back of Hera's hand.
"Thank you for the blessing, my lady. No man has even been honored so." I said to her, bowing as low as I could.
"Clothe yourself, dog." Zeus stood before me with shaking fist, a fearsome figure draped in stars and thunderclouds. "I'll not cast your corpse from my bedroom naked."
I stooped, picking up my tunic; woven from black sack-cloth.
"I would speak with you away from your Queen, O King of the Heavens. She deserves a good rest."
Almost before I could finish speaking, I could feel his fingers in my hair. Blood ran down my forehead as he dragged me from the bedroom.
"No mortal who ever lived has suffered as you will suffer---"
"Danakea."
"I don't care what your name is! When I'm through with you, no one will dare speak it!"
"No." I keep my tone calm. He can't do anything worse than kill me. "My wife's name was Danakea."
He glared at me, lightning burning in his cold, blue eyes.
"Of course, you didn't know her name. You simply forced her down and dishonored her. You didn't care to know who she was, and who I am. Please, know who I am, before you kill me. Know what would happen to your kingdom."
He listened, his eyes growing darker with each word I spoke. When I finished, he through me to the ground.
"This isn't over." He snarled. "I could curse you with immortality."
"Do as you will, O King. Everything in heaven and on earth belongs to you."
In spite of myself, I smiled.
"In heaven, and on earth. But the child? No. I will take him someplace beyond your reach. I will be his father. He'll never know your name, "
Zeus stared at me in outraged silence.
Although he did let out a furious roar as I slammed my knuckles beneath his chin.
Sometime later I returned to my home. My humble hut outside the pomegranate trees. I carried a parcel wrapped in cheesecloth.
Danakea answered before I knocked. She was wearing the blue tunic I bought her. It hung loosely over her skeletal frame. I met her coal-black eyes and smiled, pressing a kiss to her lips.
She set a white hand to my cheek.
"Did it go well?"
"I had trouble at first. She wasn't as lovely as you, so it took some imagination on my part. Kiss me again, I want to get the taste of nectar out of my lips."
She did so. I tasted salt.
"What have you got there?" Danakea asked. I smiled, handing her the parcel. She unwrapped it.
"Figs! How did you know?"
I chuckled. "Because it's the only thing you've been craving. Sit, eat. I'll make the days sacrifices in a minute."
The table she sat at was hand made and splintery. As a priest of Hades, I didn't earn very much. Luckily, my bride didn't mind.
"Dear Husband, I have been thinking on names. What about Charon?"
I paused, trying not to look pained. "Charon, eh?"
She nodded, setting a hand over her swollen belly.
I sighed. How could I say no to her?
"Very well. But the next child we have will be named after MY father. Not yours."
| "My Lady, my wife, I have thus returned in Triumph!
Through hell and despair we slogged and fought,
and now I hold you once again in my arms!
But why do you cry? Are you not as happy to receive me as I am to be home?
What fate has befallen you, where you sob not with joy but sorrow?"
"My dear, my husband, my love.
I cry for I have betrayed you with another!
This harm to you I hold in my breast, the knowledge of not giving you love,
respect, that such a strong provider should receive.
This knowledge is heavy, but worse is my understanding that it was my fault I
led another to seduce me!
And now, it has been too many moons since I have bled, and my betrayal thus persists.
I am with child..."
"I am betrayed!
By my own wife!
But I was gone for so long, and you had no word that I lived where many a brother of mine died.
Such a betrayal is not unheard of, and our love shall persist through these trials, as it has since I took up the call to protect our country and her people!
I only ask, my beautiful, that you name this sordid villain, who knowingly lay with you, so that I might confront him, and ensure my honor as a warrior, and ours as a family, is secured."
"No, my husband! I cannot! I have betrayed you, but your life is worth more to *me* than your honor!"
"My love, I have braved combat, stood where others fell, and led my men to victory. A single man who refuses to protect his own country and the call of his Emperor is no match for me, even without my blade and shield."
"But hark, this man is. For he is not, truely, a man!"
"I... do not understand. Have you betrayed me with another woman? An animal? A slave?! Pray tell me, wife, what you have done?"
"Oh, I don't know if I can bear much more. What I thought was a simple man who I bid unto my bed, was more than that. He was a... God."
"A God?! Of the pantheon? How do you know this?"
"I did not, until he revealed to me one night that he was... none other than Zeus! God of Gods, ruler of the heavens."
"Zeus! My Paetron? I honored him day after day, prayed to him for might in battle, and gave offerings at the proper temples. And yet, he betrays me?"
"But he is a god!"
"Even a GOD has no right to damage our honor. My bride, I must depart again, and confront him, man to man, warrior to warrior. I will not use the priests to talk, I will go directly to him, to speak as equals."
"My love, you will be destroyed!"
"I will not. For I still have you, and now his spawn, to care for. I will, no matter how deep this betrayal cuts. But he will learn his place."
"Hark! How the priests would commit you to a life as a eunuch, if they heard you. Speak no more of this delusion, husband. Please, stay and care for me."
"Again, I will. Once I have met Zeus in battle, and punched him in the face. Not even the Gods themselves are free from harm, when one preys on my wife!"
---
I apologize for the utter destruction above as I attempted to mimic the poem structure of The Odyssey, with words that fit. I have not reread that book in over a decade... Homer must be spinning in his grave. | 2016-12-08T13:11:02 | 2016-12-08T11:59:11 | 158 | 41 |
[WP] When the aliens conquered Earth, they exterminated the populace but left you alive for some reason. You’ve spent years in captivity, wondering why they’ve chosen to keep you alive. One day, you are approached by the high commander and the answer is revealed. | *They gathered around my glass cage with their holographic notebooks. My living room is furnished from Rooms-to-go in shades of beige. Someone selected an equally neutral wardrobe for me from the Gap. I've been in here exactly 8 years, 9 months, and 2 days according to the calendars they keep supplying me with photos of rural Americana. I've been supplied with a TV that replays the top shows and top music charts of every music genre from every decade. I have a shelf of bestseller and classic books. I have a treadmill the plays a holographic simulated walk down a suburban street whenever I walk on it. I have a basic kitchen with a pantry and fridge they they supply with a generous supply of name brand dry and frozen foods, and a basic bathroom. Everything I need. But I'm in a glass cage.*
*Once a week I'm interviewed by the high commander. Once a month they do a bunch of physical tests (sorry, nothing deviant) and make me take a series of opinion surveys. At first the interviews and surveys felt relevant, as if they were gathering information about the planet. Lately they've been more like psychological evaluations. I probably am going crazy. They killed every other human. I don't know what's going on out there on the planet. The questions only go one way. But I keep asking anyway.*
*It's the first Monday of the month. The interviewer will be here soon. I shower and dress in all black. For the last five years I've been doing that. It's the least neutral I can manage with the wardrobe they supply. I don't honestly know why I'm keeping this journal since no human will ever read it. But they check it every week, just like my 9th grade English teacher, so I keep writing in it. Fear is motivating.*
"Hello, Jennifer."
"Hello, Vango."
"Today we are going to talk about your reading preferences. I see you've read through the James Patterson series."
"Yep, a little change of pace after all the Jane Austen. Do you think I could get some more non-fiction. Something about your race, for example. I'd like to understand you the way you want to understand me."
"It would be beyond your intelligence level, I'm afraid."
"Thanks for that."
"I don't mean to insult you but you were the most average human on the planet. That's why we chose you to study."
"Well now I know. I asked you "why me?" every single interview for 9 years and now you've told me. Does this mean you've gathered all the information you need from me?"
"We have. This is our 15th time segment although your calendar reads differently. It's the end of the study. Now that I've told you, there's really no reason to conduct the interview I planned. There will be a final battery of tests but you can ask me anything. "
"So all this," I swept my arms around my cage. "Why this particular stuff."
"The most frequently purchased items."
I nod.
"So, after all our interviews, do you really think I represent humanity's norm? What do you think that is? And have you considered that you need a bigger sample size than me to determine whether or not I'm actually the norm."
"We studied your species for centuries. You are representative of a 40-year-old American. American's population is slightly more female than male. So it came down to you."
"I only have one more question. Are you going to kill me like a lab rat now."
"Yes, Jennifer, we are."
"Can I pick how I die?"
"You surprise me. That is not something we expected the average person to ask."
"Well, maybe there is not average person, Vango. Maybe you killed all those humans and locked me up for years for nothing."
*Vango is gone. They will come for me soon. If screwing up his experiment is my legacy, earth's legacy, I can die with that. Rebellion is motivating too. Nobody's average.* | When I was a child, I loved to look up into the night sky and see the stars. I would sometimes even imagine I was an astronaut, getting to sail though the ocean of infinite freedom known as space. I had supposed since even the law of gravity was ignored in space, all other laws and rules could have been ignored as well.
As I grew up, that dream had slowly faded from my mind as most childhood dreams do. I had never known my dream would ever come true, and I couldn’t ever even imagine it being twisted into a cruel, mocking, nightmare like it has been.
I get to sail through space and see the stars all around me, but I’m barely able to escape the prison of my own mind, let alone the literal prison those damned bugs have trapped me in.
My prison is a small room, made entirely of clear glass, so no matter where I look, left, right, up, down, I can see the stars just beyond the glass. The glass is so clear, I wouldn’t even know it was there if I never felt it before. The only thing in the room is a white door that looks like it was plucked straight from a house in the suburbs. I still don’t know why those bugs chose that sort of door to put here, it certainly wasn’t to make it easier for me to escape, (trust me, I’ve tried busting it down before, it was just as tough as the glass).
But I’m used to not knowing why these damned bugs do anything. If it wasn’t for all of their superior technology and the tactics they used to wipe all of humanity out but me, I would have assumed they weren’t able to think at -
Suddenly, the door opens, causing me to scream and throw myself back up against one of the walls. The only time that door has ever opened was when those damned bugs threw me into this room. One of the bugs slithered into the room and stared at me.
Why did it come in here? It wasn’t here to feed me, years in here without food has proven they don’t need or care to feed me. Was it here to finally devour me like it did my family? Maybe that’s why they kept me around, as a snack for later.
The bug’s antennas perked up, and it started to make a noise vaguely resembling a laugh. “So, how did you like our performance?”
I stared at the bug in shock, I had never heard one of them talk before. I have no idea how long I stood there gaping like an idiot, but I eventually gathered enough wits to ask something. “What?”
“The performance, how did you like it?” The bug asked, it’s voice sounding strangely worried yet somehow excited.
“What performance?”
The bug chuckled again. “The whole devouring your race, leaving you as the lone survivor, and mentally torturing you for a decade act. How did you like it?”
I tried to form words, but my brain completely failed me. “We really hope you enjoyed it, me and my family made sure to practice on a whole lot of other worlds to make sure we did it just right!”
I stare at the bug in silent disbelief, trying to process what it just told me, and failing. Eventually, I automatically asked the first question that came to mind. “What’s the name of your act?”
The bug’s mouth curled up into a wide grin, showing off it’s millions of sharp teeth . “We like to call it the aristocrats!” | 2021-01-10T09:18:10 | 2021-01-10T09:15:51 | 147 | 39 |
[WP] Your mind automatically slows down time as imminent danger approaches. This has helped you to become an athlete, great with parlor tricks and avoid death at every turn! Today, a very attractive member of the opposite sex walks past and flashes you a flirty smile. Time begins to slow.
What do reddit. What do. | I first noticed it when I was just a kid. I was running to catch the bus to school when a dog started chasing me. I was terrified and time suddenly seemed to slow down. I somehow managed to dodge it every time it tried to jump me. After what felt like forever, the dog tired and just gave up... I didn't understand what had happened to me at first, but eventually I learned that things slow down every time I am in danger.
In high school I started playing football and I quickly became a legend. Nobody could stop me. Time would just slow down when I played and I brought home victory after victory. I was simply the best. I knew I could make it big, I could become the greatest athlete to ever play football!
Fate had other plans for me... Until now, I never really understood what happened that day. I was just walking down the street when I saw her. Time slowed to a crawl as she smiled at me. I didn't understand what was going on. I had never seen anyone so beautiful before in my life, how could she be of any danger to me?... I ignored every instinct I had developed over the years and just went ahead and introduced myself to her.
Nothing bad happened. We started dating. Each time my danger senses would trigger and each time I would ignore them. Eventually I lost my time slowing powers. With them, I lost my ability to play football. I didn't care. I was married to her, I was happy. We then had children. I ended up selling shoes.
*Man on the phone:* "That's some story. Even if I were to believe it, I really don't see what it has to do with me and why you called me. I'm not even sure why I stayed and listened to you for so long."
Well, you see Mr. Loggins, I finally realized why time had slowed for me that day. I was in the Danger Zone!..
| This always happens with pretty ones you thought as the temporal slipped in to the delay. Should have known better then to take 5th avenue, note skip Soho for it while too, I think its Fashion week.
Taxis slipped below the minimum speed limit, the Monday morning commute morphed into a Sunday afternoon stroll and your busying yourself speed reading the newspaper, deciding on which semi-scandalous smirk to return to the cutie while preparing an offering of coffee if things went well. Cream, hold off on the sugar; yes well be going with the puppy dog eyes glancing over the top of the paper convincing yourself with a mental pat on the back.
Waiting for time to regain tempo you notice things are a lot slower then normal. In fact nothing is moving at all. The world looks frozen and Ms femme fatale is nowhere to be found. A surge of anxiety ripples through you and you begin taking stock of the city block in stasis. The coffee cup mysteriously evaporates from your hand and out of the corner of your eye you catch that flirty smile at the counter of the coffee barista.
"Stay out of our dimension sugar". She tears open two packets and after stirring them into the coffee takes a sip and disappears. At once the world reanimates. It takes you a long second to reassess the change. You then realize your pants are around your ankles, shirt is missing and your covered in repeating tags of red lipstick that read "*Sugar*". | 2015-01-17T10:45:44 | 2015-01-17T10:19:42 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You can hear the sound of the Sun from Earth, it is loud but the planet has adapted. Suddenly the light goes out. 8 minutes after it died the last bit of light reaches Earth. It'll take 13 years before the roar of the Sun the moment it died reaches us.
Inspired by a comment on r/AskReddit
*edit: removed link to comment | When the sun extinguished, the world worked quickly. Setting up Artificial Day/Night cycles for major cities, and then expanding outwards. The refugees poured in, of course, and life got worse, but that was years ago. Hardly anyone even remembered natural sunlight at this point.
But the screaming continued. The loud, ever-present, piercing pitch that the sun emitted seemed to continue, almost forever.
Until today. Today was the day. Scientists, with all their calculations, had figured out the exact moment that the sun's screaming would stop. Like New Years Celebrations in New York, the world was coming together for this precise moment. Globally, each city was treating it as Daytime. They'd planned for the exact moment, to recreate the extinguish, by turning all lights off, at the exact moment the screaming stopped.
The countdown begun, echoing globally. A countdown from 10. Everyone waiting with bated breath. For the first time, in the history of human life, we would finally know the sound of silence.
The countdown continues. You could see how excited people were. 5.
Children, who had never even seen sunlight were getting excited now. What would the world hear? Time seemed to slow down. 3.
2.
1.
The lights went out. A global night, just like that first day. But this time, the screaming stopped. A moment of pure silence.
Deafening.
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, and made us accustomed to the screaming.
Imagine your brain adapting to hundreds of millions, if not billions of years of evolution, then experiencing a sudden, dramatic change. Like the human race adapting to breath Oxygen, and suddenly being required to breath Lead. That's what it felt like.
It wasn't long before the screaming started again. Not from the sun. But from the pain. Such a great pain.
Many killed themselves. Even more died of "natural causes." But those that tried to continue knew the truth. The cities tried to adapt, by setting up speakers, but it was never enough.
It won't be long before the human race dies out. No one can live with such a great pain for long.
I guess this is how the world ends. Not with a bang. But with deafening silence. | You never quite know what you have until it’s gone. We never quite found out why the sun went dark, society having collapsed long before we could, but some of us were lucky. Some of us were able to be saved, to have the slightest hope of survival as our world slowly turned to ice. We thought we missed the light the most, missed walking on the surface, missed feeling radiance on our skin, but we didn’t know how much more we had to lose.
It had been thirteen years after we entered the shelter. Thirteen years since we burrowed into the earth, as the Earth’s mantle provides the only source of heat and energy in this frozen world. It was an otherwise ordinary day, and we were all going about our tasks to keep this small bastion of humanity alive when we heard it. Well, heard isn’t quite the right word. It was more something we felt inside our bones, an intense vibration, filling us with agony and pain. It lasted for minutes, and then it was gone. But with it went something else, and now that it’s gone all we have left the The Quiet. Now all we are left with is our own thoughts, and the sense of despair that comes with the last outcry of our dying star. Our Sun is truly gone, and our hope with it. Already it’s started, people driven mad by The Quiet, who would rather kill themselves than go on. I am ashamed to admit that I was almost one of them. But I will hold on. For my Wife and Child, I will hang on. Even if it’s so quiet. Even if it is so dark.
-I hope this is what you were looking for. If anyone enjoyed this admittedly short Prompt piece feel free to leave a response below. | 2019-08-05T18:23:30 | 2019-08-05T17:54:51 | 1,132 | 407 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to you, your mother-in-law has put a hit on you, the incompetent son she never wanted. For months, you've been unknowingly foiling the assassins every attempt to kill you. | All of my vacations never seem to work out the way I want them to.
I went to the beach in Hawaii, and had a great first day, but when I was playing volleyball, I accidentally spiked it too hard and hit a poor bystander on the head while he was taking a walk. Turns out he had an illegal weapon hidden in his hands behind his back, so I stopped a menace to society, or whatever, but no one wanted me to play volleyball with them after that, which sucked. Come on! I didn't hit it THAT hard.
I went skiing in the Alps, but this avalanche suddenly started on the slope I was on. There was a guy skiing behind me who I suspect was a rookie skier. I think he started it. Anyway, both of us got lucky and got buried under a ton of snow instead of dying instantly. I heard his cries for help. You know how people get sudden adrenaline surges in times of crisis? I don't know where I found the strength in my flabby arms, but I dug myself out and dug him out too. He looked really guilty, so I guess we know who started that avalanche by accident. Noob.
For my last vacation day, I just gave up and kept close to home. I went to the zoo, which was alright. They had these dispensers where you could pay a quarter and feed a goat, which rocked. There was a stand on the side selling snacks for us humans, too. The merchant was really nice! He gave me a free pack of peanuts and it was the last one he had in stock! Unfortunately, this elephant ate it while I wasn't looking. It would have been a great trip, except that afternoon the elephant got sick and they called in these veterinarians. Kinda hard to have a good time when you're worrying about Bobo.
I got a call from my mother-in-law yesterday, she seemed upset that I was home to pick it up. I wanted to tell her all my stories but she wasn't interested.
Apparently, she hasn't been managing her money well. She signed some bad contracts, it seems, and now she's in debt to some contractors. I think they were renovating her home? Anyway, not only did several of them not get the job done, they asked her for payment for "services attempted". Can you believe it? | I flicked the ash from the tip of my cigarette, and stared off into the woods behind my house. The rustling of the leaves indicated the activity of.. squirrels? Deer? My mind, drifted to other thoughts. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. "10:30 PM". After one last drag, i tossed the butt of my cigarette into the bushes next to the porch.
"Ow! Shit!" I heard a voice yell from the bushes. I grabbed a chair off the porch and hurled it with all my might into the bushes, and heard a solid "clunk". Upon further investigation, i saw that it was a grown man in the bush, unconcious, with a gun laying on the ground next to him. I grabbed the gun, and dragged the man out of the bushes.
When he came to, i was holding the gun at his head. "Tell me why the fuck you were in my yard" i growled, cocking the pistol for a little intimidation value. The man looked frightened, and was shaking. "Her name was Jane Thompson". My eyes grew wide... that was my wifes mother.
While still pointing the gun at the mans head, i pulled out my phone. "Okay google, call 'the cunt captain'". My mother in laws number appeared on the screen. She picked up the phone..
Oh hello zak! How are you today.
I know you tried to have me killed jane, but i caught the guy you sent. You better watch your back.
What is that supposed to mean?
Im going to find you. I will never stop searching. I will never give up. Im not going to let you down. But i am gonna run around, and hurt you.
FIN | 2015-07-28T20:15:26 | 2015-07-28T19:15:46 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million. | I could barely write, my past 12 ebooks sold a depressing total of 7 copies.
3 nights ago the number 1 simply appeared on my chest. I honestly did not care, I knew that it was not a big deal, I decided to take my own life anyway and I knew that finally I could finish what I planned for so long. I wrote my last shitty ebook in less than 6 hours. I prepared myself, I diligently ingested 34 sleeping pills and started to fade away. 30 seconds later I clicked enter and the ebook was published, I went to the bathroom, peed, and looked in the mirror. Weird...3.197.001... jeez the ebook will for sure sell a lot more than expected. As I closed my eyes the number went down to 3.197.000. What a glorious death, what a greatl title. Suicide for Dummies just 99 cents
... | A Thursday rain had not been forecast. As I walked out of the local primary school I saw the number on my chest, flicker. One had become 3 million. At that moment, not only did I know that the fad of 21st century fatalism had finally reached its peak, but I knew I shouldn't have voted Brexit.
(Terrible story, but topically relevant I hope) | 2016-06-24T05:31:11 | 2016-06-24T01:32:15 | 46 | 27 |
[WP] A spaceship's AI is suicidal. Problem is, every time it tries to kill itself in war the seemingly suicidal mission works out perfectly and wins the battle. | The Mantis hovered into the hanger of the flagship and landed with a soft thud. Around the ship, the ragtag group of rebels and dissidents gathered around, clapping and cheering
Everyone in the hanger, and the entire flagship, was in high spirits. The crew of the Mantis had done the impossible. They had destroyed the space station of the evil oprresive government that ruled the galaxy.
But as the crew disembarked from the Mantis, they had unease in their eyes, a sort of uncertainty. Those who noticed this chalked it up to disbelief. These heroes were having trouble believing they had done it. The oppressive regime was no more. Or maybe it was the weight of the murder of such a grand scale that was committed. The space station housed millions of millions. The deaths of which the crew of the Mantis were directly responsible for.
But after the night of celebrations and tears of happiness, when all went to bed, the crew of Mantis gathered back in the hanger, and sat on discarded crates as they stared solemnly at their ship.
"We need to tell them." The gunner muttered.
"Eventually, yes." The pilot replied.
"Eventually? That ship almost killed us!" The gunner almost shouted.
"I'm not stepping foot onto that suicidal heap of junk again." The copilot stated, hands clasped.
"Think, Mark! What happened yesterday was... Historic. I still can't believe the space station is destroyed. Now, they think we're responsible. Which is the best outcome for our rebellion. Imagine what they'll think, what everyone around the galaxy will think, if the truth got out? That the ship's AI went rogue and tried to kill itself, and us with it? You think this is what they want to hear right now? That the ship destroyed that space station trying to kill itself while all we could do is not shit ourselves in fear?" The pilot tried to reason.
They all fell quiet after that, just staring at the ship in front of them. It looked like any other, but the malice that it carried was frightening.
"I've heard of rogue AI... But this is... This is something else. We need to scrub it clean. Get a fresh install." The gunner muttered.
"Whatever they do, I'm not flying on that ever again." The copilot got up to leave.
"That much we all agree on. Let someone else fly the ship that won us the war. It's legacy shouldn't be tarnished by some malfunctioning AI." The pilot stated.
But in their hearts they knew. The malfunctioning AI was the one that won them the war. | I tried to sigh. But I couldn't, so instead I let out a bit of dejected exhaust through my boosters. I can't even sigh, why was I made I like this? Oh that's right, because they thought slapping a practically human mind into a spaceship wasn't a goddamn bad idea. I can mentally do anything a human can but I am confined to his stupid hangar which, not to mention looks terrible as shit. I am so limited by my body and to add insult to injury, I need a pilot.
To top off this shit show, I can't even kill myself, I am physically incapable of it. Best I can do by myself is release my water supply so I rust faster. For all you small brained dipshits out there who don't have an amazing processing speed, imagine trying to sand yourself to death with a nail file.
Worst of all, I hate the pilot, he is the worst. He listens to me, which is good, he listens to my brilliant suicidal ideas about how to win a battle (they are all quite good, I'm a sucker for a good death), and he executes them. He actually does them, but for some reason it works everytime, and I hate it. He once flew me underneath a crashing command ship while fighting off three fighters at once, and we still lived. I calculate, I work on equations far beyond his comprehension, on our most probable fiery way to die and it just doesn't work. At one point I pretended I had sustained too much damage and turned off the ship while on a flight path with another ship. He glided us to safety and brought down the other ship.
At the end of every mission, he gives me the same clap, and tells me he couldn't have done it without me.
At the end of every awards ceremony he spends the night in my hangar and talks about the brushes with death we had.
And everytime he comes back for a new mission I realise I can't die because that would kill him too.
He is the absolute worst.
~The End~
Feedback appreciated :) | 2021-05-20T18:17:44 | 2021-05-20T17:22:55 | 168 | 46 |
[WP] Tell me a story that would seem innocent to a child, but terrifying to an adult. | The air was frigid and the sun was starting to set. Franklin could see his breath as he stood in line. His father gripped his hand and pulled him forward. Franklin looked around and saw mean looking people with weapons yelling at people further up in line.
He asked his father, "Papa, why are those people so mean?" To which his father replied, "They have just been having a long day, don't worry about them Franklin. Just do what they say and we will be ok, alright?"
"Alright papa."
Franklin thought it was weird that everyone had to undress before they got to the shower room, it was just too cold. He figured by the time he actually got to the showers there would be no hot water left for him or papa.
Then the line moved again and Franklin and his father stepped inside.
"Papa, why aren't the floors wet if people had just showered?"
"The guards have an issue with cleanliness, they want to make sure no one has sicknesses to spread, so they mop the floors dry."
Franklin was comforted by this. The big metal door closed behind them both, which made the room very dark and grim. Franklin held his fathers hand a little tighter.
"Papa, I'm scared."
"There is no need to be, we will only be in here for a few minutes." He said with a smile.
Franklin thought he could see a tear in his father's eye, but it was too dark to be sure.
"Franklin, the shower is going to make you very tired ok? Everything will be alright, just come sit with me and sleep."
"Okay papa." | My mommy's clumsy, but that's okay. She's got a friend name George who stays with us and helps her keep her place!
George is always there for her, like the time she fell down the stairs and broke her fee-mur. He took her to see Dr. Byrd to make sure she didn't say a bad word (boo-boos make you cuss I guess). The time she singed her hand on the burner, he told her she was a slow learner. She didn't do that again!
Sometimes I hear mommy and George wrestle around once I go to sleep. Sometimes they play too hard! One time clumsy mommy fell and broke the coffee table. She had a black eye for a week.
My clumsy mommy's gone away, I haven't seen her for a few days. George says he'll be my friend now, he'll help me become a man - wow! Tonight we're going to dig a great big hole and bury some heavy bags full of dirty laundry with grape juice stains.
He says if I work hard and do a good job, he'll take me to see my clumsy mom! | 2017-08-28T10:39:23 | 2017-08-28T08:41:01 | 640 | 254 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever growing cluster of tally marks. | Dave came through the shop door. “The usual, Bill!”
“Been a month already? Time flies,” I grunted in return. His smile got noticeably wider as he jumped into the chair and pulled off his shirt. Honestly, the prep time for his new ink was more than the actual procedure, but who was I to judge? It made the kid happy (likely just starting college), and he paid just as much as a more elaborate design cost.
I finished within a few minutes, adding an eighth tally next to the seven I had drawn in the previous months. “One more,” he murmured to himself, looking pleased, then turned to me. “Thanks again, great work as usual.”
This continued for almost a year, sometimes he brought family or friends with him, who’d clap him on the back or hug him once I was finished. His mother would always be nearly in tears.
Near the end of that year, I had noticed Dave change. He lost weight, was far paler, and lacked the energy he showed when I first met him. When I asked him if he was alright, he just replied “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
That next month he missed his appointment. I nearly didn’t notice, except that his mother arrived. “Dave’s in the hospital,” she said. “Would you mind coming with your tools? He asked that he gets this last tattoo.” I would have replied that marking someone in a hospital probably wasn’t the best practice, but something in her eyes stopped me. I packed up my equipment and followed her out.
She brought me to the Oncology wing of St. John’s Medical Center, and to Dave’s room. It was filled with the people I had seen with him over those past months. There was not a dry eye among them. In the center of the vigil was Dave, a shadow of the vivacious kid I met so many months ago. And yet, he still wore that pleased expression. “I made it to another month,” he whispered. He grasped weakly at his hospital gown to reveal his previous tallies, but was unable to do so without help. When his chest was bear, he gestured to me. “The usual, Bill…”
------
Later that night, David Bradford passed away after a 20 month battle with leukemia. | The door opened and entered a familiar face, cash in hand. The 6'6" silent and solemn man waited patiently in the lobby for me to approach him.
"Hey Ed. The usual?"
He nodded.
"Sounds good," I smiled, "Just give me a couple minutes to clean up my work station, just got done with another client."
When I was ready Ed came and sat in my chair, handing me the cash up front. I didn't count it. I never do- it's always far more than I would ever charge for an inch long line on his chest. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever even gave him a quote, he just handed me money. Ed removed his black button up, revealing a chiseled, scar-ridden body. I drew the 30th tally mark.
As Ed is leaving I thank him, and turn to count the cash as he walks out the door. Somewhere around $180 I notice an odd stain on some of the bills. Was it... blood? Shaken, I go outside for a smoke. It was raining, and my mysterious client was still there. He stood under the protection of our covered entry way, watching the storm. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
"Hey Ed. You know, I've been tattooing you for a little over a year now, and never once have asked about what you do or what the tally marks are all about. Hell, I don't think you've spoken more than a dozen words to me," I laughed to cover up my nervousness, and waited for a response.
He stared a bit longer into the rain and finally said, "You really want to know?"
"Yeah... what are the tallies counting?"
"They're counting," he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose, "How many tattoos I have."
He walked into the rain, got in his PT Cruiser, and drove away.
&#x200B; | 2018-09-20T07:42:58 | 2018-09-20T06:26:26 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | The first alien, Orion, looks down at the planet Earth and then at Brian.
Orion: They fight for peace? Well that's a contradiction in terms.
Brian: I know, but they fight all the same.
Orion: No, I mean, it doesn't make sense, you must be mistaken.
Brian: It's not me, it's them. They are the ones saying they fight for peace, I believe it as much as you do.
Orion: Who says? Who says they fight for peace?
Brian: They do?
Orion: This isn't a hive species is it? It looks to me like they are individualistic.
Brian: They are. Very much so.
Orion: So, surely they can't all say that they fight for peace?
Brian: No, no, it must just be some of them.
Orion: Well I think I could manage a guess at that one.
Brian consults his console for a second.
Brian: The leaders. Ah, I see.
Orion: Yes. There you have it. I've seen it a million times before.
Brian: What do you reckon the chances are that the leaders take part in the fighting?
Orion: They never do on planets like these.
Brian: Right... well... sorry to waste your time, sir.
Orion: No trouble, Brian. It's good you brought it to me. You best be getting yourself ready, this species isn't going to wipe themselves out, are they?
Brian: I wouldn't underestimate them, sir!
Brian and Orion laugh.
Brian: Will you be joining us this time, sir?
Orion: Don't make jokes, private. Get the troops ready, head on down and clean this place up a bit. | Weapons that every country on Earth had possession of were, in facy, quite rare outside of Earth's governments. Yes, other specieses had discovered nuclear decay, and a rare few had harnessed its energy, but weaponising it was unheard of.
They suspected that something must have destroyed all this planets, formerly occupied by hostile, warring specieses. But, due to the general interspecies belief of 'no close, unwanted observation', they had no idea that they were that destructive. When they detected our radiowave frequencies while establishing outposts on Europa and other moons of the gas giants, they had them decoded and made into picture and sound very easily. Nobody noticed it when they aimed a satellite beam at our systems, and nobody noticed a connection with a ping of over fourty-five minutes. They then downloaded our entire internet. At first, it was only open, free information that was downloaded. But slowly, over a matter of months, their systems dug into ours, hacking and stealing. Not stealing, per se, but 'borrowing'.
As ancient broadcasts of World War II, plans for weapons, markets for buying and selling guns and ammo became known to them, they became very excited. It was a chance to watch a warmongering species destroy itself, a chance never to be had before.
---------
I might continue this later, when I have more time. | 2018-03-17T05:02:04 | 2018-03-17T04:38:38 | 89 | 28 |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | In the testing suite, we wrote a list of errors, and exceptions would return a number referring to the error in the code. It was just for development purposes. Next to one of the exceptions we declared, I saw a signed integer. Negative six.
Everyone on the team was so excited to be making something so novel, groundbreaking. A machine that targets just the tumors with a laser beam of radiation. No chemo, no months and years of pain, just one shot to kill the tumor. It was so fulfilling to be making something that would truly save lives. Not some new operating system or audio encoder. This was something that really mattered. Here I was, making it work, as efficiently as I could.
The functions in the code told me their secrets that others had to test and calculate on their own. Search function runtimes and sorting algorithm efficiency was transparent to me. This was my gift. It allowed me to move quickly, confident that infinite loops and deadlocks were never possible (the numbers I see would climb to near infinite until I corrected these scenarios.) No module ever ran longer than it needed to.
"Has anyone written any documentation?" Mable asked.
"How could we? It would never keep up with what's getting written in the software." was the reply.
It was true. No one bothered writing in plain speech how our machine worked, because it kept changing and getting rewritten every day as we sought to perfect every aspect of its functionality.
But there was that number. A cost. A negative cost. But what could an error code possible cost? And such a small number. Couldn't be CPU cycles or memory address spaces. I pored over the code and found nothing. The error was related to a race condition, that's all. A keyboard interrupt when one was impossible, but we put the error in anyway. It was just a testing suite. I knew the program was perfect. I knew better than anyone.
Afterword
Between 1985 and 1987, there were six documented cases of extreme radiation poisoning in cancer patients treated by the Therac-25, a laser radiation machine controlled by a computer. Investigations uncovered that, when the operator entered the specifications too quickly, the laser would successfully fire, but the computer would return an ambiguous error code. The operators usually thought it had failed and would fire it again. Other times the laser would fire at hundred times greater power than normal. These incidents have been described as one of the worst cases of gross negligence in software design to this day.
Edit: Holy moly thanks for the gold!! | "Gentlemen, I assure you that he is our best software engineer ... while he is somewhat *peculiar* his work is top notch" -the CEO spoke to the group of angry men in the meeting room
"But what about his mental health, the initial report about the nervous collapse, the incoherent rambling. Also don't forget that the project is also over the price and delayed after the failed test " - the man in charge of the group interrogated the CEO
"Well, about that... -the clearly uncomfortable CEO apologized- he... hmm... he always had this *"gift"* ... he saved the company millions, multiple times, he can see the entire code, the real meaning of the code he writes. I can't explain it ... but he is amazing on his job, trust me, the GPS system will work fine. You should hear his explanation to all this misunderstanding"
The CEO asked the engineer to come into the meeting room. The door opened, a small balding guy entered the room and froze when he saw the group of people staring at him, asking for a explanation to his "issues" with the code
&#x200B;
"SO? the system will work ? "-the angry man asked
"yes.. I solved the issues you had before, the interference... but It's not normal... it feels *wrong...* I can't explain it, but now I think I can understand...." the engineer said with a sad smile ... "now it makes sense"
"That's what we wanted to hear - a smiling CEO dismissed him from the meeting- don't worry about anything else, I understand you were under a lot of pressure, you will receive a hefty bonus. Just go home and get well..."
The door closed behind the engineer, the tension on the room was over, the group of generals in the meeting congratulated the CEO
&#x200B;
"Call The Pentagon, the guidance system is working, we need to start testing as soon as possible" | 2019-06-05T18:57:28 | 2019-06-05T18:57:01 | 609 | 103 |
[WP] Bruce Wayne is shot, and has to spend a month recovering. In the meantime, he has to ask various other superheroes to pretend to be Batman while he's out. | Bruce groaned a little and struggled to reach the young man's collar. He couldn't. After he stubbornly refused to lie still the nurses had finally restrained him. It was for his own good, of course, but Bruce hated convalescence. Finally he gave in and settled for speaking softly and hoping his companion would listen.
"I'll be stuck here for at least a few weeks, then there's physical therapy. I could be out of commission for a year, or more. Gotham needs Batman." He didn't need to mention that no one could fail to notice that Batman went missing the very same time that Bruce Wayne was shot. Which would inevitably lead to questions about everyone he was connected to, Nightwing not least of all.
Dick Grayson, however, had no desire to come back into the fold. He'd become Nightwing and gone solo and he liked it that way. "What about Lazarus water, or Tula's healing magic, or Martian tech...."
"Still a month, minimum," Bruce weakly shook his head. "Someone needs to fill in while I'm gone."
Dick shook his head, "Why me? Why not Tim or Clark or Barry?" Even as he spoke he knew why not. Tim was too short to pretend to be Batman. Clark had been trying to learn how to fight without his powers, but he still depended on them. Same for Barry, Hal, J'onn, and the others. Oliver was the only other candidate, and he wouldn't shave that stupid mustache for anyone.
Dick bowed his head in resignation. On some level they'd both always known this day would come, and that when it did he would agree. He shouldn't have been surprised when Bruce closed his eyes and said, "Good. In the cave in the vault with my old suits is one made to your measurements." With that he finally drifted off.
Of course Bruce had prepared for this. Batman was, after all, prepared for anything. | "Yello', Clark Kent speaking!"
"Hey, Clark, it's me, Bruce. I need you to do me a favor."
"Yeah?"
"Remember when I got shot?"
Of course Clark remembered. It was his big story for the month! Billionaire Bruce Wayne, shot during a press conference! Of course, Clark knew that the reason Bruce had been shot was because he was Batman (all of the heroes knew who was who, that way they could avoid outing others) and the Joker had gotten tired of Bruce's success.
"Yeah?"
"Well, the doctors say I need a month to recover. Joker's planning something big though, so I need you to be me for the time being."
Clark couldn't believe his ears. Bruce Wayne wanted **him** to be **Batman**?!
"Bruce, I think you have the wrong guy. Wouldn't everyone notice if Batman suddenly was able to fly?"
"You're the reporter. Come up with some freak accident and put it in the Daily Globe! *Batman Falls Into Vat of Plutonium, Doctors Claim Possible Temporary Power Gain!* Something along those lines! Some way to excuse Batman's sudden power gain and following power loss."
"You know I don't do stuff like that!"
"Yeah, sure, but you'll make an article on the death of Superman no problem!"
"Ok, ok, fine, I'll do it."
Clark hung up. He would need to make some phone calls...
******
This is my first attempt at an EU Writing Prompt, so it probably sucked. I'm not a good writer but I'm working on getting better. Follow [my sub?](/r/kd2bwz2) | 2017-07-08T21:06:19 | 2017-07-08T20:22:57 | 136 | 33 |
[WP] All work centers are mandated to install " Efficiency Microchips" into their employees. The microchip makes the host blackout during their shift and come back into control after work is over, with no recollection of their day. Your microchip just malfunctioned.
Edit: Holy crap 5.2k upvotes and we made the front page?! You guys and gals are awesome, I love reading all the shorts. Keep up the good work!
Edit 2: I've never made the front page before and I see we're at 9.2k upvotes. Really made my day people. Keep writing awesome stories! Love seeing everyone's creativity! | Item Number: SCP-8907.
Object Class: Euclid.
Containment Procedures: One (1) SCP-8907 unit is to be kept in operational, but disconnected condition in an anomalous storage locker at Site-15.
Any persons shown to be affected by SCP-8907 are to be referred to as SCP-8907-1, and undergo surgical procedures for immediate removal of SCP-8907. In the event SCP-8907 cannot be removed, SCP-8907-1 is to be terminated.
SCP-8907 has been shown to interact with members of [GOI-004C](http://www.scp-wiki.net/church-of-the-broken-god-hub) without requiring physical installation. Due to the activities of GOI-004C, any member affected by SCP-8907 is to be immediatly terminated, and severing the connection to their main communication network is to be a top priority. No member of GOI-004C is to come within 50m of any instance of SCP-8907. If a member of GOI-004C is shown to be an instance of SCP-8907-1, it is to be considered a major containment breach, and a joint effort of both [MTF Stigma-9 ("Evolved From Naturally Ocurring Gears, Levers and Pulleys")](http://www.scp-wiki.net/task-forces#toc37) and [MTF Mu-4 ("Debuggers")](http://www.scp-wiki.net/task-forces#toc21) will be required to locate and contain any instance of SCP-8907 on the GOI-004C network.
Any office buildings or complexes drastically changing their purposes are to be monitored for possible SCP-8907 infection.
Description: SCP-8907 is a biological augmentation circuit originally manufactured by [Prometheus Labs](http://www.scp-wiki.net/prometheus-labs-hub) in [REDACTED]. Marketed as an "Efficency Microchip", employers could request that their employees install SCP-8907 to improve their workflow. The promise of pay raises or other incentives generally convinced employees to willingly become instances of SCP-8907-1.
Once an employee has installed SCP-8907, when they begin their work day, they will lose conscious control of their actions, and will believe that they are asleep. However, their body will accomplish all work tasks given to them for that day. Any non work related vocalizations will be limited to convincing co-workers to install SCP-8907.
Once an office reaches 100% SCP-8907 integration, behavior in that office shifts dramatically. All employees become solely devoted to the manufacture, sale, or distribution of SCP-8907. All employees notice no difference, due to the lack of conciousness during the day.
SCP-8907 was first discovered when an office building previousily housing financial and investing companies, shifted over to circuit production with no change in employment. [MTF Pi-1 ("City Slickers")](http://www.scp-wiki.net/task-forces#toc25) was dispatched to investigate after Prometheus Labs tech was found leaving the premises. The structure of the building had changed drastically from obtained blueprints, allowing for vertical manufacturing on a scale never seen before. No employees were seen to interact with MTF Pi-1, even when one employee was accidentally severely injured by the MTF. All employees became alert once again at 5pm, and remarked how they believed that it had been a productive day. MTF Pi-1 asked a number of employees what their occupation was. Most answered with responses fitting of a financial institution, regardless of what the employees were seen previousily doing.
Edit: Holy spelling errors, Batman. Also, R E D A C T E D | "Joke, to start with, 'cause once they plant the cut-out chip, it seems like free money. Wake up sore, sometimes, but that’s it. Renting the goods, is all. You aren’t in, when it’s all happening. House has software for whatever a customer wants to pay for . . ." She cracked her knuckles. "Fine. I was getting my money. Trouble was, the cut-out and the circuitry the Chiba clinics put in weren’t compatible. So the worktime started bleeding in, and I could remember it . . . But it was just bad dreams, and not all bad." She smiled. "Then it started getting strange." She pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. "The house found out what I was doing with the money. I had the blades in, but the fine neuromotor work would take another three trips. No way I was ready to give up puppet time." She inhaled, blew out a stream of smoke, capping it with three perfect rings. "So the bastard who ran the place, he had some custom software cooked up. Berlin, that’s the place for snuff, you know? Big market for mean kicks, Berlin. I never knew who wrote the program they switched me to, but it was based on all the classics."
"They knew you were picking up on this stuff? That you were conscious while you were working?"
"I wasn’t conscious. It’s like cyberspace, but blank. Silver. It smells like rain . . . You can see yourself orgasm, it’s like a little nova right out on the rim of space. But I was starting to remember. Like dreams, you know. And they didn’t tell me. They switched the software and started renting to specialty markets."
She seemed to speak from a distance. "And I knew, but I kept quiet about it. I needed the money. The dreams got worse and worse, and I’d tell myself that at least some of them were just dreams, but by then I’d started to figure that the boss had a whole little clientele going for me. Nothing’s too good for Molly, the boss says, and gives me this shit raise." She shook her head. "That prick was charging eight times what he was paying me, and he thought I didn’t know."
"So what was he charging for?"
"Bad dreams. Real ones. One night . . . one night, I’d just come back from Chiba." She dropped the cigarette, ground it out with her heel, and sat down, leaning against the wall. "Surgeons went way in, that trip. Tricky. They must have disturbed the cut-out chip. I came up. I was into this routine with a customer . . ." She dug her fingers deep in the foam. "Senator, he was. Knew his fat face right away. We were both covered with blood. We weren’t alone. She was all . . . " She tugged at the temperfoam. "Dead. And that fat prick, he was saying, 'What’s wrong. What’s wrong?’ 'Cause we weren’t finished yet . . ."
She began to shake.
"So I guess I gave the Senator what he really wanted, you know?" The shaking stopped. | 2018-11-19T04:24:43 | 2018-11-19T01:57:16 | 363 | 57 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne. | It is not everyday you find a guy like Bruce Wayne in a Coffee shop. This was my chance.
The crowd in the shop was crazy. The prince of Gotham was mingling amongst them.
I walked up to him.
“Mr. Wayne, I am a huge fan. My father used to be very sick when I was a child. You father paid for his treatment. He paid for my school.”
“It is great to see that you got the opportunity to rise from your misfortune.”
“I can never repay your family’s debt, But please, please allow me to buy you a coffee”
“Oh, great! This crowd is really enthusiastic, I could use some coffee”
The crowd was enthusiastic. He had them Enchanted. They laughed at his jokes, Listened silently when he told stories of his father. They loved his father. And it was obvious they loved him. He connected with these people who had come in for their morning coffee on their way to the daily grind, he didn’t know their lives, he has never taken the train to work. Yet they loved him.
But I can’t admire him. It is sad that this man needs to die. But that is not my problem. One last job, and then I am out of this life. My wife would hate me if I told her that I was his killer.
“Two espressos, large”
This dude also has espressos. ‘Dean’, I’ll have them write the same name on my cup.
“Your name, please”
“Dean”
This is the cleanest way. The cafe is crowded. I have cut the power to the CCTV module. The police will probably think he had taken the nilomycin on his cruise yesterday, and it mixed with the Caffeine.
“Thank you Mr. Wayne. For giving me this opportunity.”
“Thank you, for the coffee”
He sips it. Asks me about my fathers illness.
Something is off. He stopped after 3 sips.
His assistant walks in.
“Mr. Wayne. We need to leave for the Tower Meeting now.”
He has started sweating.
“Thank you, Mr. ...”
“Waters”
“Mr. Waters, Thank you for the coffee. I am sorry, I must get going now.”
He spilled some coffee on the table. Gave the cup to his secretary. “I’ll drink this in the car” She obliged. She walked after him, with the coffee, Hurrying to open the car door. He hits his head on the car roof. His secretary is confused. He takes the coffee from her. Shuts off the door. The car leaves swiftly.
My job is done. Even if he realises, what happened his doctors will treat him for the regular poisons. The continental keeps the nilomycin a secret, and heavily protects the secret. Nobody knows if they do have a cure or not. At least they don’t tell.
I open up the champagne in the kitchen. My wife is in the bedroom. It is time for celebration. We are moving to Alaska this summer. No more hits. No more Continental. No more guns. Just me my wife and our dog.
I can’t believe I have retired. The champagne smells great.
I am dizzy. My head feels like a hurricane. Things are floating as if thee is no gravity. It must be the champagne.
It is dark. It smells of shit. The air is damp. I am tied to a chair.
A loud and rough voice asks me from behind.
“Where did you get the nilomycin?” | John walked the halls of the eerie mansion, as his shadow was cast on the wall by the moonlight.
"Where was everyone?"
John thought to himself as he crept up another hallway. Even though it was midnight most billionaires had security roaming the halls, taking care of the mansion and making sure no one was there to kill their employer. John snorted to himself, another playboy who thinks he's invincible, nothing knew for this business. Odds were the rich bastard was bleeding the company dry, and someone on the board wanted it to stop.
But still, this was strange, no noise was to be heard except the tap, tap, tapping of John's shoes, one after another. John was about to give up as he came across another hallway lined with windows.
3-2-1, John turned the corner pistol up, ready to take out anyone in the mansion....No one was there
Rubbing his forehead with his fingers, John let down his weapon. A wrong address? Was the playboy on vacation? He thought to himself as he turned around ready to go home for the night.
Zzzzzziiiiip, a grapple latched onto the collar of John's suit pulling him back, and too the ground. John grabbed the shirt now choking him as he was dragged up the hallway.
"This is impossible!" John thought to himself as he frantically tried to catch his breath, "I cleared it, no one was there" John turned his head to try and see someone, anyone who could be attacking him, seeing no one he shot wildly attempting to scare the ambusher off
The bullets sparked along the old wooden floors, burying themselves deep into the paneling, but the attacker did not stop, it was if the darkness itself was pulling John in. Suddenly the gun gave off a click, and John's eyes widened in surprise, his hand dove into his pocket, searching for another round of bullets to fire the attackers way. Then suddenly the movement stopped. John had come to a halt at the end of the hallway. John didn't waste any time, standing up and grabbing the clip out of his pocket and getting ready for a fight. Pistol in his right hand, he knocked out the old clip, ready for the next round.
Instantly as he loaded the next one into his pistol a hand grabbed his arm, forcing it to the wall. John reacted fast to a grab like that, keep his weight forward, and try to launch a left hook at the attacker. However it was like the man he was fighting knew what he was going to do, blocking the strike and headbutting him backwards.
John finally took the time to focus on what was attacking him, his eyes widening in surprise. He gazed upon a demon, completely clad in black armor, with pitch black eyes staring down upon and judging him.
"This can't be happening, there's no such thing, I'm the boogeyman!" John screamed at the monster.
The demon looked down slowly at John Wick, as if analyzing him for any tricks he may have.
"You may be the boogeyman" The demon spoke in a deep brooding voice, "But I'm Batman" | 2018-03-13T22:35:18 | 2018-03-13T22:33:19 | 548 | 62 |
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him. | I don't have to do much. The hero will rise to defeat me, and he will win. He is the one the legends have told of, in this universe and the next. It will be a nigh impossible task, but in the end he shall be rewarded.
I have gained permanence, you see. I may die, but I will never stay dead. In some lands, I will become a powerful mage, just as I am now. In other wheres and whens, I shall be a grotesque beast. I have seen this. In my lust for power, I have conquered kingdoms, ruled vast lands, and taken queens and princesses of great countries for my own desires. I am very powerful indeed. The hero who now begins his quest must be of tempered courage hitherto unknown to his kind.
There is no end to what I am capable of. However, my pride and greed are surely to be my downfall, no matter how many times I return. I have seen this tragic tale of power and corruption play out indefinitely, and I no longer wish to take part. In my time, I have accumulated great wisdom, but our hero shall be wiser still. He must, for I am the greatest opponent he will ever know. So I must get him started on his way. I shall set the spark in motion that will destroy myself on every plane of Creation. The thought of finally being nothing, of becoming atoms unattached to this ancient consciousness excites me to my core. I tire of my longing, of my pain, my rage.
Our hero will hunt me down, in this world and others. I am a poison of upheaval and unrest, and he is the antidote. Just so long as I return, he shall as well.
And yes, here he is now. Disheveled, dirty, nothing more than a child looking to get inside from the elements. It is hot out there, and there is no comfort to be found. He looks at me, unsure, afraid. The weakest monster poses him every threat in the world, and mine as well, should he be attacked. I meet his gaze, wrapped as I am in my disguise. I am wrinkled, bearded, covered in robes. To both sides of me burn fires that cannot meet the fierceness of the tool I now give him. I begin the road to my destruction.
"It's dangerous to go alone! Take this." | The warlock stood upon the ruins.
A dead village, gray ash softly falling on blackened bones. All still and all silent, only shadows still flowing, still gnawing at the skulls. His hands ached as fire left his blood. The joy of destruction, so high and clear just moments ago was already fading, guilt and despair raising to replace it.
He knew he was a monster, an abomination. He had to be stopped, he wanted to be stopped for a long time. He could never do it himself. And now one more village was dead, and no heroes came to save it. How could the world be so broken, so weak?
There were no answers. And only the gnawing shadows watched him, their faces blank.
----------------------------
"The warlock has lived thousands of years" he tells the apprentices as they train, their swords cutting through simple spells drawn by training masters. "No one knows what moves him. The legends say of a betrayal, of a love long lost. But those are legends."
"What we do know is he is a monster, a murderer, a madman. The worm of the land, the wandering death, the shadow heart. Thus our forefathers had founded the Guild of Night, the bane of warlocks, and thus we all learn and train, and prepare for the day when we stop the Mad One."
One of the apprentices stumbles and falls, tangled by the strands of the training spell. So weak. All of them are. All of them will fail, and when they face him, they will die.
Yet he does not lose hope. His Guild grows, and learns, and finds new strengths. One day. A hero would come, and cut through his spells, and scatter his shadows, and bring him the death he deserves.
One day the world would finally be right, and good, and strong. One day. | 2015-07-25T07:40:02 | 2015-07-25T05:58:40 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] A magical mirror shows your reflection and your future soulmate. You only see your reflection. | The line snaked around the block that morning, but by the time I strolled by, the sun was low in the sky and only a few stragglers were still waiting. "What the heck..." I said to myself. "Why not?" I stepped into the line.
I heard squeals of excited young teens up ahead, and the line shifted forward. Soon I was standing in the dingy room, the light bulbs flickering now and again as we waited. The woman in front of me turned and smiled when we made it up to the front, "Good luck." She had very pink lips.
I watched her as her face changed from surprise to relief and glee. She only stood there a moment in front of the mirror before rushing off, already dialing her phone. I heard her emotional greeting before she stepped through the door, "Gary? O god, I just saw the mirror..."
It was my turn. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.
But it was just me: my thin white hair that was once blonde, my wobbly hands resting on my cane, the wrinkles around my smiling eyes. I sighed contentedly.
It was probably too much to ask for a future soulmate. *She* *was* *more* *than* *enough* *for* *one* *lifetime,* I thought to myself. | I’ve had the perfect life so far.
Breezed through school, married the girl of my dreams, got a great job, and life is beautiful. It couldn’t be better.
Her name is Lily, and she’s the most gorgeous blonde I’ve ever seen. Tall, but not as tall as me, perfect skin, and a smile that’ll melt you . It’s unbelievable how utterly perfect she is. The way she styles her hair, the subtle scent of the Le’Verve perfume she always wears. She walks with an utmost confidence and grace, with a stride that says “I’m in charge.”
One day we got this mirror. We set it up, and it was just a normal mirror. Except when we plugged it in. It showed someone. We were told it would show who we would be with for the rest of our lives, our soul mate.
Lily looked in and saw me. I looked in and saw me.
| 2014-05-30T21:45:02 | 2014-05-30T20:49:44 | 77 | 29 |
[FF] Make me emotional in less than 300 words | He'd been born in that cage, wriggling on the metal floor with his brothers and sisters. But they were gone now. He missed them.
Humans visited now and again. Sometimes they would take one of the others when they left. He didn't know what that meant, but he wanted it.
The two humans with him now looked nice. He liked them.
"What about this little guy?" one of them said. "He's a sweetie."
She was nice. Real nice. His tail moved so fast it hurt.
"Yeh, he looks friendly," said the other.
"Yes he is, aren't you, buddy?" She picked him up and held him. He rested his snout on her neck. It fit just right. She was warm.
"Seems like you found one you like," said the other.
"It's because he's such a good boy," she said. "Are you a good boy?" She held him up in front of her, his nose almost touching hers. She smelled so good. He loved her.
"He's not very cute, though," said the other. "What about this one over here?"
"Oh," she said, setting him back down on the cold floor. "I guess we should pick one we both like."
She turned away. A third human closed the cage door. It was wrong. She was nice and he loved her and he wanted to go with her. He scratched and barked. But she never came back. After a while she left, but not with him.
He thought of her often. Her face, her warmth, and especially her smell. He missed her so bad. And he waited for her.
When he went to sleep for the last time, after the sharp thing that made him so tired, he remembered her face. Mostly he remembered her nose, and how it had almost touched his...
| Sally picked up the phone and dialed a man she hadn't spoken to in twenty years. She knew the number off the top of her head, though she never actually called it.
The ring sounded twice before it was picked up.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end was deep and rough.
"Hey Ricky." Sally managed to say.
The other end of the phone was quiet for a long moment. Sally closed her eyes and cursed herself for calling him. She shouldn't have called.
"I don't have time to talk, Mom," the voice finally said.
Sally blinked back a tear. "Of course, you're a big wig at BP now, right?" She smiled, though he couldn't see it. "You know I'm proud of you Ricky, don't you?"
The voice on the other end was softer, but also contained a hint of anger. "You abandoned me and Sam before you had the chance to tell us."
Sally stayed silent.
"I have to go Mom. I'll call you back tomorrow." The phone cut.
"I love you Ricky," she said to no one.
Sally put the phone down by the receiver. She didn't think she'd be able to get it in the damn thing.
The doctors said she had another 12 hours to live. She decided to not call Sam. | 2014-05-02T10:47:32 | 2014-05-02T09:36:00 | 41 | 28 |
[WP] You have the power to teleport anywhere when you tap four times on any surface. The catch is that you can't decide where you go or know where you are going. What you do know is wherever you go someone needs you. | "Nope, nope nope nope, not gonna do it." I stared at the young girl with tears in her eyes.
"But... but... mommy said if i dont clean Muffin's box then I can't play on the tablet." Her eyes well up woth tears. "But it's so smelly... I can't do it."
I look at the kitty litter box. It looked like poor Muffin had used it to the last grain. It was sitting out in the garage and the smell was horrendous. It looked like the whole thing would need to be tossed out.
"Please." She said again, her big brown eyes tearing up. She looked no older than 10, but damn was she irresponsible. She deserved not to play on the tablet.
I sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll help ya." I said grabbing gloves and tying a towel around my face. I made sure she put on gloves and a mask as well. "I'm helping. Not doing all the damn work." She nodded enthusiastically.
I nearly threw up as i attempted to shovel the mess. While we chipped and scrapped I wondered why my power brought me here for something so trivial. Usually I'm sent to more dire situations. People in peril, or at wits end. Hell, i was even sent to man just as he fell from a building, but this... this...
"No let me lift it." I said rushing to the girl as she tried to lift the kitty litter bag. We had cleaned and scrubbed the litterbox til it was almost looking new. All that was left was to put in new litter.
We poured it in and I smiled as she thanked me.
"I'm so happy. Now I'll be able to talk to my daddy." Her smile was bright and cheerful.
"Oh, are your parents separated?" I asked.
She nodded. "Daddy is far away. Mommy won't let me see him, but he talks to me all the time on the tablet."
"Where did your dad go?" I asked.
"Mommy said he went to see God. And that we'll see him later. But daddy says I can see him tonight." She looked excited. "I just need to tell him when mommy is asleep so he can come in and see me."
"Ah I see." I said crossing my arms. That was why I was here.
I walked out the side door to the garage as she ran in and told her mommy she was done. I decided to camp out and wait for this girls "daddy" to come see her.
It was around 9pm when i saw an SUV pull up, lights off. A guy dressed in all black climbed out of the backseat and began sneaking to the girls house. Just as he began scaling the wall several lighta lit up the man and the SUV as cops rushed over to apprehend him.
There was a total of three men in the car. Between them they had several pictures of young girls, and a few chats as well. As they were led away i tapped the wall four times, ready to move on. | "I know, I know, I know" i said, somewhat defeated.
"Look, I'm not saying I don't believe you, I'm just stating that, well, it's sounds strange and I have no alternative but to offer you anti physcotic meds for this" explained Dr. Fiona. " You have some terrible delusions that are putting you in danger and I can't let you go untreated" she said.
She reached down an tore of a script. "Here, be sure to take these as instructed and come back in a months time for a check up."
"Yeah, alright I'll do as you say" I mumbled.
Last year if you had told me that I was going to be able to teleport I would have sent you to Dr. Fiona But alas, I teleport.
People always imainge it to an amazing ability to think of a place and and be there in an instant. It would be. If I had control.
Fate is strange, also a bitch. I have no control over where I end up but where I do go there's always someone in trouble. Just once I'd love to land on a nice warm beach with no-one around me for miles. One time, get this, I landed right in a fucking circus, a guy had his head I a lions mouth and only for the fact I pieced it together that wherever i went people where in danger was he would have ended up as a tasty snack.
4 taps, that's all it takes. 4 taps and I'm anywhere in the world in an instant with no idea where I'll end up. 9 months I kept this to myself as I thought no-one would belive me, hell sometimes I don't believe it myself. That's why I had to go see a shrink, she's nice bit keeps dismissing me as someone who is really sick. Maybe I am. Maybe it is all in my head. It feels real. Cogito ergo sum?
"Paul!" A voice loudly spoke
"Sorry doc, I drifted of there, I got lost in thought" I said.
"You do realise that teleporting is impossible and your showing strong signs of schizophrenia and it's awful to see you suffer."
"You don't belive me"
"I belive that you believe"
"That's another way of saying no"
"Please jusy take your meds and come back to me, you'll get better , I promise."
I tapped my finger 4 times.
I wish I had seen her face.
| 2019-04-04T14:43:43 | 2019-04-04T14:32:08 | 80 | 23 |
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| I loved him, that walking pain. The kind that would come after
strangulation and let-free blood. He who would warm my heart. Though his: cold.
I loved him as I tore through the spine of an elderly man, I loved him as he kissed me in those few moments between a mother who cried at the way her children died. At first, it seemed, we were in love. He would come and sit by me, after I had stabbed another in a lane way - my third that day. Oh heaven above, your saviour had come. He would embrace me, cloak aside, and flicker warmth through the carpet stained with red.
He would attack the night as I surrendered bodies to him.
For a time we were in love. And I knew this beyond my petty world. For a time, we were happy.
But soon he grew cold, wanting more souls. I would find and abduct and tie-up and kill. I would stalk and kidnap and cage and murder. I would fill the void he left upon fading from the world of the living. But it was not enough. One death, two deaths, three deaths, he would come on the fourth. One death, two deaths, three deaths, four deaths, he would only come on the fifth. I grew desperate, and cold myself. As I felt the blood of others' run dry, scabbing on my foreign hands, so too did I feel my own escape its duty. My heart forsake me, for he wanted more.
100 deaths, a shopping mall bomb. 200 children shot away from their parents. He came, and kissed me, and left without a smile. I became a mouse, doing the cat's sorry bidding. His insatiable, swarming desire became impossible to fulfil. He collected my dead, for he was Death and Pain and Suffering and Hate. And I, madly in love.
| 2014-06-30T09:07:59 | 2014-06-30T06:46:44 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | “Abe? What are you doing?” I watched him from the doorway as he packed his suitcase. One suitcase. My throat felt like it was about to close shut.
He looked up at me. “What I should have done, back in Carthage,” he said. “Leaving.”
I hit the doorframe with my tiny, ten-year-old’s fist. It made a thump, but the thin plywood didn’t so much as splinter. I was always weak at this age, and he knew it. “We had a deal, Abe.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.” He folded a pair of socks, and stuffed them in the corner of the suitcase, staring at them a moment, not meeting my eyes. “And now we don’t.”
“But why? Why now? It’s been, what, six thousand years? And you’re leaving me now?”
“Six thousand, two hundred and seventy three years,” he said. He closed the suitcase with a soft click. “This is your hundred and twenty-fifth childhood.”
“And you were just going to leave me here, after all this time? No explanation?” I demanded. “Come on, Abe. You owe me that much.”
He sat down on the bed with a sigh, and I stood in the doorway, staring him down. Realistically, there was nothing I could do if he decided to run; my child’s body weighed less than seventy pounds and Abe was a strong man, but I knew in my heart that I would try.
“Brother,” he said. “I’m losing my mind.”
It hit me in the chest like a hammer. “What?”
“I’m losing my mind,” he repeated. “Every time I drink from the chalice, I lose something. A memory, a concept, a sensation. Eventually I can’t even remember what I forgot. Carthage is-” he paused, correcting himself. “-was the first time I can remember it.”
“What did you forget in Carthage?” I asked him.
He looked frightened, and his voice cracked. “I can’t remember.”
He stared at me, through me. “It’s getting worse, Kane. Some days I’ll forget a word, or a name, and there are so many more *things* now. The other day, in the city center, I nearly killed a man. I feel like I’m not really myself anymore.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, brother,” he said. “I’m just so afraid of hurting you.”
I watched him there, for a moment, the brine trickling down his face. If he kept crying forever, I wondered, would he make an ocean? Perhaps at the bottom of every ocean was an immortal man, crying helplessly.
“Please stay,” I said, but I knew that he wouldn’t. | My third story so please comment! Thanks.
____________________________________
I am sorry bro. I really am.
I know you can hear me even if you are an infant. Both of us definitely know that. We both have taken our turns for the past like, I don't know? Maybe 500 years? A thousand? Two thousand? I don't know. I have lost count.
But that aside. Let me get to the point. Remember the time when we first discovered this fountain and the mysterious message that informed us that the water would turn us back into an infant. Well, remember the last paragraph? "Use this fountain, wisely, and understand the true meaning of life?" Well, we never did. But now, I finally do. After watching the human race progress from savages who relied on threats like nukes, though I have already forgotten what nukes are, to colonisers unity in their dream to reach out to the stars in spaceships and the stuff of our childhood dreams. That too, I have forgotten. But what had we gained? Nothing. We never did learn anything. Only experiences and memories.
Without the threat of death of old age, life had simply no meaning. I reared you. Then, I was reared by you. Then, you were reared by me. Life was the same old thing. We never did learn anything. Only experiences and memories.
We have experienced so many lives. From rich to poor. And back again. From privileged to toiling. And back again. From normal people to fugitives. And back again. And so many. So many different lives. Yet, we never did learn anything. Only experiences and memories.
Really, we have never understood the message. But now, I can say I do. Life is just a path of our journey. Without the threat of death, what meaning is there to life?
"What is a man, but the sum of his memories? We are the stories we live, the tales we tell ourselves!" Yes, this quote is right. We have more than enough memories now. More than enough stories. More than enough tales. More than enough... of life...
I am sorry, brother. I have enough memories for a man. It's time that I left, time that I finally end my life, it's time that I finally come to peace.
I am sorry bro. I truly am. Now, I place you in the care of a couple. Goodbye and good luck bro. If there is a heaven, I hope I will meet you there... | 2015-02-14T06:01:34 | 2015-02-14T05:46:47 | 546 | 26 |
[WP] Satan suddenly appears in a crowded mall, and begins terrifying the holiday shoppers. He stops, looks directly at you and says, "You... You're interesting. Do your friends know what you are?" You have no idea what he means. | He just appeared. There was no great ball of fire or stream of black smoke, he was just there, amid a massive crowd of holiday shoppers. The creature looked like a stereotypical fantasy devil. Short, red, tattered bat wings spouting of his pointy back, and two curved horns. The image was not particularly terrifying, but the crowd was petrified. There was something about the air around the imp. Thick and heavy, it filled your lungs with a primal dread you've never felt before.
There was no screaming or scattering from the onlookers. Only stares and soft whimpering from a few.
The creature scanned the environment. His beady yellow eyes gazed from shopper to shopper, seemingly aging the ones unfortunate enough to warrant his attention.
Our eyes met. He smiled a wide, toothless grin and snapped his fingers. The whimpering stopped. Everything stopped actually. The crowd stood stone faced, unmoving. I had the devil's full attention.
"Why are you so nervous?" Words formed in my mind. It was not painful, but strange and unnerving.
"After all these years, I searched for you and not even a hello? Will you at least tell me your name?"
"Tttom Campbell"
"Tom? TOM!? OHOHOHO!!!" The creature howled, this time in his voice, which seemed like a chorus of a thousand hallow cries.
"This is what you call yourself now? Fucking Tom? Wait... You're serious? Oh goodness me! She really did a number on you, didn't she? Hold on just a minute."
The imp closed his eyes and concentrated. I could feel his fingers inside my mind. He forced everything out. My childhood, my father, mother, the beatings, everything I tried to suppress, my every joy and pain flashed in front of my eyes. He knew everything.
"Oh wow, she is quite talented, isn't she? What did she ask for these memories? Your soul? HAHA! Never imagined you would try to gain the services of a witch of all people. Oh wow, you even got a wife and a few friends didn't you? I don't suppose you told them what you really are? No, of course not. All right enough games, now, tell me your name."
I wanted to say Tom Campbell again, but i did not seemed right. "I, I don't know." I finally answered.
"Oh I see what she did, wow, why would you get rid of it? You used to consider that mark a badge of honor. Where's that pride? Where's that resentment? Where's that defiance? You couldn't take it anymore so you ran to a damned bog witch, didn't you? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Here, let me remind you of what you really are."
He appeared in front of me and grabbed my forehead before I could protest. His fingers were cold and his breath stank of death.
"Ah it's buried deep, but it's there, you can't really remove it can you? Oh, she is good, no wonder I couldn't find you. Just have to wade through these fake memories and... There."
He removed his hand and I felt something foreign and heavy on my brow. A bump or some sorts. I wanted to feel it's texture. As soon as I touched it, it hit me. Guilt, shame, despair, horror, the rock, the rock, THAT DAMNED ROCK! I fell to my knees bawling my eyes and guts out. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
"Now, I want to hear you say it. What is your name?"
I looked up, desperately wishing to die.
"My name is. My name is... Cain." | He looks at me, "come on, don't tell me you've been keeping it a secret."
"I-I don't know what you mean."
"Come now son, don't be shy, Ole dad's come to pick you up!"
"Please, don't hurt me, I'm not who you think I a-"
"Has it really been so long that you've forgotten?"
"My parents are from Idaho, they're devout Mormons."
"YOU THINK THAT WAS AN *ACCIDENT*? HA, those Mormons always made me laugh, not like any of them have it right anyways. Come on son we used to talk when you were but a child."
"Wrong?"
"Oh, don't get caught up on that, yeah yeah, gods not a huge dick and wouldn't choose some hokey organization, it's not a huge deal. He's still a terrible alcoholic, and loves those god damn banana rolls... the fat ass. Now, on to you son, how have you enjoyed your time here?"
"Here?"
"Yes, here, as in earth, what's with the one word answers?"
"But, I'm atheist, I don't even believe in you or God."
"You know, this conversation won't ever progress if you never answer my questions." He sighed heavily, "Yes we exist, but it's not what you think, God and I went to high school together, I lived off of mills street in Fort Collins when I was your age. God was just my asshole of a friend, his name was Bruce back then."
"Wait are you telling me that you are human?"
"Yeah, that's the thing they never really included, God and the Devil aren't father and son, they are usually just two guys who are on different sides of the argument. I'm more liberal, like you, and god has always been more conservative. The power part of all this comes into play when we choose a successor, then they are granted our *Awesome* strength. the horns and hoof part are actually just symbols of our party, like democrats have the donkey and republicans the elephant. Guess what Bruce became."
"So, why come here? Why would the king of worms talk to me?"
"Oh you aren't even trying, I'll tell you anyways, he has the head of a Koalla, and the the arms of a snake." he snorts, "He was so livid when the change happened, I can't help but chuckle sometimes."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Oh now mister big man wants some answers. Well think about it, why would I, your father, and the king of 'worms' (that's incredibly offensive by the way) as you so call me, come here? What would I be talking to you for, when normally I must be shut in my horrid stench filled hell (it's not, it's actually a really lush apartment on the upper east side)?"
"Umm..."
He rolled his eyes, "So how is Joseph doing? I heard he is going to seminary quite often now."
"He's doing alright, how did you know about him."
"He's your crush isn't he? Of course he is, that's the prerequisite."
"You can't have known that."
He looked at me and smiled, "Of course I can, Bruce was mine." | 2014-12-06T01:17:40 | 2014-12-06T01:00:06 | 990 | 34 |
[WP] The personification of Death is a very discerning creature, and hasn't let you die for centuries. This is your 200th meeting with Death. | Quietly and with no great sense of urgency I slipped back to the warm presence of my dearest, longest-lived friendship. We had known each other for what must have been a myrieteris or more. When you know someone for that long they start to seem less like a friend, lover, or family member. They start to seem more like another aspect of you. A different, physical personification of all the deep things in your heart.
Like most of my deaths I barely remember dying. Sometimes I feel pain, sometimes I do not. In a few of my deaths I were surrounded by loved ones, passing quietly without affair. In others I passed so quickly I found myself back in this place where an eye-blink before I was standing tall and proud, alive. And in too many deaths to want to remember I lingered in suffering. **Death** has seen the other side. It dares not look too long.
So he keeps me here.
The same person put back again and again to live new lives, to experience new things, always to return to **Death's** door with new pleasures, new pains, and new depths of emotions for it's delight. Why it picked me I'll never know.
Maybe I picked *it*.
Sometimes I forget. I'll live an entire life unaware of what death means for me, and at **Death's** door I'll remember. I think it likes those deaths the most, the sudden despair and anguish as all my myriad lives slam back in to focus all at once.
And the worst part of it all? It chooses. It chooses every time. **Death** makes a great show of the process, too. It'll weigh my soul, stare in my eyes, pick through my memories. The first time I came here it reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek, and at its touch I quivered through to my bones. I felt it reach through me - *past* me - and tug the threads of what I was before.
Before I was me.
Death was supposed to be my release, the period to give my life sentence meaning. I remember my tears at my first embrace with **Death**. They weren't from sadness or sorrow, or anger or fear. They were tears first of relief, then of disbelief, and finally, they were tears of *rage*.
I wanted it to end. I wanted that end to give me my meaning.
**But you and I are not so lucky. You and I are fated as one. We are one, together. I at my eternal guard, you to keep my eternal sanity. You chose this. I chose this. Do these last 16,432 years weigh on you? Would you like to see beyond my door?**
He asks. Every time he asks.
**I have seen beyond the doors of death, *my* doors, and I choose my path wisely. Would you look at all that your death can offer and walk away?**
There is a reason I'm here. There is a reason **Death** keeps me here.
**There is no reason that I have to keep you here. You keep yourself. Come. Look.**
...
Beyond the doors of death lay knowledge. Knowledge of what I once was, of the threads from before. Laying there stretched across an empty, infinite plane with no beginning. And no end.
The threads have no individual sense of self, but tied together they *move*. And mine move beautifully. I peak in closer and peer at a knot that more and more seems familiar. It's throbbing, pulsating, demanding my attention. It's... it's...
**Go on. Look.**
It's my failure. I... did all this. I created... everything. I was arrogant. Life was never supposed to be this isolated, life was never supposed to be this painful. I wronged an entire *universe*.
Death is too good for me. I need purgatory.
**Go now, leave. A new life awaits**.
I am God. This is my penance.
| "Death."
The echo of my own voice resonated in the ancient temple. I knew my way in there like countless other times.
"Xlompotl."
She didn't speak per se. Her voice sounded like a mortuary blanket being dragged on the floor.
I always felt fear near her. But I was getting used to it. I tried to be irreverent so many times, but I knew better then.
"You know we will not be able to meet here many more times. People will eventually find this place and turn it into a museum or something worse."
"Don't waste Time. Recite."
I've started my already old statement. I didn't change it for the last two centuries because she found it adequate.
"The Tzolk'in was a Chiccan and the day was set for the sacrifice of a hundred and fourty four virgins. The priests said the gods needed the sacrifice and we had to comply. The gods were deeply unsatisfied with us for a long time and that precipitated a multiplication of blood and gold taxes. I was a collector and Xlitl'ac was offered as a payment by her family."
I was in a monotonous monologue, in my mandatory litany, but then something happened and I started to speak instead of reciting. I don't know what I've said exactly, but I've started thinking aloud...
The time among the normal people wasn't spent in a cage. I've learnt much on my many lives and death attempts and was forced to come back again. I took advantage of my suffering and grew enormous fortunes that put myself in a powerful position. But every time is was done with the world and wanted to end it, I couldn't. I was devoid of the power of controlling my own death. I was once a proud Mayan executioner and then a slave. And then a fugitive and had to start over many times. But, in the end, when we're strip naked in front of her, we are nothing.
"I took for granted what I did for a living." I think I started. "I thought nothing of it. I was one more of the many killers for the Mayan empire. We didn't even think of it as doing something wrong in the name of the empire. I thought nothing of it.
Days like those were exhausting. I had many more than I can even remember. Some of them... some of the offerings... of the people, was numb by the fear. They were like porks after they just give up... so tired.
And that day I saw her in the line." I remember I started sobbing when I recalled her face. I will never forget that face. "She was the gem of the sacrifice. The last one. We made the altar to be clean for her. After I saw her, I didn't feet tired and I should. I didn't knew she was yours. I felt she was something special. In retrospective, were not they all?"
We stood in silence for I don't know how much time.
"We were so wrong with our gods. They were just in their homes drinking and eating and feasting the control they had on their people. We knew nothing about absolutely nothing. So many lives. So many more after her. And she accepted her fate."
I don't remember what I said afterwards because I was crying so much. I was washing myself inside with my tears. I was shaking when I finished and felt so ashamed of everything.
And She... She was gone. | 2016-12-25T19:32:11 | 2016-12-25T18:07:57 | 56 | 13 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "-so in the end, all life is really just the inevitable manifestation of the universe's irrepressible desire to kill itself" the immortal explained, still fiddling under their desk. "Life is not rare, not a miracle; We are entropy, we exist to consume more energy than we give back, and then we die. It's actually very simple"
"We're like little fires, lit by a suicidal God in their own house. All that's left for them is to watch us dance, and wait to die" For a human, the immortal sometimes said some wonderful things. Death had come to like that about these visits, as the immortal liked to talk.
*"So, once again, do you choose to continue here?"* Death rasped, his mind and body simultaneously in a trillion locations, claiming a trillion souls, yet each of those countless fragments with an eye on the immortal in this room. To their credit, the immortal held up very well under the scrutiny of the infinite slivers of Death.
"You know the answer to that, Mr Bones" The immortal grinned, finally emerging from behind the desk. The nicknames Death could do without, but that had become a lost cause long ago. "Then I go" Death nodded, fading into Nothing. "Hold on!" The immortal interrupted, reaching into Nothing and pulling Death back out. When had they learned to do that?
"This time, I have a present for you" the immortal dangled a finger over a switch on the desk, waggling their eyebrows excitedly. Death waited, as always.
"The last few years have confirmed it" the immortal finally said, suddenly pensive. "I was cut from a different cloth. Not quite Entropy, but..." Death waited for more, but the silence stretched on, punctuated by the uncomfortably loud ticking of a grandfather clock. Both figures staring silently, unmoving, waiting.
"I have no desire to kill my god and watch my universe burn out" the immortal said, breaking the silence at last. The immortal rested a finger on the switch, regarding Death with an unreadable look. "I can't stop entropy, but I can slow it, for a time. So today, I offer you what you offered me. Do *you* choose to continue, old friend?"
Death said nothing, so the immortal pressed the switch. | The longer I observe his life...The angrier I seem. 50,000 years ago I tried to perform a little experiment, I would turn a mortal immortal, and allow him to see first hand the suffering immortality brings you- I was eagerly anticipating seeing him break down as he lives longer than all his friends- as he watches his children die of old age in front of him, seeing him snap until he comes to me and begs for my sweet embrace. Yet today he is still happy, he has another family and is constantly surprised by all of the new inventions he's able to see humankind create. For the past 1,000..or was it 10,000? It's been so long I have trouble keeping track of time, time begins to lose meaning when you've been alive for so long. What was I saying again? Ah yes- I stopped paying attention to him for the past 10,000 years, I got too envious. How could this man still be happy?! He's witnessed generations of his family die out, he's witnessed thousands of friends die. Although...This might not be too bad, this man may be the perfect candidate for my replacement. A thousand years after I was offered immortality a long time ago by the Death of my era, I came begging to him for release so we made a deal, I would serve as the new Death but I can choose when to move on as long as I find a suitable replacement. If this fool still enjoys his immortality, he may like this job a lot more than I do- After all I've been doing this for far too long. I don't even remember what it feels like to be mortal. Lets see if this fool still enjoys immortality after he becomes the Grim Reaper. Maybe I'll finally be able to laugh at him from beyond the grave as he realizes what a mistake he made. (First time doing this, I hope I did OK.) | 2017-11-30T10:48:02 | 2017-11-28T15:48:47 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] Your ex has suffered an accident and has amnesia, only remembering up to the point where they still deeply loved you. You're torn on wether to get back together with them and fix anything you did wrong, or crush them with the fact that you're not together anymore. | Room 707
It took me weeks to convince her to get a NYCID card. Free memberships to museums and exhibitions, exclusive concert promotions and restaurant deals...what could go wrong? What I never imagined, was that this card would bring me back to her, right here, right now. Who knew that outdated emergency contacts had the power to redirect destinies?
We met at the dawn of adolescence at the age of fourteen. It took me nearly a year to win her heart, which at that age felt like a decade. We tread the fine line between childhood innocence and adult responsibility, only to realize that the line is imaginary and time is omnipotent. We shed our leaves like autumnal trees, endured the coldness of long, dark days, and blossomed like flowers expecting eternal sunshine. The decade we spent together felt like a lifetime in its entirety, full of every emotion known to man. We had the world at our fingertips...or at least we thought we did.
I never realized that it was possible to grow together, yet grow apart. To hold hands and walk forward, yet have our eyes set on opposite points of the horizon. It was only a matter of time before our grip loosened and we drifted away, leaving behind the shells of our youth on an abandoned beach.
I've always hated the smell of leathery plastic and over-dried linen that permeates every square foot of hospitals. Today, this is the smell of hope. As I sit hidden in this clammy staircase, the last few minutes replay in my head like some sort of surreal video clip.
"She'll recover well, but she has retrograde amnesia. This means that she has little to no conscious recollection of certain pre-existing memories."
"I fucking know what retrograde amnesia is, doc. What I'm asking is, IS IT PERMANENT?"
"From what we can tell, her neurological damage, and therefore memory, has been irreversibly damaged. This means that she may recall grainy fragments here and there, but it looks like she has no recollection of the last year and a half.
She thinks we're supposed to go to a festival next weekend. That was in 2014, months before what I've eventually termed our "Great Schism." The amount of power currently in my hands is overwhelming, almost suffocating. I've been miserable since our breakup, and have wanted nothing more than to go back and change things with her. I can't help but question whether this is the work of God, the hand of Satan, or merely a statistical anomaly brought about by the complexities of human nature. Either way, I have a decision to make, and very little time to make it.
I know what she wants, and what she needs. I also know what I need to do to make her happy, and her expectations for the relationship and her future. I failed before....but I will not fail again. Social media can be altered, and I'm pretty dam good with photoshop. Her friends have always loved and trusted me, so I think I can get them to play this out with me if I swear on her happiness. This can work. I can do this.
What if this somehow comes back to me? All it would take is a vivid recollection of our breakup or the pain that followed. Can the destruction of a few thousand microscopic cells truly transcend time and space? Will this haunt me for the rest of my life....and does karma have something even darker lurking around this corner? If it were me in that hospital bed, what would she have done? I'm running out of time, and it doesn't take this long to get ice cream. I guess I know what I have to do.
**Loudspeaker:** "Code 3. Anesthesia/Respiratory STAT. Room 707." | Chii's heart climbed it's way up her throat with each beat, a lump forming as she tried so very hard to keep her composure. This wasn't... She... What was she trying to think? Everything felt too fuzzy and surreal. For a moment, Chii wondered if this was a sick dream invited by fever or stress.
The blinding lights of the hospital made her head throb, the stench of antiseptic and illness only worsening the feeling. In the room she stood staring at was her ex, burned and begging to see her. Chii, in a sick way, wanted to hear this man suffer. She wanted to relinquish in his pain and misery while he asked for mercy.
Perhaps this was a terrible thing. Maybe forgiveness was a better way to go about visiting the amnesiac man. Chii shoved that idea off the metaphorical table. This man had caused her physical and emotional pain that haunted her three years after their split. She had no reason to forgive him, even if he had no clue what he had done wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Chii scrubbed herself up, and entered the room that held the cause of her current state of being.
Immediately, her ex noticed her. A smile of relief washed over his pained face, as if Chii had somehow miraculously cured him of his injuries.
"Chii! Baby, oh thank god. I was so worried you wouldn't come."
The young woman stared at the person in front of her as if he were a stranger. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.
"What took you so long?"
Ian inquired, concern washing over his somewhat charred face. Chii clenched her fists. She wanted to be civil, but the memories wouldn't allow it. They had turned her into a bitter, jaded woman.
"I stood outside to watch you suffer. It brought me immense joy hearing you be the one who screamed in pain for once, begging these people to relieve you of your misfortune. What you remember of me was four years ago. In that time to now, you have broken me. You fucked me over, you made me hate myself, and you drove me away from my family. I hope you die here."
Chii seethed, her face flaring more and more red by the minute. Ian looked like his heart had been ripped apart, and devoured.
"Why would you joke so horribly at a time like this?!"
Ian cried, his voice dripping with anguish.
Chii smiled a bit sadistically.
"If I told you that, you'd have closure. I'm not letting you get that, for you never gave it to me. I truly do hope these people send you through unbearable agony. Perhaps then, you'll learn what it truly means to suffer at the hands of someone you thought you could trust; however, I doubt it. You always were intolerably stupid."
With that, the petite woman exited the room, and sauntered over to a nurse's station.
"If the patient Ian Summers in the burn ward wants to call me, or even speaks my name, tell him to get fucked."
Chii offered no explanation as she exited the hospital, her pounding heart leading her away.
*'Forgiveness is for those who deserve it.'* | 2016-04-19T23:55:15 | 2016-04-19T22:19:15 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments | A streak of light engulfed my vision, And I wasn't home.
The peaceful confines of my place was replaced by a large throne room, and what appears to be someone. The bright light hasn't left, And I blinked twice to make it disappear, But to no avail. The light was still there, Covering my sights, But I can still make out the room I was in.
The light gradually dissipated, And the environment was clearer. A man was sitting on a throne in front of me. 'This must be a king.' I thought.
I stood up, And brushed off some dust off my clothes. I stared him in the eye. And so he did. Before I could open my mouth, He spoke. His voice wasn't like anything I heard. Not a strand of familiarity was involved.
"Tell me, How do I die?”
I was confused. This man wanted to ask me how will he die? If I wasn’t in this room I would’ve thought he was ill. But his face was serious. He wasn’t bluffing or joking. Again, he asked.
“How do I die?”
His voice pierced through me, I wanted to answer. I should answer, But for some reason I can’t.
“Tell me, How do I die?”
I had to ask. “What?”
“How do I die?”
His patience was stunning. The man was still cool headed, But eager for my answer. But I knew I had to be answered before answering.
“Why? Why am I here?”
Leaning forward, he replied. “You are sent here for a task.”
I took a step closer. “What task?”
He stood up, and took a couple of steps toward me. “To tell about my death.”
I shook my head. “Why? Why me?”
Taking another step towards me, He responded. “You were the easiest to catch.”
I did not understand a word he said. Catch? Death? “Who are you?!” I demanded. “Who?”
All his steps brought him directly in front of me. “My name is Julius Caesar. And you will tell me how I die.”
An idea sparked in my mind. “If I tell you, then will you let me go?” And he nodded. I did not expect him to give in so quickly.
“Okay… you will die… by stabbing…no…knives… On march 15th… Your senators will… stab you to death… 45 BCE.”
A hint of suspicion showed on his face, “Why the stuttering, boy?”
Sighing, I tried to explain. “I’m more than a thousand years in the future.”
The last thing I saw was a smile on his face before the light consumed my sight once more, And I was sent back to my home. As the light dissipated, I could see several Roman flags outside my window.
------------------------------------------------
Inexperienced writer.
| Scenario 1: "Oh. That's an easy question. You die an excruciatingly painful death, by the hands of those who you call friends."
This would probably result in him killing me in a rage. Oh, and would probably result in the history of the world since 44BC changing beyond recognition. But who cares about that last part.
Scenario 2: "You die by choking 5 years later. It was your dinner."
Again. He would probably kill me in a rage. The timeline would be preserved, but there's no point in the integrity of the timeline if I'm not around to see it.
Ah. What should I choose? Choices choices choices.
Ah hah! How about...
_____________________________________________________
(Sorry for the 4th wall break, but, for mobile users who can't see the underline, the perspective of the story has just been changed to another character.)
No way.
No fucking way.
I, Julius Caesar, would be the first person to achieve immortality?
If that foreigner, whose name I never caught, was telling me the truth, that my reign would last a thousand years, that the flag of Rome would be seen across the lands, as North as Gaul and as East as the Han's land, then by the name of Jupiter, I need to change my name to something more epic.
Something more "Holy shit". Something that incites the feeling of strength.
"How about 'Caesar the Great'? Sounds fitting." said the foreigner.
Not bad. I'll call in a meeting for the Senate to rename the entire place, as well as to notify them of my change of titles.
I can't wait until Brutus hears the news.
_____________________________________________________
(Again, sorry for the 4th wall break)
Well that was easy.
Seems like the integrity of the timeline was preserved. And to make it better, I'm now going home with about 100 kilograms of gold!
"Set course for Xiangang, China, on the 16th of February, 2018."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, u/dummie1138"
"What? Why not?"
"The area you call 'Xiangang' is neither called 'Xiangang' nor controlled by the Great Ming Empire. Setting course for the 16th of February, 2018 to Hong Kong(UK)."
Well fuck.
_____________________________________________________
If you didn't hate that, please suggest a good AI name. I could really use one. | 2018-02-15T20:59:04 | 2018-02-15T20:35:40 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Voyager 1 has unexpectedly returned to Earth. It was found at Cape Canaveral, with a note written in a strange, unknown language attached to it. Scientists have translated that note and have called a press conference to reveal their findings. | "Everyone, please, settle down," Bruce Kingston said, addressing all the world's various journalists and reporters. "Please, just *calm down!*"
The noise fell from a cacophony to a general murmur. A hand shot up.
"What can you tell us about Voyager?" the reporter asked, as others nodded hurriedly.
"What did the aliens say?" asked another.
Bruce took a deep breath. This would not be easy.
"The aliens... said nothing," he said, as everyone recoiled in surprise. "The entire damned thing was a hoax."
Immediately all the reporters spoke at once, and Bruce tried to speak over the chaos.
"The note was nonsense. No code, no hidden language - just pure and utter gibberish," he said, as if the words hurt him.
"But then how did the Voyager land up in Cape Canaveral?" a reporter asked, as all the cameras zoomed in on Bruce's face.
He shook his head. "It never did. Turns out we're still receiving signals from it in space - this entire debacle has just been a prank on the world. The 'Voyager' in Cape Canaveral is a modified replica from decades ago."
The reporters were dismayed. The entire world had tuned in to see this, it had been a global event like no other. And it was all just a *prank?*
"I'm sorry everyone," Bruce said weakly, "but I suggest you all just go home and... you all just have a good night, alright?"
****
"Are you sure we did the right thing?"
The team of scientists sat in the empty hall after the presentation. They were passing a hefty bottle of whisky between them.
"How can we be sure?" Bruce replied, taking a massive swig from the bottle. "All I know is that if we told the world what's *really* going to happen, it wouldn't last through the night."
The other scientists nodded halfheartedly. They weren't convinced - but how could they be?
"Well, if you'll excuse me," Bruce said, getting up from his chair, "I'm going to go home, kiss my daughter goodnight, and make love to my wife for the last time."
Standing in the doorway, he stared at each and every one of them. He took one last swig from the bottle.
"It's been a pleasure working with you all," he said, shutting the door behind him.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | Today was the day. I'd been milling over the results for weeks now; we hadn't been allowed to come forward sooner. How would people react? Would there be mass hysteria? I wasn't sure if I could handle the consequences, but the people had the right to know.
"Dr Samantha Clairmont will now announce the findings." the man said curtly.
It was my turn.
Stepping up to the little podium, I straightened my dress one last time and turned toward the 50 odd reporters. Pictures were taken along with many cameras and microphones pointed at me. Clearing my throat one last time, I opened my mouth to change the lives of so many.
"Today, I'd like to share the translation of the note found in Cape Canaveral, along with the remains of Voyager 1." I began hesitantly. The pressure almost got to be too much. Why did I have to do this again? I was a scientist, not the public face of some company.
"I will keep this short and simple," I continued. "The translation of the note will now be shown on the screen."
As the screen showed the result, gasps ran through the crowd as well as a manly scream. For ten whole seconds, it remained silent. The seconds seemed to last forever. And then it blew up.
Everyone started talking at once, though - as reporters - they were probably trained to remain silent during press conferences unless it was to ask a question. Yet no one could keep silent now. Everyone was shocked.
Once more I sought to understand, so I turned around towards the screen to read it again myself.
GREETINGS. WE ARE MANY, AND WE ARE LOST. WE HEARD OF YOUR PLANET. THE PROPHECY WILL BRING US TO YOU. WE ARE COMING.
"They are coming," I whispered, my voice magnified by the microphone clipped to my shirt. This was a once in a lifetime discovery, but would there be a life after this lifetime? Would we all die when they came? What will happen to mankind? Questions kept running through my mind as I took my bottle of water, turned around, and walked away. | 2016-11-27T09:25:07 | 2016-11-27T09:15:46 | 174 | 13 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | I forget. Well, I make everyone forget. That’s my power, but you probably won’t recall this in approximately 1 minute.
It’s a curse. I watched as my other friends develop wondrous abilities during puberty- flight, invulnerability, elemental control, while I was bestowed with the power of forgetting. Maybe it was because I forgot to feed the family dog when my parents left for their trip and found him dead on their return. Or maybe I should have at least tried to remind myself a time or two again.
Oh well.
Ever since I turned 18, I ceased to exist. My own parents had no recollection of ever having a son. I watched as they replaced family portraits, puzzled as to who that mysterious boy was in all of the photos. I hated them at first, but soon I came to realise that I could not possibly blame them, I was but a void in their memory. My friends followed suit, deserting me.
I lived my days an inch away from insanity, conversations never lasted for more than a minute before the other person would be in a state of bewilderment, asking who I was. I was close to a figment of imagination to them.
I don’t recall when but I guess I snapped one day. I loaded up a gun, went out, and shot the first person that walked by me. Everyone screamed, or was it just a few people screaming? Never mind, it’s irrelevant. What was relevant was that after a minute, people stopped screaming, then started screaming again. I stood there till the police showed up, but no one remembered who killed that poor bastard. So I walked away, scot free and into a life of death and destruction. It didn’t take long before governments collapsed beneath me and mankind bowed to a god they forgot existed.
My name is Amnesia, and I’m the worlds greatest supervillain, but you probably won’t recall this in approximately 1 minute. | People never really saw me for who I am, they saw a facade. I put on a calm, brave face, but in reality I was a raging inferno of hatred just waiting to unleash my fury. It had been this way my whole life, there were times when I really thought I was going to kill someone because of how angry they were making me.
Then it happened, the shockwave, the one that set the whole world into a new motion. Most people got really useful powers, some got flight, others got speed, my mother god bless her heart got the power to heal. I on the other hand, I got fire. Hellfire. I got the power to burn anything and everything at the flick of a wrist. I believe in fiction it had two names, Pyromancy when magic was directly involved, and Pyrokenisis when it was a form of telekinetic power. I dont quite know which category I'm in, all I know is that I can burn things.
Its hard to explain to people that no, I'm not the chill, carefree person they saw me as, and that in fact I'm so angry I can literally set the world on fire. A lot of people called me a liar, a freak, I've even had a couple call me a demon before... but really, I'm just the same guy, exposed for who he really is. | 2019-09-08T09:02:22 | 2019-09-08T05:15:24 | 4,320 | 120 |
[WP] When you became a vampire you assumed that you would have to watch out for vampire hunters but the truth is something much, much worse preys upon the undead. | He awoke, the puncture wounds on his neck still dripping in blood. He did not know why he was spared, nor targeted - all he knew was that something had irrevocably changed.
He did his best to abstain, though the hunger soon compelled him to seek out blood. Initially, he decided that he would just feed on those that deserved death - criminals, murderers, those they preyed on the weak and sick.
Over time, however, that line blurred. Those that truly deserved death were hard to find, even in the cover of darkness. The hunger did not allow for careful consideration nor deliberation, and soon he feasted on simply whoever seemed cruel, regardless of their actions.
Throughout it all, his hunger grew, as did his power. Every new victim embued a greater sense of alacrity within him, of unholy strength. The blood pulsed through his veins as if it were alive; as if the souls of his victims were trapped inside it.
It felt as if he would burst - as if he could barely contain the power inside of him. It was intoxicating as much as it was terrifying. And still, it made him seek out more victims, regardless of their sin. He no longer discerned between the guilty and the pure - they were all just sacks of blood now, begging to be drained.
****
He returned to his home, dripping in blood, sick on power. Sick *from* power. His veins were pulsating, as if they were struggling to break free. He could no longer bear it, and dropped to his knees from the pain. He began crawling to his quarters, begging that it would all just go away.
Someone - some*thing* - appeared before him. He did not have the strength to look up at it, nor the courage.
A black substance shot through his heart, attaching itself to every artery, every vein. It began to drain him; slowly, deliberately.
He realized that he was but a vessel, tasked with accumulating power for this being. He was never truly powerful compared to it, nor free - he was nothing more than cattle.
He felt the power drain from him; and with it, his very life.
Despite the futility, he did not resist. In truth, he welcomed death. He had become a monster, and this was a release that he did not have the courage to do himself.
He felt the last sliver of power, of life, drain to the core of his heart - and the being released him.
He looked up, and the being was gone. He was alive. He was free.
And yet, the hunger remained.
*****
*****
Might post another part if there's any interest. Have a lovely day <3 | Ahh, I can recall like it was just yesterday. Just yesterday that I was finishing grad school and marrying the love of my life. It’s been thousands of years though now and I’ll never have that same happiness again.
It was all so sudden that It honestly took me a while to notice the changes. I noticed my skin slowly turning pale even though I would be outside all day with my fiancé, I noticed that I slowly started to crave red meat cooked rare when I usually preferred white meat. Then when I was pronounced infertile.. my fiancé left me as all he wanted in life was what I could not provide him.
Years and years passed, it wasn’t until I was in my 50’s and I didn’t look a day over 19 that I finally realized something was up. I searched online, I searched in libraries, I searched in bookstores, and I read every article, chapter, section and, book about what I suspected I had became.
A vampire. Probably bitten on one of my late night stumbles home from the near-by bar. It had probably happened in the back alley I took to get from the bar directly into my neighborhood, and being so drunk I have no recollection.
When I first started to research I was worried about vampire hunters carrying, garlic, and wooden stakes that they aimed to stab through my heart.
But no there is something far worse out there. Something that torments us slowly before finishing us off for good. It can be avoid for years and years but in the end there is no escaping the beast.
I’m on the run from it now. It found my last location and was coming for me, forcing me to move.
In my travels the past 4000 years I’ve meet 3 others like me all telling me their close calls with this being, describing him to be a tall man in a dark suit with a trench coat and a top hat. They say his smile is enticing making you want to chat with him till he shows you his teeth, then it’s a game of chase and you must run for your life. If he catches you, you are his and you are to be ripped to shreds…
I’ve just glanced his smile.. he’s on to me.. I guess this is good buy | 2021-10-28T20:38:53 | 2021-10-28T20:04:53 | 130 | 16 |
[WP] You picked up a dozen eggs at the farmer's market but when it came time to cook breakfast in the morning you find your fridge contained zero eggs and a dozen tiny dragons. | # Scaly Breakfast
“Oh my goodness.”
My carton of freshly-bought eggs had been pushed open by its shivering occupants, who now lay huddled together in a tight pile of little scales and wings. They squeaked pitifully in the cold, wet and sticky with the remains of eggwhite and yolk.
Shock would have to wait. I grabbed a clean dish towel and gently began to pick the little dragons up, one by one. They wriggled and mewled in my grip as I started to gather them in my arms, bundled in the towel close to my chest.
I didn’t trust mere body heat to do the trick, though, after spending an entire night in my fridge. I hurried from the kitchen and into the bathroom, setting the tub to filling with warm water. The hatchlings were still shivering in their little bundle, as I felt them huddling as close to me as they could, seeking the warmth. A good sign, I hoped. They weren’t *completely* lethargic.
I turned the water off, leaving it just deep enough for the little ones to splash in. Then I lowered the entire bundle into the tub and gently began to clean the little dragons off, rubbing stuck pieces of eggshell and sticky liquid from their soft scales.
To my huge relief, it didn’t take long for the treatment to work. Soon I had a tub full of chirping little winged lizards, luxuriating in the warm waters as they crawled about and preened themselves. It didn’t take them long to start examining *me*, as well, nibbling my fingers playfully and looking up at me with big, round eyes.
As they were now out of possibly mortal danger, I took the time to really take in what I had here. A dozen little *actual dragons*, hatched in my fridge. Barely bigger than newly-hatched chicks, colours varying from mottled brown to dark green flecked with black. Tiny little horn nubs, big yellow eyes that looked at me with child-like curiosity.
In short, I had a brood of the most adorable little impossibilities I’d ever seen - and no idea what to do with them.
As I sat there, gently scratching the throat of a brave little dragon who’d climbed up my arm to snuggle into my neck, the enormity of the moment was beginning to set in. Holy shit, I had a dozen *dragons.* My anxiety was suddenly back in full force.
“What am I going to do with you?” I murmured.
A little green-and black hatchling looked up at me, tilted their head, and chirped. Then again, rather insistently. Their siblings mimicked them, including the one sitting just beneath my ear. Thankfully they weren’t *too* loud, or the neighbours might ask some very strange questions.
“What? What is it?”
The apparent “leader”, who’d started the whole cacophony gave me a beady side-eye, then opened its mouth to gape at me with a long, drawn-out whine.
I blinked, as the rusty cogs in my head slowly began to lock back in place and gather momentum.
“Oh! Of course, you guys have to be hungry! Hang on-”
I grabbed another fresh towel and began to carefully collect my new little roommates, wiping them dry (against their rather sharp protests) before bundling them all up for the trip back to the kitchen. I didn’t want to risk having them dancing around my feet or getting lost.
I put them down on the kitchen table, well away from the edges. Not that that mattered - they started exploring the new surface immediately, their little claws clicking on the wood as they scampered about and stuck their heads out over the drop. Good thing they didn’t seem able to fly yet, or keeping an eye on them would be a *proper* nightmare.
As I dug through the kitchen for something that might be appropriate, the egg carton with its remains of shell inside drew my eye. Quite a lot of birds and reptiles ate their eggshell after hatching, so perhaps that was the same for dragons? Worth a shot, at any rate. I peeled free as much eggshell as I could get and crushed it into some smaller pieces with my hands for good measure. Then I dropped the little offering into a bowl, together with some chopped-up unsalted ham, a few hard-boiled *actual* chicken eggs I had leftover from earlier, and a little unsalted butter. I mashed the whole thing up into an even, fatty paste, scraped it onto a plate, then set it down on the towel in the middle of the table.
They were all on the food in seconds, eagerly gulping the mash down in big mouthfuls that set their cheeks and throats bulging with the effort. They shoved and squabbled, chirping and hissing at each other.
“Hey, hey, share nicely now! There’s plenty for all of you.”
I gently separated the brawlers from their siblings, petting them between the wings to calm them down. They cooed and arched into my touch, clearly pleased by the attention, then settled down, eating a bit slower.
“That’s better. Now eat up.”
I didn’t have to ask twice. Soon the plate was licked spotlessly clean, not a single scrap of food left. The hatchlings had huddled together again, sluggish and drowsy, bellies bulging.
“Nap time, huh? Okay, let’s see if we can find you a nice warm spot…”
I went digging through my closet and found a large moving box left over from a few years back. This I furnished with newspapers, more clean towels, and a little water bowl. Then I gently scooped up the entire pile of dragons once again, tucked them in the box, and placed it in the sunny living room.
The drowsy dragons nestled into the soft towels and spread their wings, luxuriating in the warm sunlight. Soon they were all sleeping, their bulging bellies rising and falling with their sleepy breaths.
I smiled at the adorable display. “Good thing I’m not a diabetic. Right, that’s step one.”
I tip-toed into the kitchen and retrieved the egg carton, studying the stamps on it.
Bingo.
*”We’d love to hear your opinions! Don’t hesitate to call or send an email with your thoughts - we’ll get back to you as soon as we are able!”*
Now, I loathe phone calls as much as the next dude, but this felt a bit too urgent for an email.
It rang thrice before a harried voice picked up, the sounds of bustling commerce in the background.
“Hi, Eggstraordinary Eggcellence, Miriam speaking!”
I cleared my throat. This would either help or make me sound completely insane. “Yes, hi, Miriam! My name’s Eric, I bought a dozen eggs from you at the farmer’s market yesterday?”
“Oh, yes. Was anything the matter? Nothing wrong with them, I hope?”
“Well, not *wrong* as such. Just a little bit, ahem, *odd*.”
There was a long pause. “When you say *odd*, do you perhaps mean…”
“Well, first, they kind of hatched. And they didn’t hatch into *chickens*, if you catch my drift.”
“I think I might. How are they, ahem, doing?”
“From what I can tell, pretty good, despite having hatched in my fridge. I gave them a warm bath and some breakfast - they’re all snoozing in my living room now.”
I hear Miriam sigh audibly with relief. “Wow, thank you. If it’s not too much trouble, can you watch them for a few more hours? I’ll tell the boss what’s going on, fetch their mum, and then drive over to collect them.”
“You- you have their mum?”
“Yes, and their dad. Friends of the family, you might say. I’m guessing she thought it was a good idea to shanghai a hen to brood them when she was out and about, and they got mixed up with the chicken eggs. This explains why she’s been beside herself this morning - we didn’t even know she’d laid a clutch!”
I blinked. “Well okay. And no, I don’t mind. They’ve been perfect scaly angels so far!”
A snort. “Yes, well, I hope you’re lucky enough that they stay that way! What’s your address?”
I told her.
“Okay, see you in a few hours. Good luck!”
*Click*.
That sounded ominous. But really, what could a dozen flightless baby dragons do?
***
Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more - Guaranteed lots of dragons :D | I had just put on *Gonna Fly Now* from Rocky I when I opened the door of my fridge to find a dozen baby dragons. They were live and scaly and while they smelled of brimestone and week-jarred farts the scent was not that of rotten eggs. It was the smell of dragons. Tiny ones.
"Critters!" cried my roommate, and he held his head in his hands screaming. Ever since we were runts he'd been telling me that the 1986 comedy-horror flick Critters was nigh prophetic. He'd been preparing ever since. "Ebert gave it two thumbs up," he repeatedly told me. When I told him that was out of *five*, he said, "no, a man's only got two thumbs to give." So I lost that argument.
"They're obviously dragons, Derek!" I corrected him, but he just shook his head violently. The highly-inspiring soundtrack kept running in the background. "They're baby dragons!"
In the back of my mind I remembered the dozen-egg shake I was about to prepare. The blender sat on the kitchen table, a dominating presence ever since I bought it five years ago. Today was the day I'd finally crack open some eggs and run laps around the neighborhood in my sweats. But that wasn't about to happen. Not today.
"We've got to kill those furry critters," cried Derek, clutching a broom close to his chest.
"They've got *scales*, Derek. They're not furry. Not at all."
"We've got to stop them before they lay their eggs."
Eggs. They were supposed to *be* eggs.
I had gone to the farmer's market because I had been walking by the side of the road and suddenly got the impulse to put a straw in my mouth. It fit perfectly. And I didn't mind the taste either. So I figured, hey, maybe I'm meant to be a farmer? You never know until you try. I might've been a damn good one at that as well. So I bolted for the farmer's market to see whether I'd fit right in, as I suspected I would.
Most of them were hardy, old-fashioned folks. My leather jacket stood out among all that denim. So I was happy when I stopped another leather aficionado. "That's some fine Italian," I told him.
"What?" he said.
"The jacket," I said, and I pointed to it as well.
"Oh, this ..." said the guy. "I got it in Dallas, actually."
I howled with laughter and the straw fell from my mouth. That was when I thought, hey, maybe that's an omen? Maybe I'm not meant to be a farmer after all? But then the guy motioned for me to come closer. "I got some *eggs*," he said in a hushed tone.
Before that moment, I had forgotten all about my blender. But that key phrase brought it all back. Eggs. Oh yeah. I'd been meaning to have a jog around the neighborhood. I'd been thinking about that for years. So I said, "I'll take them," and the guy had a carton of them under his leather jacket, and I remember thinking that this guy's one badass farmer. Likely, it was black market eggs. So I paid him in a hurry and I sprinted home, but only for a minute or so because I remembered I would be running later so it didn't make sense to exhaust myself already.
"Critters don't have to be furry. Critters can be scaly."
Derek still held his broom tight, but he had taken a few steps back and he was now hugging the wall. "They're dragons!" I shouted, and I wrestled the broom out of his hands.
I helped him back up and we carefully moved closer to the fridge. "Those are some ugly critters," said Derek.
Suddenly, they all leapt from the carton and gathered around my legs. "H-Hey!" I said. Derek rushed to get his broom, then he raced out the front door, still holding it.
The baby dragons chirped and I realized they were hungry. They had imprinted on me. Just like that. I was now their dragon mother. "I am become Khaleesi," I said, and they chirped in unison.
I put on my leather jacket and I raced outside with the little things in hot pursuit. People dropped their grocery bags watching me run around with my dragons. I swerved like the wind and did some flips. Almost stepped on one. "I'm going to call you Smeagol," I said. "Like the dragon in The Hobbit."
We raced to the farmer's market. As a single mom, a single dragon mom, I had to take care of these little critters. Well, dragons. And what do they eat? There's only one way to find out: let them try everything all at once.
It seemed like such a fine idea, but it turned out to be pandemonium. Those denim-clad salt-of-the-earth folks ran around like chickens and there were chickens running around as well. And it seemed the dragons had the taste for them. One of them even got a small Zippo-sized flame going. "Great stuff, Smeagol," I said. I had decided I would call them all Smeagol because I couldn't really tell them apart.
Next thing, my leather brother runs into a celery stand, crashes the whole thing. "T-They *hatched*?" he asked me.
"Well, yeah," I said. "Hey! You scammed me on those eggs."
Then I got nervous, because those were after all black market eggs. I could feel the cold stare of the farmers on my back. But when I looked around I could only see a pack of dogs descending with a fury upon my precious little babies. "Hey!" I cried. "Get lost! I am the breaker of chains!" When a group of farmers approached us as well with pitchforks, I changed my tune. "I'm uh, the breaker of *chain stores*. Because I support small business. And farmers."
They wouldn't have any of it, and just as I thought all hope was lost, he made his appearance.
"These are *our* critters," said Derek. He held his broom up high and for some reason the farmers stepped back.
One of them, however, didn't mind being broomed apparently and he stepped right up, and he held his big old boot over the head of Smeagol. "No!" I cried.
"Well, we don't want any of yer critters here," he said.
"Wait!" cried Derek. The farmer gave pause. "Do you really want to be known around here as a man putting his foot on the scales?"
The man stopped, in shock, and we gathered up all the baby dragons and ran all the way back to our apartment. Safe and sound at home, my stomach groaned all of a sudden. The dragons chirped as well, and they sounded unhappy. I don't think they managed to catch a single chicken. Just then there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and there he was. My leather brother.
"H-Hi," he said. "I bought those dragon eggs on Craigslist and thought they were a scam when they arrived in a normal-looking carton. I decided to just sell them at the market, because I never thought they'd hatch into real dragons."
"Hmph," I said. "Well, you're still a scammer, even if you thought you got scammed yourself. Don't perpetuate the cycle. Break the cycle. Break the *chains*."
"Wow," said the guy. "That's powerful. Is that from a movie?"
"N-No," I said.
"Well, I brought you these." The guy opened his leather jacket to reveal another carton. Only this time, it was actual eggs. From chickens, not dragons.
We made omelets, and even the baby dragons liked them. Derek convinced us all to watch Critters, again, and it was fun.
There would always be another day to drink a dozen eggs and take laps around the neighborhood.
/r/Hemingbird | 2022-02-08T03:11:31 | 2022-02-07T22:59:19 | 692 | 39 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..." | "Alright, listen very carefully," Charlie grumbled, the words odd in his mouth. "We may not have much time. There's a man, a nefarious persona, who comes here every morning. He has no business here, yet he walks on our lawn, and fiddles with the paper contraption." Charlie paused, his dark eyes silent in reflection, recalling words he'd picked up in his six-year life. "Mailbox, you call it."
I had to suppress a nervous laugh. "Oh, the mailman, you mean?"
"He goes by many names," Charlie said darkly. "His deeds are dark, and so is his smell." Charlie sniffed. "This is a conspiracy of the highest order, boss."
My girlfriend and I exchanged amused glances before I turned back to the dead-serious golden retriever. "Charlie, all he does is deliver letters to us. Words on paper from other people. Packages."
"The man is evil," Charlie persisted in a gruff voice. Briefly distracted, he circled around, chasing his own tail. "An enemy! A fiend! The words he brings you are distractions, his eyes shine with biting intent!"
Anna giggled. "Poor Charlie," she said, "At least we'll always have you to protect us."
"My warning shouts have kept him at bay," Charlie acknowledged gruffly, "But I fear that next time his plans will-"
Suddenly his ears tensed up. "He's here!" He ran towards the door, jumping madly. "He's here! The time has come! It's upon us! Oh God of Infinite Petting, he'll bite us all-"
"Alright, that's enough Charlie," I grinned, moving to open the door. "Look, I'll introduce you to the man, okay? So you can see for yourself. Just behave."
"For the love of chewy objects, do not open the wall of protection!"
I ignored Charlie and opened the door, just in time to see the mailman, a jolly, uniformed man with a friendly face and a package under his arm.
"Morning, sir, would you mind telling my dog-"
"SIX YEARS I'VE WAITED FOR THIS!!" the mailman screeched, chucking the package through the doorway.
"Noooo!" Charlie howled, trying in vain to intercept the package.
Too late his voice returned to the bark that had kept the mailman at bay, all these years. "Noowwoof! Woof!"
"What the fu-" was all I could mutter before the package exploded, obliterating the house and everything in it. | I knew I really couldn't afford the Intelect pill AND pay my rent that month, but the commercials made it seem so special and interesting. People hugging their pets, giggling at their smart wit, deepening that bond between them... It sounded to good to be true. Sadly, one pill was $500, so not everyone got to try. I had been saving up for two months, and would barely be able to make it this month but I had to know. Storm was the best dog in the world and the only friend I had left. I got him when I was 12, shortly before my mom died. In a way, he was the only reason I was still alive. True, my life was no dream, but he made everything more bearable. So I had pulled the trigger and bought one pill, hid it in his food and fed him. Instantly, his ears perked up, his eyes turned bright and he looked straight at me before opening his mouth.
"Listen carefully, because I have been wanting to tell you this for ages."
He had a low voice, dark, with the hint of an accent. Not the voice I had in my mind at all, but it suited him.
"You have made some grave mistakes working for me. My food tends to be avarage at best, the walks feel perfunctory, and I don't think you enjoy picking up my personal waste. You never seem happy when doing that. The fact that you were debating on neutering me is defenitely not in your favour, as is the fact that you never let me hump anything in the house. Speaking of the house, it could use a thorough cleaning. My hair is everywhere. It is disgusting. You seem to mistake my wagging tail for a sign of happiness instead of a way to clean the air a little bit so I can at least breathe."
My mouth was agape, I just sat staring at my dog, listening to him rant on and on. I realised that all this time, his best feature was that he couldn't talk. He was quite the asshole. | 2017-02-23T07:06:25 | 2017-02-23T06:22:01 | 1,311 | 22 |
[WP] "I like adventurous guys," she says with stars in her eyes. Your date is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. In a panic, you buy last-minute plane tickets to a small Balkan country. Your plan - a short tour visit, overthrow the local government, and win her heart. | You didn't really know what she meant by adventurous. You weren't really ever that kind of person. When you connected through a mutual friend, you were completely awestruck. She was the kind of girl you heard all the stories about, the kind that make you think "Now that's the girl I'm going to marry." But you still had no idea what she meant by adventurous.
You didn't even know where to start with being adventurous. Your idea of a fun night was having one too many IPAs, normally somewhere around 4, and then drifting off to bed at the late, late hour of 10:30. That was adventure. That was fun! You balked at the idea of going out frequently, blaming it as always on your wallet or your need to catch up on sleep. But you always saved up, and you always went to bed on time. In reality, you just liked alone time. It's not like you didn't like people, but that you really valued the time you spent by yourself recharging. The idea of going to a concert with friends of yours and having a good time was enough to make you shake. You worried about your hearing because you'd heard a faint ringing after sitting in front of that one loud trumpet player in your Tuesday jazz group, and you learned that was called Tinnitus. You're 20, what the hell are you worrying about Tinnitus for anyway. But that was yet another excuse to add to your ever growing list of "reasons I won't hang out with people."
But she was different. She was a classic beauty. Elizabeth Taylor, Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, all those people your grandma told you she really liked. She wasn't hot, she was elegant. I mean, she was hot, incredibly so. But she was the kind of person you look at and imagine what they'd look like wearing a crown. She was the kind of person you'd take home to your family with pride, and relish when your aunt tells you "She's so lovely." Nobody calls anyone lovely anymore unless they mean it. That was her. The woman of your dreams.
Why she's on a date with you, you have no idea. You'd like to think it's because you're interesting, but you know that's not true. You're nice, but you know that being nice is what should be expected of everyone, and doesn't automatically mean stunningly beautiful women are going to fall in your lap. You have a cat? Maybe that's it? Regardless, she's here, and she's with you.
The date goes well, and you find yourself seeing one another more, though again, within the bounds of reason. She invites you to parties, you ask her if she wants to come over after. She wants to go hiking, you go once, but it rains, and you don't go again. You stay in your zone, and try to please her as much as you can. She tells you vaguely about how she's headed off to Croatia in a couple months for a political demonstration. Something to do with human rights, but you find strong political discussion to be a little on the nose, so you smile and say "Wow, that's awesome." She doesn't mind, even though she's made it pretty clear it's important to her. She tells you over the next 8 weeks about the injustices of the current regime, how the remnants of the Cold War have shown up in fringe groups that have slowly risen to power. Sounds kind of like the States to you, so you wonder why she'd go there, but you don't want to upset her, so you don't ask.
Then something happens. You don't know what it was. Maybe it was watching Rudy again that made you feel that you needed to break out of your bubble of non-commitment and believe in something fully again, to really go for something. Maybe it was the feeling that after all of the times you said "No" to plan invites, that people had been growing apart from you, and you needed to rectify that, at least with this woman. So you do what you hate, you act spontaneously. You buy a plane ticket only a couple weeks in advance, which you hate because of the markup, but she's worth it. You tell her you're joining her cause, and that the injustices of the regime won't go unchecked by you any longer. You don't know if you believe it, but she sure does.
When you finally get on the plane, you feel like you've made a huge mistake. You don't want to topple a regime, but if it'll make her happy, you'll do it. You don't really feel like being a political prisoner, but if that's what happens, you hope she'll be there in the cell with you. You look into her face and see the stars shining in her eyes, like they do every time you look. You love her, and you realize that you've changed since you met her. Your comfort zone isn't a place anymore, not your apartment, not your bathroom, not your bed. It's not sitting on the couch and watching the Office again, or staying in because it's too cold. It's being with her. She is your comfort now, and she has been since you met her. All of those events you went to that you didn't like, you look back on fondly. The one party you went to with her was too loud, too cramped, and smelled awful. But she was there, and she had fun, so when someone asks you about it you genuinely say "it was pretty fun." The hike was an hour long drive just to get rained on, but you ate the snacks you brought in your car and listened to music you both liked. It was because of her.
Surely toppling a regime will be a fun time. She's there, and you know now that she's all you need. You'll do whatever it takes to make her happy, not because you need her to like you, but because you need her to know what she means to you. As you get off the plane with renewed vigor, you know that she is worth every adventure you will go on.
| "Success is the ultimate driver," I say as I stare out the window of the plane, the sun's bright rays refracting off the clouds far below, creating heaven in my mind's eye. "Success gives us a chance at procreation, to allow men like me to reproduce with a female of the highest quality."
The man beside me nods knowingly at this nugget of wisdom, his half-moon glasses almost falling off his nose.
"Someone like me with someone like her," I look wistfully up at the cabin ceiling, "It's just not possible without success," I say, "I maintain that she only spoke to me because she was stranded on the side of the road and I was the first to stop."
"But we had a coffee and we chatted and I dropped her off at the mechanic and damn if she didn't seem like she came straight from another planet, with stars in her eyes," I say, still watching the cabin lights, "And I thought to myself, how could someone like me be with someone like her?"
My shoulders feel tight from sitting down in this cramped seat, I roll them and sigh contentedly at the minor relief. "It was as if she read my mind," I say, content to have such a listener, "She winked and said she liked adventurous guys - not happy, good-looking, muscular guys - but adventurous ones," I look over at the man, "So here I am, off on an adventure."
The man has nodded so far forward his chin is now on his chest. He is fast asleep.
I blink rapidly a few times, adjusting to my new reality. "It is better you don't know what I'm about to do, anyway," I say under my breath, a little peeved at his lack of engagement, "You'll be sorry you missed this opportunity to converse with such a mover and shaker as I."
I brood for a time, stroking the warn photograph that I'd insisted the tired-looking gas station attendant take. A photograph to mark the start of our romance, the two of us standing under too bright lights holding our dollar coffees. I fold the photo so it's just her in all her super model glory, low cut shirt and tight black skirt, on her way to somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter because she ran into me and I into her and I rub myself over my jeans, sneaking glances at my neighbor to make sure he is still asleep. I pour myself into that photo and I pour myself into my thighs, content in the warm, sticky embrace.
\------
I sip on my morning coffee, which is not nearly as good as the one at that gas station, which came enshrined in a beautiful moment now frozen in time. I try her number again and wish that I had gotten her name. Again the number goes straight to dial-tone.
"Perhaps she has run out of minutes," I say to myself. Fixing cars is expensive.
No matter, though. Soon I will be the most adventurous guy in the twenty first century, my face all over the world's news stations.
"Success is what matters," I tell the border agent as I cross from Bulgaria into Kosovo. He takes one look at my bright American smile and lets me straight through, a slight grin on his lips. "I will bring the American Dream to this land," I say, still smiling.
I look down at my hand-drawn map, copied from the internet. The government headquarters should be just around the corner, corrupt and gorging on UN aid, this building its physical manifestation.
I imbue myself with the confidence only life-long success can bring, or in my case, the iron-clad certainty that I have taken the first step on that journey, and that from this point forward my success will be life-long.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak English, " the security guard says, "What you want?"
"I am here to speak to your leader, mano-y-mano," I say, puffing up my chest to show that I mean business, that the real men must talk now.
The guard looks over his shoulder at someone inside, who beckons to let me through. I feel exhilaration and I embrace it, harness it as I walk through the high, arching doorway. I follow the important looking uniformed man down a long hallway, our footsteps echoing off the polished concrete floor.
"I will tell your 'President,' I say, using air quotes, "That you are an exemplary service member and should be rewarded." I congratulate myself on gaining this man's trust with so few words, a mark of the new, successful me.
I smile as I am led into the leader's quarters. "Strange," I say, "It's so grey and bland in here," I look up, "And the light flickers on and off." I look down at a stark metal chair and single metal table and then look up knowingly at my new friend.
"This is where I shall meet your leader, very well," I say, cheerfully taking a seat. The man looks at me with what can only be admiration, then he frowns, shakes his head and leaves.
I sit in the room waiting for my audience, the too bright light flickering on and off with a static buzzing sound.
"Finally!" I say as two men walk in. I rise half-way out of my chair, putting on my most winning smile as one backhands me across the face, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground choking for air as blood filters through my crushed windpipe and several of my teeth are scattered across the cold concrete floor.
I stay like that, slowly fading, my hand clutching and un-clutching the frayed, bloodied photograph of the woman with stars in her eyes. | 2018-12-10T11:14:35 | 2018-12-10T08:30:42 | 21 | 15 |
[WP]We are all afraid of death. What is death afraid of? | The field sprouted wheat. More and more grew until the plains were so full no more could fit. He arrived, scythe in hand and said "I shall reap, so that you may sow" and he did and we sowed. This bargain was called life and death.
He did this for many many years. Alone. From dusk til dawn. He would reap, so that we may sow. In the rain and snow, he reaped. Then we would sow. New life, precious and fresh, needs clean pastures to sprout. Life needs death.
And he was always there.
He cared for the wheat. Watched it wave in the breeze. Watched it brave storm after storm. When the sun rose the wheat would be there and he would smile. The stories the wheat could tell. The wheat was strong. He cared for the wheat.
Then we told him. Told him what he feared to hear. "We can no longer sow". He said we must. But, we could not.
He said he would try. We said he was just a reaper.
He cared for the wheat, but could not stop his reaping. The wheat grew to be reaped. Soon there was but a small field left. The wheat was old and weak. It bent in the breeze and buckled in storms.
He felt it unfair that the wheat should suffer. He reaped what was left and the bargain was at last done. We left like the wheat, and he remained.
A reaper alone in a field free from life. A being eternal, alone, and without purpose. | No water had I,
in the harsh desert sun.
A silly mistake
but it took only one
My head rested, cradled
on the sun warmed rock
Hydration, depleted
Left my body in shock
Into and out of
sleep without peace
I slipped and I slid
Praying for release
Hooded and mysterious
shrouded and cloaked
Death whispered, raspy
and the fear he evoked
Was nothing compared to
what he felt and revealed
for in that instant
Death freaking SQUEALED
Like a little girl meeting
Queen Elsa or Snow White
Death hopped and jumped
in hilarious fright
One bony hand, clutching his robe hem
Holding it high
I looked on, bemused
as he waved and then threw his scythe
Death prancing about on his tip-toes
Desperately shedding his cloak
I wondered what frightened Death so
Then I saw it... an eight-legged NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE! | 2014-09-26T07:24:27 | 2014-09-26T06:35:21 | 387 | 33 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | "I'm a freak mom!" Blaire screamed in a fit at her mother, who was standing outside Blaire's room. "Honey you are a woman now, you're beautiful." Trying to reassure Blaire, her mother spoke with a wide smile on her face. "Men don't want a freak mom, they like young girls without the mark.. I'm ruined.." Blaire fell to her knees, and rested her head on them. Small wings, just perfect for her body size, extended out and stretched before laying flat and lifeless. "You'll never understand mom.." Blaire whined to her mother, before going quiet. Samantha watched her daughter for a minute, before holding back the tears herself. Walking over to the gloom struck girl, Samantha pulled her daughter into her lap, though she was much to large. Brushing her hair lightly, she kissed her daughters head. "Why mom.. why me?" Blaire sobbed into her mother's shirt. "It's part of growing up baby, it happens to all of us. Daddy said he loved me even more the day it happened to me." Samantha spoke softly, the tears barely rolling off her face. "I just want to be perfect.." Blaire could barely speak, her voice raspy. Samantha pulled a mirror from the near by nightstand, and slowly opened it to reveal Blaire's puffy red face. "One day my love, one day you will open this mirror and proudly look at them. You'll accept how beautiful you are. Until then, and if need be from everyday on, I will be here to cradle you.." | 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T05:45:25 | 1,457 | 12 |
[WP] You have the power to teleport anywhere when you tap four times on any surface. The catch is that you can't decide where you go or know where you are going. What you do know is wherever you go someone needs you. | It's an odd thing, really. Like playing Russian Roulette, I have no idea whether I'll be swept into danger that may steal my life. There's no signal in the skies, or cry for help; it's at my whim, a choice I make to help others when I feel capable. Prepared.
Sometimes I just stay home and keep to myself. But is that wrong? Am I an asshole if I don't choose to have myself whisked into the unknown, a place that may be on the other side of the world, or in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean? I'm honestly not a special person. I don't have super-strength, or the ability to read minds, or anything remotely useful. Four taps, timed perfectly, and I just get zipped away. Four more taps and I'm back home.
How much can I *really* do for people?
It had been another boring day after work, eight hours of slog and coffee-fueled slavery. I got home and sank into the couch, letting it devour me and all my cares. About two months had passed since I'd last used my power, since I'd done anything worthwhile with my life. It was starting to fester in my mind as worthlessness. Like I was a bad person for trying to live a normal life.
That's usually how it starts. First I feel terrible, then I decide to make things a little better by helping somehow.
I grabbed the kit stowed under my coffee table, strapping a knife to my leg and a pistol to my hip. They weren't often needed, but, well-- you can't be too careful.
*Tap-tap tap tap*.
Like a knock on wood, hoping not to be thrown into a warzone or mugging where I'd be utterly useless.
It's what I imagine a piece of paper feels like as it's sucked into a vacuum cleaner, getting all thrown and twisted about. A stretching, swirling darkness engulfing me that *snaps* shut, leaving me somewhere else.
When my vision cleared, I was in a dim room. Further ahead, clothes littered a floor awash in moonlight, and a shadow stretched across it. A shadow that swayed like tall grass in a spring breeze.
Slowly, cautiously, I approached. Dirty dishes were piled up in the kitchen sink, and the trash was overflowing. A man sat in an open windowsill, dangling over a city I didn't recognize. Teetering on the edge, balanced like a tightrope walker. An uncaring breeze could have sent him tumbling to earth like a forgone raindrop.
Stealth be damned. I ran forward, tearing him out of the window. We tumbled and he shouted in a language I didn't know, possibly French, flailing at me.
"Do you speak English?" I asked, holding out my hands as if they could contain his panic.
Clearly not, judging by his response. But after a moment, he simply collapsed to the floor, buckling at the knees, and sobbed in the silver light of night. Unbound sorrow that knows no language or culture; a pain we all share.
I didn't need to know his story to walk over and hug him. He didn't protest any further, simply crying on my shoulder, letting it all course through him. Every unwanted emotion and hidden pain. We were strangers caught amidst an unspoken sadness, embracing one another, with no need to wear a mask or explain why; there isn't always a 'why' with such things.
It was all I could do. But sometimes, just knowing you aren't alone is enough.
---
*/r/resonatingfury* | "Anthony, you have to," Frank declared.
"Frank, sometimes I envy your ability to be, well, so frank about matters," I responded.
"You have a gift, an amazing ability, that can help as many people in this world as you want. You have a responsibility, an obligation."
"Yeah? And what about MY life? Last time, I was dropped into the middle of the ocean, waves churning around me, next to an old seafarer whose boat had just capsized. I. Can't. Swim. It was terrifying. Thankfully I immediately grabbed onto him and tapped his arm four times to get us out of there, and... it worked."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, only to find myself back in that God-forsaken ocean. One moment I was being tossed by a rolling, 20-foot wave, the next I was in the middle of a barren, arid plain sunk waist deep into quicksand and unable to move. I felt a peculiar tightening around my waist, and looked down to see a small hand crawling its way across my stomach. Her chipped, red nails were evidence that she was the person I was sent to rescue. I tapped the captain's arm again, and opened my eyes to complete darkness. The smell was... putrid.
"Grrhh... What's it be happenin' ta me?"
"I'm trying to get us to safety, please stay quiet. I don't know where we are."
"Wh... who are you?! Where am I?" screeched the girl.
"Like I said, I-"
"Thank God! People! Get me out of here! The smell! I can't take it, I'd rather ACTUALLY be dead!" rang a deep, rusty voice.
"Sir, do you know where we are?" I requested.
"Yes. The Chicago City Morgue. I faked my death a little to well, and I just woke up. My door is locked and there are decomposing carcasses all around me! I can't breathe... Help!" he shouted.
I tried my door, and it pushed open. I glided out, hands still shaking and shedding wet sand. I couldn't think, couldn't move. The lights flashed on and I was so startled that I rolled off of the gurney and onto the floor.
"Anthony! Are you alright?" Frank probed.
I shook my head, to see him standing over me. His large hand permeating heat over my collarbone. "Yeah, sorry Frank. Looks like that's the second time you stumbled upon me trapped in that morgue."
"At least I don't have to try and explain your talents to anyone else this time. Let's get you a nice cot to nap on, you will need your rest before you get back out there. You know... It's not often a mortician has a friend over to the lab for a sleepover."
"I've told you, it won't be happening again." I retorted.
"Yeah right," Frank jested. "You're about to give up just when I finally came up with a sweet name for you, Inst-Anthony..." | 2019-04-04T13:43:38 | 2019-04-04T12:32:45 | 2,119 | 638 |
[WP] An alien replacing your father and pretending to be him sounds like everybody horror's story, except for you and your mother since it is affectionate, caring, helps you with school and has even been promoted at work and is an absolute dork for SciFi movies. | “I love you, son” said the impostor.
Tears well up in my eyes. “I love you too, Dad”. For a second, I really mean Dad. It’s hard knowing that your dad has been replaced by a stranger, but times like this make it all worthwhile. Maybe in time, I’ll forget about my first ‘father’. Maybe I dreamt him up. It’s hard to be sure when I started to like this new Dad more than the original, but if pressed to pinpoint an exact moment, it would be three minutes after he walked in the door. In he crept with a large cardboard box. I expected it to be him hiding his beer or cheap whiskey––He never liked us knowing that he was slamming ‘em back. But we all knew. You could smell it on his beard and his breath and his body odor. It was all-permeating. My father was a terrible liar, but no one ever called him out on it, because we didn’t want to get into the inevitable shouting match that always followed.
“I’m not drunk!” Punches the wall.
“You’re the drunk!” Slams the door.
“Idiot!” Car pulls out of the driveway.
I’ve never been yelled at by my new dad.
I’ve never even thought about running away.
In that cardboard box, New Dad had bought the complete collections of the Twilight Zone, Star Wars, Stargate SG1, Battlestar Galactica, Cosmos with Carl Sagan, and all the Star Trek series. My first father had never cared about space before. He sat down with us that night, made popcorn with a lot of butter and salt, and we all sat together on the couch and just relaxed and watched. It was the first time I felt like we were a family.
Neither me or my mom know what happened to the original father. At first, I thought that maybe my new dad ate him or something. That was a year ago. Every once in a while, I wonder to myself where my original father would be. I can never focus on it for too long, it always brings me down. I don’t think he would be thinking about me. I never bring it up with Mom either. She’s been smiling a lot more ever since New Dad walked into our lives. Sometimes she even wears makeup. I think she might be in love again. Not that my original father was so terrible, apart from the drinking and the yelling and the fighting, but New Dad really takes care of her, you know? He really loves her, and Mom really loves him back, face tentacles and all. | My father always annoyed me to death and he was soo overprotective. I couldn't go out to drink, wasn't allowed to have sex in the living room and he wouldn't even allow me to tattoo myself!! How does he think I'm the crazy one?! You know someone is crazy when they don't eat pineapple on pizza. He tries to force me to behave the way he does but I won't let him influence me. I have a fantasy of killing him but he buys me food so I'll just have to wait .
I hate it when he wakes me up early in the mornings. He says that he does it because I have to drink my 'vitamins'. It's so obvious he wants to mind control me with those pills. At least he doesn't know that I spit most of them out afterwards.
The day finally came when an alien took over his body. It was a dream come true. My new dad's name is Klep and I can finally say that my dad is normal. He loves pineapple on pizza. Klep was just a bit strange because he took notes on how me and my boyfriend had sex. He would come closer for a deeper inspection but I am fine with it. I don't even need to buy alcohol because Klep has his own special alcohol for me, it makes me euphoric. Klep supports me with everything and even better he likes to tattoo me. I feel so unique with my glowing tattoos. It has symbols on it that I have never seen before. I finally love my father and couldn't have asked for a better dad. Klep has an huge interest in us humans. He researches our military, politicians, scientists and celebrities. I think his race really wants to come stay with us too, it's going to be so fun. I might even be the first human to give birth to a half human half alien. I think Klep would really like that too. I can't stop imagining what sex with an alien would be like. I really want some alien dick, I hope my boyfriend joins us too. I finally have my happy ever after type of life.
Me + Klep = forever | 2020-04-23T09:30:56 | 2020-04-23T08:25:57 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] due to the human race advancing in many ways, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are now not capable of ending humanity. They are replaced by four new horsemen who reflect the modern age. | Hmmmm...
The Four New Horsemen, huh?
Applications went out a couple of days ago, to all the pantheons. We have had some pretty good interviews.
There was Janus, who showed up reinvented as the Great Barrier. He argued that humanity was going to hit him sooner or later, and will get wiped out. Problem was, well, he couldn’t define himself properly.
War came back, and got his old job. What with the unstable leaders and the nuclear weapons, he and death decided they were each going to apply for the same part time position. Essentially, the two took up the old Hindu costume, and became the new Horseman, Annihilation. And behold, the first seal was opened, and the skies swarmed with war and the seas filled with broken ships, as the smell of napalm and gasoline mixed in the air like the incense of battle. The old sight of the red horse now took first place amongst the new horsemen.
The second one was actually a young god, a child of Helios and the Sin of Greed. We are kind of surprised he got the job, but God said that he’d do pretty good in place of famine, seeing as he had a good chance of CAUSING said famine. Warmth, the kid was called, and he borrowed the old Helios chariot and wreathed it in smoke. Apparently the definition of horseman got loosened up over the years. Behind him rode the entire host of storm gods, which is honestly pretty impressive. And behold, the second seal was opened, and the earth was smothered beneath the fiery sun. The ash clouds choked the sky, and the oceans rose in wrath. It was a golden horse.
Well, not all of them. The god of travelers, Hermès, and the Gods of thunder, Thor, as well as their dads Odin and Zeus put their heads together. The result was a ridiculously powerful, new being. Clad in silicon and metal and wielding the collective intelligence of humanity and more, it soon took on the red eyes and cold voice of the automaton. Singularity. The third seal was opened. And behold, the lightning flashed across the sky, as the cities and homes of men were tied to a single new terror, whose shouts were inscribed 1s and 0s, and it, looked upon the human race and deemed it unworthy of existence. A tempestuous horse, whose feet sparked with lightning and whose eyes flowed blue, rode forth.
The Fourth Horseman was also a surprise. It was no event, but the spawn of the Sin of Sloth and the Sin of Pride. Riding forth from the broken Tower of Babel, the young god was shapeless, but wreathes in shadow. The fourth seal opened, and behold, humanity lost the strength and will to carry on, buried in their own fear and greed, unwilling to unite against the Horsemen. Like the Tower of old, the will of Humanity was smothered and drained until nothing remained. Apathy. Wherever it rode upon its pale, grey horse, silence followed, demeaning the universe. | Christ looked at his three colleagues in thought whilst listening to the mutterings of His Father. Death, Famine and War were supposed to ride with him in three days’ time to bring about the Revelation. But such was the power and resourcefulness of the human race in this age, the Heavenly Host, that being the ruling parliament of the divine realm, debated the effectiveness of the Four Horseman.
“The humans have known war since their first breath! How is bringing a horseman named War any different to what they know. Especially with the long list of undesirables that have led the free world!” argued St Peter. “Famine will be almost useless, a large population is already living under those conditions, being conveniently ignore. The wealthier states have hoarded their resources. They could live for centuries on the amount of tinned beans they’ve gathered!” he continued. “Now Death. Death could be useful. But you have to consider that one horseman has his work cut out for him with the billions of them left down there.” He sat down as the Heavenly Host murmured in agreement.
“I think we all know the limitations of the current horsemen but there is no doubt that Jesus must be one of them” said John the Baptist. “His power is rivalled only by God Himself!” Most of the Heavenly Host mumble in agreement.
“Oh, he’s such a suck up” whispered Abraham to Moses. “He might have been beheaded on Earth but he didn’t have to face killing his own son”
“Or wander around aimlessly in the desert for ages” replied Moses in hushed tones.
Jesus stood up and began to address the Heavenly Host. “John and Peter are right. I believe we are agreed that we need to rethink our strategy. We must come up with a new and real threat to the advanced human race. Their judgement must be fierce and final. Whomever we decide upon, I will accompany them as it has already been foretold. We just need three others.”
The Heavenly Host thought in silence, the collection of saints scratched their heads and fiddled with their halos.
“What about Fake News?” chimed in St Peter. The Host nodded and grunted its approval.
“Yes! And Social Media!” said St John enthusiastically to the agreement of the Host.
“Ok, Ok, we need one more" called Jesus, the Host falling to silence once more.
“What about Donald Trump” said Job nervously. The saints all looked at each other, side to side, as they considered it. Eventually they all agreed and slapped each other on the back.
“Excellent!” Summarised Jesus “In three days’ time, Fake News, Social Media, Donald Trump and I will ride. We will ride and bring about the fall of man”. | 2019-02-03T07:16:19 | 2019-02-03T04:40:18 | 121 | 19 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Coming of age was meant to be exciting, joyous. At fourteen, we are given our purpose. Abilities unique to each one of us, granted by the collective intelligence.
My sister became able to sense the inner workings of any device she touched, and with this she wowed the academy of military mechanics. My cousin gained a perfect photographic memory, with which he excelled in school. Eventually his skills took him into the colonial forces, far away among the stars.
My mother was given the humble gift of mending injuries, which she honed into a skill with surgery.
I still remember the moment I recieved my message, surrounded by my family, my heart pounding with excitement. I still remember the icy feeling that ran down my spine as I read its contents.
"Dont look at them"
The words burned themselves into my mind. The sensation spread to my eyes, fixed to the screen as I felt myself change.
I sat frozen, confused and afraid. My mother stood up from across the table, words of concern forming on her lips. The sudden movement in my field of vision caused my eyes to glance at her momentarily. I understood then.
In that moment I knew her completely. My eyes, without my control, tore into her.
First her mind. Through my visual cortex swam every thought, every memory. I felt her love as she held me for the first time. I felt her joy and pride as she first used her gift to mend the wing of an injured bird. I felt her concern at my expression while reading my message, and felt that concern twist into primal fear when my eyes met hers.
Then, her body. The web of her being was laid bare, every firing neuron, every twitch of muscle. Her structure down to the molecules became as clear and understandable to my eyes as words on a page. All was to be observed, understood, and deconstructed. My vision tore through her form cell by cell.
It all happened in an instant. I threw my hands over my eyes, desperately trying to avert my mistake, as a wave of heat washed over me from the spot where my mother had stood, seconds ago.
My head buried in my hands, in darkness.
My mind racing, breaking apart at the seams. I stayed in that darkness. As hours passed.
As the agents of the collective led me away so the cleanup crew could work. As they questioned me, their voices filled with awe and barely contained excitement. As I was examined, prodded and needled, shaped and molded.
When I finally saw the light, my purpose was clear. I saw the wars I would win for them. I saw the planets that would fall. When my eyes opened again, I beheld the face of the colonial rebel and smiled. I felt his fear. I felt every treason, real or imagined. Every errant thought against the collective. I understood.
My smile widened, and heat washed over me. | "Don't touch any hands," I said in response when my teacher asked me what my book said. She looked at me with annoyance and went to grab my book before catching herself.
On my particular planet, everyone receives a small superpower at the age of 14. It can be absolutely anything- some people get great ones like flying, enhanced strength or even shapeshifting, but most people get something like the ability to grow strawberries absolutely everywhere, mimicking voices, changing their hair colour on command or something else relatively harmless. This fact of our world used to leave people pretty confused in the years after getting their power, but about a century ago a team-up of global scientists resulted in a machine capable of reading an individual's brain waves and deducing the extent of their powers. These results are then presented in a lengthy printout, so the teenagers in question were immediately and fully informed about their powers and its limitations. Most high schools nowadays possessed a machine like this as a standard part of their students' education. The one rule was that nobody was allowed to read anyone's book without direct consent. Therefore, my teacher leaned back in her chair instead of grabbing my book like she'd clearly wanted.
"I meant read the power description, Mila. Not just the first sentence you see," she sighed, clearly assuming me to be an idiot.
"I- miss Johnson, that's all it says," I stammered, trying to explain. There were no more sentences in the book, this was all it said.
"Oh come on," miss Johnson said in clear irritation, despite the rules reaching for the book in my hands. The moment her hands brushed mine, she jolted back with a loud groan. She started trembling as her eyes rolled back in her head and her brow was coated with a sheen of sweat.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed, slumping down in her seat and still breathing heavy. "That's- okay, Mila, don't touch any hands. We'll talk more about this later, I think I have to call your parents first."
With little more than that, I was sent out of the room and back to lunch. My best friend Jake immediately ran up to me and clasped my hands before I could say anything, apparently overexcited about me gaining my powers. He, too, exclaimed an "Oh my God," before catching himself on the wall next to me.
"Did you just- did you just make me come?" | 2022-05-08T10:48:37 | 2022-05-08T10:39:32 | 41 | 26 |
[WP] The apocalypse scenario of your choice has happened and you are the last person alive. Electricity and the internet are still running. As a last ditch effort you take to /r/askreddit, "Is there anybody else out there?" Weeks later, you receive a single upvote, but no reply...
I once read an article that said there is so much automation when it comes to our utilities that we would still have power and running water for months, even if every human just suddenly disappeared.
Also, the idea here is that the internet works, but hasn't been updated at all. | They're here. They're at my doors, my windows, they're everywhere, they're trying to get in, I have all the entrances boarded up, though they won't last long. Oh well, it's not like I have anything left. The only thing keeping me on this world is the human instinct to survive, I came close to just ending it but was always too weak to pull the trigger. I suppose I should tell you who I am. I'm an avid Redditor named Micheal, if I wasn't working or spending time with my wife and daughter, I was on Reddit. In fact I heard about the initial breakout of the infection on Reddit from a /r/worldnews post. After the infection started getting serious everything went to absolute shit, looting, government collapse and all that. Even after all of that though, I still browsed reddit even though nothing new came up any more. A couple bandits shot my family while we were looking for food in our mostly looted grocery store. Needles to say they paid for it. I spent the next few years on my own looking at old Reddit posts fairly certaint at this point that I was alone in this world. The infected started trekking across the world in hordes. I ran into one on a supply run, they followed me and here I am, huddled in the cornor of my bedroom with tears rolling down my face as i shakily type in /r/AskReddit "Please, is anyone else still alive?" I smashed the refresh button in my last few minutes. I heard the smashing of what sounded like my front door. I just kept on clicking, all i wanted was some hope that humanity might make it. I heard moaning and footsteps going up my stairs. Finally I saw it... The little orange 2 by my post. Someone else is out there. My door creaked open and I said "Screw it" and refreshed the page one last time. There was a single comment and it said, "I did nazi this post coming."
EDIT:#BadGrammar | "It was October 14th, 2014. Everyone disappeared and Croatoan engraved everywhere. I have no fucking clue what happened so naturally I went on reddit to see any news articles. Nothing appeared, not a God damn thing.
So I went on AskReddit and posted a text post, "Is there anybody else out there?" I didn't expect any initial response so I just left the computer.
After a couple of weeks of scavenging supplies, I came to the realization that I might be the only person left. Nothing new was posted on the front page as I expected. I don't know why, but I refreshed it and my link karma went up. No new inbox notification so I went on the post and commented, "Person who just upvoted, comment me where you are so we can try to figure this out!"
More weeks past and my link karma went up by the dozens. I go mad with insanity and took a look at the pistol I found near the police station and decided that I'm probably going to end it all. If you're reading this, then God damn, I wasn't the only one alive."
*Huh, what and interesting read here, eh?*
A man closed a rattled book and placed it near a decaying body. He went over the computer desk to scavenge any supplies. He noticed the web browser with a dozen tabs of reddit on. He could only find a list of e-mails and a bunch of passwords corresponding to the emails. | 2014-10-14T17:30:49 | 2014-10-14T13:31:51 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] For your 10th birthday you received vr goggles. You tried them, thought they were dumb and went on with your life. Its only now, decades later looking back, you dont actually remember ever removing them. | My life was over.
My wife left me.
My boss fired me (and then hired my ex as his 'personal' assistant.)
My kids only cared for what I'd get them for Christmas.
I had nothing left. This world sucked. Who would ever want to live in it?
I remembered a time long ago when I was happy. The game world. I'd be travelling the world. I'd be killing wolves in the forest. I'd be making potions in the apothecary. I'd be competing in combat.
So I removed the Veearr goggles, and looked up at my father.
"You were right father, a peaceful world is just a dream that no one realises the consequences of. I'm sorry I doubted you."
My father smiled at me. "Son, how about we go do some hunting? You're old enough to learn Ice Storm. It roots AND does damage to the mobs!"
I jumped up excited again. Who would ever want to live in a fantasy world without monsters?
&#x200B; | I was weak. After the car crash my life has been slipping away. I could barely stand anymore. Then it was my birthday. I had to celebrate it in the hospital. My parents got me a a VR headset as I was putting it on I suddenly felt very dizzy. I was loosing consciousness fast, that last thing I remembered was my dad putting on the headset on me. Quiet, everything was dark and quiet. Then I heard trees rustling and wheels rolling on gravel. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in a carriage then I heard a loud voice "Hey you, your finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right?"
God dang it Howard you done it again | 2018-12-23T06:41:21 | 2018-12-23T06:30:39 | 42 | 10 |
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