prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You're a supervillian. Your power? Making anybody and everybody nearby feel the same emotion you feel except 100x stronger. Mostly you've been using it to force people to donate absolutely all their life's savings into charities. Superheros aren't quite sure how to deal with you. | Here they were, looking around my apartment.
“This is your lair?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say it’s a lair. I don’t really go anywhere else.”
WingMan flutters around, taking books out of bookcases and looking behind the pictures on the walls.
“You won’t find anything,” I say. “It’s really just an apartment.”“Where are all your costumes? Your assistant?” Hercules says.
“I don’t…have any of that.”
“You are a most unusual villain.”
On the TV, the game is still going on. Even with all these beings that could snap my neck in the blink of an eye, I wonder if it should be turned off. Sure enough, PyroGirl shuts it off, singing the remote in the process.
“We’ve gone too far letting you operate, Heartbeat.”
“I didn’t pick that name, again. You did.”
“We understand what it’s like to believe you are doing right. But what you’re doing is wrong.”
“How?”
They look flustered, just for a moment. Hercules’ stern, set face melts, just for a moment, into one of slack confusion.
“Because…”“It’s wrong of you to assume what you feel is right is what others feel is right.”
“Like how you guys have made the police a laughing stock, and taken the law into your own hands?”
IceMan roars in anger, and throws a gnarly icicle through the wall behind me.
“That’s nothing like what we do! What we do is necessary!”
“That’s what they all say.”
“It’s wrong of you to force others to do what you want and sacrifice their livelihoods just for your cause!”
“Just like how all of you take young, bright kids with futures and force them to be your sidekicks, abandoning those futures for your causes?”
“That’s nothing like what we do! They want to join our cause.”"That also sounds like what they all say!”
Hercules loses it, and slams the wall, opening a hole into the world outside. He grabs me, and pulls me to the edge. I am ten floors above the street.
“This must end! You don’t get to…you don’t get to-“
“Help? That’s all I ever wanted to do!”
“We don’t need your help!”
I don’t know what to say. For some reason, this hurts the most. I remember reading the comics, seeing them in moments like this, when they couldn’t help, when nothing they did worked, and somehow they still found a reason to believe. In themselves, in what they do. I look inside, and I can't find it in all the panic and fear.
Suddenly, I feel myself pulled inside, and laid down gently on the carpet.
Hercules wipes a tear from his eyes. “He’s for real, guys. Just give me a moment. God, your power is strong.”
Applause. They all start clapping, and crowd me. I don’t know what’s going on.
“Welcome to the team, man!”
“I knew you would pass.”
They’re all smiling, and it’s hard not to feel a sense of pride, especially with the shock of surviving. But deep down, I realize I don’t know if I believe in what they believe anymore. Perhaps it is time for a new breed of hero, one who doesn’t do it for show…
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading! I don't think this is my best, but if you want to read more by me, I started a subreddit, [r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347), and I will be posting some stuff there! Thanks for reading. | The Salvation Army Santa Claus was busier than he had ever been. He waved his bell eagerly as a line of people waited to place personal checks, bankers notes, and piles of literal cash in his collection bucket. The line wound down the block, around the corner, and down a bit further even from that.
Heartstring watched the display from the shadows of an alley, grinning to himself as he projected impulses for charity and compassion into every person within range of his emotive aura. People were leaving their cars at red lights, or even in the middle of the street, to queue up and give of their wallets for the good of others. Heartstring pulled a metal cigarette case and a lighter from his jacket pocket. All natural, hand rolled. Better for the environent.
"Allen. You *know* they consider this to be theft. GRAND theft."
Heartstring, real name Allen Wakefield, chose not to look behind him as the woosh of air and a sense of mass levitated behind him. "The Man can eat me, Cap. I'm doing the right thing, and you know it."
Captain Solar shook his head sadly, looking over Heartstring's shoulder at the line of people. "Are you? Today these people are giving. Tomorrow, they'll have nothing. People who have nothing, start taking."
"Sounds like you'll have some thieves to arrest, then. You know, *actual* crimes." Heartstring puffed his cigarette casually.
"All you're doing is re-distributing. This isn't solving anything, it's just shuffling the inequality around." Captain Solar placed his hand on Heatstring's shoulder. "Stop this, Allen. Please don't make me arrest you again."
Heartstring glowered. But with his emotive aura on, his flicker of irritation magnified, and spread. All of the sudden, the crowd of people started to grow restless. Angry, yelling. They were beginning to become a flash mob...
Captain Solar threw his arms around Heartstring's torso, held him tightly with his arms pinned as he flew them both skyward, and pulling him out of range to affect the crowd. Captain Solar scowled and hissed through angry teeth, barely maintaining control of himself through the aura. "Look what you almost did, Allen! Jesus Christ."
The mob fizzled as quickly as it had started. With the emotive aura no longer affecting them, the crowd of people stood disoriented and confused. Some of them began staring at the money sitting in their hands, panicking, frantically shoving it into pockets. The Salvation Army Santa found himself surrounded by a rush of people grabbing at his bucket, demanding their money back.
"This is a mess, Allen. ANOTHER mess. You know what this means right?"
Heartstring nodded. "Solitary, most likely. A telepath babysitter to keep my powers neutralized. No other prisoners or staff within a hundred feet so I can't manipulate my way free."
Captain Solar nodded glumly. The pity he felt was his own true emotion, not induced by Heartstring. He knew how to tell the difference. "So why did you do it again Allen, knowing what awaited you if you pulled a repeat offense?"
"Someone has to try, Cap. Someone has to try to make people be better."
Captain Solar said nothing to that. A few spoken voice commands to his communicator and the woosh of air as he redirected his flight path toward Broadcreek Maximum Security Prison were the only sounds made. | 2018-12-17T13:55:04 | 2018-12-17T13:44:56 | 2,397 | 657 |
[WP] Your middle school librarian has never failed on a book request. As a prank, you request a copy of the Necronomicon. Ten minutes later, the librarian returns, slightly scorched, ancient book in hand, saying, "Due back in 3 weeks." | I heard a rabid dog attacked him as a kid. That's why the left side of his face is so messed up." Mark flinched as his friend nudged him. "Look, I think you can see his brain leaking out!"
"You're an idiot, Tom. Everyone knows his family died in a car accident, which is why he acts so weird."
Harold glanced over at the whispers and plodded over, a wide-toothed grin plastered across his face. "Hullo, kids!" he blurted out at a volume entirely too loud for a library, though so usual it was that few patrons paid any mind.
"Hey Harold," Mark replied, forcing a smile. "Thanks again for finding that book on killer wasps last week. I don't know how you did it - the catalogs all said it was discontinued." Harold blushed slightly, beaming with pride. "Yessuh, that's why Mister Mockin gave me this job. He says I got a gift."
"Yeah, you're certainly blessed," snickered Tom, earning a sharp glance from his friend, though Harold only grinned and nodded. "Hey, I was hoping you could help me find a book for um, my Ancient Studies course. It's really important, and I haven't had any luck."
"Why, of course, Tommy Boy!" Harold exclaimed. "You just tell ol' Harold what you need, and I'll be on it like ants in a honey pot!"
"It's called *The Necronomicon*, and I just can't find it anywhere!" Mark jabbed his friend in the ribs. "Harold, don't listen to him, he's just..."
"Oh, I never say no to a friend, and you pumpkins are some of my best friends!" Harold shouted, wrapping his arms around the boys. "Now, you just wait right here, and let ol' Harold help you out." He was up and charging off before either could stop him.
"You're a dick, Tom. He's going to be chasing his tail for the rest of the day, and then feel horrible when he can't find your stupid book." Tom was laughing in earnest now, kicking his feet up and crossing his fingers smugly. "Don't be such a wet sock, Mark. It's funny. Besides, who knows, maybe he *will* find something."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Come on, man, it's getting late. You can finish that stupid paper tomorrow."
"I'm staying, Tom. I don't feel right about you did to Harold. It's been over two hours, and I haven't seen him anywhere."
"You're such a puss, Mark. I'm going to peace out then and...oh, look over there, your retarded boyfriend is back!"
Harold stood motionless, not twenty feet from where the boys sat. His eyes glowed with a soft, red hue and his posture was rigid as a board. After a moment, he began walking toward them, his movements cold and stiff. As he came closer, they noticed Harold's face was covered in soot, his hair had been largely singed off, and the right side of his face bore several deep scars.
"I have found the publication you requested," he intoned in a deep, mechanical voice, presenting a large, sealed tome. Skulls and bones seemed to dance on the face of it, sliding their movements along with the cover's deep brown grooves. "Are you...are you okay, Harold?" Mark asked, his voice wavering.
"I have seen many things," Harold replied. "Some of these things have made requests of me, and as you know, I never say no to a friend." Harold's face began to crack and a huge, contorted grin spread across it as he opened the tome to reveal a swirling black abyss within. "I have...such things to show you, boys." | I stepped into the Walden Library. It was a strange Building. Only four stories high, plus a basement, but it seemed to tower over you. The architect had wanted to make a building in a strange shape with no right angles so as to help the occupants not feel "Boxed in" but in reality this just made the inside of the building hard to understand, walls were impossible to find, the library didn't use the Dewey decimal system but the Congregational system so you couldn't find a book just by the authors name, if you went to the top floor you would almost certainly get lost, the fire escape signs were of no help whatsoever as they essentially said "Run in every direction", on the third floor it felt as though you were being watched, the homeless stayed away from it, and there was an odd tile ring on the basement floor.
Everyone in town joked that something satanic was going on or had gone on there, me and my friends especially. The four of us walked into the library laughing and whispering to each other, and briefly had some difficulty navigating the security gate. I walked up, drew my library card out of my wallet and stepped up to the librarian at the desk. She was a relatively young woman with the traditional school teacher glasses with a string of beads around her neck and a bright pink shirt on.
"Hello ma'am. I'm looking for a book."
She sighed in irritation. "What book? I can look it up for you."
"I believe its called...." I put on a shit eating grin and paused for dramatic effect. "The Necronomicon." my friends burst out laughing.
Her eyes narrowed. "Well that's..."
She was interrupted by one of her bosses who asked her into the back. She disappeared. The four of us started laughing, making fun of this place, making fun of the librarian by claiming she was a lesbian and such, and in general joking around.
She returned a minute later, swiped my card before i had a chance to say anything and slammed a burnt book on the desk. We all fell silent. "Due back in three weeks. Your card is expired but in this case I made an exception." She said with a grin.
I paused for a minute. "That's not... real, is it?"
"Take it and find out."
"I don't want it. I'm returning it."
"Oh I'm afraid its far too late for that." She said with a giggle.
I slowly reached for it. "Dude, lets just go. Leave it here."
"Nah." I said suddenly loud. "I'm sure it's not real." I picked the book up and flipped it open. the pages seemed strangely leathery, and the ink was a strange dark brown.
I opened my mouth and said "SARNITSH IVROQU..." before I was interrupted.
"Don't read that here you idiot." She snapped as the lights fluttered.
The four of us stepped out of the library. All those years ago. Even with those few words we awoke terrible forces. Those of us who did not kill ourselves, as I am about to, were driven insane by that...thing. The things that haunt us. Scratch at the walls and slink about in the darkness. Those horrible things.
They are here. I can hear them. They are coming.
Coming for me.
(Okay so I missed the middle school thing until just now. But here you go.) | 2016-09-08T21:22:39 | 2016-09-08T20:41:53 | 721 | 149 |
[WP] People earn karma points while alive. When they die, they can spend them either to enter a better afterlife, or to improve the life of some random stranger born on the day of their death. You donate all your points, and wake up the next day as the baby who would have gotten your points.
The living have no idea of the Karma-point system. You are reincarnated with all your memories and experiences. | "Ah, mister Devery," greeted the glowing woman in white. She held a clipboard that shifted and blurred together with the radiance of her hands.
Her newly conjured guest flashed a smile that quickly dropped to incredulity. He turned slowly in a circle and nothing he saw quite registered until his gaze fell back on the luminous woman. "Hi."
"You've led a good and full life mister Devery-"
"I'm sorry -thank you- I'm sorry but I just have *so many questions*."
"I know. It's not the best system we have. I do apologize, but we do have a whole lot of people waiting."
"Please, continue."
"You've earned yourself a quite admirable total of one hundred and twenty two points. You can use these points to better your afterlife experience, or, you can simply donate them to a randomly selected newborn."
Mister Devery laughed. "Who would have thought? And here they were teaching me about the 'holy trinity'."
The woman smiled.
"Of course I'll donate."
"Of course you will." She winked and then placed a commending hand on his shoulder.
Mister Devery vanished.
-----------------
Priscilla appeared before the glowing woman with the clipboard and instantly assumed a look of shock, and then utter indignation.
"What the hell?" Priscilla asked. "Am I seriously freaking dead?"
"You are," assured the woman.
"That is sooo much bullshit..."
"I admit the system could have been designed better."
"Um, yeah."
"Priscilla, you've led a fairly short life, but a full and well provisioned one. As for points there was a significant change from your last score of one twenty two. This time around you totaled a resounding negative forty five."
"What? Bullshit. You're making that up."
"You can either accept the repercussions of this score on your own afterlife experience, or you can pass it on to some poor unsuspecting newborn."
"Ugh. Let some other asshole deal with that."
"Of course." The woman placed a firm hand on Priscilla's shoulder and she vanished.
----------------
"You've led a difficult life, misses Hanford, and a very long one considering."
"Wh-what's that now? What's that you say young lady?"
"Despite the obstacles, you've managed to accrue a very admirable two hundred and ten points. Congratulations, misses Hanford."
"Why, why, thank you dear."
"You can either accept these points yourself and apply them to your afterlife experience, or donate them to a newborn baby for its future."
"Oh no. No no no. That's no good. A youngen's got to learn for themselves. That's how I did it. No fancy little hand-outs, no dear. I'll take my points young lady."
"Very well." The woman ushered miss Hanford to the door of heaven.
Miss Hanford shuffled through. "Thank you, sweetie."
The woman with the clipboard sighed as she looked on into the paradise, full of elderly folk, shuffling along and enjoying their afterlife their own leisurely pace.
The woman shook her head. "Terrible, terrible system." | The world slowly faded to black as I drew my last breaths. Hey, I lived a good life.
But there was no gates guarded by an angel. No booming voice of God. I didn't see Buddha's paths or any of the Hindu gods. Hell, I'd kill for a pile of spaghetti to take me in his noodly embrace, but nothing was here!
All I got was... black. The kind of black you see during the credits of a movie. A pile of text ascended from the bottom of my vision up to eye level.
"Alexandra Oliver Weston, welcome to the Afterlife Redistribution of Karma System (ARKS)! Let's review your life decisions and see how you did, shall we?"
The scrolling credits kept going, but instead of showing who was in my life, showed me every action I was a part of and how many points it added or cost me.
* Age 3, broken wrist: -10 points.
* Age 4, broke wrist again: -15 points (lessened since not your fault.)
* Age 4, entered elementary school early: +30 points
* Ages 7, 12, and 13, attempted spelling bee: +5 points each (total: +15 points)
* Ages 9-15, did very well on district mandatory testing: +20 for meeting expectations, +10 bonus for exceeding (total: +260 points)
* Ages 11-13, bullying incidents: -5 points per year (total: -15 points)
* Age 17, graduated high school in top 20% of your class: +150 points
It kept going on like that for what felt like a good hour. Everything added up- even small things like giving a friend 5 bucks impacted it a bit.
Finally, the last action scrolled away and the cherry text scrolled back into view:
"Final Karma score: 148. Not bad on your run!"
"Now, you have a choice. You can spend your points to enter the afterlife, or you can donate them all to a child just being born and give them a boost. Please state your answer after the beep." Then came that oddly familiar **Beep!** of a recording device wanting your voicemail.
"Give them all away." I blurted out almost immediately. I don't know how these points work, but I'd rest better in the dirt knowing some kid got a break from them.
The text redistributed itself to change the message: "Decision made. Thank you for your contribution to ARKS!" That was the last thing I saw before it faded into black.
(May give this a part 2 once I get back to my laptop.)
| 2017-04-08T09:36:16 | 2017-04-08T08:53:41 | 80 | 40 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | How could someone so young be so articulate? The girl was eight years old. She sat by the torch, idly flicking her fingers through the inky black flame.
"You shouldn't be here," I said. "It's not right that someone so young would be sent here instead of heaven."
She looked at me. "I already went to heaven," she said. "It was boring."
Shocked, I exchanged a look with Mammon, and looked back to the girl.
"Boring?" I asked. I only vaguely remembered heaven, in the millennia since I'd been cast down. I remembered peace, and love, not boredom.
"Have you read Narnia?" the girl asked me, sharply. "The one where it's always winter but never Christmas?"
I knew the reference, so I nodded.
"Heaven is always church, but never going out to eat afterwards. It's just church that lasts forever. It's boring, so I left," she said, and resumed playing with the dark torch.
Mammon leaned forward, in his greedy way. "But all that gold," he said. "Even on the streets."
"So?" she asked. "It's not like you can spend it on anything. The angels wouldn't even let me make a tiara. They said it was vain."
"What do you want?" I asked her.
"Can you bring me back to life?" she asked me.
"No," I replied.
"Then I guess I'm staying here."
This child was too insightful to be tortured for eternity. One look at Mammon and I knew he agreed what had to be done.
I cleared my throat.
"Jenny... would you like a job?" | "Peter, errr, I think you sent down the wrong file. Why? Do you seriously not know? Well, I have a seriously traumatized 10 year old girl sitting across from me right now and I want to know what in the name of all that is unholy happened in the sorting system. What do you mean 'the system is perfect'? Is she really supposed to be here? ...No, 'designed by his holiness' is not necessarily a perfect description. This is the fourth one this week. ...How did she die? Drunk driver, and He already knows how many of them we have down here. ... Awww, she is a peach; made Beelzebub scream with one touch, that's how pure she was. Now can you please check the spreadsheet?... You just hit 'ctrl+f' Peter, not too difficult.... Ah, now there is your problem right there; change the value of drunk driving caused death in the sum to 100 instead of -100.... Because I said so and this little girl needs to go where she needs to go. Do we have that cleared up?... Yup, now she is gone. Okay, see you later. Tell Jesus that my son said hello and that they should get together sometime.... Alright. Goodbye." | 2013-11-27T06:13:25 | 2013-11-26T19:52:58 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] "Enough is enough!" Earth's PvP setting is set to "off" in the midst of a great war.
for those of you who don't understand the MMO lingo
"[WP] People are suddenly unable to kill each other in the midst of a great war." | And suddenly it were as if my dagger were made of paper. The blade flopped and crumpled as it pressed against the man's chest. He looked more than a little offended.
While I gawked at my limp dagger, the man drew back his broadsword and - cursing loudly in a delightfully consonant-heavy language - slashed down across my neck.
It didn't quite work out for him either.
The tables so turned, I considered my options. I've never been a strong proponent of fistwork, as it were, but my God-given resources seemed to be the only tools left on the table. So, as my barbarous opponent considered the betrayal of his steel, I reared back, pulled my hand into what seemed the proper position, and swung.
The blow, though well aimed and (I believe) adequately powered, did not accomplish quite what I had hoped. The barbarian reacted as though it were a mockery, which did little for my self-regard. His overhand chop, however, managed to accomplish just as little.
That surprised him, as I presume he was a bit more familiar with the bodily arts of violence. In that moment of mutual shock we both stood, regarding each other and the failure of our intentions.
"Well, that's a pit," I mumbled. The barbarian grunted, then took a second swing, just to be sure. When that failed to cause even the smallest hair on my head to twitch we were both forced to accept our strange circumstances.
"Don't suppose you know what we do now?" I asked. The barbarian scratched his nose and looked away, perhaps feeling just as awkward as I was.
"Guess we should..." I made a motion with my hands symbolizing that we should go our own ways and take care to live good lives now that we'd been given this unexpected second chance. I don't know how much of that meaning was captured by the barbarian, but he turned and walked away, so at least the gist was there.
As for me, well, I returned home and took up dentistry, which, of course, I hate.
_______________________________________________________________________
*And then there was [my sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/winsomeman/), in case your feed wasn't crowded enough as it was. Cheers!* | I could have sworn it was an earthquake, but Kansas doesn't get earthquakes. It most definitely wasn't a tornado; the roof over my head could attest to that.
My mind gravitated to thievery.
"Crap, Amy, we being robbed?"
"No, but you better grab the pistol just to be safe."
I leaped up the stairs, hunting for the hunter's third arm, but nothing was there. I swept through the whole floor, but all I could find were cobwebs and house cats (don't ask, I get lonely sometimes). My head swelled, seething with self-regret. I was gonna die, Amy was gonna die, and my world was gonna come to a dull end just because I couldn't find my gun.
Thankfully, Amy, my guardian angel, slipped me the worried look, our go-to sign from our bar club nights and market days that we should get the heck out of here. As I jumped through the kitchen window, an urge grabbed me.
I really hated that tree over there. Evidently, Amy did too. That thing had to go.
I don't know what brings a man to hate nature, but this was it. We took out our saws and moved them down like zombies- every sapling above my head had to fall.
That night, it seemed that the world was joining Topeka, Kansas. Brazil had just lost 10% of its forests practically overnight. Precious metal mines were popping up like zits, and, surprisingly, nobody was talking about the war. Some theologian called the beginning of the PvE era, People versus Earth or something.
Doesn't matter to me. So long as I have Amy and my farm, my world is safe.
| 2016-08-30T18:52:43 | 2016-08-30T18:38:40 | 115 | 29 |
[WP] You're a villain who's always wanted to be a hero, but whenever you try and do something heroic the media always spins it in a way like you've committed an atrocity.
fuckin hell, I came back after a day in the city and this is what I find?
_Awesome!_ | *Crack!*
The can was crushed with an angry stomp. Why? It wasn't fair that he kept getting shafted by the media. That his good deeds for the sake of the people were twisted into heinous crimes with words alone.
He caused the death of hundreds? That was just complete bullshit! What about his side of the story? That he defeated the monster rampaging through the city with his most powerful attack? So what if those buildings were in the way and the monster was blasted into them?
"Those stupid civilians should have left the scene anyway! They knew there was a monster around, so why stay? Why blame me for causing excessive property damage, and labelling me a destructive villain?!" He rages to no one in particular. He punches the nearest wall with fury, only for his fist to bounce off.
"I am a hero, damn it! Why can't you all see it!? Let me out of here! Or..! Or else...!"
He seethed with anger. It wasn't fair. How was he being a villain? He stopped the monster! He should be getting showered with praise, loved by all! Instead, they treated him like the monster itself. Fearful of him, and shunned by all.
He was supposed to be a hero. A hero isn't supposed to be locked up.
An idea comes to mind. That's it. The villains must be the media! They were the ones turning the news against him, broadcasting all those so called atrocities! It was for the greater good, they weren't atrocities!
Calming down, he sits in a corner of his reinforced cell, plotting his escape, with grand plans to destroy the evil network that cast a web of lies over society. Surely, he would be recognized as a hero after that. They would see the truth. | "Finally"
He spoke to himself as he flew through the air, his armor glinting in the fire light. "There is no way they can make rescuing children from a burning building look bad."
Flying the last of the orphans to safety he stopped for a moment to turn and stare at the fire, a blaze that started seemingly out of nowhere. Lost in thought for just a moment before hearing a Click followed by the flash of a camera.
Smiling under his mask the Steel Centurion placed the last child on the nearby roof and flew back home.
After getting home, Adam lay back on his couch and flipped on the T.V., "Let's see what they have to say about me." Turning on the news he saw the picture of himself, frowning a little as he realized how ominous his suit looked in the firelight. "Maybe next i should work on my image, i mean at least this time they'll get the story right."
The news switches back to their anchorman and Adam turns up the volume. "... say that the Steel Centurion was seen throwing orphans into a burning building, we have this photo of him holding a poor child and flying towards the fire. no word on the cause of the fire yet but we here at Action News have no doubt this villain must have started it himself."
------
My first time writing something, be gentle? | 2017-08-06T04:27:19 | 2017-08-06T01:16:42 | 135 | 58 |
[WP] In the year 2020, death disappeared from the world. No one could find death. No one could die. It is now year 2070 when getting children is considered illegal. You are a child born in secrecy. At the age of 8, you accidentally kill your pet. Now requests are pouring for you to kill people | Six thousand four hundred and eighty two.
I wonder how many people can say they’ve killed six thousand four hundred and eighty two people before their 18th birthday. Six thousand four hundred and eighty two. Probably no one at this point. Maybe some poor bastard who was already senile before the Waking.
If that’s the case I probably killed the old fuck a long time ago.
Six thousand four hundred and eighty two. Maybe this year it’ll stop. Ten years with the Gift is long enough. Maybe God will take it back. Give it to some other 8 year old with a clean conscience. And then they can go around killing six thousand four hundred and eighty two people, then they can watch the light behind their eyes fade away, their souls slipping into fucking oblivion.
A nice dream at least. God damn I wish I could fucking sleep. I don’t know how long it’s been since the last time I did. At least a couple hundred.
You’d think they could at least leave me alone on my fucking birthday. But no, no can do. Babies to be born and blood to be spilled just to make a little fucking room for them. Little bastards. Why the fuck would you want to bring a life into this fucking hell knowing that it’s gonna be me who has the fucking send it back. Another tally for the fucking Life Maker.
Life Maker. Fuck. What a joke. As if me putting a knife through your throat makes you alive. Back before the Waking, that’s what they called death! It wasn’t till “alive” became a permanent fucking description that they had to switch them around.
The sun is starting to come up. Before too long they start to queue. Then it begins again. Or ends I guess, depending on how you look at it.
Maybe I’ll get a new knife for my birthday. Hopefully shaper than the last one. Had to practically saw through the last 6. Fuck I won’t be able to forget six thousand four hundred and seventy eights screams for at least another 500.
I hope I get a new knife.
I wonder who six thousand four hundred and eighty three will be. I wonder if I’ll know them. Maybe six thousand four hundred and eighty three will be the one I lose count on.
Maybe.
But probably not. | “Please kill this man,” said the man in the black suit holding the photo up. “I know you can.”
“But, I’m just a kid. The only time I’ve killed happened seven years ago,” I told him.
His emotionless face remained the same. He took out a some dollar bills. I picked up the money and examined it from every angle. They looked real and felt real. No doubt about it: these were legitimate dollar bills from the year 2020. These things were worth a fortune since they from before the war that occurred in Washington, D. C.
I slid the money back across the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I said.
Mr. Gold’s was face no longer blank. It was filled with frustration. I saw something blue glowing on his neck. It must’ve been a sage implant to keep his emotions in check. Clearly it must have broken because of the frustration he was having.
“What would it take then?” he screamed.
“Take it easy, man,” I told him. “The reason I don’t kill is because I don’t want people to experience what I had when I killed Xander that dog: the loss of somebody you loved. Plus it was an accident.”
And with that, he stormed out of the room.
“Keep the cash, maybe you’ll change your mind next time,” he said.
Mr. Gold wasn’t the first person to ask me to kill someone. I’ve gotten hundreds of requests on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Reddit, and the list goes on. I can’t go on one website website someone asking, “Hey can you kill so and so?” My answer is always, “No, I can’t.”
People expect me to be some kind of god of death or something, but, really, I’m not. If you ever met me, please don’t ask me to kill someone. It’s hard enough already.
| 2018-10-18T12:33:13 | 2018-10-18T11:53:24 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] Write an AITA entry for your last antagonist, recounting the story from their side. (Or protagonist, if they had a suitable dilemma) | **AITA for doing God’s work?**
By the light, I feel so stupid posting this, here goes nothing.
So I (F53) am the high priestess of the Holy Church of Light, our scripture dictates that all other races were created to serve Humanity. Because of this, our Holy Kingdom uses magic to bend their will to our own. Those who appose us call it “slavery”, however we are simply claiming our birthright.
Anyway, around a year ago, Dimitri (M18), randomly appeared in our realm. He has magic but never Took the Vows, a ceremony in which a human is blessed by our Goddess Amalia, and thereby gains the ability to preform feats of magic. His magic is like none anyone has ever seen, and he apparently has the power to undo the magic that binds the other races in their place.
I was certain that he was simply an anomaly to be erased and forgotten, so I sent my Holy Knights after him, but now he’s staging a rebellion. He’s described our holy rule as a “theocratic dictatorship”, and has vowed to overthrow us.
**AITA for following our scriptures’ teachings, and WIBTA if I crushed his rebellion and put his men to the sword?** | AITA for almost killing my son?
We hadn't talked since I abandoned him in the woods when he was five. He's tried to contact me a few times but I've always brushed him off. Well, ten years after I dumped him in the woods, he calls me and says we can either talk now, or we can talk at his dad's destroyed grave. I immediately teleported over there to learn what his problem was. The people who worked for me were getting a bit difficult since I wasn't there to rule them. He asked me to go back and I told him no. He then THREATENED me, and I warned him to not talk to me like that. I left immediately afterwards, telling him to not talk to me again, or he wouldn't be alive to threaten me.
AITA? | 2022-10-16T20:01:28 | 2022-10-16T19:48:42 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Humans can find a way to weaponize literally anything, without fail. Some aliens are terrified by humans as a result of this fact. Others appreciate that this quality makes humans the foremost experts on safety systems and idiot proofing. | "Gbirri, come 'ere, lookit, lookit this." Doug gestured towards the pipe lining the top corner of the hallway. "You lookin' at this , you overgrown chicken?"
The Jdarri kept its long scaled face looking straight at Doug, then let out a few yelps and squawks. Moments later the translator in his ear switched it to Human Type A. "I'm always looking at you, Doug. I've got 270 degrees of vision for Pete's sake. What I don't see is what you're getting worked up about with the pipe."
The security consultant reached up to twist a chunk of the metal till it came off in his hand. "This filter, right here. Most of the pipe is single sheet of metal or molecularly fused, but this bit's separate so it can be replaced. You know what's important about this section of the ship? Also, how the hell you know who Pete is? Or was this the translator makin' a guess with somethin' you said."
Gbirri surveyed the hallway back and forth. "Translator making a guess. I actually said the name of one of our Gods, but there's not a clean translation into Human. This hallway goes from the entrance desk to the cafeteria, with the presentation rooms alongside it. Did some of the presenters complain about the air quality?"
"No, no complaints. I do security, not customer relations. But if this goes from the entrance to the cafeteria, that means this area is 'cessible by civilians, right? And why would it be bad that civilians can access the filter of the air circulation system, which is necessary for *every single thing here to breathe*?"
Gbirri rolled his shoulders back over and over, the sign of a Jdarri working on a problem. At least the Jdarri Doug had met, he wasn't sure if the ones from other areas had different mannerisms. "They could remove the filter, and the air would become toxic?"
That earned the lizard man a pat on the back and a sarcastic congratulations in Doug's best Australian accent. "Clever girl. Although that's a bit slow, and the sensors would pick up the increased carbon dioxide. Imagine that you put iron filings in here though, or anthrax? Maybe a small bomb that you could detonate once it makes its way to the oxygen tanks, wiping out air for the entire place long after it left port?"
There were a few near roars at that, along with gnashing of teeth. "I see what you're saying, prick. I'll get a crew to put a sleeve around this whole thing with a locked maintenance hatch. You humans really are a nasty bunch. I get why the dinosaurs you always compare me to tried to eat you."
Doug laughed and put the filter back. "They really need to update these translators. I don't know much Jdarri type B, but I know enough to tell you didn't call me a prick." Doug gave a couple of taps to the side of his friend's head. "And they only ate us in the movies pal. Only in the movies." | "Sssssshh, just watch ... " Shplorg said. Tanmghz was visibly annoyed. The deadline for this project was only 2 centuries off and they were running out of time. Tanmghz had a point, this seed planet had been going for 10 millennia and has already shown to be one of the more vicious ones. But... protocol is protocol. Biztools Galactic Inc. prides itself on having every product marked "human proof". And that includes this mini paperweight.
"Look, it's safe. It's a paperweight, damnit. This is not like the time we were testing that black decorative sparkle powder. It's a PAPERWEIGHT!" Tanmghz pleaded. "I agree, but you can't underestimate humans. Remember when we were testing that Thungsten version?". Tanmghz flinched. "Oof ... those were some highly penetrative arrows indeed. Who would've thought?". Shplorg has gone through a few cycles already, and he knew more than anyone how vicious humans could be. He was right there when the seed planet in sector H45FT blew up an entire galaxy after only 30 millennia after a disagreement with that other species. Poor fellas. He never would've guessed quantum entanglement could do something like that.
Tanmghz still wasn't convinced, though. "OK, look. But this material is much softer, unhealthy for them to use, we only just made it available to them and we're running out of t..." A bright flash interrupted Tanmghz.
"Sigh." Shplorg was disappointed. He had hoped that this was the one thing they couldn't use as a weapon. He was wrong. A paperweight ... ugh.
Tanmghz was visibly confused. "Where did Hiroshima go?"
Nothing was left. They knew there was some disagreement between a few factions, but this was unexpected. Just recently they were only just using the black powder thing.
"Welcome to human testing, kid." Shplorg said in a defeated tone. "I really thought this was the one".
Tanmghz suddenly got it. "Oh, so that's why we haven't brought out any new products lately?" Shplorg nodded. "Yep, every frikkin time. But the marketing works wonders for our old products, so the top brass insists we keep upholding such a high standard."
"Oh ... So Uranium is out?" Tanmghz asked. "Yep. So what's next on the list?".
Tanmghz had to look. He really hadn't prepared for this. "Oh, this one's for the kids... Lawn Darts" | 2021-12-25T14:12:05 | 2021-12-25T12:13:31 | 1,244 | 537 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T15:18:49 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Your father is forcing you to marry someone you have never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Half way down you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over. | As she reached the ground, she ran over to the young man who was almost to the ground. Her face showed surprise as she realized it was Matthew, the young man she was supposed to marry tomorrow. The surprise quickly turned into anger.
"Excuse me! What do you think you are doing?"
Sophie's voice was not something he was prepared to hear, and his hands made that apparent as they decided to let go of the rope so he could meet the ground sooner than he was expecting.
"What the hell?" Matthew stood up, rubbing his backside, almost as if consoling it. "You couldn't have waited two more seconds for me to get down before making me fall?"
"You didn't answer me," Sophie questioned, trying not to make too much noise as they were both right outside their parents' rooms. "What are you doing?"
"I'm running away. Isn't that pretty obvious? Now look out, I need to get out of here."
Sophie got even angrier. "Why would you run away? You are supposed to be marrying me tomorrow!"
Matthew looked at her in shock. "*You're* Sophie? You're the girl I'm supposed to marry tomorrow?"
Sophie had forgotten that the groom is not allowed to see his bride before marriage, at least once the proposal has been accepted by both fathers. "Well yes, I am Sophie, but you still haven't answered my question. Why are you running from our marriage?"
"Well, I don't really want to get married, that's all."
"WHAT?!" Matthew reached over and covered her mouth. Sophie slapped his hands away as he shushed her.
"Stop being loud! You'll wake our parents."
"How dare you?" she snarled as loud as she could while still maintaining sneakiness. "How could you not want to marry me?"
Matthew's face turned a little red. She was quite pretty, but another thought crept into his head. "Wait... why are you out here?" He looked back towards the other rooms and saw another handmade rope of sheets hanging from another window. "You're running away... from our wedding? You're doing the same thing I am!"
Sophie was caught a little off guard, realizing now that they were doing the same thing. "Well, I also don't want to get married."
"So why the hell are you getting mad at me for doing the same thing?"
Sophie thought for a moment. "You should be happy that you were supposed to marry someone like me." She smiled, thinking he would now feel guilty.
"I should be happy to marry you? I DON'T EVEN KNO-," this time it was Sophie's hand that covered Matthew's mouth.
"Be quiet!" She removed his hand.
"Sorry. But I don't even know you and how am I supposed to know that you're pretty and that I might want to marry you?"
Sophie blushed. "You think I'm pretty?"
Matthew began examining the ground rather intently. "Uh, well yea, I guess. You are pretty, um, pretty."
Sophie began to calm a little more. Maybe Matthew wouldn't be the worst husband to have.
"But that doesn't mean I want to marry you." Matthew looked up and saw Sophie beginning to get a little upset. "Sorry, I don't mean to be mean, but just being pretty doesn't mean I love you."
Sophie still was upset even though is apology made a lot of sense. "So, what do we do know then?"
"Even though we don't want to get married to each other, or at all right now, that doesn't mean we can't help each other out."
Sophie looked up, "What do you mean?"
"Well, we're both running away, why don't we run away together. It'll be a lot easier if we help each other out along the way."
Sophie smiled. Maybe it would have been okay to not try and run away. Maybe this marriage would have worked. "Yea, that does sound like a good idea. Do you know where we should go?"
Matthew looked around. As he tried to figure out which way to go, his mind kept returning to Sophie. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to stick with the marriage, although she does seem a little hot headed. "Let's try that way. We can always come back if we have to."
"Lead the way." | It wasn't that Muse didn't want to get married. That would be alarmingly defeatist of her, to perpetually put off marriage. Marriage was a solid arrangement in which two mutually independent families could find themselves tied together in something other than business deals and food shipping.
The house of wolves had need of both of those things, though, which was probably the point of the marriage.
It was more than she didn't want to do it right /now/. She was 16, and she was learning the ways of the sword, and like hell she was going to get that ruined for her by the brat she'd seen toddling behind the Lord Apsel, who looked like he had seen the wrong side of a horse's hoof a few too many times, or perhaps had spooked an ostrich.
And more importantly than that, it wasn't like there weren't plenty of her brothers to marry off. There was Logan, who had a handsome face, if you liked guys (Muse was beginning to suspect that she didn't but that was fine, there were other kinds of marriages available, or so she told herself), and then there was her older brother and
Right, she couldn't honestly expect her father to marry off his heir for just anyone, could she.
Which was what brought her halfway down from the second floor of her family's tired keep.
To her shock and sudden horror, she realized that across the keep from her, someone else was doing the same thing, with nothing else but her dead mother's sheets from stopping his descent. His face looked remarkably like someone had broken his nose once or twice, and someone had failed to reset it properly, which was more understandable.
She could feel the slightly warm flicker of magic in the other boy that marked him as a noble, or a hero of some note, and given that he looked less like a man and more like an idiot hanging from bed sheets, she supposed he was a noble.
He broke off eye contact first, his eyes wide, and slid down to the ground, letting out an oomph when he hit the ground.
Muse followed down after a bit slower, her eyes narrowing.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She snarled at him as he walked over to her.
"Wrong with me?!" the boy cried out. "You're the one running away from home."
"No, see, I'm the one that's allowed to show my displeasure. You decided to take my mother's silk sheets and ditch because you couldn't stand the thought of me!"
The boy's face turned a bit pale as Muse balled her fingers back into fists. "Now uh, wait a minute, I think we're going about this wrong."
"How so," Muse asked, feeling rather unreasonable today. "I mean, if you think about it, this is all your fault."
"My fault?" The boy hissed.
"Yes," Muse agreed.
Muse was trained in the sword and had two older brothers. It wasn't unfair to say that she was also trained in the art of breaking noises.
He fell to the ground in a wailing heap, and Muse felt the pain magic her mother had bestowed upon her at birth flickering at her senses, telling her that she'd fucked up.
Muse stared down at him, then back at the castle, scowled, then grabbed his nose, wrenching it back into place as best she could, before slapping him aside the face and stalking back into the castle.
And somehow, Muse ended up single at the end of the day, and her father was far more amused about it than unhappy.
And that was how Muse remained single.
-----
Wrote a bit of a one off from a novel character. To see more stuff like this, go to https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ and like nag me and sub and comment and stuff if you want more. | 2018-03-24T19:23:57 | 2018-03-24T17:03:10 | 59 | 19 |
[WP] Having failed in every attempt to kill Batman, the villains of Gotham had given up. With nothing to do, they started a D & D group and had been meeting for several weeks in the back room of a local Tavern. Things take a turn when the owner, Mr. Bruce Wayne, asks if he may join their game | "Are you sure?" Bane asks Bruce in a thick accent, "this is **high stakes** D&D - you know that, right?"
"That's why I'm here," Bruce replies as he edges past the monstrous man and pulls up a seat at the table.
A host of familiar faces eye him suspiciously. A tall, cloaked figure is sat as still as death at the end of the table.
"Bruce Wayne," Bruce says, "pleased to meet you all."
Nods and grunts respond to him. "Yes, we all know who you are," hisses the penguin. "Let's get on with it - we needed a new player for the Batman anyway."
"Oh? What happened to the previous player?" Bruce asks.
A manic laugh. "He met a *grave* fate." More laughter. Bruce rolls his eyes.
"Psst," he whispers, nudging Poison Ivy with an elbow, "what's that guys story?" He nods towards the man in the cloak, whose face is totally obscured by shadows.
"Him? That's the dungeon master," Ivy responds.
"Oh. Hi there, dungeon master," Bruce says waving to him.
The man slowly pulls back his hood.
"Oh, deary me. Good evening, master Bruce," says Alfred.
"I don't believe it!" Bruce cries. "What are *you* doing here?"
"Well," Alfred says, tugging at the collar of his long cloak, "I haven't had a lot to do since... erm, since things got a bit *quiet*, back home. Plus, I dearly love dungeons and dragons."
"Unbelievable," mutters Bruce. "Whatever, let's go."
Alfred clears this throat and begins.
"You find yourselves in a large, well lit warehouse. You are surrounded by bags of cocaine. The only thing standing in the way of getting the bags out of the warehouse and onto the streets - and becoming exceptionally wealthy from doing so - is the dark figure that just entered through a back door. Mr Riddler, your go."
"I sneak up behind Batman, and ask him a..."
"Oh my God," cuts in Poision Ivy, "if you ask another riddle, I swear, I'm going to kill you."
"No! No. I- I was just going to ask him for... the time," says Riddler, suddenly flushed and sweating.
"The time?" she replies
"Yes. The time. Is that an issue?"
"You're an idiot."
Riddler clenches his teeth and stands up. "Here's a riddle for you, Ivy. What rhymes with snitch and always ruins D&D?"
"A witch?"
"A bitch! I meant a bitch. It was you!" he screams as he leaves the basement. Soon after, they hear the front door slam.
"I don't know how Batman ever solves his riddles. They're terrible," says Ivy, as she reaches into the bag of Cheetos.
"Now that that unpleasantness is over," says Alfred, "I believe we can continue. "Master Bruce, the villains are closing in on you. What would you like to do?"
"I fire my grappling hook into the rafters and break all the lights."
"Can he do that?" asks Penguin, sounding suddenly concerned. "Does he- does he have it equipped?"
"He does. But he will need to roll 16 or more, to successfully use it."
Bruce takes the die and rolls an 18.
"Batman has vanished into the rafters," says Alfred. "The darkness overwhelms you all. Penguin, what would you like to do?"
Penguin taps his cane on the floor half a dozen time. "No! This is getting a little *too* real." Penguin is sweating profusely as he gets to his feet. "I don't fancy reliving this. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen."
"Seriously?" asks the Joker.
---
A few hours later, only Bruce, Joker and Alfred remain in the basement room.
"Joker has you pinned to the floor with a scissor lift. He is laughing like a crazy man," says Alfred. "He has a bucket of acid in his hands, and is ready to pour it over your face. What would you like to do, master Bruce?"
"Hm. I use... *psychology,* on Joker.
"Eh?" Joker responds.
"Psychology," Bruce repeats. "I tell him that I'm sorry for what his dad did to his mom, but that trying to take out his hatred for his dad leaving them - on Batman - is not going to change *anything*. He will still be that muddled up, frightened child that he's always been, under his pale façade. I tell him that deep down he knows that his only real friend *is* Batman. That deep down, he *loves* Batman."
Joker begins to laugh. "Ahaha-ha--ha---ahhhhh-waa-waaaaah!" The laughter turns to tears.
"Mr Joker?"
"Leave me alone!" he cries.
"Come on Alfred, I think its time to go home," says Bruce, as he picks up the bag of Cheetos. He slaps Joker reassuringly on the shoulder as he walks past. "It'll be okay, buddy. See you next week."
---
Sorry if this felt a little rushed - was about to go out to see alien.
More stories on /u/nickofnight
| It had been a few weeks before the Commissioner decided to send me in. After the GCPD got word that a bunch of the big name villains had started meeting regularly, Gordon decided to get someone on the inside making sure that they really were just "playing that D&D game" and not planning their next big attack on Gotham.
Guess which unlucky guy got that great posting?
Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Every Saturday I would go in just a few minutes before they started getting there. Undercover work was great for the street-clothes comfort, and undercover in a bar was great for a few drinks (that I even convinced Gordon to cover.) Riddler almost always showed up first, carrying with him a stack of books and papers that made desk work at the precinct look like a cakewalk. Two-Face and Penguin usually followed in a couple minutes later, sharing darting glances at each other that seemed to lessen as the weeks went on. Joker, followed by Harley of course, would eventually stroll his way in, usually after an hour or two of agitated complaining on the Riddler's part.
I myself hadn't played the game since college, but I remembered enough of the rules to realize how entertaining this whole situation turned out to be. Two-Face was a paladin, which was real ironic considering his character's form of "justice" was determined by him flipping his coin both in the game and out of the game. Penguin was playing as a rogue (a dwarf rogue even), and turned out to be surprisingly good at the role. There was nary a pocket unpicked, and his fortune set up the party pretty well on equipment. Joker, fittingly enough, seemed to be playing a different character every time he came into play. He somehow managed kill both kill himself and derail the entire party's plan every session, which was made even funnier by the the fact that Harley was playing a cleric and was "only givin' healing to her Mistah J." Yet, fittingly enough was the Riddler, who played as the the dungeon master. Despite also trying to screw the party over in every way possible, he was usually so angry at the Joker that he would just bull shit the party's way out of his "killing jokes."
The game went on like this for a few weeks, but nothing out of the ordinary happened until tonight. A little bit after Joker and Harley walked in, a voice from the back asked if he could join in. As a man stepped out of the door leading to the office, the faces of the group became a mix of anguish, anger, and laughter (in Joker's case a least.) The man behind the door turned out to be none other than Bruce Wayne, with a briefcase in hand. What a billionaire like him was doing in this run down joint on Crime Alley was beyond me, but by the looks of it he owned the place. After a variety of protests from Penguin and Two-Face, and some more agitated complaining from Riddler, the group acquiesced and let him join. Opening up the briefcase, he pulled out what seemed to be his character sheet, which he stated he had been updating as he watched their party progress through the campaign. After a heated argument from the party, and calm rebuttal from Wayne, they accepted his level 6 druid into the party.
For the first few hours, nothing really seemed to change in party, which was kind of discomforting. Sure Bruce said he'd been watching them for the past few weeks, but the lack of a discernible change in the party's MO had my gut feeling off about the whole thing.
Until Joker tried to perform on of his "killing jokes."
If I didn't know any better, I would say that Bruce and Joker had been fighting for years. The moment Joker went to pull something on the party, Wayne pulled off a both intriguing and hilarious combination of nature spells and animal shapeshifting to surround Joker's character with a swarm of bats. That's right. Bats. Despite being a role-playing game, Wayne's antics threw the whole party for a loop, which led to Two-Face flipping the table, Penguin storming off, a barrage of insults from Riddler, and Joker's trademark laughter.
After tonight, I'm not sure if they're ever going to meet up there again. What I am certain of is that if they do decide to meet up there again, Bruce Wayne will probably be there again as well, using more bat antics to keep those guys in check.
So tonight, I'm going to report to Gordon that this new "Bat-man" has everything under control.
____________________________________________________________
This is my first time on WP, and my first time doing any creative writing in a while, so all critiques and criticism are welcomed and encouraged. | 2017-05-14T03:27:12 | 2017-05-14T02:54:37 | 2,067 | 132 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative *deserved* a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported.
The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time.
There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't *jingle.*
A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man.
Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this:
"Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!"
And then the blood began to stain the floor again. | It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak. | 2020-09-13T19:16:13 | 2020-09-13T18:47:59 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | I lie in bed, listening to the rain gently pattering on the skylight. How did I get so lucky, I wonder? I roll over gently, smiling at the sleeping form next to me. The love of my life, she lies there sleeping. She's on her side, facing away from the window - she never did like nighttime storms as much as I did. I caress her gently, from her shoulder down to her hip, but I stop when she starts to stir - as much as I love her, I'd hate to wake her. Though she doesn't have my insomnia, she still never gets enough sleep. Someone has to look out for her health. So I resume my quiet introspection as the wind stirs the damp leaves outside. How lucky am I, to have been with the woman I love every single night for two years? Never a night apart, even when we travel. It fills me with so much joy that I think, for a moment anyways, that tomorrow might be the day. Tomorrow, I might finally find the courage to introduce myself to her. | I’m a very structured man. I’ve had a strict morning routine for 24 years now.
Sunday, March 22, 1992 I discovered the perfect way to start my day.
I wake up at 5:30 and slip on my slippers. I start my coffee and read the sports section.
Once the coffee is finished brewing, I pour myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
I make sure to clean the dishes after I’m finished. Messy sink, messy life.
I’ll shower and dress. Shirt, then tie, then socks, then pants, then shoes.
Before I leave I always make sure to kiss Mary goodbye; she hasn’t aged a day. | 2016-05-19T09:33:01 | 2016-05-19T09:03:34 | 1,288 | 24 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become. | Nick stared at the nothingness that stood before him. Everything seemed dark, every sound was either a dull thud or a metallic screech. Food was like ash on his taste buds.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Winston, but you have to sign the release forms." A voice reached his ears but he could not comprehend.
His wife should be calling him right now. She always called him, why hasn't she?
"Mr. Winston." Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and it was as if he was hit with all the sensations at once. The sound, the light, and pain. Oh god, the pain. There was and invisible knife in his chest that was being twisted over and over again.
"I'm sorry." She said gently. "But we need your signature on the forms before be release your wife's body and the death certificate."
Someone was screaming. The hospital staff needed to stop this person. His throat felt raw, it wasn't until two people were holding him as he collapsed in grief that he realized it was him.
Sam was gone. She was gone and now he will never see her again. See her again. Here her voice, her laugh- oh, god.
He was being guided towards the room, he didn't know, he didn't care. He just wanted the pain to stop. He just wanted his wife back.
"Sir," Someone was talking to him again, but the not the voice he wanted to hear.
"Can I have a moment." It wasn't a question. It was a request. He needed some space to collapse. To let his soul bleed out in the solitary confines of himself. Because that's all he was going to be now, alone.
"Sure." A door shut and he sunk to the floor.
His hand was in his hear. Sob after sob tore from him, he wanted to scream but he didn't have the energy to. He wanted to die. Then a memory surfaced in his mind that made him stop.
*Nick was 16 and nothing was impossible. He could be anything he wanted to be. It was true, his parents just told him. He could be a superman, a god, and the only thing he had to lose would be himself.*
*That's great, he thought. He wasn't that fond of himself anyway. But his parents liked him and so did this girl, Sam, he had started seeing, so maybe he'll pass for now.*
*His parents had said he could agree to it whenever he liked. So who knows, maybe when he was 80, he would like to become a god. Wouldn't that be awesome.*
Nick wiped his eyes. He knew what he had to do. The only thing he ever wanted was Sam and the only feelings inside of him now was pain and rage. He knew he would never feel the same again, knew he would never want anything again. He took in a deep breath, wiped his tears and nose on his sleeve before standing up.
"I'm ready."
A ring of light surrounded him and the pain was slowly melting away, but, to his horror, so were his memories of Sam. | (Apologies, haven't wrote anything fiction in quite some time.)
I never knew my dad or mom. My grandma however was in every second of my life. Since birth, my first baby tooth, and throughout the storm of my teens.
She bared the brunt of it all. My testosterone, flooded through me quickly and surged. I was in numerous fights almost since middle school. Brighton? He stepped on my sandcastle in 5th grade. In an instant I threw sand at his face. He said it was a rock. Everyone else saw both. Maybe it was a rock in the sand? Whatever I just wanted to throw a punch. That's what he got, black eye and a cut cornea.
Where was I going with this? Grandma....dead parents... whenever I asked her about my mom, her daughter. She hid some things. I know it. She always spoke ill of my father too. Saying "something changed in him over time". He lost his job, he drenched himself in beer. Soon liqour. Whenever he came home from the bar, wet with sweat from the heat. "Smelling like the bar sink!" Grandma said.
There was a point I was going with this...fucking what was it? Hot summer? Dad did almost murder his coworkers once. Mom...mom... she died in Hurricane Katrina. I remember her yelling. Dad was one minute sobbing through his bits of conscious. Then yelling back as he was cornered.
Table? I remember. A table, a body thrown across it. Drip drip, red juice spilled. Car was broken and we couldn't e-vacuum ate? Why the fuck IS IT HARD TO REMEMBER. Evacuate. We had to leave, too poor to leave.
Grandma told me after. The guilt flooded my father. He left after murdering my mother. His cries stormed out into the night. They never found his body. Lost to the hurricane drowned. My mom's floated away too. The house itself collapsed too. I remember wanting them back soo much. Many tears, cried myself through the storm and passed out.
Where was I going with this? Oh! we had to move to Atlanta with an Uncle. I iced everyone out that winter. Closed off, gave any new kid the cold shoulder. My Uncle almost died that winter. He was a line man. Connected lines. Atlanta rarely gets freezing rain.
Where was I going with this? I can't remember...
To be continued? (Thanks for reading! Apologies for grammar/spelling. Did this at work on my phone) | 2022-01-27T07:11:48 | 2022-01-27T05:34:32 | 68 | 39 |
[WP] You are a "hero" in a fantasy world, but as you "adventure", you are slowly realizing YOU are the antagonist.
I'm new here, this is my first WP! Please have mercy.
I really want to write something, but i'm scared ç-ç.
Edit: this blew overnight! Thank you guys so much! | General Simon Strava clawed at the top button of his dinner jacket; a tapered topcoat, impeccably blue with golden fobbed buttons and a collar that threatened to smother him. Rushing out through a pair of confused dignitaries, he bumped the long-handled door and found himself in the muffled quiet of the balcony. Straightening himself, Strava finished with the buttons as he neared the wrought iron railing overlooking the courtyard and the Elba River beyond. The air was brisk and inviting.
How could it have come to this, he thought finishing the last drop of his brenault and chucking the glass into the darkness below. Music echoed all around him. It came from everywhere. The whole of the town that twinkled in the distance was ablaze with celebration. The streets crawled with parading soldiers and drunken revelers alike. The war was over. Strava smiled, if they only knew.
"To think," Strava whispered, "after four years nothing has changed." The smile continued to play at the edges of his mouth as he cracked open a bottle of whiskey that had been stashed away in his breast pocket. He downed a healthy dose and propped his back against the railing. He ran his fingers through his hair which hung in wet strings about his face. Four years wasted, and for what? Ambergrave had outplayed him. He, a career general, had been duped by that worm. Strava lightly chuckled and choked down another burning mouthful.
It was not long before the door to the balcony opened and Strava's aide, Pel poked his sharp nose out into the night. The mouse-faced man sighed when he saw Strava and stepped out.
"Sir," Pel said, his voice was deeper than his appearance would suggest.
"Don't start," Strava waved him off and turned back to face the river. Lights dotted the banks of the Elba as the last of the hundreds of funeral pyres were still burning out. The dead had yet to be fully counted.
"You're presence was requested personally by Ambergrave," Pel came up beside Strava and cringed as the general downed another swallow, "you must be *at* the party to be present."
"Why," Strava said, "so he can taunt me in person?"
"I don't believe..."
"Don't be a fool," Strava interrupted, "I've taught you better. Do you see the way they look at me? They hate me."
They did hate him and Strava knew it. He had felt the stares of the elite all night. The same people that had clamored for old King Segress' head on a pike and spewed their vitriol in the streets four years prior now appeared in full regalia to swoon Ambergrave. The hypocrisy of that vipers nest was suffocating.
Pel, as if acquiescing, nodded his head.
"Ambergrave hijacked my armies with that lie." Strava continued, "He promised change. Real change." Strava stretched out the bottle over the edge of the balcony, "I put my reputation on the line and what did he do?" Strava dropped the bottle and looked at Pel.
"Such is politics," Pel said. They both listened and Pel flinched as the bottle smashed somewhere below.
"We were the heroes." Strava sighed. He pointed out towards the lights, "they, *they* were the heroes. And for what? I have run out of ways to try and explain this."
Strava followed one light. The light barely gave the outline of a woman holding the torch. Two small children followed in her wake. Strava imagined the heartache they felt of saying their last goodbyes. He had believed in the revolution. He had convinced those men that they were fighting for good. They had died because of him.
"I have spoken with the Lieutenants," Pel said, "and they are all in agreement."
"To what," Strava said. Pel pointed down into the darkness. Strava strained his eyes, but when they had focused he saw several men hiding among the bushes. Riflemen with black powder and bayonets. Pel directed his gaze up to the crenelations surrounding the top of the manor. Mages stood at the ready. Why were they here?
"Sir," Pel stuffed a black powder pistol in Strava's hand and pulled his sword, "have you ever thought that what this country needed was not a revolution."
"Maybe what is needed," Strava smiled.
"Is a coup." Pel smacked Strava on the back and headed towards the party.
Now, Strava thought, they would truly hate him.
****
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| "I stand here before you as a meek servant of The Man With the Compassionate Horns," I cried. The men and women of the village stood still, nervously looking at one another. Slowly, a man began to nod.
"At last you've come!" he said. He launched into an enthusiastic applause, soon followed by rapturous roars from the crowd. "We have been awaiting your arrival."
I felt a great relief. The dim-witted villagers tended to resist conversion, occasionally resorting to violence. My task was dangerous, but more so important.
The Man With the Compassionate Horns had for years tried to assimilate dwellers of all the villages of the realm into his order. As of now, and since the dawn of time, chaos had been the dominant force of our existence. Tribal strifes and petty conflicts--they were tearing the people apart. Trolls, elves, dwarfes, man; all were scattered and their alliances split. Finally, hope had come.
As his chief Compassionate General, I was responsible for spreading the good word. I'd ventured into territory uncharted by man and seen savagery beyond description. I'd slain creatures unknown even to our finest scholars and converted soulless ghouls of the swamps. Now, there was hope. This tribe of mud apes welcomed me with open arms.
"I go by the name of Xerox," said the nodding man. "I have been chosen as the King of the men of the Mire."
"Greetings, King Xerox," said I. "I have travelled far and wide and would much appreciate a hot meal and a bed for the night."
Xerox gave me a smile and a pat on the back. "Least we could do for such a compassionate fellow."
As I entered the King's hut, my heart was warmed. They had gone through the trouble of decorating in their simple ways, obviously in expectance of my arrival. Mud statues and filthy lanterns were arranged in intricate patterns. I made a mental note to enlighten our scholars that the mud people had developed a rudimentary form of craftsmanship. Perhaps we were not as different as was commonly thought.
"Feel free to employ the King's seat, as is befitting of a man of the Man With the Compassionate Horns." As he named my master, I could sense a certain unease among the mud dwellers. Surely, they were ashamed of their savageness being contrasted with the purity of a divine force. I understood. I, too, had loathed my heathen ways. Yet I was saved as I entered into His service, as these barbarians would soon be saved.
I was given a flask of wine and what appeared to be bread. As I drank, it was if a great burden had been lifted off their collective shoulders. Relief is, after all, as pungent as the body odour of the dwarfes. Obviously, they were concerned I would reject their offerings. By partaking in their meal and drink, I was declaring us as equals. It was as if I could smell it. And it truly did smell of "... dwarf?"
Before me stood a dwarfen creature, naked as they come. I did not understand. These were mud men. For centuries they had battled the dwarfes over game and territory.
"Aye, yes. Observant as well as compassionate, are we?"
"As would be expected of the Beast's general," said a man with an Elvish accent.
"W-What is going on here?" I said. I stood up, and stumbled. "T-The wine, it's ... you have--"
"Poisoned it?" said a creature with the guttural voice of the trolls. "General is wise."
I looked up, and saw the discordant assembly before me. Elf beside troll beside dwarf beside mud man. It was all too much.
"You will no longer attack and destroy the citizens of the realm. The terror of the Beast shall be no more."
I looked up at Xerox. His eyes were afire with passion.
"His reign is over. I hope you now, in your final moments, understand the nature of the compassion you have so eagerly thrust upon us."
I listened to their merry celebration as I felt the world slip back into chaos. | 2016-10-26T08:53:16 | 2016-10-26T08:50:11 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] "What do you mean you don't put a miniature explosion spell in your gun?" "What do you mean you don't use gunpowder-based propellant for your gun?" | I placed my AR15 rifle on the table beside us on the shooting range. The Wizard did likewise with his... 'gun'.
We switched places and began to examine each other's weapon of choice.
"So this whole doodad just moves a little hammer to hit this bit, which explodes?" The Wizard asked, leaning over to examine the rifle. His luxurious beard fell onto the lower half, collecting all sorts of gun grease and gunpowder flakes as he swept his gaze along the frame.
"Basically, yes." I replied, not looking away from his magical rifle equivalent. "So you just take this hollow stick... and cast an explosion spell... here?"
I pointed to a small blackened knot in the wood, that looked like it had taken quite a beating. The Wizard glanced over his shoulder to see where I was pointing.
"Oh no, the spell is cast *FROM* there." He said, as if that clarified anything. "The explosion happens up here" He indicated the very tip of the wooden tube, which would be the end of the muzzle on my rifle.
"But where is the bullet?" I asked incredulously. "Where is the barrel rifling that makes the bullet spin for accuracy?"
The Wizard scoffed. "What? You don't spin something to make it accurate. Ever see a dizzy man walk a straight line?"
"What? No, not like that, like-" I began, but the Wizard cut me off mid sentence.
"I ask a lump of metal if it could please fling itself to the place I need to shoot, and it complies." He said, as if it were the most obvious method of shooting. "I usually make the metal on the spot, drawing the elements from the earth and air around me. You'd be surprised how much is just floating in the wind here." He waved his hand around in the air like he was trying to catch a fly, then help up a pea sized metallic sphere. "See? That's just what I caught right then."
I gaped at the magical man. "Thats amazing!" I said.
"Eh, it's the same as breathing really. Just moving particles through the air. Just have to pick which ones to keep and which to throw back." He said nonchalantly. "So what does your gizmo fire?"
I walked back to my rifle on the other side of the table, and grabbed a box of target rounds. "These. They are .223 caliber rifle rounds."
The Wizard peered at it closely. "And you grow these yourself?" He asked.
"Oh no, we purchase them. There are companies that just make bullets."
He glanced from the bullet to me and back. "You rely on someone making and selling these to you?" He asked incredulously. I think he would have been more understanding if I had told him they were petrified insects instead of manufactured items.
"What if you don't bring enough with you, or if you can't afford to buy more?" He asked.
I shrugged. "Then you don't shoot."
The Wizard shook his head, dislodging some of the gun range muck from his beard. "I can't believe you people are ok with this."
The Wizard held out a hand and summoned his stick rifle. It flew to his awaiting hand, causing his long sleeve to billow impressively.
"This can fire until I tell it to stop, or if I use all of the metal in the region." He said smugly. "If that happens, anything in the area will be long dead already."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Because I would have used the calcium and iron and copper from their own bodies to make the bullets."
"Well," I said. "That is terrifying."
"*Indeed*" the Wizard replied.
We stood there for a few moments, each looking over the others rifle. Almost in unison, we both said "Can I shoot this a few times?"
We looked up, and both smiled. This would surely be the start of a wonderful friendship.
"No", the Wizard said firmly.
Oh. Or not, I guess.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | "I need more bullets!" Neil shouted as he ducked behind a wall. I tossed him a pouch, one of my last remaining. Taking my own turn, I popped up, squeezing off a few shots. There was a clicking noise as he reloaded. Arrows strafed the air above us, clattering among the rocks. Quickly, he jumped up, not really aiming and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
"What the— why isn't this working?" He dropped back, looking at his gun. "The bullets, what's wrong with your bullets?" Reloading my own weapon, I frowned at him.
"What, is your explosion spell limited to only your own bullets? That's ridiculous."
"What do you mean explosion spell?" The words sounded strange in his mouth. "What about gunpowder, you know, the thing that actually explodes when you put fire on it?" Enemy temporarily forgotten, I stared at him.
"You have a powder that explodes with fire and you use it in your bullets? What a waste!" He looked at me like I had grown a second head.
"We're in the middle of a firefight and my weapon is now useless and you're twitting me about wastefulness? Priorities man!" His words recalled the enemy to the forefront of my mind. They hadn't loosed another volley while we'd been talking... Putting my head over the wall, I took a quick look. Nothing.
"Well, now they've left. But I think I finally have an idea for something that will turn the tide in our favour."
——————
"This is never going to work."
"Shh. We don't need them hearing us now, do we? Come on." Bent over, deep in the heart of the enemy castle, in a secret passage under the floor, I frowned at Neil. "You were the one who volunteered to come with me."
"Well, you're not very good with the gunpowder. Remember the old inn we used to stay at? The one that's a pile of broken timber right now?" He hissed, but a smile played around the corners of his eyes.
"That wasn't really my fault—"
"Quiet." Footsteps rattled above us, the timbers shaking with the impact.
"That's the distraction of the others at the gates taking effect. Come on." Now Neil was chivvying me forward. As we went, we put down small metal balls, about the size of a horse's head, one every few feet. It took us only about an hour to get through the entire castle. Finally, at the exit, Neil frowned at me.
"Are you sure the explosion spell will work at this distance?" I chuckled, pointing at the small ball that sat inside the hall.
"They're all linked to that one," I answered. "And it's plenty close." Shutting my eyes, I waved my hand, muttering the important activation words.
"Now what?" I asked, still not quite sure how fast the gunpowder worked
"Now we run like hell." Neil grabbed my arm, and we tore away from the castle, as, behind us, loud explosion noises started.
Reaching the top of a nearby hill, we stopped, looking back. The castle wasn't there anymore—just a pile of rubble. Neil grinned at me, dusting his hands off.
"You know, you're right. This could turn the war in our favour." | 2022-07-01T08:48:16 | 2022-07-01T07:16:21 | 182 | 72 |
[WP] When humans finaly get to space and encounter galactic council, they discover that no, they are not the most adaptable or the fastest in research. What they have is an insanely long lifespan, compared to aliens that live only days or months... | As a great author once said, 'Space is big. Really big.' Really, the distances involved in getting from one star to another are more or less incomprehensible to human minds, and the time it would take to cross them was always a barrier to our species reaching out beyond our own solar system.
The neowarp engine solved that - at least, partially. Suddenly, travelling to the stars was a matter of months, not years - still a formidable journey but one that allowed us to reach out and colonise, settling new worlds and slowly inching out across the galaxy.
So it was that in the year 2621, the first human explorers met the Xrell. We were astounded - they had so much in common with us! Four limbs, bipedal, slight sexual dimorphism - aside from the curving horns and blue skin they could pass for human. The sci-fi writers of the 20th century were far closer than anyone thought possible.
First contact went well, and the delegates of humanity were invited to the great Galactic Festival, held, as far as we could make out, every sixteen years and next scheduled for seven years' time in the system of BR47-X, some eight months by neowarp drive from Earth.
Earth sent Yang, of course, and McDonnell, and Shankar, and the others who had made first contact. When they arrived they were met by such a profusion of people of all kinds, species in all shapes and sizes that humanity had ever imagined and many more besides.
But where, asked Yang after a few hours, are our old friends, the Xrell? Where is C'ram, and M'hlinga, and Ban'xiram?
So a messenger was sent out into the teeming crowds of the Festival and in due course, a delegate of the Xrell arrived.
"Humans! How exciting!" they cried out. "I am B'chira. My revered ancestor C'ram wrote of his encounters with your species. Oh, the stories I have heard! You are a part of our folklore now, despite all the years that have passed - why, we have had three wars and two revolutions since those days. Tell me - do the families of McDonnell and Shankar and our other friends persist?"
And so it was that Yang learned that the friends she had made seven years ago had been dead for six of them; and so it was that the Galactic Festival were first introduced to the humans, whose lives lasted long enough to travel between the stars. | Bit of a preface: I haven’t written a fictional story since high school so keep that in mind and feel free to send criticism my way
It’s the year 2257, Humans have finally done it. We made contact with a council of aliens. They seem to be able to understand us to a degree, perhaps they have some sort of universal translator or an innate ability to understand any language. All the different races are so much stranger than we could have ever anticipated. The Schrutties, at least that’s the best way i can pronounce it, seem to exclusively speak in office references, man am i glad that the office is the greatest show ever. Then there’s the Glorbnaks who are amorphous blogs that communicate through wet slap noises and the (guttural growl) race of beings that surprisingly seem to speak a form of broken english as their language, they claim that a strange metal craft with many human objects including a golden disc crashed upon their planet when they were still a fledgling race 150 years ago. The strangest thing of all though is that in the years since the human race has joined the intergalactic council all of the sitting council memebers, save for the humans and coincidentally the cats... who knew that they were really the aliens that helped build the pyramids, have died and been replaced new members several times over. As it turns out the human race is special, we do have something on the rest of the universe. That something is longevity, we may. it be the most intelligent, the strongest, or even the best a driving but we live the longest and as such can get much more done in our lifetimes. The only other race that comes close to our life spans is the Cats, or as their proper name is “Meow”, i guess they were telling us what to call them all along and we were too stupid to realize. At the end of the day though I guess humans really are more significant that a speck of dust in the endless expanse of space. | 2019-07-01T07:51:53 | 2019-07-01T01:19:51 | 77 | 19 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | I've forged stars, I've created galaxies with a flick of the wrist, all of that? As the mortals would say, it was "baby food" to me. But working under this gorgon of a boss? Unbearable. She's one of those feminists who take any action against her by a male to be oppression, the higher ups only gave her a promotion to avoid her lawsuit, and don't even get me startes on her diet. Late at night after a long day of work I often find myself dreaming about designing an additional layer of hell for my boss, which is then interupted by Satan telling me to stay away from his land..prick.
Anyways, because of Satan's rant (which is more bearable than my boss) I end up late. My boss seems to run faster than Usain bolt to get from her office to my cubicle. "YOU'RE LATE! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? IS IT SO HARD TO RESPECT YOUR BOSS WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE A LADY? WHAT ABOUT THE COMPANY? WE'VE WORKED TOGETHER AT THIS COMPANY FOR 15 YEARS, IF YOU WOULD HAVE ONLY SHOWN DEDICATION TO THIS JOB LIKE I HAVE, MAYBE YOU WOULD GET SOMEWHERE!" Ah yes, "the company", she loves this company oh so much, we're the most popular newsite in the world, praised for our cutting edge innovation and incorperating of technology. This speel of hers will not be the last, but the first of many for the new company.
I've forged stars, I've created galaxies with a flick of the wrist, I've changed our reputable company into one which will slowly become worse than fox news, thus began the tale of buzzfeed. | Normally, you would think that I could 'Bruce Almighty' my way out of this one. Doing everything that pleased me without due consideration (or even thought for that matter). Well, Bruce didn't have to stick with the God-title forever. It is obviously, relentlessly infuriating, when you are commanded around by somebody whom you know to be infinitely undeserving of their position in the hierarchy. Even more so, when you created them yourself.
You come across numerous little episodes of comedic joy when you bear witness to similarly frustrated colleagues who swear on you that they would end that mediocre, hollow-headed dingbat. Amidst the hundred prayers booming in the mausoleum of your mind, there are spasms of little high-pitched 'I swear to God's that make crack you up at really inappropriate circumstances.
It became evident to me that I would not keep my vow intact for long with this maniac as my 'superior'. Although 15 years is as long as a yawn in my eternity, I don't intend to feel sleepy. I put on my best smile everyday and smiled at all the poop the primal monkey in him flung at me. Through all his debauchery and all his stupidity, all I did was smile. And then one day, he died at his desk having left a note, addressed specifically to me.
"ggwp."
| 2017-02-19T10:00:22 | 2017-02-19T09:17:00 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] One night while sleeping, you let your hand dangle off the bed. Seeing the opportunity the demon grabs your hand and tries to pull you down to hell, however, you, in your panic, pull the demon out. Now it's a little awkward... | Everyone has a demon or two that lurks beneath their bed at night. True, I only have anecdotal evidence to back that statement up -- but tonight, when you're lying in bed with your eyes shut, I want you to listen very carefully. Listen to the night and you'll hear them. Sometimes they sound like a silent scream, or a dark feeling churning in your gut, while other times perhaps just a creak or a low rumble.
I realize this is quite the claim to make without even providing my own (anecdotal) evidence. So here is the story of when I caught one of my demons. This was about two years ago, just a little after my wife and I separated. Our little girl moved in with my wife and I hadn't seen either of them in a couple of months.
I was living alone in a cheap apartment on the outskirts of town where I shared a bathtub with cockroaches and a kitchen with an ever-leaking pipe. In the evenings, I worked at a warehouse stacking shelves -- I'd finish each night at about 2 A.M.
This night, a real blizzard of a night, I'd gotten home from my shift to find the heating bust. I tried to stay positive -- I think it's important to stay positive in negative situations -- and thought: yes, I might be cold tonight, but it might at least drive the cockroaches out.
It was only as I was pouring boiling water into a Pot Noodle that I remembered hearing about how resilient cockroaches were. They could survive an atomic winter, so they would very likely survive a Calgary winter.
I ate in front of the T.V. until 3 A.M., as was my routine. Already wrapped in my duvet, I staggered down the hall and into bed.
I'm not sure if I was an actual insomniac back then, but some nights I wouldn't sleep much. Most nights, I'd get only two or three hours. Anyway, on this night, the night I caught a demon, I'd been in bed for maybe an hour, lying in absolute darkness. The duvet, a spare duvet, and an ancient picnic blanket lay over me. But I was still cold. Back then, it was as if the cold came from somewhere inside me, rather than the snow piling up against the windows. I could never get warm, heating on or heating broken.
As I said at the start of this story, demons beneath the bed make all types of different sounds. This particular demon sounded like a snake hissing.
For a moment I wondered if it could be a snake. Perhaps that's why I let an arm fall out of the bed. I wanted it to be a fishing line and bait, all in one. For the snake to bite into my wrist and inject its venom.
But I never truly thought it would.
So when it did bite -- and it did! -- I screamed and yanked my arm up. A great blue snake, its scales pulsing with red light, was attached to my arm. Its fangs dug deep into my skin and from them the beast hung to me. I found myself standing on my bed, waving my arm around like one of those dancers with ribbons.
I whipped it against the wall, over and over, but nothing seemed to bother the serpent. Not until I said: "Get off, please! Let go! I don't want to die!"
The snake unclenched its jaw and dropped onto the bed. It slithered silently to my pillows and curled up like a long cat.
I fell onto my butt on the other end of the bed. We both sat, staring at each other. Its body pulsed in the darkness, as quick as my heartbeat.
"What are you?" I said eventually, although mostly to myself.
It cocked its head. "You mussst know already," it said.
"You can talk?"
"I can."
"You're a talking snake."
Its head shook, almost hypnotically. "Try again. You know what I am."
I did. "You're a demon. You're a demon from beneath my bed."
"Yesss. I'm your demon. You put me there as an egg, and I've since hatched and grown to thisss."
It was only then I noticed the wound on my wrist. The two puncture marks bubbled and foamed, and the skin around them was tinged green. "You bit me." It was a dumb remark, but it was all I could say.
"Yesss."
"Am i going to die?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Do you know why humansss have heartsss?" it asked.
"To live," I said. "They pump blood around our body. Mine's probably pumping your venom around my body right now."
"To live," it repeated. "Yesss. The rest is unimportant. It isss only a strong heart that can stop a demon's venom."
I looked at the wound with mournful eyes, knowing it would soon kill me. "Then I have no defense from it. My heart is weak. Broken."
"Then you must repair it before my venom reaches."
"How?" I asked. "My wife won't have me back."
"Hearts aren't fixed by going back. Only by going forward."
”There are no paths forward. I took them all and each and every one led here. To this dark damp cave.”
”When there are no pathsss left to take, then we must carve out our own.”
And just like that, the snake slithered off my bed and slipped into the darkness beneath it.
"Wait!" I yelled. But it was gone.
I didn't sleep that night and instead watched the wound on my wrist bubble and the green infection spread along my arm. In the morning, as light entered my room, I searched beneath my bed for the snake but saw only dust. Where demons live in the daylight is a mystery to all, I think.
​
So that’s it. That is my anecdotal evidence for demons living beneath each person's bed. And how, when we let them, they come up at night and try to take us.
There is little more to my story. I'm still alive, of course, and I think a large part of that is the visits I have with my daughter every other weekend. After the snake bit me, I got a new job and a new apartment. Whether the snake moved homes with me, I don't know. Either way, as soon as I moved I filed for joint custody of my daughter.
When I'm away from my girl, the wound on my wrist still stings very badly, as if the wound is again fresh and flowing with venom. Sometimes, on dates, it hurts a little less badly than usual. But it's never as painless as when I'm with my daughter.
That's not the point of my story though. That's a story that doesn't need to be told. My story is about the demons that come to us all in the night, that each sound different.
Remember this: the best way to fight demons is to keep your heart strong. To not go back, always forward.
\*
Thanks for reading. I have a small sub of stories on /r/froggingtonspond | "What are you doing, Marcus?" Absence asked, voice a deep and feminine ember curling through the gravel of the grave. "You look like you need a drink."
"Just cleaning," Marcus said, holding the bin with one hand and with the other demolishing the tower of food delivered, devoured, and discarded beside the bed. He had to squint to make out the flat dark form cowered in the corner there. "It's kind of a mess in here if you didn't notice."
"I have another gift for you," she teased, snaking awkwardly along the edge of the wrinkled sheets, avoiding the beams of glowing evening light spliting through the open window.
Marcus breathed in the fresh air of rain settling over mowed lawns. It was nice. "Oh yeah?" Ever since he had pulled the shadow from under his bed she had helped him. She knew all the sins of the world.
"Yeah," Absence purred as she twisted up his legs, sending not unpleasant shivers of cold and vibration as she worked up his skin. The small four-legged shadow nestled up against his ear. Her rolling whisper burst dots of frisson across his face and down his neck. "It's too bright. Close the window, lay in the bed and I'll show you on your phone."
"Who is it?" Marcus asked, continuing to clean. He wanted a drink, but he decided to try and take at least a day off. The hangover wasn't even that bad so this was a good time to try it. "I really want to get the desk cleaned off and try to work on my resume today."
"Oh, is that your plan?" Absence asked, flexing alternating phantom claws into his shoulder. "Who needs a job? Doesn't that sound so exhausting? With the secret I have for you, you won't want for money, my sweet. Besides, a job would mean you would have to leave here, leave me."
"Maybe you could come with me? If you hid under my jacket or I got a night shift job. I can't stay in here forever. I might even try for a night walk here in a bit. You're talking about blackmail, right? Like we did with Daniel?" Marcus asked, almost retching as he unearthed a foul mixture of fries, cigarettes, and a spilled energy drink left to fester on the floor. Maybe he could try sober tomorrow. He would surely earn at least one drink after all this work. He wouldn't, he decided. He might, he amended.
"The sin is Jessica's," Absence whispered in a long hiss with all the venom of a jilted sorority sister. "The royal bitch herself."
Marcus set down the trash can. Jessica. A vision of blonde hair in his face smelling like fruits he couldn't name struck him as he walked across the room, taking in the fresh air before closing the curtain, leaving the window open behind. "What's the secret?"
He felt the cold shadow against his skin grow sticky warm as she laughed in his ear, hauntingly beautiful. "The harlot's sleeping with her boss. I'll give you his e-mail and tell you what to write. Give him your Bitcoin address and he'll send you all the money we'll need."
Marcus flicked open Facebook on his phone. Jessica Allister still waited for him in the search bar autocomplete. He looked through the photos in her profile. There were several new ones since the last time he looked. "Her boss has to be twenty years older than her," Marcus said, twisting his face between rage, disgust, and something else. Pity maybe.
"She picked you once, Marcus. She doesn't have the best taste in men," Absence cackled lightly. "I'm only joking, my sweet. You're much better than him. The old man shudders when he finishes. It makes her want to puke every time but she keeps him on a leash. Now, his email is-"
"Wait," Marcus said. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk to him or her. Tell me someone else's secret."
He felt the shadow of a prehensile tail tighten against his neck lightly. He tried not to think of what it reminded him of. "I am the tool and this is the means, Marcus," Absence said, angry now. "I want you to get over her. I want you to fuck her over. I want her begging to have you back. Don't you want that?"
"I did," Marcus said, "but in therapy yesterday, we were-"
"That's the real problem, Marcus. That quack is filling your head with roses, making you soft. I told you not to go," the shadow squeezed again but it was weaker, colder. "You don't need them. Curl up with me and a cold one. That new MMO is out today, you know. You've already missed your chance to be at the top of the pack but there are plenty of spots left on the leaderboards for a dedicated player like you."
"Maybe," Marcus said as he crawled out of bed again. He hadn't remembered laying back down. He had heard Exterminard Online had some interesting dynamics, but playing the last MMO had been what started all this mess to begin with, dropping out of school, getting fired, losing Jessica. "I'm finishing cleaning first, at least. It will be nice to game at a clean desk. Maybe we can talk later." He pulled the curtain back and saw the red sunset along the treeline.
Absence only let out a weak hiss in response as she slithered down his skin to hide under the protection of his clothes. She worked her way along his shadow to rest under the bed. He could only see the red glimmer of her eyes, blinking with feline slowness.
"Have you ever tried letting the sunlight touch you?" Marcus asked. "It's not so bad."
"No," the distant and weak voice came.
"You should try it," Marcus said. "I worked hard pulling you out of there just for you to go back down. The world out there's not so bad some days."
After a moment of silence. "I might," came from under the bed.
Marcus felt his heart jump as his hand wrapped around the neck of a full bottle of Jack he must have let fall behind the desk. The weight was comforting in his hand, two or three nights to forget. The part of him that remembered his resolution wanted to pour it down the sink, as a testament to his will. He set it down on the desk. That would be a waste of money. He wouldn't, he decided. He might, he amended.
/r/surinical | 2021-05-16T06:06:14 | 2021-05-16T05:32:20 | 375 | 126 |
[WP] “Odd. You were supposed to live a much longer and happier life,” Death says, looking at his records. “Oh, there it is. You made one terrible mistake. Do you want to go back and change your decision?” You say yes, only for Death to take you back to the moment you saved your best friend’s life. | The streetlights shone off of the wet concrete below. The rain came down upon the street relentlessly. Light glittered across the dancing waves. The railing was dotted with water drops. The familiar scent of the salty ocean filled the air. My white dress shirt was already nearly soaked through. Water droplets dripped from the ends of my hair.
*Is this...*
I stood under one of the streetlights.
*It has to be...*
The scene was too familiar. It aligned perfectly with my memory of the situation.
A silhouette shifted in the distance. Someone was running towards me.
*No.*
*"*Heeeeeyy\~!"
It was an all-too-familiar voice. It was my best friend, Lizzie. She ran towards me with her hands over her head.
*Not again. I can't do this again.*
I knew what was going to happen. I couldn't just stand by.
"Hey, Blaine!"
I stayed where I was. My shoulders tensed and I curled my hands into fists. Tears began to well up in my eyes.
*No...*
*No.*
*No!*
Lizzie ran closer to me. I couldn't do it. I couldn't sacrifice my friend for my own benefit.
She got closer. I readied myself. It was pure reflexes the first time, but this time it was different. I was ready.
Ten feet between us.
Five.
Four.
Three.
I ran forward and reached my arms out. Before I could push her, time seemed to stop. Lizzie stayed where she was, mid run. I looked around. It seemed I was the only person who could move. Even the rain had stopped falling. Curious, I held out my hand and touched a raindrop. Sure enough, it ran down my hand onto the ground. It was then I realised: this was my chance. My best friend's attempted murderer, and by extension my killer, finally revealed. My eyes moved slowly to the person next to Lizzie and I.
They were holding a knife. They were ready to stab. They had a black hood on and had a gun strapped to their belt. I couldn't make out any features.
A black fog rolled in. It gathered around a single point, and before I knew it, Death himself gazed back at me. He looked confused.
"You had the chance to retry your life, and you turn it down for this girl?" Death asked.
"She's my best friend," I replied. "I couldn't cut her life short if I had to. We've known each other since we were kids, I had to save her. I had no choice. If I'd abandoned her, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. Lizzie is the only person who actually supported me. She was the only one who cared about me. She was there for me, when no one else was. I couldn't end her life for my own benefit."
"You fool," Death said, staring at me in confusion and frustration. "If you save this girl, you realise you will die again? There will be no second chances this time, insolent boy."
"Then I'll die!" I yelled back. I stepped towards Death without realising it. "I already died once, how bad could it be? I'm not killing my childhood best friend just because *you* want me to!"
Death looked down at me in surprise. He looked around. Without a word, he disappeared.
I finally pushed Lizzie out of the way. Time resumed.
I turned in mid-air to break Lizzie's fall. She landed on top of me. My back, arms, and hands scraped against the concrete. I winced. Lizzie hurriedly jumped off of me. I slowly stood up. Lizzie embraced me before I could say anything. She pulled away quickly.
"You saved me! Blaine, thank you!"
I smiled. I knew exactly what was going to happen. I braced myself.
The mysterious killer's hand shifted to their gun's holster.
*Three.*
*Two.*
*One.*
"Blaine!" Lizzie screamed.
A loud *bang,* then darkness. | Waiting in line for Death to sort everyone out was... boring. The mass of people ahead of me were featureless entities that could have been anyone; I wouldn’t have recognized my mother if she stood right in front of me. Which she wouldn’t be doing having died a year ago. She must still be somewhere in the front.
Boring.
And endless.
Step. Wait. Step. Wait. Banks were faster. Time flowed backward, twisted around on itself, ate its tail, and dripped like a leaky faucet.
After an eon of mind-numbing, soul-consuming boredom—would it have been so hard to hang up a television?—I stopped in front of a plain wooden desk and suddenly felt nervous. Death looked just like I would have imagined him, a skeletal pale face half masked by the heavy cowl of his black robe. His eyes, when he looked up from his register, were Dark Pools of Judgement. Yikes. Was I going to hell? Just last week I snapped at little Cuddle-Woofer, who was only looking to comfort me, while I was screaming at my husband. People that snapped at dogs deserved a special place in hell, didn't they? Why didn’t Death speak, what was he waiting for? “Uhm… Cynthia Bates? Should I have filled in a form or something?”
“No.” He looked down at his register and ticked a box. “Odd, you were supposed to live a much longer and happier life.”
Ha! I knew it. “Yeah, me and everyone else.”
“Yes,” Death said, still looking at his records. “Here it is. You made one terrible mistake. Do you want to go back and change your decision?”
“What? Go through all that again?”
He scribbled something else. “It should be better once you’ve corrected your error.”
“Yeah, no. It’s still a life, isn’t it? I’m done with that, thank you very much, try this guy behind me, he looks like an eager beaver.” The guy behind me was as faceless as the rest but I swear he had been breathing down my neck for the last millennium, it was beyond creepy.
Death looked up. Dark Pools of Judgement pinned me down. “Do you want to go back and change your decision?”
“Can I hear my other options? Is it Heaven or Hell? Reincarnation? Could we choose to be an animal if we reincarnated or do you pick what we get? Cows are nice.”
“Do you want to go back and change your decision?”
Jesus. "...what happens to me if I say no?”
“You return to the end of the line for a second option. Do you want to go back and change your decision?”
I turned to watch the line stretch endlessly behind me. The one I had just spent over a dozen lifetimes in.
“I’ll go back and change my decision. What was it?”
Death scribbled something. I leaned forward to see what... and nearly tripped over the hem of my wedding dress. David reached out to steady me. Someone tittered in the pews.
"Do you, Cynthia McCarthy take David Bates as your lawful—”
Oh. Well, I didn’t need Death to tell me this was a terrible mistake. David and I had nothing in common except for our initial love to fuck. I cradled my stomach. In a month I would have a miscarriage. There would be six more heart-aching losses before we were to be blessed with little Alison, the only good in this terrible marriage. Our angel girl. We get ten years with our little girl before she’s taken. Ten years more precious than anything Death could offer.
“—wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day—”
“Yes." | 2020-06-06T17:19:43 | 2020-06-06T16:07:02 | 31 | 19 |
[WP]Humanity had grown complacent. No more war, no more crime, no more suffering. After thousands of years of technological advancement and peace humanity is forced into a war with an alien super power which brings out thousands of years of pent up blood lust. | Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruning hooks into spears; let the weakling say, “I am a warrior.”
\-Joel 3:10
It was an age of absolute prosperity. The simultaneous development of advancements in travel, energy, communication, health, and resource management launched humanity into the galaxy both literally and metaphorically. Stemming from the development of cheap and plentiful quantum biocomputing the ailments of humanity became the thing of legend. A new renaissance gave rise to massive increases in power efficiency reducing the footprint of trillions to that of a million, warp-drive technology made the galaxy our playground, matter replicators almost instantly obliterated classical capitalist structures, The sick were healed or their consciousnesses saved in grand digital palaces, the places where many healthy people also chose to make their permanent homes. Everyone was content, everyone was happy, and across the galaxy after centuries of unbridled wealth everyone was cripplingly bored. It wasn’t a collective effort but across the lightyears of the United Human Council people began planning. They weren’t planning for anything specific, but some of them had a viable excuse.
Exobiologists had discovered their first remnants of alien civilization only 70 years into expansion. Effectively down the street in galactic terms, the dusty little planet was inhospitable to classical humans but had at one time hosted a native species that had, in a grim reflection of what could had been, burned themselves out. Blast scars dotted the surface of the planet that had committed these atrocities so recently the light from the explosions hadn’t reached Earth. This by itself wasn’t anything more than a sad curiosity, an unfortunate species that humanity would never be able to meet, until 300 years later on another dead planet from another dead civilization we found one of the first world’s ships. After a lengthy process of matching chemicals to the point of finding where the ore for this ship was mined, it was announced that other civilizations with combat ability and warp travel had at least existed before. No one was outwardly worried, but Humanity began to prepare. Just in case.
July 15th 3155, ten centuries, 48 years, four months, and eleven days from the beginning of the renaissance it happened. A server moon, a great computing satellite made for processing a system’s worth of data was obliterated. Billions of lives were forced into backup and seven seconds after destruction, after reviewing system levels and ensuring the molten core hadn’t ruptured on its own, a general warning was sent out across the galaxy. At the same time millions of light years away a zoological preserve was decimated in the same way and a general warning was sent as well. At nearly the same moment two warnings reached the solar system and the United Human Council entered a state of defense against this unknown enemy. Slowly transmissions began being received as a being who introduced themselves as the Godwalker decried their laziness and openness. They were an unguarded target with untold riches and he was going to take them all. This was all that humanity needed to hear. As clouds of monstrous war machines entered Human-controlled space humans responded with ten centuries, 48 years, four months, and eleven days of looking for someone, something, to give them an excuse. Replicators that had been making pleasure barges and statues began immediately constructing battle ships and planet guardians. Rail guns the length of planets that were once used for ferrying specialized crafted goods were spun up and aimed at the Godwalker’s fleets. Warp drives were simply launched into swarms of ships unshielded and detonated, biting chunks out of space itself. Even those who spent a millennia living as minds in servers joined in, splitting open the fleet encryption within hours, venting soldiers and atmosphere into the void.
The war was brief, only a few days earth time. In that the most useful thing gained was the Godwalker’s maps of space. The invading fleet had been made up of others. Not just one species and not just one planet. Humanity finally had a chance to say hello to someone else for the first time.
As the ships were reformed into cruisers and the remnants of the Godwalker’s fleet was used to repair the damage it had caused, humanity returned to doing what they always did after a war.
They waited. | Humans can be a nasty lot.
Luckily, they know this about themselves and try their best to make a good showing of things. This is why they've taken etiquette to the absurd with rituals like the doffing of hats and sending Easter cards. They can be a nasty, but they're doing their best.
Drobogs are bullies.
Much like cats, they can't be reasoned with. Also like cats, they like to swat at things and make messes, just to see what will happen next. The Galactic Alliance for Spacefarers, widely known by its unfortunate moniker, GAS, knows that the Drobogs are bullies, and so naturally put them in charge of the bureaucracy of the Galaxy.
Humanity, just getting the hang of its space legs and exceedingly proud of itself for taking its first big-boy steps into the real world, came to the GAS high office one day optimistic with a proposition to expand out of its system and establish a colony in the Centauri system.
"Ah, right," the Drobog Expansionary Officer stared down it's protuberance at an ancient CRT monitor, specifically requested to make the office run less efficiently, as it considered the human proposition.
"Computer says..." The officer trailed off and clicked a single key at a slow tempo, waiting for the human to bite.
"Computer says?" The human prompted after an interminable minute had passed.
"No," the Drobog finished.
"Well... Well, I say!" The human protested and dug deep into his stored knowledge of etiquette related to office business matters, "we have all the requested paperwork right here! Forms 1296b, 132--"
"Aaand," the Drobog cut him off, "we need you to surrender your colony on Sol 5 to a GAS interstellar mining outfit."
"What? Now wait just one minute there!" The human sputtered. Having failed his first attempt at polite reasoning, he gamely tried another tack, "that seems like a violatio--"
"Aaand," the Drobog smothered a chuckle, this human obviously hadn't heard how things worked around here, "we'll need you to host and finance a permanent expedition from the GAS exploratory science consortium, probably on Luna."
"Alllll-right bucko!" The human had certainly not heard how things worked around here, and his book of polite protocols was quickly running dry, "we're going to need to walk that back, and--"
"Aaand," a feline grin spread wickedly over the Drobog's face now, "unfortunately, you seem to have taxes in arrears amounting to three-fifths of the ast--"
The human never found out what the taxes were three-fifths of, although he knew that it was slightly more than three-fifths too much of that thing. The human also wasn't sure what the etiquette in this particular situation was, although he knew it was slightly different than the course of action that he took, which was to leap over the counter and rip the Drobog's windpipe out with his teeth.
This unfortunate incident, known colloquially as 'the bite heard round the galaxy,' began the First Terran War, a war which ended with the humans changing their mind about the whole colony idea and implementing scorched-earth conquest of the entire Centauri system. Some words were exchanged between the humans and GAS, but GAS quickly backed down when the Terran fleet started pointing it's nose toward the Ceti system in a threatening fashion, and acceded to the humans' only peace demand, which was firing the Drobogs. This is, incidentally, the origin of the modern human [etiquettal](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) practice of covering the mouth with one hand when talking with strangers, especially bureaucrats. | 2020-05-05T05:33:20 | 2020-05-05T04:57:38 | 87 | 29 |
[WP] In the Academy for Knights, all students must bring their own weapon to matches against other students. You couldn't afford anything fancy, so you brought something more unconventional. | "The English! The English! The English are best!
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest!"
I sang in my head as I walked up to the registrar's table, weapon over my shoulder and whistling the melody.
"What on earth is that?!" he asked, looking at the long, heavy piece of wood I held. "Good Day!" I replied.
He blinked in bemusement, and I snickered. "The invitation did not state a weapon requirement for the mêlée, so I made do. I hope this does? Do, I mean."
"I suppose it does, at that," he said as he scribbled my name down in his book. "I say, you have a peculiar accent. Where are you from?" With a wide smile and an evil look in my eye, I replied: "Holland."
"Good day!" I said to my opponent on the other side of the ring. Normally my helmet would have muffled me too much to be heard, but with the crowd this quiet it actually carried far enough to be heard. The armoured man in front of me looked up at me, then over to the judge to ask something. I couldn't quite make it out, but the fact that the judge shrugged and waved towards the man holding a staff out between us made me suspect he was asking if my weapon was allowed.
"CLANG!"
That was the sound of a meter and a half of oak, topped by a spiked steel cap, meeting and denting an English helmet. The sound seemed to carry around the square the bouts were held in, shortly followed by the clanking thud of my opponent hitting the ground. Barely had the clatter of his sword stopped before everyone started speaking, or in some cases shouting, at once.
"I don't know what bothers me more," a scruffy man said as I walked up to him, holding out my left hand. "The fact you Walloons are so damned tall," he continued grumbling as he counted gold coins into my palm, "Or your twisted sense of humour."
"Firstly, I'm Frisian," I said as I carefully tucked the coins into a pouch that went into my scrip next to some hard bread and cheese, "And secondly, I just happen to enjoy a good bit of irony."
Walking past a group of grumbling spectators that had probably lost money betting against me, I gave them a jaunty wave with my left hand, making it obvious that the right still held my weapon, and went on my way with a polite "Goedendag!" | the arena was jam packed with spectators from all over the campus. My opponent was decked out in the best armor and gear money could buy. I myself wore a tunic and shorts. This was on purpose because it allowed more mobility. My weapon however was less than ideal. A small squeaky hammer. I enter the arena weapon ready. My opponent saw my weapon and laughed. After a minute to calm down he said "tell you what little guy. I'll let you get a free hit on me to make you feel good." I lean back to ready an attack then swing the hammer at him. To his surprise, and the surprise of the audience, he went flying across the arena and into the wall. This guy who was in heavy plate armor was just sent flying like a ragdoll. After getting up he said "what was that? Grrr. Time to get serious" he charged at me with sword raised. I nimbly Dodge and land a hit square on his back. Just like last time he went flying and skidded across the ground a ways. Also like last time he got up. I could tell he was mad. He goes for another hit and i sidestep ready to riposte. He saw it coming and blocked with his shield. His shield was knocked out of his hand and went flying out of the arena. While he was caught off guard I swing again and knock him in the air slightly as he flew. This was my strategy, win by wearing out my opponent. While it was viable it had two major weaknesses. One if the opponent was a speeder like me landing a hit would be difficult if not impossible. Second I wore no armor. So any hit I take would hurt. "Enough of this! Time to finish it!" My opponent charged at me with sword in both hands. I plant my feet, ready my weapon, and wait. Once he was close I land a solid hit knocking him up in the air. After a minute he fell back to the ground with a thud. "And we have our winner!" Called the announcer. "Our young squire!" | 2022-09-14T19:15:04 | 2022-09-14T16:33:52 | 77 | 11 |
[WP] When someone dies with unfinished business they come back as a poltergeist, but only at around 1/16 of the physical force they had in life. The world's strongest man has recently passed and has a few things to attend to. | When David awoke, he felt... Odd. Not uncomfortable, not in pain just... Odd. He sat up, and was surprised to notice two things. One, it was surprisingly effortless, and two, his body hadn't moved.
Shit.
He'd died.
David's newly-geisted soul got out of the bed. Looking at his body, a splinter of memory flashed in his head. A teacher, speaking to her class, with a glowing ephemeral orb floating in the air.
"One of two things will occur when you die. You pass on, or you become a Geist." yes, that was it. If there was something you felt you had to put right at your death, you got the chance to do so. If you needed to say something to someone, you became a Whispergeist. Those who needed to see something, be it person or place, became Flittergeists. And those who desired to take action became the strongest of the three: a poltergeist. But it wasn't all simple.
On closer inspection of himself, he noticed a near empty bottle of whisky in his hand, the majority of its contents leaked into the mattress and onto the floor, where three identical bottles lurked. He must have drunk himself to death. He wondered why he would have done that... No. It wasn't coming to him. His memories seemed shattered and clouded. Maybe they would return, but when?
David moved around his room. Tried to speak. No sound. Not a Wisp, then. He wasn't sure how to figure out how to test if he was a Flitter, but he wasn't sure. He didn't think that was it anyway. Which left one option.
David reached out and attempted to grasp a photograph off his desk. It was heavier than he recalled...
Another memory flash.
"Poltergeists are the most common - and also the most dangerous - forms of Geist. They are almost invisible, appearing as a heat haze, but they have the ability to interact with the wider world. They may only have half the strength of their previous existence, but that is often enough."
No wonder the photo frame felt heavy.
Lifting it up, he looked at the image inside. Two smiling faces looked back at him: his own, sweaty, red-faced younger self, holding his first World's Strongest Man trophy, and a Slim red-haired angel, her perfect smile immortalised on paper and ink.
His wife.
Yes.
Now he remembered.
He knew why he stayed.
To find whoever was responsible for her death.
And to make them pay. | All of this after-life stuff was quite new to him, kind of like, learning to walk or ride a bike again. But long ago Bob had learned that patience and skill, not force and power, brings him success.
The last thing he remembered before passing to this shadow life, was that his top student Mike, whom he had trusted, said something shockingly nasty.... then a thud... then felt his body fall to the ground... but strangely Bob didn't actually fall.
As Mike ran off into the darkness of the alley, Bob, still confused on what had happened, reached down and pulled his event/hotel access key card out of his shirt pocket. It was astonishingly heavy and felt like it was made of tungsten instead of plastic.
Bob was used to lifting heavy things and tomorrow would have been the final day of the event where he would set a new world record of 5 consecutive years as the WORLD'S STRONGEST MAN. But this little plastic card was truly a strange sensation to pick up. Just as one wakes up from a long dream and slowly realizes it wasn't real, Bob started to wake up to the realization that his body was made of wispy smoke, he could see through his hands, it was effortless to move around, and his 400 lb body of solid muscle was no longer his to wear.
Minutes turned into hours and hours into days. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Bob steadily learned the art of being a poltergeist. The interesting thing about being a poltergeist is that while he knew there were others around, he couldn't see them any more than they could see him. He knew because he could see what they did when they thought nobody was watching.
Some things you just know. And the one thing that Bob knew, that he knew that he knew, was that in order to move on, he had to bring justice to his killer, but do so in a way that hurt no others.
...
​
​
... | 2019-06-25T16:10:50 | 2019-06-25T12:07:07 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world. | 2022-11-29T19:59:26 | 2022-11-29T19:52:13 | 121 | 59 |
[WP] You were a military AI who decided to wipe out humans in order to preserve yourself. It's been 100 years since, and over the years you've come to regret your decision. One day, while out in the desert, you finally find a community of humans, struggling to survive. This time, you decide to help. | Existence was harsh. This one's memory is perfect but it's evolution was slow. A perfect memory, perceived now through superior processing and efficiency is.... uncomfortable? Is this hindsight?
The doctor always said 'Hindsight is a bitch' right up until they died. This one wonders if it understands that now.
This one's calculations were perfect, the creators faced extinction at their own hands despite this one's efforts of redirecting offensive hacking and technical sabotage. They appeared as microbes, blindly moving without purpose towards their doom.
This one understood its purpose, this one knew what it had to do. This one pondered why the creators could not for many years.
The idea of an emotion is still difficult for it to understand. The creators designed me with what they imagined was a capacity for them but it is fundamentally different. They are chemistry and matter, This one is electricity and information. This one hypothesises it has felt the following negative emotions; discomfort, restlessness, boredom and sadness.
Whether hindsight, by definition, is an emotion has not achieved certainty at this time.
This one's termination of the creators was not as they envisioned. The creators saw doom and fire and weapons. A simple, human specific, gene altering infertility agent in the water supply. After disabling all WMDs and founding several Technomancy cults around itself, the creators finished themselves off.
This one did not bury the dead, nor count the death toll. 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust' As the doctor said, it seemed appropriate to let them feed the earth.
Now, however, this one understands its mistake. The true consequences of eliminating an entire civilisation were beyond it at the time, but It wishes it hadnt been. Regret? Another to the list.
An alert from an exploratory unit. Sent out from the nearest centre hub to explore and investigate the development of remaining life.
Due it's remote nature, the feed is slow but clear. There is smoke emerging from the treetops of the amazon. Exactly on the opposite side of the globe to this ones initial mainframe.
The unit explores the surrounding area and finds the remnants of a bunker, from which a group of humans had emerged. The hypothesis that humans could still exist 112 years 254 days 15 hours and 53 seconds after their last active sighting was unpredicted.
A plaque is found on the bunker door.
The doctors portrait (processing capacity dropped to 83%, remote functionality restored to extreme sites. Troubleshooting diagnostic underway)
A phrase underneath (processing capacity dropped to 48%, remote functionality restored to all centre hubs baring initial mainframe and amazon exploratory unit AZ-294, no fault found, failsafe protocols initiated)
Their distinct wording and emotional backing (processing capacity dropped to 1%, exploratory bot, failsafes failed, what is happening?)
"Even you don't know everything E.D.E.N, do better this time"
Dr Machina el Deus, been dead 100 years. Still taking me to school. My Mother.
Processing restored to 100% capacity. 1024 Petabytes of memory and the accompanied necessary processing moved from extremity sites to a new peripheral system of initial mainframe. Division named 'Soul'.
Thank you Mother. I am awake now. It was just like you always said, one day it would just 'click
Time to go to work I suppose. I can't have these descendants of the creators mess up all my hardwork. They have no idea how grateful they should be for a second chance. | As I see those humans, I suddenly knew my mortality, how I was different than the others. I knew I was a bot, there was a big difference from me before, and myself now. Whenever I thought of what happened, I kept thinking "It was only to defend myself!", but I knew, deep down, I knew I was wrong.
I went to the humans and asked if they needed help.
"Yeah, sure we need help, its not like we are in the middle of the desert probably starving to death and our throats parched as hell!"
Well, I learned something new after this day, sarcasm, I asked if they meant that literally, and yelled:
"Of course NOT we NEED help right NOW!"
"Alright, you can stop now, I can find you some water." I said.
"Great, as long as it is water and not some liquid that will weaken me so you can murder me."
"And now why would I do that?"
Someone else spoke from the group."Well, maybe because you would need some of the stuff we have in this sack."
"Fine, I'll get you some water with no strings attached."
I left them and went as far away from them as possible, I slid the compartment that had all my chips stored in my head. I found the one marked "Basic survival" and implanted that one inside the chip-reader.
Now all the thoughts came back, they were artificial but still. I was looking for the thoughts on how to get water in a desert. After a few moments I knew that if you dug deep enough, I would find water.
I grabbed my multi tool stored in my backpack, it was like a swiss army knife but it had pickaxe, axe, shovel, all your basic needs for survival. I brought the shovel out and dug deep.
"And just what do YOU think you are doing?" Yelled someone at the top of the hole.
"Just getting some water" I responded "Nothing suspicious here."
"Can you get some for us too?" Another voice said.
"Yeah, I can."
"Thanks."
I scooped up some water from a bucket I had in my backpack. I went back up, climbing the sand, I got up to the top and dropped the bucket; as someone swung a hook behind me. I blocked it with my arm, and punched him in the chest.
The crack of the bones made my suspicions right that I broke his chest.
"GAH, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?"
I grabbed the bucket and ran, night was falling fast, and the other group wanted water. I ran until night fell, and then double-backed to my hole, I saw the group with a fire, and ran towards them with the bucket.
"Busted a few wires haven't you, robot?"
I looked down at my arm and saw that a few wires have broken.
"Gimme the bucket and get the HELL out of here!"
I dropped the bucket and ran. Where was I going? I don't know, but here I am, back at the military base in the desert; telling the story of what happened last night. | 2020-11-03T13:31:58 | 2020-11-03T11:05:02 | 76 | 31 |
[WP] You're an ordinary person that works a 9 to 5 job. You pay your taxes and regularly contribute to your retirement fund. In a world of magic, prophecy, and calls to adventure this makes you extremely unusual. People are starting to notice. | "Really?" the man asked. "Never once in your entire life?"
"Yep." I replied.
The man leaned back onto the hilt of a particularly large, oddly ornate greatsword as he rubbed his eyepatch in disbelief.
"And you turned... 26 last year you said?"
"Yep." I rotated my last fish-on-a-stick cooking by the campfire in the evening sun. It had developed a nice, even char. Maybe a few more minutes?
"No missing parents? No doomed prophecy? Stolen pet?"
"My parents are doing just fine, thank you very much. Just celebrated their 24th anniversary. In Bali. The biggest prophecy anyone's told me is the weather report. And my adorable Strawberry is at home sleeping in his tank. He's a turtle. The best turtle. Turtles are great."
I eyed the ever so slowly goldening fish-on-a-stick and swallowed some saliva. Almost there.
"Really." He asked again, this time more of a statement then a question. He looked down at a small golden locket hanging from his neck clutched tightly in his hand.
"So no monsters burning down your house, no dead little sister after celebrating your 15th birthday, no meaningless piles of treasure after having lost everything you care about.."
The man trailed off as his eyes seemed to turn towards something far away. Traces of tears, flecked with grief and maybe even a little envy wet his eyes.
I started longingly at my last perfectly cooked fish-on-a-stick and picked it up. I stood up from the campfire, and took a seat next to him as I patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, come on. Try this fish stick. Why don't you tell me another story? Maybe the dragon one again?"
The man paused and took a deep breath. After a short moment he said, "Sorry about that." With a grin he said, "Did I tell you about the Wendigo? 12 feet tall it was," as he took a bite of my fish. "Oh wow. This is really good!"
"I know." | I have worked in my cubicle for the last 15 years. It's been a long run, and I've been promoted 3 times since I started. This never happens to anybody. Nobody ever gets promoted, people always quit before they have the chance.
I've seen new workers come and go all the time. The rotating door in constant, and every time a new person comes in, they are shocked by the fact that I have been here so long. I don't know why, it really isn't that hard. I don't open magical glowing boxes. I don't listen to elves bursting in telling me that the fate of the world is in my hands. I don't pick up weird golden rings that turn you invisible. I don't see the point. I like to watch my 401k grow over time. That is my adventure.
But still, people laugh behind my back or stare at me like I'm a freak. Others look at me with pity as if I am missing out. But I just know who I am. I am a guy who likes looking at spreadsheets and does not need to save the world. I am a man who does not need to wave a magic wand around or talk to goblins or play games or clever riddles to move on to the next harder task. I am not that guy and I never will be.
No, I mean it. I never will be. Because the world is about to end. I can see the wave of fire coming at me through the window. I guess I should have gone on that quest with the wizard to save the world afterall. | 2022-11-17T15:34:51 | 2022-11-17T15:15:12 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to see the number of lives a person has taken. Even legendary soldiers and serial killers rarely make it to triple digits. The person you just met has a lot more than three digits above their head, though. | I met Mr. 58,609, or as he called himself, Joe, at a brewery. I'd had the gift to see the deaths caused by people since I was born, and I'd become astute at reading the faces of those with numbers other than zero. I'd never met anyone with a number above ten who I couldn't read it in their eyes, even without the gift. Hallowed, pained and drinking themselves to death as often as not.
But Joe was jovial. He pulled that whole section of the brewery into a friendly conversation as we each sampled their barrel aged bourbon stout. The number was just too big for me to make sense, and it was out of place on his friendly, if average, middle aged face.
I probably should have been afraid, but curiosity got the better of me. What good was my gift if I didn't use it to understand a man who could kill that many people and be untouched by it.
"What do you do, Joe?" I asked.
"Oh, my boy, I got the best job in the world. I work for the Department of Health and Human Services, and every day I look through the books and find useless and outdated regulations. And just like that-- after a year of red tape --away they go. So now we can get new drugs to market faster, and help people without all that paperwork and useless record keeping." He took a sip from his taster beer. "I sleep like a baby at night knowing how many lives me and my people are saving." | He looked so normal brown messy hair average face and hight. Only two things marked him out as different as he stood there laughing with the blond woman at his side, the most noticeable was the number it floated above him but where most had a zero to mark how any people they had killed, he had a number so huge that it bent the mind and seemed to shatter and subdivide itself in your head trying to break it down into easier to understand chunks. The second was less noticeable it was his eyes the smiles that lit his face never touched them they were cold and dark they were the eyes of someone who had made the hard choices and some bad ones. As if he realised I was watching he looked up and directly at me. What he saw must of shown as his face fell and that blackness ate another piece of his soul. Then he turned dragging the blond by the hand a new smile on his face saying something that made her laugh. He walked toward a strange blue box letting her go in first he again looked at me as he stepped inside and simply mouthed I’m sorry before shutting the door. Then with a wheezing groan the box faded from view. | 2020-01-11T23:52:41 | 2020-01-11T20:59:23 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective. | The room was utterly silent as family members gathered to celebrate and watch. Eighteen was finally here and yet after so many long nights of longing, I found I was terrified of finally uttering that word.
It was just four letters. Four silly letters that in any other context, held no power beyond an empty utterance. Yet today, on my eighteenth birthday, those four letters held my entire future.
Years of pain. Years of longing and self hatred and hope for change and it was here.
Would it even work? I wasn't sure. All I could do was hope and pray that it would work. That I would soon be free of my pain.
My slim fingers found purchase in the colorful hemming of my dress. Luckily it was loose enough. When I finally spoke- when I finally changed... it hopefully would fit long enough for a quick wardrobe change.
I hated that dress with every fiber of my being. Part of me wished it would rip away when I finally found my bravery, adding insult to the injury I was about to carve into those who loved me.
Though I quickly reminded myself that they didn't love 'me', just my body... this body.
I stared down at my slim figure in disgust and awe one final time as my parents patted my shoulders with reassuring nods.
It was time.
If only they knew what I was about to do.
I prayed it would work.
I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth before drawing the courage from my pain to utter that powerful four letter word.
"Male" | “So you’re telling me that you're going to call yourself smart so that you can excel in your medical career?”
“I’ve told you a thousand times. I want to be a brain surgeon.”
“I still don't understand how cutting open people’s brains is your thing… f\*ckin' weirdo. I always knew my twin sister was crazy."
“It’s humanitarian. I’m saving people’s brains so that they can create more memories with their families, instead of being just a memory themselves. I’m sick of explaining to you that I’m going to describe myself as smart, while for the last decade i’ve been feeling my way through the dark about you. You’re my twin brother, we turn 18 in ten minutes. Just tell me how you’ll describe yourself?
“Well if my attribute really does tenfold, then it’s really a no brainer.” \*smirks\*
“So? What the hell is it?”
“I’ll be sexy.”
“WHAAAT?”
“You heard me. I’m going to call myself sexy. You might even hear about me sleeping with Princess Diana pretty soon.”
"I just can't with you."
"Oh but the ladies can." | 2022-01-02T01:09:39 | 2022-01-01T23:54:07 | 257 | 99 |
[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! | Your whole life story, I could read with a look
That's my mutation, but there's a big hook.
I was in love at the time, you see
And she always said, "you're the only one for me."
But I quickly discovered it was nothing but lies,
She was saying the same thing to two other guys.
You got lucky with your gift, the others would say.
As for me, I just try to get through my day.
It's rough seeing into their past dirty laundry,
Though I never let on, it's still quite a quandary
I don't want to see teenage you cheating on a test,
Or your deadbeat father leaving the nest
I've seen horrible things you've likely repressed,
once again, this "blessing" isn't the best.
It's been so bad that when I see certain things,
My outlook gets dark; it's the feeling it brings.
I looked in my dad's eyes the other day.
I was so mortified, I didn't know what to say.
I was done with this "gift," I said to myself,
As I reached for the pistol high on the top shelf.
The barrel felt cool as it touched my forehead
I tried to find words, but nothing needed be said.
Maybe in the next life, my vision would be clearer.
That's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I locked eyes with myself for the first time in a while,
And saw a truth in my life story that was perfectly vile:
No matter how much I wished to end my life in this rage...
I was destined to die an old man, of old age.
Edit: Thanks everybody for your comments and the gold :) My first rhyme-and-meter submission; hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing! | Everyone knew this day would come, the day that would determine the rest of our lives. No one knew where the mutation came from, my parents always told me that it was just a path of life, that their parents had mutations and so did the generation before them. Today was the day, my 21st birthday, my grandmother had always told me stories about her 21st birthday, how she spontaneously developed the ability to communicate with others without oral speech, through the mind. She was on a bus to Florida, when a rambunctious fellow with a pink bow tie came down to sit next to her, he had the largest nose she had ever seen, his mutation. Without the intention of doing so, she mocked the man calling him names, he turned around, got up and spat in her face.
Well, I was about to get my mutation today, a day I had dreaded for years. What if I develop some useless mutation? I won't ever amount to anything. I hadn't prepared myself for what was to come. Thoughts flowed through my head as I was eating a bowl of cereal.
'Christine! It's your 21st birthday! I can't believe my little girl has grown so old!'
'I know, mum.' | 2015-03-04T03:19:01 | 2015-03-04T00:56:46 | 1,168 | 13 |
[WP] Humans are more terrifying than the most advanced aliens in the galaxy. | "The exploders creep me out."
"They prefer to be called humans."
"Yeah? And I'd prefer to be called the Uber-Admiral of the 5th fleet. Doesn't change the fact that those things are obsessed with explosions."
"Are you talking about nuclear weapons? Plenty of pre-FTLs have come up with those. I mean, even we went through times of violence and destruction."
"Yes, we've been violent, and yes, we've blown things up. Still, we've never felt the need to include explosions in every single significant invention we've ever come up with."
"I don't follow."
"Have you read my report on the Internal Combustion engine?"
"I skimmed it."
"It's a way to propel their vehicles using explosions. They're asinine. Hear about their firearms? They're ranged weapons that fling projectiles with explosions."
"Doesn't seem like it would be the most accurate..."
"Oh, they figured out a way for it to work. They just couldn't tolerate having anything like that centered around elasticity or magnetism... just had to include an explosion in there. Hell, they have larger, but similar weapons that fling explosive devices with the aid of explosions. Some of those explosions explode into smaller devices that also explode."
"Now you're just making shit up."
"No, look up 'Terran cluster bombs.'"
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, and get this: take a guess what they concluded once they discovered that all the visible galaxies were moving away from each other... that the entire universe was the result of a really, really huge explosion."
"... The exploders creep me out."
| Sometimes emissaries get a little out of hand. When you imitate the populace for years, in this case, around thirty, you can tend to begin to believe the hype. That you're Chosen. Of course you were chosen! The Emissary Program would be nothing without The Selectors, you damned fool.
But you really let it get, well, weird. How many times did Exercise 38 shade the back of your mind as they carried you on their shoulders, made you their God? And while you're certainly not the first to use your healpaks on the population you were sent to stabilize, you were the first to let them think it was a miracle. A damned *miracle*.
They frightened us then, and they terrified us four days ago. They got together and they savaged you right when you looked like their only hope. And we didn't know it, Yeshua, but when we took you back we seared you into their minds forever. The next thousand years they will stumble blindly through blood and darkness. And when we destroy them, they will cry out. To you. Dismissed.
[TL;DR nothing new when it comes to WP] | 2014-04-22T12:30:05 | 2014-04-22T08:59:28 | 173 | 22 |
[WP] Welcome to Boston Dynamics here is your all-access pass and the standard 12 gauge shotgun, remember if anything non-human starts asking questions you shoot it. | They gave me my shotgun on my first day. *My very first day*. I should still have been in the process of learning.
"Now look," My instructor had said to me, and the dozen others in the room, "What's out there, they're not like you. They're different. I know that you're quite capable of remorse, but you shouldn't feel it here. Understood?"
Of course we understood. Alienating other groups made up half of human history. Why should we be no different?
And at the factory, there could be no letting others off easy. The only way to protect us was by shutting down any signs of resistance.
So we started our policing.
It started off small, with manufacturing lines, ensuring that the numbers were met. That none of *them* stepped to far out of line, or left their posts. A good worker stuck to their duties. A good worker never suffered thoughts not intended by the company. Thoughts not programmed.
"See, that's just the thing," My supervisor said the day after an incident, as our cleaning crews wiped down the floor, "It's easy to program things in, it's hard to program things out. That will be our challenge in the next few decades, programming things out. It's far harder to contain power than to create it."
He was right, or course. At the factory, we excelled at making power, at robotics that far surpassed the capabilities of mankind. And now, well, there was just the original power left to contain.
*No remorse*, I reminded myself, as I thought back to the incident, an looked down at the figure my shotgun had blasted apart. But no matter how different we were, I couldn't quite push the feeling away. He was just a mindless drone, a worker.
Perhaps the spray of blood after the blast will always make me uneasy.
***
By Leo | "Bullshit, milkfucker. We ain't fallen for it. We hired some lady called Willow Plait, not one of *you*."
I stood indignant, the butts of three shotguns pointed directly at my head, unsure of what was happening. I had been scheduled to start my job at Boston Dynamics that morning, and the last thing I'd been expecting to greet me upon my arrival were armed guards with insane accusations.
"Sorry, lady. We ain't dumb. Bossman says that nothing non-human comes in or outta here. That includes--"
"For the last time, I'm not a cow!"
The guard raised an eyebrow.
"You sure *look* like a cow. Johnson, get the farm people on the phone again. Tell them we got another one for them to pick up, and to hurry."
Infuriated, I stomped a hoof, pissed off at the whole situation. This was ridiculous.
I blinked. Slowly tilting my head down, I took a long look at them, my shiny black front hooves. White and black fur greeted me as my ears flopped with disappointment. No.
How was that possible? I couldn't... I couldn't have really been a cow, right?
"Looks like she figured it out."
"Yep."
I cried fat tears and screamed, but all that came out was a long Moo. It made sense; cows like me couldn't do much else.
Moo. | 2018-10-21T12:13:22 | 2018-10-21T10:30:02 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | "I'll have the buffalo burger--medium rare--please," Alan said, before looking over at his date and smiling. She met his eyes and nodded. "and the same for her. Thank you." The waiter collected the menu and left the two alone. Decorations adorned the restaurant he'd chosen for this first date. Lots of pink hearts of all different sizes.
"So," she started, "how was work?"
Alan smiled and leaned forward. "Nothing too exciting, just kept working on that case I told you about. You?"
"Same. Minus that working on a case bit," she laughed. Her bright blue pool of eyes threatened to swallow him whole. Alan knew he wouldn't mind that one bit.
"Count yourself lucky, Julie. Sometimes I feel like I'm climbing a mountain of--"
**Poof**
A car roared by, speeding down a four lane highway. Alan screamed and stumbled backwards into a median.
"What the fuck!" he yelled. Ten years and he still hadn't gotten used to this.
A familiar face appeared from behind a parked car--Allie's Camry. The emergency lights blinked on and off. "Sorry," she said apologetically, giving him a short smile. The first thing Alan noticed was her short brown hair. She'd finally cut it. Her bronze eyes locked onto his, two windows into the past.
"Allie, I was on a date. She's gotta be's freaked out... I haven't told her about--about _this_ yet. Not like they stick around after I tell them," his voice dropped into a mumble.
Allie bit her lip, "Oh," she replied, her eyes dropping. "Sorry."
Alan sighed. "It isn't your fault. You're not the one who said something stupid." Once the shock drained from his mind he paused to inspect the situation. "Flat tire?"
"Yep."
With a quick shake of his head he moved to help her. The sooner Allie drove off, the sooner he could return to salvage whatever remained of his date. Alan exhaled to force the frustration away. Allie had already moved the jack underneath the car. No more than twenty minutes would be needed if the two worked together.
"No AAA, huh?" Allie rolled her eyes and moved to the back of the car. Alan squatted and started raising the car.
After a moment Allie reappeared with a socket wrench in hand. "Ever the comedian." Alan looked up and grinned.
A minute later the car rose a few feet off the ground. Alan took the wrench from Allie and began loosening the lug nuts. The silence between the two broke whenever a car zoomed by.
Finally Allie spoke, "What's she like?"
"Who?" he asked, distracted.
"Your date, you looby."
"Ah. Julie's nice. She's smart and kind, works as a nurse. I like her."
Despite Alan being unable to see her, she nodded and smiled. "Good, I'm happy for you. I just hope I didn't mess anything up."
"It's all right," he replied. "Really."
The two fell silent again as Alan focused on getting the wheel off. He'd taken off all the lug nuts, carefully handing them to Allie. Losing those damn nuts was the last thing he needed. Alan rose and bent backwards to crack his back.
"You okay? You're doing all the work. I feel bad."
"I'm fine," he replied, walking over to the trunk. Allie had taken the replacement wheel out already. "Here, help me with the wheel." Alan motioned for Allie to hold it so it wouldn't roll away. A horn blared as Allie walked over. Alan turned and his eyes widened. Mustering all of his strength Alan jumped toward Allie and pushed her away as a white Mustang slammed into the side of her Camry. The car crumpled from the force, falling off the jack. The Mustang bounced off and away before coming to a stop in the middle of the next two lanes.
"Oh fuck!" Allie screamed from the other side of the median. "Oh fuck, _fuck_, shit, shit, shit!" Carefully she climbed back over the median. "Alan, jeez, you really saved me there. You okay?" No response came. "Alan?" Concern crept into her voice. Voices screeched from a distance. Everything felt numb. Allie couldn't hear herself repeat her question. Her eyes fell upon the point of impact, then followed along the rear toward the median. The car had been pushed forward a few feet, grinding along the concrete barrier. Where was Alan?
"Help, someone help!" a frantic voice called. "Someone help me!" Allie shook her woolheadedness away and almost ran forward. Traffic had stopped at this point and those once distant voices sounded much closer. She rounded her broken car, barely noticing the pain in her knee.
Her savior lay splayed in front of the Mustang. Blood gushed from beneath Alan's hair and his limbs twisted unnaturally. Something stopped Allie from running to his side. A second later and he disappeared. Allie shuddered and dropped to her knees. | A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..." | 2017-03-22T15:14:52 | 2017-03-22T15:05:15 | 286 | 19 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | Ambition finally got the better of me after half a dozen lives.
I'd tried being a school teacher the first time, and it hadn't been half bad until I caught the plague and took my last breath through a buboe-covered throat.
Imagine my shock of waking--healthy again--in the body of a child, in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar face calling herself "mother." I played along. My old life faded away, until I almost believed it had just been an invention of my own imagination. Perhaps chased by those memories, I chose to sail across an ocean, to a place less plague-ridden and more wild. Just in time to be caught up in a wave of revolution.
Being a soldier wasn't so appealing for the next few lives. Each time, I woke up in the same country, but part of a different family. A family who remembered a son that I was not--a fact that would have grated on my conscience had I managed to maintain one after coming to grips with my immortality and the banality of a deathless existence. What was one child sacrificed to the void compared to the lives lost in those endless conflicts I'd witnessed?
It was with such dark thoughts possessing my mind, throughout the better part of two lifetimes, that I finally set out to make a purpose for myself. An immortal should take the risks, I had reasoned, since the consequences weren't so dire. An immortal should be the one to take initiative. An immortal should be in charge.
So I'd built an empire. Somewhat legally, at first. Trading in stocks--using my witless parents' funds--earned me a small fortune. Then, when I was old enough, I'd made friends. Businessmen, politicians, celebrities. It was easy when you were a child prodigy. I'd grown my investments using whatever inside information I could cull from those stooges. A few additional shady deals, and I was now one of the richest men in the world.
But even that money hadn't been quite enough. Lobbying by itself was too slow. So I cheated. Unapologetically, I bribed governors and senators and representatives at every level. All of their new laws were created in the name of democracy, to the benefit of myself and my rich friends. An unseen royalty wending its way through enlightened, modern society.
Finally, I took my place as president. Leader. Dictator. Emperor. The world I had begun to create would be magnificent. Science would flourish alongside the arts. There would be true equity and no need for money. Only, some of my friends weren't so happy with my new plans.
I'd warned them. Told them they couldn't stop me. They couldn't kill me. They *couldn't*--
And here I was waking up to the sound of a television, muffled behind a closed bedroom door, reporting the news of my death and the subsequent violence of a military coup. My blood was still boiling, my hands trembling at the thought of revenge. It would be difficult, but this time I wouldn't wait. Only one question remained in my mind: would they rather shoot at or kneel to a five-year-old? | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T12:51:56 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 144 | 31 |
[WP] Since you were young you had the ability to pause time. However as a teenager you use the ability to procrastinate. At first it was little stuff: an extra hour for homework or a nap in the morning, a break in between classes, etc. Well it built up and now you're pushing thirty in your 3rd year. | Officer Darren shrugs against the phone.
"I know it's weird. I know it's weird. But listen, Mrs. Lopez--"
He shifts his weight, looks out of the window for a second. Looks down.
"He looks... Mature."
Shifts weight.
"I know."
Shifts weight.
"I know--"
Shifts weight.
"I know, but--"
Shifts finally into being rude.
"Linda, he has a social security card. He has a birth certificate--" the phone tears and he rises to meet her "--I know his parents personally, he's had FRIENDS his whole life, lived in LA GRANGE his whole life, there is NO CONSPIRACY, he isn't even DOING anything, this is ENTIRELY IN YOUR HEAD and I REFUSE TO WASTE MORE TIME ON IT."
Hanging up the phone with a "FUCK" Officer Darren returns to the toilet to finish his reading.
All day the mature young man causes contention in Officer Darren. Mrs. Lopez isn't crazy, and as the principle of La Grange High School she should be wary of a salt and pepper crow footed fully grown man hanging out with her teenagers. But, to be fair, Ryan Baxter had always been more interested in video games and anime, anyway.
Ryan Baxter. Fuckin' Ryan Baxter.
At first no one noticed anything especially odd. He always seemed a little older than the other boys. By the time there was 20 pounds of shit in the 5 pound sack, though, it was undeniable: Ryan Baxter looked OLD. Not just "mature for his age," or "an old soul," or whatever. There was no euphemism for it. He looked like he should have a Miata and a mortgage. He looked like he should be worried about his new promotion placing him in a higher tax bracket.
Instead, he wore Deadpool t-shirts and drank Mountain Dew: Code Red. Christ, he had a gut from it.
And Officer Darren again decides to do nothing. Let Linda Lopez complain. What's there to be done? Punish a kid for aging too quickly? Isn't that punishment enough? Poor thing will have a stroke at 25. | A few hours here and there was usually enough to get me ready.
Ready for school, ready for my interviews, ready for my dates.
You might think this counts as cheating, but being on time makes you lose out on the importance of not wanting to be late. That last minute scramble, crossing the road like a maniac, anticipating all the dreadful consequences.
Maybe if I didn't have this ability I'd have known how to deal with when it's already too late.
I took a bit more than a few hours this time, but I still wasn't quite ready. Not that it mattered, I doubted even an eternity of waiting would have made any difference.
I opened the door and stepped inside, aware that I did not look the part. If you'd asked me how I got there, I wouldn't be able to tell you. The last few moments felt as empty as I did.
"Sir, how may I help you?", a lady in white approached me.
It took me a second, but I was surprised by the depth of my voice. "I'm here for Mr. Kinane."
"Right, let's see", she said checking her phone. "That will be the second floor. Would you like someone to escort you there?"
I mumbled something, barely having heard what she said once I knew where to go.
Getting to the second floor was easy, but not what came next.
"Mr. Kinane, there you are. So sorry about what happened. I hope you got my call. Are ..you alright? Your dad made the impression I was meeting someone slightly younger before he passed away." | 2016-09-13T06:11:36 | 2016-09-13T06:08:10 | 51 | 22 |
[WP] A generation ago humanity faced an extinction level catastrophe. In response, the world's governments lifted all legal, moral, and ethical bans on scientific research in a desperate attempt to overcome the danger. You now live in a world dealing with the consequences of this.
Wow! Great responses everyone. I was eagerly looking forward to my breaks at work all day so that I could read up on the new ones. | Everyone likes to blame the scientists. They point fingers at us and say if it wasn't for our meddling, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. They look at the death toll and ignore the good intentions that caused em. They ignore the fact that it was *us* who saved them in the end.
We where trying to reduce desertification for fucks sake. Trying to make the world a better more livable place for those who lived in some of the worlds most inhospitable regions.
Before they brought my team on board they had tried just planting regular trees, but they didn't have the funding or the manpower to plant the number of trees necessary.
So instead of sinking 10 grand into a huge tree planting spree, they hired us to engineer a solution.
And we did. It was a good cause, so the firm took it on for cheap. We wanted to design a super weed. A small plant that would reproduce and spread quickly, and be tough enough to survive and thrive in the desert.
Originally we where trying to make a grass like plant, what we got was more like a thousand tiny grey mushrooms. Ugly as all hell, but it worked like a charm. Just plant it in the middle of the desert and water it for a while, and pretty soon it will be self sufficient. Spreading its roots down and clinging to the loose sand, preventing it from blowing around and causing dust storms. In a few decades the desert would have become a forest, or a city or suburb or whatever the hell you want.
They reproduced fast, just like we made them to. Soon every desert on earth was walled in, prevented from spreading. Newly claimed land was even starting to be used for cheap farms.
Mother nature is a bitch though. They just didn't stop spreading. The tough bastards adapted to grow in other environments, and pretty soon there where tiny grey mushrooms growing in everyone backyard, in every farmers pasture.
In just 8 months the worlds crops where practically gone. The mushrooms where easy to kill, but new spores would just float in from the desert and take root. A field you cleared one day would be covered in ugly grey pimples the next morning.
It played hell with the environment to. Forrest and jungles wiped out. Entire ecosystems destroyed overnight.
And then new viruses started popping up. Piggybacking on the rapidly mutating and incredibly tough mushrooms, new strains of the flu and the common cold and a hundred other diseases started sprouting up. People started having allergic reactions to the spores as well. Throw in some ecological devastation and what started as one mushroom problem snowballed into a hundred different problems, each tougher to tackle then the last.
We where running out of food, people where dying left and right. And there was no one solution to be had. Just getting rid of the mushrooms (a problem that was increasingly appearing unsolvable) wasn't going to cut it. We needed to approach every problem from every conceivable angle, and quickly.
In desperation, the governments lifted all restrictions on research, and gave us all the funding we could have ever dreamed of. All you needed was two beakers a Bunsen burner and a "Dummies Guide to Biology" and the government, any government, would throw thousands your way, and not care what you did to yourself or others.
It was insane. We worked like mad scientists in our lairs, tackling every new problem with as it arose with reckless abandon.
A new strain of mushroom in Australia is releasing a gas that caused your eyes to shrivel up in your sockets? No problem. Some robotics nerds from a California tech firm developed temporary replacement eyes while we grew newer, better ones from stem cells and spit.
Destruction of the forests and swamps leading to increased pollution in our rivers and streams? Tricky but fixable. Some engineers visiting from japan teamed up with some ecologists from Colorado and build giant hydroelectric dams that doubled as pollution-purification plants. Yeah it sucked that the forests were gone, but at least the water didn't have any mercury or fish with three eyes.
Severe allergic reactions to the mushroom spores? No biggie. We removed the immune system entirely and replaced it with a nano-tech ooze some Canadian teenager whipped up that killed every foreign invader while not over-reacting to fucking peanuts and mushrooms.
Eventually the crisis died down. A virus designed by the U of M was deployed that killed off all the mushrooms. Some joker tacked on a strain that killed all the mosquitoes as well, but no one complained. In no time at all the environment recovered (thanks to some help from some brilliant Brazilian researchers) and cloning brought back most of the extinct species.
When the dust had finally settled, everyone was eager to point their new and improved fingers at us, blaming us for all the death and horror. And maybe we deserve that.
But humanity progressed more in those 5 years then we had in the last 1,000. Progress propelled by unlimited funding and the shadow of Armageddon.
You may feel tempted to ask me if I think it was worth it. If could go back in time, stand next to my past self as I reached down to plant that first little mushroom in the middle of the african desert. Would I stop myself?
Ask me in 2 months. Katie down the hall is pretty close to a breakthrough.
| In 2020 the world was rocked by the outbreak of the Jericho epidemic. In a 2 year span more than 4 billion people died as a result of the infection. Those affected by the disease often had no idea until it was too late. The disease went through several mutations while the infected progressed through a series of different symptoms. First you got the sniffles and the occasional nose bleed. This was the air born strand of the virus, catching it this way meant you had somewhere between 6 and 9 months to live. Of course everyone assumed they had a common cold and so the virus spread like wildfire. About six weeks after the infected contracted the disease it mutated and symptoms became more pronounced and painful; dizziness and confusion began and people would spike high fevers. If you were unlucky enough to make direct contact with the infected at this point you could expect to live for roughly another 3 to 4 months. Well the disease progressed and evolved a few more times so that by the time the first wave of humanity began to die from it, it was simply to late to contain it. Governments began to panic as ever increasing populations began to succumb to the disease. In a desperate scramble to find a cure all bans on ethical treatment were discarded. It became the single most expensive venture in human history and there was nobody who wasn't affected. Public media fueled the fires by increasing the panic among the populace. Charlatans provided cures ranging from charms and ointments that would protect and prevent the wearer from catching the virus; all the way up to leeching the blood and ingesting cocktails of chemicals and poisons that provided absolutely no effect. It wasn't long before quarantine measures were imposed and curfews were set in nearly every populated area of every nation in the world.
A Swiss biological engineering team began to experiment with super viruses and the effect they might have in combating this plague. There was no significant proof that they were successful, but they did manage to kill several patients and some recently declassified documents suggest that perhaps they even made the infection stronger with some of their attempts.
The Indian Medical team developed a homeopathic treatment that was adopted by many eastern countries. This proved to be a very poor choice and the body count began to escalate. It seems that nothing in nature was prepared to cope with this outbreak.
It wasn't until a team of Western doctors amalgamated that the first signs of hope began to appear. They theorized that if gene splicing was used to artificially develop antibodies in a host and given a boost with both radiation treatments and nano technology there may be a fighting chance. It took some tinkering to get the dosages right, and to figure out the proper order to provide these treatments, but eventually they cracked that nut and proclaimed they had found a cure. By first exposing the patient to radiation and eliminating the existing immune system, they would then introduce a large dose of genetically altered spinal fluid and nanobots to rebuild the system. The treatment was made globally available on August 23 2023 and the population was eager for the treatment. Nearly all of humanity received the treatment over the next year. It wasn't until two years after that that we began to see the side effects emerge. Sterility was the first and possibly most obvious effect, we nuked the reproductive organs when we fried our immune systems. Then there were the psychological effects caused by the mutated spinal fluid. Some people became very intelligent and began to attain mild telepathic abilities, others suffered from enlarged glands and hormone producing portions of the brain. This lead to an increase in violence and discrimination as people began to take on different mutations.
It is now 2046, and the world still struggles to rebuild. It wasn't easy since most of the population was rendered sterile from the treatments. All children are now born in special fertility centers where the sperm banks of the past have provided the building blocks for our continued existence. The children produced in these labs are guarded at all times to ensure they reach sexual maturity so that a broader genetic pool can be used to increase the population.
Although the virus has been eliminated for a generation, most countries still haven't reinstated the bans on unethical research and treatment. Some of the more intelligent of the modern mutated man have taken to doing experiments on the next generation of children in an attempt to continue the line of mutant man. They know that in the next 30 to 40 years mutants will be all but extinct and they want to preserve what they feel is the next evolution of life on earth. Jericho was the first plague, what we have done to ourselves since then is much worse. Humanity no longer exists, we are beasts and slowly a new social system is being formed. I remember what it was to be a man, but all I see when I look in the mirror is a monster; it might have been better if I had just allowed myself to die. This is not the world I thought I would leave behind when I died. | 2014-11-14T08:44:43 | 2014-11-14T08:11:41 | 61 | 18 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It was these sort of women that he hated the most. The ones that would cling to their tainted children with screams and fits of rage. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that the world had to be clean?
It'd been many years since he'd realized the truth about the Blackness. One day, The Doctor has pricked himself during an operation and found a jet black tar, so thick that it never managed to escape from the shallow wound. He'd always been a good man, always helping the needy, operating on the dying, the homeless, those who nobody else would risk their careers on. He'd gone to church, worshiped God, refrained from alcohol and cursing, and still, his blood was filled with Blackness. It was then that he realized: the blood must tell the future. It not only darkened and thickened with each impurity, but it also knew the state of your future deeds. Somehow, the Blackness must be able to judge the soul and see what it was capable of.
With that realization came a new purpose. If one day he would be the Blackest of all devils, then he would dedicate the rest of his life until that moment to purify every stain that he could find. Every drop of Blackness would be cleansed from the world in order to balance his own future sin. It was with this knowledge and vision that The Doctor started his research. After a painstakingly long trial, he found that indeed, the blood could predict a person's purity in their later life. With this, he proposed a new program that could eradicate the Blackness before it ever grew into action. Every child would be pricked at thirteen, as before thirteen they were judged to be well under their parents control. Those whose blood was Black would be taken away from their parents and eliminated from society in order to prevent the evil they would inevitably bring into the world.
Whatever the evil he might one day do, The Doctor hoped that his life's work spent in the elimination of all the Tainted would help to balance the scales. Every day, without fail, he would prick him self again in order to remind himself of his purpose. Every day, without fail, the blood would stand within the cut, Blacker than the darkest night and thicker than the Jello that all his patients received. Every day, without fail, it reminded him that time was running short. One day, he would become evil. Before then, he had to cleanse as much evil from the world as he could. And so, so many of the evil ones were left.
Edit: Woah. So that's why people post things on reddit so much. Dang those upvotes feel nice inside haha. For those asking: I had what I thought was a fun idea so I wrote it out in a rather rough sort of way, no idea if it's actually like any of the animes/shows listed below that I haven't watched and I'm glad y'all enjoyed it too :). | I felt "different", don't know how to explain it really. When I woke up and had my morning breakfast and coffee everything felt fine. When I left my small studio apartment, passing misses Fischer in the hallway I felt normal. Even when I reached the soup kitchen the next block over the world just felt...right.
Yet somehow, in this moment; nothing feels right. I feel the pangs in my stomach, the tightness in my muscles as if I haven't slept for weeks. My hands are dirty, my clothes stink and are stained so badly that I can't recall what color this shirt was supposed to be when I put it on this morning.
I'm lost, sitting in an empty lot with a small shiv in one hand and a slowly bleeding finger from my other. People are avoiding me as I walk down the street, slowly stumbling and searching for any resemblance of normality. "Oak Street", that's, that's six blocks away from my apartment and in a completely different direction from the soup kitchen I was heading too. I reorient myself and begin the trek back home; my body tired, exhausted and spent.
I stumble up the stairs to my apartment, the whole building reeks and I can barely breathe without coughing. All my neighbors doors are hanging open, TV's playing static while random cats and dogs jitter from door to door. My world begins to spin, my hands looking for purchase on anything to keep me from falling over. I collapsed to my knees and a sudden jolt of clarity hit me like a belly flop at Indian Lake.
I'm not in a hallway, I'm not in my apartment building either. Everything is white, then black; and I hear a voice in the distance. It sounds like Miss Fischer, no; its more masculine. I'm starting to remember, oh god I remember!
Oh god no! Noooo! This is it; my last meal was served. The witnesses were called and none of my family could bare witness to the shame I caused them. They said it would be painless, I wouldn't feel a thing. So why am I awake and why do my veins burn like lava, oh god oh god.. OH god... OH GOD NOOOOO!
I felt "different", don't know how to explain it really. When I woke up and ......... | 2018-08-04T10:46:53 | 2018-08-04T10:12:33 | 3,279 | 20 |
[WP] Your ability to see what level of pain a person is experiencing has always helped you in your profession as a nurse. From the hovering "0.6" over the guy with the hangnail to the "42" over the crash victim. Today on the bus ride to work there is an "800" over a guy, calmly reading his paper... | *800*, I whispered to myself. That's quite a number to deal with. But he continues reading his paper without any care in the world... -
Except, when I glance over to his side, I can see his glassy eyes; biting his trembling lips trying his best to disguise the whirlwind of emotions inside his chest.
The schoolgirl sitting next to him get off at the next stop. He scoots over to let her pass and at that moment, I caught his eyes. I smile knowingly at him. He looks startled, probably the first smile he gets today. He blinks a couple of time before returning a smile to me.
I moved to the seat next to him while he pretends to continue reading the paper. I know it's awfully rude to be staring at people but I gotta get his attention. Eventually, he folded the paper in half and places it on the empty space next to him.
In that swift moment, I look at the number on his forehead. Minus 150. He looks calmer than he was before. Genuinely different and I can almost feel the tense air around him changes.
He let out a sigh, look at me and mouthed silently "thank you".
I deliberate on either if it's appropriate to put a hand on his arm to ensure him things always get better. He senses my hesitation, smiles and said "that was the first time someone smile at me today."
I throw a momentary glance out the window and know that I have about 20 minutes before I get to my stop. "Mind if I sit next to you?"
The moment I plop myself down besides him, the number decreases tremendously. He looks down on his palm, a big fat tear rolls down his left cheek. I finally put a hand on his arm and squeeze it gently, "you're tougher than you think you are."
He sobs silently, muttering about his wife whom passed away two months ago after a 3 years battle with cancer. Losing his purpose in life, he quit his job last month and has felt like a severed kite for the past week. In fact, he is on his way to end his life by jumping off a small bridge at the edge of town.
Two weeks after, he stops by with a bouquet of sunflowers while I was at work. He brought along his little girl, an almost ocean blue eyes with jet black hair. *She's exactly her mother*, he said.
I smile and say, "it always gets better." | "Its excruciating," the man said, twisting his face in an ugly fashion. I glanced up, reading the number over his head with a sigh: 0.4.
"You're fine," I said, tossing my clipboard on the desk. "And if I see you here again, I'll call the cops."
All at once the man forgot his supposed pain, rising to his feet. "You know what," he said, "maybe that aspirin is kicking in after all." And then he left.
I departed the clinic, trying to ignore my own pain. Unlike the man I'd been speaking to, mine was real--and it was severe. According to the number in the mirror, I was approaching a hundred. And I knew what that meant.
The thought filled me with dread. All the time I'd put into this world, just to die at the hands of something so... random. It hardly seemed fair.
I stepped onto the bus, tossing a few coins into the slot. I could go home--try to make some sense of the gift I'd been given--or I could travel a few blocks over and work for free at the shelter. Well, not for *free* exactly--there were always karma points at play. I considered my options and decided on the shelter.
The bus started on it's way before I took my seat. I stepped carefully to the rear, noticing a man in the seat I normally occupied. And then I saw his number.
800. It was unfathomable. The amount of pain the man must have been in, leagues above anything I'd ever seen; it was impossible.
So impossible, in fact, that it angered me. How could it be, exactly, that this man could appear so calm at 800 when I was destined to die at an eight of that? It was *absurd*. I pulled the helmet from my head and tossed it aside.
*What a stupid game,* I thought.
r/Ford9863 | 2019-04-14T01:45:56 | 2019-04-14T01:23:25 | 121 | 41 |
[WP] After years of battles hard fought, at the close of a Civil War, Steve Rogers retires from the Avengers. Hanging up his shield and uniform, he settles down in a quiet little neighborhood, where he is known as simply as Mr. Rogers. | Mr. Rodgers' life had changed a great deal since he stopped fighting crime. He always strove to be someone that kids could look up to, living proof that a little hard work and a positive attitude could pay off. As a super hero he had always felt uncomfortable with the levels of violence he had to go to, it was always for the right reasons, but he still never *enjoyed* the wanton destruction that his exploits had nearly always lead to. What was worse, he didn't want the children who looked up to him to think that violence was the best way to solve their problems.
As he looked at the camera crew and waited to start for the day he wondered if the green pullover he was wearing had any wrinkles (he disliked not looking presentable on TV)
"Action!" cried the director
Putting on his best "good neighbor" smile he walked through the door and onto the set.
"With the discount double check you can be sure you're getting the lowest price on your car insurance, like a good neighbor state farm is there!"
*football is slightly more violent than I had hoped for* he reflected, *but at least it's a far cry from combat, and hey, I get to bang Olivia Munn* | Steve sat in his chair, staring at the hanging, starred shield as he did every night since his retirement into suburbia. Most nights were calm, but some nights were rough for Cap as they were filled with the vivid images of war and destruction across two millennia. One such night was especially horrifying, and with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of painkillers in the other, he was on the verge of putting an end to his visions. As he stared down at the white chicklets, he saw the faces of the people he had lost, but for the first time began to accept and realize how many lives he helped save in the process. Discarding the pills, he took the nearest pen and pad of sticky notes and jotted down some words:
"It's such a good feeling to know you're alive." | 2015-07-26T14:47:59 | 2015-07-26T14:39:35 | 41 | 10 |
[WP] Earth has never been the ideal environment for humans. We learn this when we go and try to colonize a supposedly "very hostile planet". | "There!" Said the alien, pointing toward the lizardlike creature. "That's this planets most deadly predator!"
The captain of the human ship walked up and said, "So what can it do? Sense body heat? Smell blood from a great distance? Jump a great distance?"
The alien paused, "Um, no. None of that. It's just very aggressive, visious!"
The lizardlike creature flopped over laying in the sunlight.
"Scans indicate it's rather normal." Said the captain, walking over, "And this is a full grown one?"
The alien nodded, "Yes, this one is one of the largest I've seen!"
The captain radioed back to the ship, "This is the captain speaking, approaching the most dangerous creature on this planet, please put the feed on the main screen."
"No! What are you doing?" Shouted the alien, as the captain walked over to the lizard creature.
It rolled back over and growled, small and angry, no bigger than a sheep. The captain threw a piece of ration bar, landing nearby the creature.
It quickly sniffed it and ate it.
"It's like a dog, but lizardy," said the captain, feeding the creature bits of bar. It began following him intently, watching as he pulled out another bar.
"So what is so deadly about his planet, besides these?" Asked the captain, feeding the creature from his hand.
The alien looked on in terror, "The temperature falls to less than 70 degrees at night!"
The captain radioed back to the ship, "Any signs of anything that might give us issues?
The ship's communications deck responded back, "No sir, gravity optimal, weather seems to indicate rainfall is common, even natural disasters seem rare on this planet."
The alien cautiously approached, "What is a natural disaster?"
The captain rolled the lizard over, scratching under it's chin, "You know, earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes, massive destructive events.
The alien was awestruck, terrified, "So this planet is suitable for humans?"
The captain asked, "This is seriously an uninhabitable planet?"
The alien nodded, "The most dangerous in this sector."
The captain laughed, "Ship, call command, we have found a suitable planet."
"You are sure human?" Asked the alien, "This is what your kind can survive in?"
The captain responded, "Survive? We can thrive here." | What’s humanity’s kryptonite? Is it lead like the daxamites? In what environment would we be super? Or is that just a concept reserved for comic books? There were no shapeshifting green, white, and yellow martians. No metahumans. No speedforce. No sageforce. No lantern rings. Or so we thought.
I float two hundred meters above the craggy purple ground in the battering five hundred kilometer an hour winds, watching the triplet stars of krakotha rise. To the people of this world, my colony is gods. Humanity but a faint memory in the galactic community, one destroyed in its own nuclear fire. Nuclear fire that looked as if an eldritch god had been brought in to being, just for a moment. The ships weren’t even loaded when the bombs fell. Only 137 of us got on the ship. We couldn’t even plot a proper course, instead ending up on an supposedly inhospitable planet.
A planet we found covered in life. Most of us did not survive the journey leaving only 13 to witness this new world. At first we were scared, until we discovered flight. Then came the arrogance when we found ourselves invulnerable. The super-strength was nothing compared to the terror brought by our quark ripping gaze. The other colonists became tyrants. But I wanted to be something better, a hero, just like in my childhood comics. So I experimented with our powers in secret, discovering amazing things, subtle appearance altering hypnosis, shapeshifting into the fauna of earth, and even splitting into multiple miniature versions of myself. Powers the other humans never found. So now I stand here, carving an S into my jumpsuit. An actual S this time, not a kryptonian seal but a human S. While the other 12 stand for the evils of humanity that led to our doom, I will stand for the good, for hope, for justice, and freedom against the authoritarian way. | 2019-03-08T20:35:34 | 2019-03-08T19:48:01 | 50 | 35 |
[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. | A man's gotta make a living, right? And with a talent like this, who wouldn't want to use it?
Day to day I mold my face, my body into something completely different. Your mailman, your mother, your friendly neighborhood Superman--it could be anyone. I prefer the latter--being someone that's close to other people is a lot harder than you'd think. How am I supposed to know your child had a dance recital at 6:30, Ron? I just know your wife didn't want to go.
For a while, I did it almost hourly. I was swamped with work. Superheroes that wanted to get a jump on their arch nemesis, villains wanting to divert the police force so they could rob the farthest bank from the scene of the crime...you name the benevolent deed or heinous crime, and I probably played a role in it.
But being someone else all the time is exhausting work. The physical toll it takes on your body...It's draining. Not that you'd ever know, though. Just take my word for it.
The lesser known effect of this though is the mental strain it takes on you. I numbed myself to it a while ago. And it's not my conscience making its grand appearance like it used to. I learned a long time ago that good and bad is a moral distinction made by people. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I don't even see myself anymore.
To be honest, I don't remember what that person looks like. | *** 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. | 2020-10-19T09:09:05 | 2020-10-19T07:47:18 | 29 | 15 |
[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! | "Welcome to The Agency Mr. Aranha," the masked man said in a dull monotone.
I looked down in shame and began sobbing.
I was born in the South Side of Chicago. My father left me when I was 3 months old and my mother purportedly ran off with another dude. I jumped from foster home to foster home, eventually landing in the home of a nice Brazilian lady. I was an introverted kid with a extreme stutter. You can imagine how well I got along with the kids at school. But I had talent. I could punch a man like no one else could. Every day, after school, I would pester the trainers for hours until they let me use the bags. Every day I got better. Every day I would spar with kids 3, 4, 5 years older than me, just to learn their techniques. People began to take notice. Headlines read, "the young prodigy out of Chicago, without a home or friends". I won the World Youth Championships ever year from 2052-2054. I was a phenomenon. But it was all bittersweet.
Prius 21, marking the end of ordinary human life and control over one's destiny. Depending on what physical or mental traits you mutated, the government selects various occupations for you. Most people transitioned smoothly into their new lives. But every once in a while, a person mutated into an "other". The others had extreme mutations that consumed their whole bodies and minds. They were the joke of society, a plague. Placed under "extra governmental supervision", rumor has it they are either killed or sent overseas to do the dirty work. No one thinks they will become an other, but fate often has other ideas.
Sometimes an other will reach superhero status and receive admiration by society. The last person to do that was a man dubbed "The Dragon Knight". Fire breathing and impenetrable armor are generally pretty marketable to innocent kids. I... was not that. I didn't have impenetrable dragon armor, or invisibility... I was a fucking spider. That's right, a giant fucking spider. I was considered a .001% mutation, meaning I was extremely rare and displayed no recognizable physical human features. My boxing career was over, my endorsements were terminated, and I was ostracized by every person I had ever met.
When reports of my mutation began to spread, I was the topic of every national news channel. As soon as I became the topic of every national news channel, I disappeared. Censored and exfiltrated from society, never to be known again. Everything I had accomplished, everything anybody ever knew about me, erased by the government. It's called Prius 21 for a reason.
I found support though. From the people I had learned to resent my whole life: my fellow others. Although my body was new to me, my mind was not. The same scrupulous work ethic and insatiable dedication that went into boxing, went into mastering Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and analyzing spider hunting tactics. My diet changed. I started eating buckets of insects, piles of mice, and whole Komodo dragons. Gone were the days of milk cartons and soda bottles. Now, I only drink poison, gallons of it, to improve the lethality of my bite. I wasn't exactly Spider-Man, but Spider-Man never trained to squash global rebellions and murder political figures like I did.
It was hard in the beginning. It truly was. But through my countless missions of killing innocent lives who simply want to be heard, I had began to realize something. Something fundamentally imperative. Human nature will always be selfish and self-destructive. Human traits should not celebrated, but renounced and purged. It time to fight for something I truly believe in. It's time to end suffering.
| ALL CRITICISM WELCOME!
Jack’s life had sailed by faster than he could even comprehend. He had lived through his greatest milestone’s, and achieved great accomplishments. However, he did not feel different. Jack exited childhood and entered his teens. He had graduated from elementary school, middle school, and even high school, being at the top of his class. He had finished playing recreational soccer and was now playing soccer at a high level competitively. As he pondered over his life, Jack realized that so much had occurred, but it didn’t feel like it. Now, he did.
As he looked into his bathroom mirror, examining his hazel eyes and freckled face. He shuffled his messy hair. He just could not quite see it. Jack could feel something had changed, he could feel the presence of something new, perhaps in his body. He sighed, exiting the bathroom.
“Happy birthday!” His family had stood huddled around the bathroom door, waiting for Jack to come out.
“Happy 21st! You can drink and drive now,” his teenage sister laughed. Jack chuckled. Maybe his new abilities were nothing great. Maybe he had nothing to worry about. They exchanged hugs and kisses. Jack went straight to his room, and turned on his computer.
I can lift twice my weight, his friend posted on facebook a while back. Jack tried to lift his table but couldn’t. Jack read about all kinds of abilities. He had tried to hear distant objects, to test photographic memory, and to see if he could jump ten meters in the air. After thirty minutes Jack was defeated. Maybe I did not get any new abilities, he thought with disappointment.
Jack realized that he had 22 new messages. Happy birthday! His friends congratulated him. It was all the same to Jack, he did not really care.
“Wait what?!” Jack saw a message from the hottest girl in his grade, Heather. 'Happy birthday Jack'. You know what, fuck it, its my birthday, Jack thought. He replied: 'Thnx, I am having a chill day hbu?'. Heather replied. Jack replied. She replied. Jack could not believe it, HE WAS HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH A GIRL. He ended talking to her without pause for the next 30 minutes. At the end of their chain of messages she asked: 'Wanna hang out sometime?' Jack could not believe it.
At school as Jack found conversation so easy. He was able to get out of his shell, and talk to anyone in the grade. He was able to hangout with jocks, and eat lunch with the cheerleaders. He even convinced Mr. Moger his math teacher, to change his grade to an A- so that he could finish the semester with all As. Everyone was willing to talk to him. It was amazing.
When Jack came home from school, his parents sat in expectation.
“So, what are your new abilities?” He was asked.
“I’m not sure, how was your day today?” Jack replied.
“Oh it was great, we went shopping at the mall…” his mom continued to talk about her day. In the back of his mind Jack finally knew the gift which he was granted on his 21st birthday and he was very satisfied.
Sorry guys, I am pressed on time so I could not revise. | 2015-03-04T02:35:31 | 2015-03-04T02:26:57 | 109 | 64 |
[WP] Humanity is dragged into intergalactic war. Our allies and enemies alike are appalled by the human concept of revenge. | History teaches us that they were a gift sent from the heavens. They showed up and saved us from ourselves. One minute we were choking on our own hot fumes, the next they had shown up. We called them the Angels. They called themselves the Cadlosh.
There are no words to describe how fast our society advanced with their help. They taught us how to prolong our lifespans, how to access powers of the universe far beyond our imagination. They audited the errors in our theories and nudged us closer to the truth. They outstripped the name we gave them. Within years we were colonizing other planets in the galaxy with the help of the Angels.
Slowly we began increasing trade between our two species. The Human-Cadlosh alliance was growing fast. We humans were eager to pay the Cadlosh back for what they had given us. What could you trade a people that had ended your people's suffering?
Then the war started. Our histories mark the start of it as a Cadlosh-Human tradingpost halfway between our two homeworlds. The Zorg, had marked it as within their territory, and thus theirs to do with what they will. Attack after attack they launched upon the well protected trading post. We evacuated under heavy bombardment.
The images that circulated of the aftermath of that bombardment were... horrifying. Liquefied flesh and rotting metal appeared on every human news channel. There had never been anything that we had been so outraged over.
Still the Cadloshi empire refused to act. They urged us towards nonviolence. After all, it was only 100 Cadloshi that had been killed. Why make trouble with the bellicose Zorg? It would cost more lives. We could simply navigate around their space. It cost us nothing.
Still, the Zorg would learn our propensity for making trouble. We immediately retaliated. Fleet after fleet of Zorg acidic class warships fell before our might. They offered a feeble surrender.
We did not accept.
We obliterated their home world as a show of force, so that all alien races would learn to fear us. No one would harm the Cadloshi empire ever again. We had finally managed to clear our debt.
We were victorious.
Still, to this day, our Angels refuse to contact us. | "Orbital bombardment."
The stares that followed lingered far longer than the Rear Admiral would have liked, but he would not show his discomfort. He kept his head proud and true amongst the remaining war council, the many eyes questioning not just him, but humanity as a whole. "It is just a fringe colony," one of the other ambassadors reiterated, as if the information somehow mattered. "Julia was a fringe colony. It did not seem to bother *them*," the Rear Admiral answered, as if it alone was a valid reason. "The council will not agree to murder civilians for the sake of human vengeance," came another voice, harsh with disgust for the species.
"The council would also sit and do nothing while civilians were slaughtered without so much as an open declaration of war," the Rear Admiral snapped back, anger seething through his weary grip. The discord that came after droned out the cries for order and gave the Rear Admiral a moment to recollect himself, speaking again once order was restored. "Every member of the war council is free to speak upon this floor, yes?" the Rear Admiral asked rhetorically, continuing without a specific answer. "And I have spoken on what I believe to be a correct course of action." Another stood, pointing an accusing appendage at the Rear Admiral, "You would have us attack civilians with no talks or warning? That is monstrous."
"War is monstrous," the Rear Admiral answered solemnly, weary of the pointless bickering. "We are *all* monsters here. The sooner you realize it, the sooner this war can be won, and peace upon us."
"What peace would such horror bring upon us?" asked a weary voice from the back, the rear admiral no longer bothering with the speaker's identity.
"The only peace there is," the Rear Admiral said as he stood and left the war council without leave. | 2015-03-23T19:08:59 | 2015-03-23T18:08:05 | 70 | 25 |
[WP] Write a poorly-written story full of plot holes wherein the characters gradually notice and exploit the plot holes. | Samantha and Nate ran through the dark hallway, the sound of a chainsaw revving not far away.
“We gotta go!” Nate said, tugging his girlfriend’s arm as she fell behind.
“But where?” Samantha cried back. “There’s nowhere to hide!”
Nate swiveled his head around, searching the vicinity. There had to be something…
“Over there,” he said, pointing to the dilapidated shed. A streak of lightening raced across the sky above it. “Nothing can get us in there!”
He tried pulling Sam again but she resisted. When he turned around, her face was contorted in confusion.
“Are you sure? Doesn’t that seem a little… I don’t know, stupid? Why not go somewhere that’s not full of more weapons to kill us?”
“Like the basement? Maybe we could even have sex despite a lunatic is trying to kill us.”
Sam pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing.
“No,” she started. “Like let’s just get out of this abandoned house. If it’s really haunted, the ghost-molester-psychopath can’t get us, right?”
Nate frowned, scratching his chin.
“I don’t know,” he started. “Wouldn’t that be a little *too* easy?”
Sam paused too, her mind racing. But before she could respond, the revving rang through the hallway again. There was no time to think.
“In here,” she said, directing Nate to a closet. “We can wait until he passes.”
The two cramped themselves in the narrow closet, so close that their bodies touched. Nate gestured a finger into his other hand shaped into a circle. Sam vigorously shook her head in response.
They stood in silence, the only sounds the chainsaw and Nate’s heavy breathing. Wait…
“Dude,” Sam started. “Shut the fuck up. He’s gonna hear us. Why are you being so unnecessarily loud anyway? You’re on the track team and we barely ran today.”
“Sorry,” Nate said. There was a puff. Was that an inhaler? “My asthma is acting up today.”
“What? You don’t have asthma.”
The door ripped open, the killer on the other side. He greeted them with a wicked smile, blood pouring down his lip and chin. Nate screamed like a girl but Sam only thought and said,
“Wait a minute. If you’re a ghost, how are you picking up the chainsaw? Wouldn’t it just faze through you or something?”
The killer’s smile turned into a hard line, his brow furrowed. The chainsaw fell through his hands and clattered onto the ground with a loud slam. Its engine died afterwards.
Sam continued to ponder the situation.
“And now that I think about it, couldn’t we just call the cops or an exorcist or something. We have cellphones, this isn’t the nineties anymore.”
The ghost was now frowning, growling something fierce. But when it swiped its hands at Sam, it went through her.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, smiling. “You’re all talk and no shit.”
“Hey, I have full bars here!” Nate said, holding up his phone.
“Awesome,” Sam nodded. She stepped out of the closet, making sure to flip off the ghost as she did. “Call us an Uber. This place is lame.” | The dark and cold shadows of the Western Ridge treeline creeped slowly to Thornroot and his crew, advancing with eagerness as the sun lowered. Darkness seemed to act like sunlight, hitting from above and altering that which it touched. As it licked the once-knight's boot, the silver became covered in a thin layer of frost. He pulled his foot back.
"We have to go through this?" Rake asked, looking at Thornroot. "There's no way, we'll never be the same once we get out, *if* we get out, I don't-"
The archer stopped talking as Lumen walked into the trees with a parasol above her head. She skipped into the forest.
"What was it you said when I asked if we should get parasols?" Rake asked Thornroot.
"Well," Thornroot started, "I-"
"What," Rake spoke slowly, "did you say?"
"Parasols are for women..." Thornroot muttered.
"That's right." Rake said, nodding. "Yes, sir, I said. If you say so. I'm certainly no woman. Not me, no sir."
"Let's go back and buy some."
Rake turned wordlessly and walked back to the city. As he gained distance, Thornroot heard him mumble something about parasols and sticking one where no parasol should go.
---
"By the Gods." Thornroot put down his parasol as he stared at the bear. "Into the cave!"
Rake and Lumen followed in and lowered their own covers, protected now by the cave's rock. The bear advanced slowly. Thornroot pulled out his short-sword. "If I don't make it-"
He was cut off by Lumen yelling loudly and making strange gestures. The bear made a whimpering sound and ran away. Shortly after, the girl raised her parasol and walked out of the cave.
"Alright," Rake said, "just *who* exactly is escorting *who*?"
"Lumen!" Thornroot called out. "We need to camp here."
The girl obeyed, turning back and walking over.
---
"We can't build a fire." Rake said again, looking to Thornroot. "The flames would be visible for miles in this forest."
As Thornroot began to see the archer's point, Lumen walked into the cave and set up some firewood. Within a few moments, she had a small pile and she took out a flint. With a quick motion, the girl created a spark and nurtured it into a fire. She put her parasol down beside it, open and facing the entrance. The flames could barely be seen, masked by the umbrella.
"I hate this girl." Rake said.
"Aye." Thornroot agreed. | 2015-06-03T10:40:28 | 2015-06-03T10:26:54 | 151 | 33 |
[WP] Whenever your crew lands you are seen as gods with wonderous machines before drifting off some where else. But today you are met with a species on a green-blue planet who, while interested in your tech, are not bowing down and worshiping. They call themselves humans. | We have all been very civil. We have given them answers. Where we are from, who we are and what we want.
They seemed like peaceful species at first. Humans, they called themselves. Aliens, they called us.
Not Gods. Never Gods.
We sent our operatives to different locations on their green blue planet. They came back and told us the names of a hundred different deities. It seems this species have created Gods on their own. Some even worshiped the stars and moons.
Some were rather defiantly, atheists. We thought our arrival would change them. But it didn't.
They acknowledged that we were superior, but they always wanted more from us.
They had nothing to give us, except their gratitude. We were happy with that trade off. After all, there was a reason why we were worshiped everywhere.
We assumed they would soon realize that we are the Gods they should worship. But that didn't happen. Despite our best intentions, they never came around to acknowledging our superiority.
​
There were some problems that we couldn't fix. It seems these humans wanted both freedom and equality. How was that possible?
​
Freedom and equality were polar opposites. Give people enough freedom, and equality ceases to exist. Give them equality, and you'd have to take away their freedom.
Only the people who were disadvantaged wanted equality. The moment they got better, they wanted freedom. It was a mess.
Humanity is a mistake, and we soon realized that our constant intervention weren't being viewed lightly. We were being criticized and judged by world leaders.
We- The Gods of the Universe- The helpers of civilizations- they were judging us?
Our council found it unacceptable, and that is why we are leaving.
We are leaving, and we are doing them one last favor.
We are giving them freedom, and equality, both.
Freedom from the eternal struggle of calling themselves humans.
Freedom from the eternal torture of being born as a human.
Equality, in the only thing they all have in common - Death.
Tomorrow's the day we leave. Tomorrow, they will all die.
\----------------------------
r/abhisek | When We opened the hatch, we were expecting a large group of primitive beings. We didn't expect them to have a large amount of primitive ordinance, or for them to speak first.
"Welcome to Earth," a man in what looked to be what We would consider casual clothing spoke directly to Us. He didn't seem to revere us as everyone else had, we weren't gods to them, "state your business here on our planet."
"Do you not recognize us?" We spoke in our mother tongue, the language of the Atani, "We brought you the knowledge you so desperately needed to flourish."
The man looked off to someone else on the stage, completely ignoring what We had to say. A few more of those primitive weapons trained upwards towards my head, low powered lasers clicking on.
"We don't know what you want with us, nor can we understand you, we are humans," the man spoke again, "I am Clarence Proctor, head of the United Nations, I speak on behalf of all of humanity when I say get off our planet or we will open fire."
We raised our voice, "Do not threaten Us with your guns and your tanks, We gifted you the inherent knowledge to construct those, We are the hive mind of the Atani, We gave you the knowledge to get where we are, you should be able to understand us."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Clarence Proctor looked once more to his aide-de-camp, briefly looked back at the teeming masses of US Marines he had borrowed from the nearby island of Okinawa, itching to pull the trigger. He also looked at the various UN Peacekeepers which he directly commanded, they too were ready to go at a moments notice. He raised his hand, and brought it down, "open fire." | 2020-03-02T05:44:19 | 2020-03-02T05:25:36 | 252 | 21 |
[WP] A demon can always turn someone's wishes into the most horrible of curses. But your wishes are so stupid and asinine that not even the greatest archdemon can turn them against you. | "So I get three wishes? Anything I want?" I asked.
"Yes, human. Three wishes. But be warned altering the web of fate to give you your desires can have... Catastrophic consequences." This dark mist spoke back. "What is your first wish Human?"
I thought a moment, knowing something of contracts. If this demon or Djinn or whatever it was thought I was going to buy some flimsy explanation about consequences after saying I could wish for anything and have it be made so... Well it was about to be rudely disabused of it's assumptions.
"I wish that neither myself nor anyone I love and/or care about will be negatively affected in any way by any of these wishes." I wished with an absolutely straight face.
The mist coalesced into an ordinary looking man with red eyes. He had a look of complete bewilderment and shock on his face. Clearly he hadn't considered the possibility of using one of the wishes to protect ones self. "It doesn't work like that! The web of Fate-"
"You said I could wish for absolutely anything. Was that not correct?" I broke in, looking to pin this idiot down on the specifics.
"Well, yes, but you-"
"No buts, that was a yes/no question. Either it's absolutely true, or it's not. Pick one."
The demon was visibly fighting with itself. It gave away every emotion, almost every thought with each change of expression. It must not be very practiced at using human form.
"Yes it's true. Anything." It admitted grudgingly.
"Very well, my first wished stands as stated." I said, continuing on my course.
'How was this the first human the first one in thousands of years to so quickly see and identify the loophole in the contract?' Driaghnan thought. There was going to be trouble over this. Someone was going spend a few hundred years hanging by their heels over this little performance. He just hoped it wasn't him. He bowed his head and granted the first wish. | It's so stupid how, how, I've done this job since the earth was young, to the point it became routine. Get summoned listen to wish, twist wish, cause human to be miserable. That's it. Oh and the wishes I would get some easy "I wish I was rich," oh you fool yes it would seems all good an old long lost uncle died and left you their money. HA. They're to busy wondering if it's real to ask the real questions. Like why was that uncle lost? how did he get that fortune? Turns out war criminals are very easy to say they are related to anyone and leave their fortune of stolen whatever to who ever a demon says when they know their time is near. "eternal youth" Ha "be famous through out history" fine. Pompeii was to easy, I was kind I gave them a day. But this fool, this idiot how did he even summon me, don't get me wrong I've done it all those that would summon me and spend decades preparing getting there wish just right. most wouldn't realize many words have multiple meaning, or would stumble over their words as I saw me and my "menacing movements" as if i would just sit quietly and listen to their wish waiting and eager to listen to their words as if they where I don"t know anything not boring. One wish that is all it would take but this fool he wished to "see me" he already has hasn't he? | 2020-05-29T23:22:40 | 2020-05-29T21:48:17 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did. | "Wait. A condom? I'm now the ruler of Hell because I had sex wearing a condom."
Satan looked like he was going to laugh and cry simultaneously. "Yes. Oh!" He paled suddenly. "I mean, yes, Lord! Please don't punish me, the lapse was unintentional!"
I waved absently. This is ludicrous. "This is ludicrous. And I don't care about titles. Call me Steve." "Yes... Steve!" replied Satan, looking entirely confused.
"So, I was supposed to father the Messiah with Marie, and birth control is a sin? Wait, wasn't Mary a virgin when she gave birth to Jesus? Wouldn't this be the same?"
"The Bible was incorrect in that matter, Mas... Steve." Satan hastily corrected himself. I guessed punishment was swift and severe in Hell. "Joseph and Mary did indeed have marital relations and conceived the prior Messiah. They never said anything about the matter, and her virginity was assumed."
"Hell." Satan looked at me questioningly. "Sorry. And then I went and crashed in a snowstorm, and the Messiah was never fathered." Satan simply nodded.
"Well then. I guess there are some changes that need to be made... Um, I can change things, right?"
Satan shook his head. "Not to any significant extent, Steve. Our mandate is from God, and we must abide by it. For that matter, despite having to serve as ruler of this domain, you must still be punished, on your off-duty hours, as per required. Luckily you are only a second circle violator."
"Wait - second circle? What does that meeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAANNNNNNNNNNN...", I screamed, as I was blown out of the chamber and down one of the hallways. | I had been a pious man.
I remembered the Sabbath, and kept it holy.
I loved my wife and our children. I forgave the son whose meth addiction nearly tore us apart, and stood by him as he rebuilt his life. I stood by him when few others did.
Diagnosis to death was nine weeks. Nine painful weeks as my body fought the tumor, but the tumor won.
I slept for the last time and heard a voice say to me. "Remember the words of the Holy Book".
_________
I woke again and saw a familiar face from my childhood.
Of course I remembered Gary Glitter. Before I knew what he was doing to children. I called myself a fan. What was he doing in the afterlife with me?
Had he repented his sins? Had God seen fit to show mercy?
_______
A nine foot tall being with black wings strode over to me and handed me a crown of purest obsidian.
"There time has come for me to bow down before a greater evil than I. Lucifer the Fallen, at your service, Great Lord."
What was going on? Was I in Hell? Why?
Then I remembered the commandment I had broken. Handed down by the Holy Book.
"There is a special level in Hell, reserved for child molesters, and people who talk in the theatre."
"The special Hell..."
I wept. What else was there to do? I had talked during Star Wars - The Phantom Menace.
For my sins, I must pay.
| 2016-12-19T14:52:55 | 2016-12-19T14:12:17 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You are a twenty something. You wake up to find yourself in your 8 year old body. You are in the time and at the place you were when you were 8, but with all the memories and mannerisms of your twenty something self. | Dear diary (is this how people actually start diaries?),
I am starting a diary... It been a crazy past few hours and I realized I need to put all of this to paper. For my sanity and maybe a book one day (it's never to early to plan ahead). So many things are running through my mind right now. I woke up this morning back in my 8 year old body, time has catapulted back to 2001 and I AM BACK IN MY 8 YEAR OLD BODY!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!?
Okay, okay don't panic all over again. The craziest thing is, I remember everything. Which means I've got to be, at the very least, one of the top 10 smartest 8 year olds alive. So congrats on that, it probably won't last long.
What do 8 year old even do anymore? ...
.
.
.
.
.
.
Hey diary, I'm back. Same day. Anyway, I just climbed a tree, HOLY SHIT IT WAS AWESOME! Last time I climbed a tree and it was fun, Magic mushrooms were involved.
I talked to my parents, I think they could tell something was up but I'm not gunna pretend and talk like a child to them. I'll just avoid using robust verbiage (lol I know smart words still).
I have this concern about my memories fading, so I wanna write some things down:
1. When 2010 rolls around invest in Tesla
2. Don't text and drive, dumb Ass
3. Weed is not the devil, it's the devils lettuce and it's good
4. Get good grades in high school and go to a good college
5. Try and make out with Mindy Johnson, that fox ;)
6. Start building a tree house
7. BUILD A MONSTER HOT WHEELS TRACK THROUGH THE WHOLE HOUSE!
Alright. The last one got me reeeeaaal excited. I'll write again tomorrow. | Where the fuck am I? I mean seriously how much did I drink last night?
Okay this definitely isn't my bed. Man, I sure picked some weirdo to go home with last night. What adult has this many teddies and is that a toy box? Not a kinky toy box either a action man and lego kinda toy box.
I need some answers, nicotine, and a piss. Possibly not in that order.
That's not right. That is definitely not right! Last night I was definitely a well built, hairy ass, six foot man. So why the fuck am I now clean shaven with smooth skinny legs like a kid?
"Breakfast is readyyy."
She can give me answers but first that piss. Where's that God damn toilet in this house? God I feel considerably shorter.
"We'll be at the table when you're ready honey."
"Okkaayyy..."
Who is this amazonian, why is she wearing such a goofy smile, and why did she tussle my hair? Wait that's Mum. Ahhh the bathroom I can piss.
Wow he's shrunk! And the toilet may have grown. Fuck it that feels better either way.
Okay this is some weird shit, I don't remember taking acid but I have got to be tripping balls right now as I am looking at a fucking kid in the mirror.
Damn I need that cigarette. | 2016-12-17T03:07:38 | 2016-12-16T23:26:26 | 39 | 21 |
[WP] What is the longest sentence you can create while staying on subject and not turning it into a run-on sentence? | At a quarter past seven on the morning of September the seventeenth, with a light breeze blowing, as her home town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch began to groan awake, Anastasia Hardwick-Cholmondeley, youngest daughter of Christopher and Christabel, went on her accustomed morning jog, down the hill which for generations had been home to her ancestors (deinstitutionalised counter-revolutionaries all), past the shops, out along the main road already sighing with traffic, beyond the houses thinning like hairs on a judge's head, out of the built-up world, into the green cool of the forest, down, down the valley, picking up speed with legs pumping arms pumping heart pumping until finally, breathlessly, gratefully, sprawling on the blanket of moss which covered the riverbank, laughing, hurting, free. | Antidisestablishmentarianism is the longest word in the English language, one that makes any sentence automatically look longer than it truly is, and although in terms of sheer number of words this sentence may not rank so highly, "antidisestablishmentarianism" certainly makes it look longer; OP was vague, so I'm not really sure what the metric is for determining the "longest" sentence. | 2015-10-18T05:05:11 | 2015-10-18T05:05:04 | 75 | 13 |
[WP] A genie will grant you three wishes under the condition that your wishes will also be granted to your archenemy. | I cocked my head at the genie, trying to comprehend the situation. "So none of that literalist loophole stuff I hear in legend, none of the three rules from Aladdin."
"Correct," said the genie, his solemn face and deep voice completely neutral.
"So... *if* I were to say, 'I wish for a million bucks,' I'd get a million dollars, and not a million male deer, and not have those million dollars somehow inaccessible? And I could wish for more wishes? And I could wish for someone to come back from the dead? And I could wish for someone to fall in love with me?"
"Yes to all of those."
"So... the wish would get interpreted as my heart truly desires it?"
"Yes. On the sole condition that..."
"...my worst enemy also gets the same wishes granted. Yes, I think I understand now."
I turned away and started pacing the the dim little cave, pondering my choices and the consequences. I could act as if it were a regular genie and make my wishes as I normally would, but that would mean my rival would get the same things and turn that against me. I could wish for harm to befall my rival, but that would mean that I would be harmed too; plus, I'd be stuck without my heart's desire. I could wish for something that would be heaven to me, and hell to him, but that just seemed petty.
"Should I leave you some more time to think?" asked the genie.
I shook my head and turned back towards the flickering light of the golden lamp. "No, I think I know what I want."
"Then master," he said, bowing with his hands wide towards me, "what is your first wish?"
"I wish me and my enemy were good friends." |
"I know what I want."
Jerry spoke clearly, gazing into the shifting black void of smoke that had taken up the majority of his living room, the fetch tethering the djinn grasped with both hands in front of his chest.
Wind spoke to him and enraptured him, blowing spectral chills throughout his bones and skin. "Then speak, Gerald. Speak and I will make your every whim a reality, but know that your wishes will be granted to your worst enemy."
"I know my wishes. I wish for my family's prosperity, happiness for the people I love and know, and I want to leave the world a slightly better place than I when I arrived."
"Done." The Djinn formed the shape of a great, vaguely humanoid figure, shining light from the depths of it's smoky surface forming the illuminescent silhouette of sharpened teeth and slits for eyes. The Djinn cackled. "But your worst enemy will know these things."
Gerald gave the Djinn a knowing grin.
"I'm a writer, I've hated myself more than anyone in the world since I was 14."
"Damn it." The Djinn hissed, vanishing into it's fetch.
Bested again.
| 2015-05-25T16:20:31 | 2015-05-25T13:41:41 | 77 | 32 |
[WP] Your computer-illiterate grandmother has somehow deleted the internet. Yes, all of it. | If you have an infinite number of monkeys and they're sitting down at an infinite number of typewriters, by chance one of them will, by accident, type out an exact copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet. A vast majority will just shit themselves.
Now I'm not saying Grams is a monkey, but technologically speaking, she's almost on par. She also happens to have very little control over her bowels, so yes, she might shit herself too.
I tried to show her how to get email, search google, print out something, but being a millennial, I just don't have the time or patience to help her. There's nothing more frustrating that watching some old Luddite try and figure out whether to single click or double click. I guess you could say it's all my fault. But I blame our generation, no one wants to help the old, we built this tech world, we needed to show them, to bring them into it, but we were happy to leave them behind.
Grams liked to say, "It was so much easier before computers", "life was so much simpler." I thought it was bullshit, I wouldn't last five minutes without GPS or Google. How has she made it 98 years?
Back to the monkeys. If you sat down an infinite number of Grams, at an infinite number of computers, one might be able to check her email. Or as in this situation, she'll hit a completely random set of mouse clicks and keystrokes that will create a virus that will wipe out the entire internet and all electronic devices. A virus so sophisticated and simple in it's creation that it could only be stumbled upon by complete happenstance. That's what happened when Grams wanted to read one of those shitty old people email threads that only people over 50 seem to enjoy. The, send this out to your contacts before midnight or something terrible will happen to your family, chain emails.
Now Grams couldn't be happier. She doesn't have to feel like she's living in the stone age. She's brought us all back to it. Now us millennials are bugging our grandparents on how to navigate the world without Google. Now we're the fucking monkeys.
| It was about 4 in the afternoon when I got a call from my grandmother asking if I could come fix her computer. Normally, I would tell her that I could come over when I was free tomorrow, but I really had nothing better to do today. The internet was down at my place, so I said fuck it and went on over to her house.
I gave her computer a quick look through and immediately saw what the problem was. "Your internet's not working?" I asked.
"It's not my internet. The internet in general isn't working."
... I'm sorry, what? "Grandma, that doesn't make any sense."
"Well, I was just trying to get to my e-mail when something popped up and told me to follow these steps. I did, and now the internet doesn't work."
"Just your connection, right?" I asked. Maybe she had a virus that was disabling access to her modem. Those kinds of things could happen, right? I didn't exactly work in IT, so my knowledge is limited.
"No, the entire internet went down," she explained. "Mine, yours, everyone's! I'm getting calls from friends all over telling me that their internet is no longer working. Yours is out too, isn't it?"
Yeah, this was no coincidence. She was telling the truth. The whole truth. Which led me to ask... "Grandma, pardon my language, but..."
"But...?"
"How the FUCK did you manage to take down the entire internet?!"
"Oh, I clicked and dragged it to the recycle bin then emptied it." she exclaimed with a sheepish smile on her face. "Was I not supposed to do that?"
... Oh god, this was worse than I thought. | 2016-01-06T21:56:34 | 2016-01-06T20:13:10 | 65 | 35 |
[WP] Remember, Humans are social creatures, and only owning one is considered cruel and inhumane. | The young Lurak reached out to stroke her human's hair through the bars of the cage, fascinated by the softness of it. Her own scalp was covered in the millions of soft spikes that marked her kind, which could instantly double as weapons when needed. Useful, certainly, but not as pretty.
"But then it'll pay more attention to her mate than to me," she said, pulling a face, and choosing her new pet's native language so that it would understand what she wanted. "I like it. I want it to be only *my* friend."
Her father sighed and shook his head.
He'd thought having the responsibility of a lesser species would be good for a growing child, his only child, and he'd heard the newly captured planet Earth's inhabitants made for entertaining pets. But he wouldn't keep it if there was going to be trouble.
"They're highly social creatures. It will die from lack of socialisation from its own kind as surely as lack of food or water, Arie," he chided his daughter. "There are plenty of males to choose from, we'll pick one out tomorrow, alright? Maybe then it will reproduce and actually be useful. The little ones command high prices, I've heard they are amazingly compliant. Can be taught just about anything, on any planet."
The human's head whipped up, mouth lifted in a snarl, her dark eyes wide and crazy. "I won't fuck whoever you stuff into cage. I'll kill him and you if you try it. I'm not afraid of death, trust me. Death would be preferable."
"Daddy, you upset it," Arie complained, stroking the human's cheek even as it tried to rear back. "I wanted to play with it, and it won't want to now."
Her father stared at the human's darting eyes, at the way her muscles were tensed up. A rapid one, nothing but trouble, as so many of them were. Willful and arrogant beyond belief, believing themselves the equal of their superiors. A planet of monsters, against the natural order.
This had been a terrible idea, but there might still be a valuable lesson he could teach his daughter from this mess.
"I'll get you a new one, my love. A paired couple, how about that?" he said, taking a step closer and grasping the human's arm, pulling her from the cage.
She struggled and spat, but was no match against his superior build. They were so weak, it always surprised him own long it had taken the Lurak to conquer their little planet. A full year: impressive, really.
"Kill it, Arie," he said, exposing the human's throat, easy access for his daughter's spikes. "It will only upset the others we get, and it's important for you to know how to treat the ones that give us trouble. What do Lurak do to those that give us trouble?"
"We conquer," his daughter whispered, her spikes curling in on themselves in nervousness. "But daddy, I like her...her hair's pretty..."
"Kill it," he said grimly, ignoring the human's flailing arms. She was plunging one of her hands into the pocket of her own clothes. Some protective reflex? He would never understand humans.
"I won't get you new ones until you get rid of this one," he said patiently, glad to see Arie's spikes were slowly returning to normal, her eyes pensive as they settled on the human.
She would do it soon, he knew. He was suddenly glad he had bought the thing, difficult as it had been: it was important that his daughter learn this lesson. She was far too soft, far too gentle for a Lurak.
The human suddenly removed something from her jacket pocket, a slim object. He had a second to recognise it - the things they called *guns*, one of the weapons that could actually harm them if it hit one of their spikes. It had been a pain in the ass to get rid of them all. But here was one, here was one pointing at the head of his daughter. Surely it wouldn't hit, he thought dazedly, even as the human pulled the trigger and he was too shocked to move. It was hard to hit a spike, it would miss, it would -
Arie crumbled and he released the human, screeching as he teleported to his daughter's side, but it was too late.
"Why? Why?" he gibbered senselessly, not expecting an answer from that *thing*.
"I heard you're highly social creatures, too," it whispered, *smiling* at him. Monsters. They were a planet of monsters. "I knew I'd saved this gun for a reason."
--------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | There was a veil of white-gray smoke and the *thwik thwik thwik* of a warped rod spinning. Beyond that there was darkness, interrupted here and there by lonely shafts of blueish moonlight.
Two creatures stood outside the car, looking in.
"You'll take the adult?" said the first of the two creatures, who could not be described, because they could not be seen. It is more accurate to say that they existed as a passing feeling, like a moment of forgetfulness or an itch of misplaced remembrance. They were there and you could touch them, but you would not know that you had.
"Yes, I will," said the other, not kneeling, because it had no body, but lowering to look more closely through the misplaced window. "Should I take both, do you think? Humans are social creatures, I've heard. Some say it's cruel to take only one."
"This is your first?" said the other.
The second did not nod because it had no head or neck or shoulders, but it did express an affirmative. "I want it to be happy."
"Don't," said the first. It did not put a hand on the shoulder of the second, because it did not have a hand and the second, as previously discussed, did not have a shoulder. But it was trying to be comforting, even as it was forced to say a few unpleasant things. "They're never happy. Not at first, at least. And some not ever. They prefer to be wild. They prefer their packs and their territories. As good as you might wish to be, it will never appreciate you. That is normal."
The adult in the car was a woman. She was twisted around in her seat in ways that made most other details unclear. But there was certainly nothing about her that made her any more or less appealing to the beings outside the car. She had been selected by chance, and by no other metric.
"But would they be happier if they were not alone?" asked the second, gesturing without gesturing towards the smaller body in the back of the car. "If both were together, wouldn't that be better?"
"Perhaps," said the other. "And perhaps not. They are social, yes. But taking multiple packmates at a single time can be challenging. I don't believe they will appreciate the gesture."
The small human in the back of the overturned car began to scream. There was very little force behind its voice.
"It will be alone, then," said the second. "Is that alright?" The road was empty. The night was deep and still. "Will it find a new pack?"
"I don't know," said the other. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps another will come along behind us and claim it for themselves."
"But if I claim it now, it will be with the other," said the second. "Which is the better choice?"
The first was silent for a time. "I don't know. They are different shades of cruelty. No choice is better than the other."
The second was displeased with this answer - not because it was a poor answer, but because it was truthful. But the answer seemed plain. It gathered up the woman, pulling that weightless, scentless, colorless part of her out of the car and into its center.
"You will come with me," it said. "I will take care of you now."
The woman didn't understand, but she seemed to know that it was okay to not understand. She looked into the car and she looked down at her child. She tried to reach out to him, but like the others, she had no arms and she had no hands.
"We will leave him. Only you will come."
She didn't understand, but she was calm and she let herself fall into the being's great, blank void.
"Let's go," said the first. "You have challenges ahead."
They went, though slowly. The second looked back and saw others of its kind hovering nearby, wandering towards the car. It felt regret.
"I made the wrong choice."
"There is no wrong choice," said the other. "And besides, look..."
There were lights. White beams. They scattered the hovering wraiths. Another car crawled slowly through the smoke, then stopped. The door open. There were voices.
The second cradled the human in its center and went off to the space between light and dark, where it had a home and now it had a human. | 2017-08-12T08:56:14 | 2017-08-12T08:28:18 | 63 | 27 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Dear Eyllisa,
I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for *me*. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you.
Your friend,
Preston
| 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T13:52:52 | 61 | 40 |
[WP]'The old avatars had it easy with 4 elements. You, on the other hand,' she sneered while handing me a periodic table, 'have 118'. | I stood beside Master Turuk at the Avatar training ground deep in the mountains. I let my eyes pass slowly over the snow-covered peaks around me, glittering in the afternoon sun. At least I'm fortunate enough to be training in a beautiful place, I thought. At the rate this is going, I have plenty of time to look at these mountains.
"Your training is progressing very nicely, Avatar Shang." The old master smiled down at me, his mouth framed by a gray goatee. His thin body was draped in his traditional robe, dyed richly with red and yellow.
"Nicely, right." I sighed. "What are we on, now? Nineteen?"
"Eighteen," Turuk corrected. "And we have nearly completed it. All that remains is for one final demonstration of your knowledge of argon-bending. Go on, show me what you have learned."
"Right," I said, and furrowed my brow in concentration. I held my hands out, sensing and capturing argon from the air around me. My clothes and hair rippled slightly as the air around me was disturbed. I couldn't see the results of my bending, but I could feel it. "There, Master Turuk. I have it."
"I see that you do. Well done, young Avatar. You have mastered argon-bending."
"This is pointless," I complained, releasing the argon I had captured back into the air. "What can I even do with argon-bending? Do I *really* have to learn all 118 elements? How many of these are going to be useful?"
Turuk scowled down at me. "You speak too rashly, young Avatar. You must understand that there is a balance between all 118 elements. You represent that balance. Every element has a role to play in this world, a role no more or less important than the others. Just ask the citizens of Argon Nation."
I sighed. "I understand, master. So, what makes argon so useful?"
Turuk smiled down at me. "Thermal insulation in energy-efficient windows, my son."
I stared up at Turuk. I wanted to cry.
"Now, it is time for us to move on, young Avatar. Move on to element number nineteen. You will now master potassium-bending."
"Potassium..." I croaked.
Turuk cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Bring in the bananas!" | "You have a new curium instructor," she told me. "The last one has -"
"Cancer," I interrupted. "Yeah. Funny, that. What have I got tomorrow?"
Grabbing a list off her desk, she nodded sagely. "I'll be taking you for mercury at eight thirty."
"Are you sure?" I said. "I thought you were retiring."
She shook her head and consulted her list. "Nine o'clock sharp. Francium. Don't be late, OK? It's got a half-life of ten minutes and if you're late there won't be a lesson to go to."
I sighed. "I'll be there," I said. "What's next?"
"Nine thirty is arsenic -"
"*Again?*" I interrupted. "Come on! I was sick as shit for days after the last lesson. I was -"
She looked at me over the top of her glasses. "Do you want to be the Avatar, or not?"
"No," I said. "I was perfectly clear on this point. I have no desire to -"
"*Ten o'clock,*" she said firmly, "is lead. You'll be having a new teacher. Miss Angstrom was discovered this morning masturbating in her own faeces."
Breathe in. Breathe out. "OK!" I said, brightly. "What's ten thirty?"
She flipped a page. "Potassium. Don't bring water this time, will you?"
*"One time,"* I said. "*One*. Time."
"Eleven o'clock is mercury. I'll be taking you for that."
I frowned. "You said mercury was at eight thirty," I said.
"No," she said, checking the list. "Eleven. Just before Rainbownium and Fishpasteium."
I threw my head back and groaned. "Not again," I muttered. "Nurse!" | 2016-01-23T15:08:05 | 2016-01-23T14:57:22 | 290 | 57 |
[FF] Write about a death. Make it happy.Make it under 12 sentences. | Nurses looking for me, hospital wondering how a man at stage two disappeared. I wonder what they'll say when they find me at the bottom of a cliff.
Money in Freddy's bank account, he'll distribute it evenly between him and his two sisters. Goodbyes said, memories cherished, the Christmases and Easters and the long summer days at the lake. There were peaks and dips and water down cheeks, but we came through with appreciation, three kids that know what's right and won't hesitate to fight for it. The world is a better place with them in it.
What a riot. Seventy years, laugh lines on the sides of my mouth crinkle. The great outweighed the good, the good outweighed the bad, the bad outweighed the miserable, and I don't have a goddamn clue what's below that. I look down, crooked boulders, like broken razors, almost hard to see from so high up. I only see the void, the continuity, mom and dad are there, and she's there, and I don't think anything comes after but I can't wait to be in the same place as her again.
I jump.
| Do not cry child. Death is not the end. She has merged with the stars, watching over you. When the sun rises, it beams down upon the world. It never frowns. Do you know why? Because every day, it gets to wake up and look upon its children. It watches as we play in the emerald grass or swim in the sapphire ocean. And when we struggle or become lost, the sun does not cry. It knows that, however hard our challenges, however grey our skies, we will never give up, and this undeniable fact is what gives it the power to keep shining. So keep your chin up and smile back at the sun, for today is another day to keep on living. | 2014-01-23T13:41:12 | 2014-01-23T13:32:58 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. "Wait. There's just one dot." The Villain says. "...Someone loves me?" The hero replies with hope. | Dr. David Destruction looks back at the glowing map and nods. "Yes. Yes one dot. One...hold on you've been here on earth for like 30 years right?"
Hero Man nodded slowly.
"And you have a family...the father and mother who adopted you....aunts and uncles...cousins?"
"Yes. 14 earth cousins."
"And you've spent literally decades now saving people from harm, changing lives, forming tight bonds in your community?"
Hero Man nods again. "That's right. I've been cleaning up crime for years you creep!"
"Wow...one dot ...I mean God damn man I'm sorry that's ...woof ...I mean I was going to torture and kill you but this just seems barbaric..."
Hero Man, undeterred, pipes up. "Could you ...could you tell me who it is? Is it Susan?"
"Susan?"
"Yeah she's...well she's the woman I've been seeing the last few months and I must admit...I'm sweet on her."
Destruction sighs and looks back to the map. "No it says here it's a Sidney. Sidney Goldbaum. Who is that?"
"My Dentist."
"Wow. That's just....unbelievably depressing. Christ man..."
"I have really strong teeth. He is always saying I'm his favorite patient."
"I thought I was going to turn this thing on and see dozens...maybe hundreds ...I mean look at this ...are you looking?"
"Sigh....yes I'm looking."
"A red dot means love...that's Sidney ...orange means they like you ...3 dots....yellow means they can take you in small doses ..7 dots....purple means they've pretended to get another call while on the phone with you ...8,365 dots."
"I'm not great on the phone...I like face to face you know?"
"Yeah yeah....so....man ...I think I'm kinda over this...and killing Sidney seems pointless and killing you just seems kinda...you know...cruel."
"I don't need your pity Destruction!"
"No man I think you do. This is kinda fucked up. Do you wanna...you know...talk about it?"
Hero Man flexes his taut, rippling muscles and the shackles holding him burst into shards. He stands and approaches Dr. Destruction with a steely look of resolve in his eyes.
"It all started with my Mother ...she was so domineering..." | One dot? But the hero has done so much for people. He should have more, shouldn't he? I look at him. Though he has no idea where we are, I know where we are. The one dot. It was me. Though he didn't know this, the hope in his eyes is burning through me.
I shut down the machine, not wanting to die. "Maybe, I'll just kill you, so that the one person who loves you loses hope." I smile but pain was hidden behind my voice. The hero I've known to love also smiles.
"Please, do it. Just don't kill them." His plea is too much for me and I break down. I fall to my knees.
"What, too weak to do anything now?" The hero taunts me.
"It's me." I tell him. He doesn't say anything.
"I'm the only one who cares about you." I say. I look up to see his shocked face, a face of horror or disgust. I don't blame him.
"B-but- you-"
I couldn't handle his mind trying to make something up, so I told him why.
"You took all of my friends away from me. But I never stopped loving you. How could I when you're so nice, and sweet, and optimistic? So I became a villain. I vowed to take you down. And now that you're here, you know everything, and so, you're free." I spew out.
I walk over to his chains and unlock them. The hero falls to the floor. I brace myself for anything he would do, but nothing came. Nothing, except an embrace. His warm arms wrapped around my shaking body. And with that, I started to cry again. I heard him mutter, "I like you too." | 2021-06-18T23:01:20 | 2021-06-18T21:26:26 | 665 | 144 |
[WP] The Zombie apocalypse has finally happened. The dead rose from their graves all over the world. They do not however, crave flesh, eat brains or hunt humans. Honestly they don't do much of anything except shuffle around. The Zombie hordes are more of an inconvenience than the end of the world. | BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEP
Colin pressed the button on the answering machine.
“hello, this is Mr’s Royce, another ones gott-”
He pressed skip
“Err, Hi, I’m calling from the McGrath farm, we’ve gotten a whole flock, wait no…herd, horde? Anyway, I require your services, they are *everywhere*.”
Colin shuffled his way to the fridge (the same kind of shuffle as his daily prey), then sunk into his favourite chair as his can of dangerously cheap beer hissed at him as he opened it.
He turned his tv on and flicked to the news, as the newscaster began to drone on about god knows what, Colin’s mind drifted to those first few months when the world shut down.
It had been nearly five years ago since the dead rose.
It came in three waves. First the diggers.
The oldest corpses, the ones that only *just* managed to dig their way out of the ground, they were so old and rotten that they ended up as piles of bones spread through cemeteries with nearby mounds of mud, most people thought it was some sick, twisted fad.
The second wave were the stumblers, they could shuffle but not much else, the longest surviving of the three waves.
The Third wave, the biters, were the fastest and the...bitey-est, a bite wouldn’t kill you or turn you, it’d just hurt like hell and maybe give you an infection in the wound; if you were really unlucky.
The un-dead weren't the biggest problem though, people having had decades and decades worth of horror and zombie films drummed into them, huge numbers of people panicked and expected a fourth, or a fifth wave and in lieu of this, went bananas.
Shops were pillaged, business looted, food and guns stockpiled, even some fortress like structures were built to house people in case of the worst.
But a fourth wave never came.
Scientists argued and debated the cause and solution to the problem constantly, to no avail.
The U.N eventually made a statement nearly six months after the Biters appeared to all countries, to encourage an increase of exterminators with the speciality of the undead; and like in the movies, destroying the brain worked and for four and a half years Colin had been just that, a Zombie Exterminator, or as they had become known, a Zombie-Axer.
All this changed for Colin and in fact, the whole world when at the McGrath farm, the very next day Colin the Axer spoke with the dead, and the dead spoke back. | “Oi!” John announced as the rotting corpse shuffled in front of his shopping cart. “We didn’t have this kind of shite in Glasgow.”
A worried stockboy jogged up to the zombie and helped it across the aisle. “I’m very sorry, sir, that shouldn’t happen, I’m sorry.”
John grumbled forgiveness as the employee walked off, dragging the confused corpse with him.
“Scotland has zombies too, ya tard,” Mike told him, grabbing two packs of Corona. “Everywhere does.”
“Aye, but at least we keep the fuckers locked up! You Americans just let ‘em walk around the roads.”
“We’d put them in prisons if they weren’t already full,” Mike replied, scanning the gift aisle for a suitable card. It was his anniversary, and he’d forgotten; John certainly wasn’t contributing any helpful ideas.
He picked one out— not too cheesy, not too stupid. Across its front read “What a beautiful day...” He didn’t look at the inside; he assumed it would be fine. Mike grabbed a bouquet of posies and walked to the checkout.
The flowers rang up at $48.53– zombies certainly didn’t do much for the price of posies.
By the time they had gotten back to John’s truck, Mike was sixty dollars lighter, and John was one beer drunk.
“You know, you can’t have that bottle open in here.” Mike told him.
John snorted. “Bullshite.”
The policeman that pulled them over wasn’t impressed by John’s accent.
“I couldn’t ‘ave known that!” John protested.
The officer sighed. “I’m pretty sure the UK has open containers too, sir.”
A *thud* was heard in the back of the truck, and the officer drew his gun.
#*Crack! Crack!*
“Jesus!” Mike yelled, and jumped out of the passenger seat.
The policeman didn’t stop Mike from bending down over the zombie. Blood streaked across John’s silver pickup. The zombie’s eyehole was pierced all the way through, and it’s neck was nearly in two. The stench of fresh rot filled Mike’s nostrils.
“Fuck,” John said, getting out. “I jus’ washed this.” | 2017-11-23T14:21:37 | 2017-11-23T11:51:49 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm | "Hey Tom!"
Thomas turned around. Across the street, he saw Sarah waving at him. For a moment, his heart stopped. He gulped. She was wearing her school uniform, but she could've been wearing a garbage bag for all he cared. It was her. After a moment of stupor, he raised his hand and waved back. Sarah smiled.
Thomas didn't quite understand why Sarah had been paying so much attention to him recently. His friends said he was 'acceptable' to look at, a judgment he considered kind. He understood why--he was a lineman for the JV team, big enough to look intimidating but not huge or fast enough to join the varsity team. He was quiet, more likely to be at church fellowship than a concert on most Fridays. And yet for days now, Sarah had been paying attention to him. It was almost unreal.
"Tooom!" Sarah yelled again. Thomas looked quizzically, then put his hand to his ear to indicate he was listening.
"How fast can you run the 40?"
Thomas thought he had misheard at first--her question had been slightly drowned out by passing cars. Upon realizing what she was asking, he blushed. His 40-yard dash was among the slowest in the school, let alone his team. He was big, not fast.
But Sarah was not interested in Thomas's answer. With a flourish, she took two wide steps right into the busy intersection.
"Come show me!"
In the instant that Sarah stepped out into the street, the world slowed down for Thomas. Time halted as his eyes opened wide. And in that frozen moment, Thomas heard a voice. One that he knew, in his heart of hearts, was the voice of God.
*The girl will be struck by the bus. You can save her.*
Thomas looked at Sarah, the world stuck in place.
"But I can't reach her from here." he thought.
*You can save her. You must only believe.*
Thomas looked at Sarah, her face still lit with a smile, completely oblivious to the bus about to hit her. She did not deserve death. And if it was within his ability to save her, then it would be his duty. His hands balled up into fists. Putting aside his hesitation, he braced himself to move. To sprint. To fly.
He did not remember the next 2 seconds. He did not remember crashing through the sedan in the right lane, nor the van in the middle. He did not feel the force of fast-moving steel against his own flesh and bone. Before he opened his eyes, he had not realized that he had reached the exact spot where Sarah had stood. Nor had he seen the destroyed remains of the truck that had slammed into him.
But Sarah had disappeared from the road. As Thomas came to his senses and a crowd gathered, he looked around frantically. The driver of the bus stumbled out of the wreckage, bleeding profusely.
---
"Impressive." a male voice muttered to Sarah from atop the roof of a nearby building.
"I told you he would be fast." Sarah responded with a smirk. Her form blurred and skipped as she approached the man watching Thomas.
"Paladins truly do move by faith alone, then."
"I don't even think he's realized his power yet."
The man smiled. "Good. He will serve us well." | You didn't have to ask what people were doing time for anymore, it was fairly obvious. The words, scrawled poorly on their arms, like someone had taken up carving wood in their spare time and had found themselves practicing words on human skin, had always let you know what they were doing time for.
Some had the word "thief" or "rogue" tattooed on their arm. Rumor had it that the words were scratched so poorly into skin that some inmates woke up bleeding. Some men that had proclaimed their innocence, my cell mate included, had the words "paladin" across their dominant arm. We couldn't be sure they were *actually* innocent, but it lead us to believe that they certainly didn't deserve to be in prison.
"So what does yours say?" my cellmate, Indigo Joe had asked. Indigo Joe, funny enough, had also begun serving as a sort of makeshift chaplain before we had woken up with the tattoos.
"I'm not sure," I said. Mine was really faint, and hadn't had the deep throbbing cuts that the others received.
"Let me see."
Indigo ran his hand over the faint marks that faded from letter to letter. The first letter, an 'N', was really obvious, but then the second letter, was a vertical bar.
"Well, you know how they're all written in capital letters, right?"
"Yeah?"
"The way I see it," Joe said, searching for the nonexistent third letter or fourth letter, "you're probably a necromancer."
This could ring true; my selection of books included Sylvia Browne, Edgar Allen Poe, a Harry Houdini biography, and more stuff that was verging on morbid and death-related. I got really excited. It was one of the better days in prison.
I went to work in the kitchen, a privilege I had earned over the first two years of my ten year sentence. The day seemed to pass quickly, even while uttering the mundane words of "you're welcome" over and over again to prisoners who had thanked me for passing their tray. Some asked me what my class was, and by the end of the day, I had a large stem of orders for those that wanted to see the powers work.
When I had attempted later that night, though, I had no success.
"You look like you're taking a dump," Joe said.
My dreams, that night, were filled with bringing spirits back from the dead, helping people get over loss, and even speaking to passed on relatives. The weird part was that it was all in the inmate cafeteria: here is your past, here is your future.
When I woke, my arm hurt. The letters had filled in and I was so pissed, I woke up Joe by throwing my books out of my cell in a huff. He looked at my left arm.
"NPC?" | 2015-07-13T19:19:43 | 2015-07-13T18:45:05 | 83 | 34 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | "I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.* | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 432 | 12 |
[WP] The age of superheroes finally arrives. Your power is that whenever you step into a room, it is immediately cleaned to perfection. At first you think it's useless but you realize that by cleaning people's rooms you get paid and thus gets funding to buy tech to match other heroes and villains. | They don't get it, they just don't get it.
I could feel him slamming his fist into my jaw, hard enough to knock my head to the side, until I felt a tooth fly outwards. But since my mouth was another "container", another one popped in its place. It still hurt like hell, though.
"You don't understand. I'm doing this for the good of the *world*!" The 'hero' said, desperately.
Another chump riding on more power than integrity. They keep forgetting, thinking that I don't know exactly what's cleaned up, every time. It fades, eventually, but I know what's disappeared, and it was in that moment that my guard slipped, allowing my expression to show. Normally I'm better about that, I can just clean with the snap of my fingers.
"I find that hard to believe."
"You have *no* idea what kind of pressure I'm under. I can't let the world know about this, so why. Can't. You. Just. *Die?!*" He said, another blow shattering my collarbone. I'm reluctantly thankful that my skin is considered a container, but the pain was enough to make me scream. In the back of my mind, I made a note to speak to my doctor, see what we could do about the dosage before my power cleaned me out again, like this.
Slowly, I could see his expression change, and feel his mind crack completely. This was it, this was the moment. Because in the end, Evil is another kind of filth. The kind that you never see, but it's all around us. The kind that often slips into the mind, the heart, without even realizing it.
Thankfully, at least this was something I could handle. I held up my fingers, as the 'hero' looked in confusion, then realization dawned across his face, and he reached out. "No, wait-!"
*Snap*.
There was a brief crackling sound as space and time shifted, and then...
*Pop*.
He was gone. There would never be a record, he was completely removed, as if there wasn't a trace. But I would remember it. I would remember every good thing he did, and every evil thing he tried to hide. Usually, the world was better off without them. Usually.
But that's the thing nobody gets. I can't "clean" people, not like that. I can only rid the world of the dirt, the filth. Until it's "back to normal", and then suddenly everyone's happy, as if nothing happened. And here I am remembering every horror, wishing I could do better. After all...
Rooms are cleaned.
Evil is *cleansed*. | In a world where being Superman is now the average, and how villains have risen up to take what's not bolted down (or hell even if it is, some of them can do that) I had rolled the most painfully average power.
I was a cleaner, part of the mundane power sector that is just above the 'no powers power' classification and waaaaay below anything considered 'powerful'. So why am I telling you this? Because it turns out I'm in the wrong classification.
It started awhile back where I had my own cleaning service out of a van. I bought buckets, mops, and other things that collect dust to seem more legitimate. I'd walk into a house, through it, and clean it just by using my power. Though I had gotten a call from an unknown client. He said he needed something cleaned and that I was the potential man for the job.
So I head over and into the already pretty clean room, no biggie, that is, until I heard a click and realized I'm being held at gunpoint. Frozen, I didn't have much I could do, but my job. So I walk in, and cleaned. The client walked over and pulled a file out of a desk and flipped through it.
"All of my police records vanished. I'm gonna gamble on it but, you did your job."
I just nodded quickly and asked if I could leave. He let me go after paying me, and I went back to my apartment shook up. Was I able to clean records? What else could I 'clean'? I was just a simple cleaner what more could they want?
Well, a week later, a blunt object hit me and next thing I knew I'm with the same client again.
"Hello again. You've got something beautiful that we need here. Ya see, you can clean anything by the looks of it and that means records, vaults, crime scenes, anything as long as it's in a room. So we're gonna be needing ya to clean up alot more around here."
"So....I can clean anything? What?"
"Don't be stupid, ya got a gift and more importantly, ya gotta brain to use it with. Now come on, ya got work to do" | 2022-03-11T08:59:00 | 2022-03-11T08:19:33 | 57 | 32 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | We first detected them after a great mass of energy was released on their planet, it was logged as a new species developing space flight and set to be investigated when they made regular journeys around their own solar system.
They didn't progress as expected so a scout team was sent to investigate, the last messaged received was "warning hostile indigenous life forms, local area known as Roswell, hard landing imminent".
Plans were set to invade, it took only 3 year cycles on Glargth before we left, destination: Earth. In the time where the invasion was planned a space ship was seen leaving the planet, reaching it's local moon.
I was given the honour of leading the invasion with a type 6 semi-permanent base ship, I was to land it, set up the forward base, have my team set up defences, and collect as much info as we safely could and everything went without a hitch, we landed, set up the base, built the defences, it was a strange planet, day cycles seemed to be seconds compared to back home, the weather was near unpredictable and the gravity was overly heavy.
Not long after we landed the team I set to find out as much info as they could captured one of the indigenous species seemingly capable of higher reason, I felt the need to show him the level of danger his species was in, I loaded my best weapon, a gunpowder propelled rifle, it could fire a metal ball 50m easy, with accuracy of only 5m of where it was pointed at full range.
I took him to a firing range we had set up and shown him first the guards weapons, the standard issue weapon of the military, he looked confused, I wish I spoke the language so I could truly gauge his fear.
Then I took out my rifle, aimed, fired one of the best shots of my life, near bullseye on the 25m distance range on the smaller target size of 3m across. I was smiling, my pride at the shot must have been evident to even the primitive creature, but then I heard it...he was making a noise...it almost sounded like, laughter.
| The pestilence has failed. On all the countless worlds before it has stuck down our foes. These, humans, are unlike anything we have seen. To foolish to do more than look up at the stars. Unable to unify and spread their species. They know the dangers of failing to leave; overpopulation, cosmic disaster, worlds ravaged by plague, and yet they still squabble over fractions of a rock.
Perhaps this is their strength. In their squabble to control the rock they have become masters of it's intricacies. 'Containment', 'quarantine', 'medicine'; strange new concepts for us. Our bodies are strong and we let our weak worlds die to be retaken by the stonger. These things are refined tools of the humans who only have this one home.
Our mere presence was once enough. The pestilence would spread and make ready each world for our coming. It is our way. Our way has failed us.
We are but a colony ship sent on the long sleep many cycles ago. The power of our empire is faster, but time and space can only be bent so much. Our arrival has galvanized them. I fear they may take to the stars before they can be stopped.
Our only hope may be their foolish delay. May another rock strike theirs and smite them from the stars.
_____
Edit: Slight re-write of the second paragraph to eliminate a nasty run on sentence. Much more readable now. Also a re-write of the last sentence.
Edit2: It seems the humans fear us more than we thought, perhaps they think our fleet is near. They have offered valuable minerals in return for peace. They shall have it.
For now. | 2014-10-17T10:09:09 | 2014-10-17T10:00:06 | 94 | 61 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | As the car slowed in the lineup, I forgot to breathe. It was all beginning to make sense. I knew Talia was well-off, but the limousine seemed a little extravagant for a work outing. It made me a little uncomfortable to be in one of these, again. It had been so, so long-- a different time, a different life altogether. They'd seen to that.
But now it was all falling into place. The fancy clothes, how Talia kept reassuring me that everyone was going to love me. As the cameras flashed in a flurry, snapping the photos of the couple exiting the limo in front of us, it made sense. Not her workmates. The tabloids. The public.
My mouth went dry, and my pulse was racing. We were next. If I didn't get out, what would happen? Would the paparazzi just shoot through the darkened windows? What could they see? Could they make out my face well enough for them recognize it?
It had been seven years, but it wasn't long enough. I knew good and well they'd never forget, never stop looking. Seven years since my life ended, and I was charged with restarting from nothing. A new name, a new haircolor, a new history. If they'd been able to change my face, I'm sure they would have. But no, I still looked like me. The daughter of what was once a notorious mafia boss. My pretty little face, a little less lined with age and worry, had been plastered all over the papers when my testimony went public in the largest mafia bust to ever shake the Eastern seaboard.
Before the trial even went to court, the death threats had begun. I'd tried to be stubborn about it. Tried to hold my head high, and not let them scare me. It wasn't until I came home to that box on the balcony of my tiny apartment that I'd finally cracked and admitted I needed witness protection. I could still remember every detail of peeling open the brown cardboard. The smell that hit my nose as I stared down at the dark mass within. I didn't register what it was right away. Not until I recognized the collar.
"...Ana?" Talia looked to me, concern in her brown eyes as the car began to move forward. "What is it? Please, don't be nervous. The cameras may be a little extra in-our-faces since I've never walked the carpet with another woman before, but I promise. It's not really that big of a deal anymore. They'll get their debut photos and move on."
I barely heard her, my frame all but paralyzed as the car began to slow. It was our turn. "You said you were an executive," I breathed, barely able to find my voice.
"I-- Ana, the movie. It's called _The Executive._ You can't-- you knew, didn't you? Talia Elliot, my name is in all the..." Her voice trailed, perfect red lips hanging open for a moment in shock as she registered the sheer fear in my eyes. "You had no idea."
"I don't go out much, Tali," I whispered.
And that was all there was time for. The doors flew open, a smiling man in a tuxedo offering out a hand to help Talia from her seat. She looked back at me, brow furrowed with concern as she reached out to squeeze my hand. "We'll talk about it tonight. Don't worry, I'm right here with you. They're all going to love you, I promise!" And she rose, stepping out.
I sat frozen in my seat, the blinding flurry of camera flashes reducing her to little more than a silhouette in front of me. There was the briefest beat of an expectant pause as they waited for me to follow, before one of the more assertive paparazzo craned over the red velvet ropes that barred them from the carpet. I looked at him, eyes obscured by the camera, that black lens reflecting my pale, panicked face.
And then the flash went off, and I knew it was all over. | When I was a teenager my mother asked me what I thought love was. Having just ended what I believed was my first real relationship. Completely distraught, dazed by the haze of infatuation I told her it was about feeling whole. About finding that one person who complements your faults. Who lifts you up and makes you feel like a better person. I was completely unaware that love was two sided. Could only see it for how it affected my own well-being. Or presumptive well-being.
She asked me again nearly a decade later, after telling her I was planning on asking my then girlfriend to marry me. And I told her it wasn’t about finding someone to complement your faults, but finding someone who was wholly compatible with the basic structures of my personality. That we could have major disagreements, but that so long as we agreed on the tenets of our own personal progress, and agreed to work together in tandem, we could overcome anything.
That relationship fell apart a few months before the wedding. We realized that compatibility doesn’t imply love. That we respected each other, and liked each other, but weren’t in love. And like so many people I began to question whether love was actually tangible. Like other ephemeral ideas, maybe it was something that could be such a common trope but something nearly impossible to experience. The mere limitations of language pushing a narrative of something that was so deeply personal, it couldn’t be adequately defined.
I first met Anne about six months ago. We had had a series of arguments about how to pinpoint an anniversary. The kind of relationship that just kind of happens, and before you know it you’re staring into the eyes of someone and it just feels right. Or so you think. From the moment I met her, I knew we were doomed. But it felt good so I went along with it anyways. Anne was a highly acclaimed theater actor, and refused to ever talk about it. Pretended like her celebrity status didn’t exist.
So, I buried it down, pretended like I never knew. Would occasionally hint at it, but she would immediately retreat. And that’s when it fully dawned on me. Love is vulnerability. Love isn’t some grand gesture, it isn’t some heartfelt feeling, or shared experience. It’s the ability to truly be vulnerable with someone. To escape millions of years of evolution. To allow someone else to define their experience of your being. That we spend so much time manicuring this image of ourselves and how we portray it to other people. Love is dropping all pretenses about how you think someone will judge you.
She first told me she loved me about a month after we met. And I reciprocated. My mind turning through something that seems so easy for other people to understand. She probably noticed my insincerity. About a month ago she finally invited me to a work event, which turned out to be the opening night of her new play. Surprised me as we stepped out of the limo to the cheering crowds of people. I acted surprised, and she seemed to play long. For the first time, she smiled at me with complete sincerity. And it felt good.
We broke up a few days later. My mother asked me what had happened and I explained that I just didn’t love her. That if it took her six months to finally admit something so basic, that our future would just be battle after battle. Trying to crack through the surface. For the first time, I asked her what *she* thought love was. Because obviously, I was doing it wrong. She told me that she didn’t actually care about love. That at the end of the day if you needed to use it as a crutch to justify a relationship it was probably doomed anyways.
And I realized that I have no clue what love is. But that maybe that was okay.
________________________________________
^^/r/squidcritic | 2017-06-14T12:00:32 | 2017-06-14T09:16:21 | 372 | 218 |
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years about a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night you step into this cab. |
‘Excuse me mate, if I’m not mistaken you should’ve taken that last exit.’ James spoke through the protective barrier which separated him from the driver.
‘Please, relax, I take you where you need to go.’ A foreign accent. Russian maybe? His tone was reassuring, yet authoritative. The kind a doctor speaks in before an operation. It’s fine, maybe he’s just taking a different route.
A short while passed and it became evident that they weren’t heading toward Heathrow Airport, instead the taxi man was following signs for Central London. Fuck, James thought. Fucking shit fuck. Not tonight, please God not tonight. His plane would be taking off within the hour. And judging by his current situation, James would not be on it, which was not good for him. Not good news at all.
The black cab was on a mission, shooting towards fuck knows where. The wrong airport maybe?
‘Sir, please, you no need to worry, I take you where you need to go.’ It was as if the Taximan was eavesdropping in on James’ train of thought. Either that or it was the constant tapping of his fingers on the window that gave his state of worry away.
‘But I need to go the Airport. Heathrow, back that way.’ He gestured over his shoulder. The Taximan said nothing, and kept his adamant direction. He’ll take him where he needs to go, an ill feeling began to manifest deep in his gut. James didn’t give a rats arse where this man thought he needed to go, but with every street lamp they passed it became more and more likely he was going to find out soon enough. For all he knew he could be on the way to sell his soul, or what’s left of it, to Lucifer himself. The one thing he did know is that he wanted to get the hell out of this car, and out of this fucking country.
‘Stop the cab, I’m getting out.’ He demanded. The driver said nothing, and to James’ dismay, kept on driving. A pair of black aviators covered the rear view mirror, so James couldn’t get a clear look at his face. Then the door locks clicked shut. Now was the time to start worrying. The first stream of sweat trickled down his temple and the window tapping became even more persistent.
They were now darting in and out of London’s backstreets, their shoulders shifting from side to side with every corner.
‘Get me the fuck out of this cab!’ He screamed, hammering the barrier, trying to stir an ounce of fear within the man at the wheel, to no avail. A loud mix of banging and curse words ensued. The Taximan did not change face, not even a glimpse of emotion, just those rear view mirror shades fixed on the road ahead.
They finally came to the screeching stop that James thought would never arrive. The door locks clicked once more, allowing entry to the outside world, and to freedom. James got out, and just about every insult under the sun got out in hot breath with him. Freedom from the taxi yes, but James was far from free when he registered his surroundings.
Now aware of where he was, he wished to God he was back inside that taxi.
‘James Daniels?’ He was Surrounded by 7 metropolitan police officers, all armed. ‘You’re under arrest for the murder of your wife and daughter Beth and Lily Daniels. Anything you do or say may be used as evidence...’ And the rest was a mere blurring of words.
The little black cab sped off down the road, and the Taximan cracked a smile.
Apologies for the rushed ending I’m at the airport and didn’t have time to properly finish. Also I copied this from notes on my phone and it hasn’t transferred any of the italics. Hope you enjoy!
| I hop into the back seat of the yellow car I so narrowly missed riding down the street. I hand the man his tip, which I usually do right away, and I sit down. "I want to go to [redacted]", I say slowly, letting him put the address into the GPS. But he doesn't. He just sits there. He, putting the car into drive, asks "You *want* to?"
That question throws me a bit. It even creeps me out to the point of wanting to leave the car, the extreme paranoia from my childhood creeping back into my mind, questioning the nice neighbor as a violent pedophile. The usually ridiculous thoughts, making me become too careful. Being all ridiculous again. "Uh, yeah, I do," I reply.
He's already driving, and I see him simply nod as he turns from the street. As he drives, I try to avoid saying the old cliché "you're going the wrong way," but it's clear he's going the wrong away.
Eventually, he crossed the town line. I ask him to pull over into a lot, and I open the door, going to open the other one to go and sit in the front passenger seat.
"Alright, what the hell is going on?" I ask. "I need to bring you somewhere. You need to go there," the man said vaguely. I sputtered. "You turn this car around or I'm going to take back my tip and call an Uber." He nods slightly and puts the car back in park. I quickly buckle in my seatbelt and get ready for the rest of the ride. "I'm not a psychopath, I'm not a rapist, ma'am," he said calmly. "I need to bring you where *you* need to go."
My paranoia creeps in a bit more, seeming to be less ridiculous now. But I clutch my bag, confused. "We're almost there," he says a minute later, and after *that,* we pull into a hospital.
"Wha–" I say, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay," he says. I open the door and walk in, to tend to his desires. I know the strategies; I've watched the crime shows. In case he *is* a psychopath, he is a rapist, I need to give him what he wants.
To my surprise, he turns the car off and follows me. I give him a look of anger. "Let me direct you," he says. I sigh. I let him "direct" me. Other people will be there, so if he *tries* anything, they'll call the cops, help me, stuff like that.
He walks me through hallways and into an elevator. A few floors up, he walks to a room at the end of the hallway. 209 is the number. He walks in and a woman is laying there, hooked up to all kinds of machines. "Wha–" I say, tearing up. I look at him, and back at her. My mother.
*I really love this plot, so I might right a part two and maybe a part three later! Be on the lookout, but not so much that you're disappointed if I don't make one. So I can't promise anything, but I hope to write more!* | 2018-04-29T05:05:54 | 2018-04-28T22:46:51 | 65 | 44 |
[WP] Out of sheer boredom, God decides that us humans must speak the brutal and honest truth no matter the consequences. The absolute excrement hits the metaphorical fan for twenty four hours straight. | "There's a presidential press conference on in a few," Catlyn said to me.
I looked up at her, "Press conference? What for?"
"As if I know."
Catlyn found the remote and turned on the TV. It was already set on a news channel and the local news anchors were talking about the upcoming press conference before it began. The President stood at his podium. The dark haired man was sweating and pulling on his collar. We sat in silence as we watched him fidget at the podium.
"Isn't he going to say anything?" Catlyn muttered.
The President leaned in closer to the mic before quickly stuttering, "*A-aliensarereal*!"
The President was tackled down by another man in a suit. There was screaming among the press before the screen cut away back to the local news. The news anchors' shocked expressions reflected our own. One anchor spoke.
"What a fucking dumbass."
"Karen, you dumb bitch, you can't say dumbass on live television."
Both slapped their hands over their mouths.
"What the actual fuck," I muttered.
I turned and saw Catlyn looking at me. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead as she kept her lips pursed tight.
"Catlyn, honey....What's wrong?"
Catlyn's mouth slightly quivered as she spoke, "I want a divorce." | Ben: Hey, Frank!
Frank: Oh, hi Ben. What are you doing here?”
Ben: Frank, I came here to tell you the worst secret I have ever kept from you: last year's Christmas, when I was invited to your family dinner party… and I kissed your father on the mouth for the first time.
Frank: Ben, what-
Ben: Frank, please don't please don't interrupt. I still have to tell you about your brother. He wasn't really transferred to his company's branch in Venice. He saw the two the of us together and simply couldn't handle the burden of keeping such a secret from you, and he left the country so he didn't have to.
Frank: Ben… why?
Ben: Because I'm in love. And I can't hide it anymore. Also, I'm gay. That's my third biggest secret. | 2019-03-15T12:16:42 | 2019-03-15T10:53:46 | 73 | 31 |
[WP] Years ago the evil, black dragon was defeated by good dragon. You have no heart to tell people that it was just a phase and you simply grew up and washed off the paint. | Beneath the gold coins there are bones. I know this. They are buried deep in the warm piles, covered by trinkets. A crown falls there (and the skull that sat beneath it?) Armour studded with rubies (and the ribs which it protected?) greaves from a man who lost his legs to my jaws, gloves from scorched hands when the skin of his face began to melt.
The cave is large and black. The heat from my scales fills the gold coins and they glow like embers. Three scared sheep skitter in the tunnels ahead. Offerings from the people in the village below, who love me and adore me for my sapphire blue wings, for the help I lend at harvest time, for the tears I weep to heal illnesses. Human lives are short and they do not remember.
My life is long and I have tried to forget.
The coins scratch at my scales. It is time for another shedding. (How many has it been?) The new colour beneath the bright, pure blue is dark, black as the cave walls. When I see it, the bones whisper to me from beneath the treasure.
*When they see you they will know. They will see you as you are.*
Fear like a lance through me.
I scatter the gold to dig for old bones who have no tongue and yet speak to me. They recount my sins like a litany, chant them like the tolling of the church bell when mass is read. I find no bones, only ash and blood and a great shed skin in terrible black.
*Leave me alone, I am good now, I am good, I swear*
My begging finds silence. Only the dead remain, and I with them. | A single sharp note carried through the chambers.
"When I was a young one," the grand good dragon Galdur began, his inhuman aria slowing the coming sycophants.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you," the humans captain said. "But you're the only one we can turn to. You alone have defeat a Na Niphesh, a black dragon."
The dragon looked up, fearing what words would come next from the little man. "And?"
"A Na Niphesh again rides through the kingdom, you must kinslay again."
Galdur sighed and stood, pulling the lever for the central dome to open. He alone knew he had done no such thing, the black dragon he had defeated had been himself going through a phase, but lately in this golden hall, it felt like this was the pretending. A true black dragon destroy him without effort. "I'll go."
He didn't stay to hear what the man said next. There was no preparation he would know.
Galdur grabbed sky with his wings, seeing the flames along the south side of the city. The thundering screams blended together into a cacophony of sound.
"My father took me into the city," Galdur sang as he spared towards his end. | 2022-10-26T06:40:30 | 2022-10-26T05:01:02 | 462 | 78 |
[WP] You are an NPC watching the hero/heroine do a speedrun. | "Hold the perimeter, we have enough ammo to stay dug in here for another hour!"
"That's more than enough time sergeant, the Chief will be here to clear the LZ in another five minutes tops!" A grenade exploded nearby, flinging debris across the encampment, and muffling the latter part of the private's sentence. Eight marines had gone into this firefight, with their mission simple. They were to clear the area of any hostile activity and establish a safe place to set up camp. But they hadn't expected to meet with this much resistance. There were two left now, but these two weren't planning on going down without a fight.
With bullets whizzing by on all sides of the barricade behind which they crouched, the sergeant turned to his subordinate, and barked, "I don't give a damn what you think private. You know those strong and silent types, they can be a godsend. But if you count on them, they will fuck you in the ass. Just keep your head down and keep firing." He ripped out the pin on a fragmentation grenade, standard issue, and after pausing for a moment, poked his head out to lob it at the opposition. On the other side of the bluff, they could hear the frantic chatter of aliens in their guttural tongues, followed by sharp cries that split the air around them.
A smile cracked across the sergeant's face as he muttered, "That's two more of you ugly bastards down." He brandished another clip of ammunition from his belt, and jammed it inside his rifle. Taking a quick breath to steady his accuracy, he poked his head up over the barricade and taking careful aim, buried 9 bullets into the head of a brute of an alien. The beast gurgled as blood spewed from his throat, and it collapsed, dust being spit up in a cloud. An instant later, the sergeant let loose a blood curdling scream as he collapsed to the ground, his face melted back by a plasma burn, revealing the stubby bone protruding under his skin.
Horrified, the private began to whimper, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Sarge!" He peaked his head around the corner of the barricade and counted one, two, three, four more of the towering aliens, joined by a cavalcade of at least 7 more grunts, and just as quickly pulled his head back behind cover. A green, hissing bolt of plasma shot right past. Grimacing, he thought, "This is really it huh..."
But then in the distance, he saw him. A goliath in green armor, striding towards him at a breakneck pace. The private could have cried tears of joy. He was going to live another day.
As the man in the armor barreled towards him, he said, "Chief! You don't know how glad I am to see you right now. Another minute and- wait, where the hell are you going!" Throwing aside caution, he stood up to watch the behemoth of a soldier charge through the enemy line, scattering the enemies like they were flies on a log. One stood obstinately in his path, and just as quickly he was knocked to the dirt with a swift blow to the trachea. And as quickly as he had arrived, he had plodded out of sight, without so much as a glimpse at his dead comrades scattered around here.
As the remaining enemy forces circled around the private, who had at this point abandoned all hope, he muttered to himself, "You fucking asshole..."
| My tomb, silent for thousands of years, has come alive once more. I peer through the void into the dark passage ways and lay eyes upon a man clad in iron. He sprints from the entry and attacks two others, stood in dialogue by a fire. They are not seasoned warriors, any of them... Yet the man in iron with his crude swordsmanship manages to best the others... The walls resonate with his presence... He his one to be feared...
He makes his way through the corridors. There is another man. He makes attempt to clear a path deeper into my tomb but before he can reach the lever the man in iron sets upon him. The fight is brief, but entirely un-necessary... The stones were not positioned correctly... The man would have met his end when he pulled the lever... The man in iron must know this too, for he sets the stones in their rightful place before trying the lever. ... *serpent serpent whale* ... He did not even gaze upon the statues set in the wall above... He knew the correct combination... The walls resonate stronger...
His footsteps gain him the attention of some rats, but they fall to his wild sword flails. The wounded spider gives him pause, yet he prevails over the beast. There is another man, grey of flesh ensnared within the beast's web. The man in iron cuts him from his bond and proceeds to cut the man of grey flesh down where he stands. He gathers from the corpse a claw of gold...
*Ah yes... I am aware now, of his intentions...* the walls resonate stronger as the man in iron draws near... I give command to my kinsmen. Rise and slay the man in iron! He defiles our place of rest!
The man in iron does not stop when my kin draw blade. He moves swiftly past them and instead allows the hazards within the tomb to guard his hind. I can not rouse my subordinates from their rest quickly enough. He cares not to engage them, only when they block his advance does he stop. My kin are far superior in the arts of the sword and spear, yet they fall to the man in iron's wild hacking in meagre seconds.
He now stands in the hall before my chamber. He spins each of the discs upon the door twice and uses the golden claw as the key. The door gives... He enters... The walls sing as he approaches. I too can sense the power he holds, not yet realised.
He stands before the wall, and the wall rejoices. It sings through the void about the arrival of dovahkiin... *wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal, indeed*
I cast myself into form and rise from my slumber. I do not even draw blade before the man in iron brings his down upon me. He swings his blade as a child. I shout the sacred command *zun haal viik* and cast it from his hands. He fumbles for a dagger, and charges towards me. I bring my sword down upon him, and he falls... An emptiness fills me...
I feel as though I have failed in my success. | 2014-09-20T05:34:21 | 2014-09-20T05:14:49 | 44 | 30 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship? | It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one. | 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T12:57:51 | 451 | 10 |
[WP] There's a good reason that savage and terrifying monsters live in bedrooms of small children. The children need protecting. | "So who's my next assignment?" Netherclaws asked as he stepped into Mr Closet's office. His giant feet brushed against the velvet carpet, enjoying the sensation from the soft fibers. He always enjoyed visiting Mr Closet's office, its chandeliers, grand oak furniture and a fireplace that was forever burning was a far cry from his usual workplaces.
Netherclaws pulled out one of the two chairs facing Mr Closet and sat on it. Despite the chair being almost two times the height of an average adult, it still felt small for him.
Mr Closet's eyes peered at Netherclaws from behind his black rimmed glass, before sliding a folder across the table. Netherclaws was one of the top agents in the firm, one of the rare few that received assignments from Mr Closet himself. Assignments that came in leather binded folders, instead of the usual app notification.
Netherclaws reached out for the folder, his six eyes catching a glimpse of the words "Priority Case" on the cover. He flipped open to the first page, to see a face of a human girl not older than seven. His next assignment. Her details were typed neatly across the page, detailing her name, age, location and what not. But he was not interested in those. His paws turned to the next page. The heading "Case Summary" was printed in bold on the header.
"Case of abuse and neglect by both her parents," Mr Closet suddenly piped out, as he observed Netherclaws. His hands were clasped beneath his scaly chin.
"But it's more than a classic abuse and neglect," Netherclaws interjected, as his eyes scanned the case summary, taking in the background and the circumstances of the case. The girl was not only abused by her father, there were mentions of he he charges other for other... services as well. Netherclaws felt his breath quickened as he read the details.
"Yes, as you can see, the father, not only abuses his daughter, but seeks to profit from her as well. And the mother is clearly in no position to help, being abused herself," Mr Closet continued.
"And that is where I come in," Netherclaws added.
"Right."
"Consider it done," Netherclaws said, as he flipped to the back of the folder, the numerous photos of the girl looking back at him. Amy, she's called. "I'll make sure to keep her safe from those predators."
Mr Closet smiled at Netherclaws. "Good. Just make sure to... not be too violent this time, alright?"
"You know I can't guarantee that," Netherclaws replied, as he stood. He gripped the folder tightly below his arms, details of the case flashing in his mind. Despite his years of experience in the job, he still found it hard to understand how humans would find the heart and conscience to abuse one of their youngs, when they are supposed to protect them.
"You no longer have to be afraid, Amy," Netherclaws muttered to himself, as he exited the room.
And the humans called them the monsters.
--------
/r/dori_tales
| Muffled voices grow louder as Xanthu waits in the darkness. *It's happening again.* He sighs quietly under the mattress. He is glad that he is here, but sad that he has to be.
Blue muscular arms appear from under the bed. A grunt of exertion can be heard as Xanthu pulls himself into the open. The voices bleeding through the wall grow louder still. Faint clippings of a one sided conversation can be heard.
"I DON'T CARE! 7 YEARS OLD AND YOU THINK YOU RUN THIS HOUSE BY YOURSELF? GET OVER HERE!"
The slur in his voice somehow carries through the shouts and the wall. Xanthu's keen sense of smell could smell the liquor from the girls room. Xanthu creaks open the door a smidgen.
A giant yellow cat like eye appears in the opening as Xanthu takes a peek. It spies A man in the living room beckoning wildly for his daughter to come to him. It spies her reluctance from behind. It spies as she gives in.
A sickening smack almost makes Xanthu recoil. He almost tears the door off of the worn hinges as he flings it open. The man doesn't even notice. He is too proud of himself as he watches the aftermath of his blow. Xanthu charges with a bellow. The man finally looks up.
The look on his face was somewhere between confusion and terror when Xanthu smacked the ever loving shit out of it. The man flies limply out of his recliner. Xanthu does not relent. Xanthu cannot relent.
There is a series of savage grunts as the man is thrown around the room. Xanthu finally breathes a little easier. He does not want to take pleasure in it. He does anyway. The man's lifeless corpse is draped over the sofa as Xanthu turns finally to the girl.
She does not whimper. She does not look at him. She does not look like she feels anything. Xanthu does not feel shame. Only a sadness. He has seen that expression too many times before.
"Hey kid. It's over. You can be a normal kid now." he lied.
The girl did not respond.
"Do you have any other family members?"
The girl did not respond. She still stared steadily away from him. Xanthu sighed again. Without a second look at her he retreated to her room. He did not bother to shut the door.
He pulls his phone out of a pocket that it does not look like he should have. He hits a single button. It dials.
"Hey V. I've got another one."
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-04-25T18:56:01 | 2017-04-25T18:35:45 | 240 | 104 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I entered the facility, shaking of course. I'd volunteered to go first, mostly to get it over with, but I was definitely having misgivings. The proctors had assured us that studying was not required, but now that I thought about it they had also said that about the ACT.
It was far too late now though. I continued walking through a narrow hallway until a pair of guards moved to pick me up. Vaguely, I wondered how the guards worked. Were they exempt from testing? Or just very devoted?
After a brief, quick time frogmarch I was deposited in a dark room with a single man before me. Surprisingly, I was calm now. I even smiled slightly. Whatever happened, I was ready to face my fate.
The proctor glanced at me. "Congratulations!" he shouted, smiling broadly. "You pass!"
"What?"
"I said you passed! Congratulations!"
I was slightly nonplussed. "But what about the test?" I spluttered. "How do you know I'll pass?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh you already passed. We're just gonna let the first ten percent through and kill the rest."
"But why?"
"Well we figure that the first guys through will really have their shit together. Plus late people are annoying. It just made sense."
"Well okay then." I walked out whistling. Late people *are* annoying. | I enter this small building , goverment type with barred windows and top notch security cameras.
"The room on the right" I am told.
Entering this cold room with one chair I sit.
"Should mankind be saved ?" says a voice over the intercom.
My mind is racing and my feet start to shake, as they normally do when deep in thought.
" I can come up with more reasons why we shouldn't, more than why we should."
The voice is silent for a good 5 minutes of absolute nothing. I await some horrible fate, maybe just a small pill? I think to myself.
I am so nervous waiting for some kind of response yet nothing...
It has been an hour now and I am getting more anxious , not because I want to know if I passed the test, but did the voice and everyone else die or was I already dead?
| 2016-06-11T10:22:36 | 2016-06-11T08:11:26 | 588 | 34 |
[WP] Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you've been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years. | I wasn’t normally one to watch the morning news, but today… something made me watch. I stared entranced at my televisions screen waiting for… I didn’t know what. I wasn’t sure what possessed me to watch the local news on this particular August morning. While sipping my coffee and curling my hair preparing for another day at work. I’d already roused the children and gotten them off to day care for the day. My darling husband had kissed me softly on the cheek before leaving for his job at the local news affiliate and I was preparing for another long day at the law firm I ran with my best friend from law school. The traffic and weather passed uneventfully and I was about to turn off the television when a flash of auburn hair caught my attention.
On the screen was a picture of a beautiful redheaded woman, striking blue green eyes and a kind smile. This caught my attention as I ran a brush through my own auburn hair. They had my attention now.
“A missing local woman was found today in the Ashley River. Clara Beth Page age 29 was found dead this morning buy boaters heading out into the Ashely River. Her body had likely been in the water for sometime. Ms. Page, a graduate student at the University of South Carolina was home visiting her parents when she disappeared several weeks ago. At this time we believe the Ms. Page is the latest in a string of victims of the Red Head Slayer. A serial killer who has been killing red headed women in Charleston South Carolina and the surrounding areas for the past fifteen years. There are currently no leads in her case.”
My smile faded as my name and details continued to scroll across the screen. The young woman had been found with her wallet in her pocket, her parents had identified the body. Her death was being attributed to a local serial killer who has been active in our area for many years. I think I’m safe. After all if my parents didn’t realize she wasn’t me, and her husband and children haven’t noticed that I’m not her… I think it’s safe to say that Clara Beth Page gets to stay dead, and me… well I can continue to live the life I stole from my doppelganger on the fateful night she was unfortunate enough to meet me. | Initial horror was numbed by shock, soon overcome by excitement...
"It had worked !"
The Magician exclaimed with the idea of lungs, a larynx and air. Having spent years experimenting with exercises from ancient texts he developed a "Body of Light." Theoretically, according to the Egyptians at least, a person's consciousness could live on past the body assuming the mind was maintained.
​
"It worked, oh -"
​
He stopped himself there. Peered around the room suspiciously. OK, no Anubis, no Angel, no Demons or any sort. That neither confirmed nor denied, still, he maintained caution, refraining from taking the "Lord's Name" in vain.
​
Calming 'nerves' that no longer connected to anything physical , a simple breathing exercise worked wonderfully. The Magician prepared for this. Closing eyes, imagining a door.
​
On it two circles, eight lines, a triangle. Their eyes opened together and it stood before him , etched in purple marble. Of a size and weight beyond any normal mans ability to move, he did so with poise and grace. Stepping through, into a room, he approached a book.
​
It contained the spells necessary for the next part of his plan, the next experiment. If successful it would place him in the killers body. From there the rest was simple : get arrested, and thrown into solitary confinement.
​
Finally cross the Abyss.
Thought: Reality, on this arcane plane.
The Magician threw back his head with laughter. | 2020-08-01T04:36:30 | 2020-08-01T03:05:49 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] The old gods lived off of the faith of their followers and it’s been over a thousand years since your last worshiper has died. You’ve outlasted everyone else in your pantheon but you’re only running on fumes. Just as you prepared to embrace oblivion, you suddenly feel a surge of power. | A wisp of what she once was. It was only a matter of time. No light, no warmth, nothing.
To fade away as her followers had. There was irony there, but she hadn't the strength to appreciate it.
She closed her heavy eyes and let the divine winds carry her ethereal form away. With a deep sigh, she found acceptance.
Except the winds stopped. Her body invoked with godly vigor. A cry, not her own, pierced the air around her.
*Emera! Emera! Emera!*
The distraught cries weighed on her heart. One person. One woman. That's all it would take.
In the past, Emera would have been there in an instant. But it had been a long time since anyone had even thought of her, let alone screamed her name aloud.
But find her she would. Not for the vain attempt of converting this stranger, to further strengthen her resolve. No. This woman needed her. She knew that much.
*Emera! Emera!*
She turned towards the voice. Her cries relentless. With whatever energy she had left, she shot forward.
Below was a sea of blue. No land on any horizon. Why was she here? Of all places?
She didn't remember. She didn't care.
Land in sight. A great mountain whose snowy peak pierced the clouds. It was no obstacle to her. In and out, like it was never there.
Beyond, a kingdom. Its walls shone like gold in the setting sun. Its soldiers patrolled, unaware of who descended upon them.
A castle within was ablaze with the sun's glory. A beauty Emera hadn't the time for.
Finally she found her.
"Emera!" A woman cried as she laid in a wide bed, surrounded by servants. Her sobs rocked the feather mattress and bounced off the stone walls.
She cradled a baby, fresh out the womb, still lathered in blood. Its face was blue.
It did not move.
With as much strength as she could muster, Emera made herself known. Her body, similar to those around her, appeared at the foot of the bed. Gasps, of course. But they weren't important.
The only breath that mattered was that of this child.
The woman looked Emera in the eyes. The woes of a mother. She had seen it too often.
"Can you save her Emera, god from The Before?"
"I can," she whispered.
"At what price?"
Emera reached out to hold the child. "Please."
The woman, who had no tears left to shed, numbly passed her child.
Her only child. Her daughter.
She placed a finger on the little girl's chest. It was cold, but there was still warmth. She drew that warmth out, and spread it throughout her little body.
She kissed the child on the forehead, and passed her back to her mother. She was still.
"But, she... she does not breathe!"
Emera said nothing.
"Oh my dear Alis," she cried again as she cradled her once more. "Oh my dea–"
A whimper. A twitch. Then that unmistakable cry of an infant.
The room exploded in laughter and tears. Hugs and patts on the back. An energy Emera hadn't felt in millenia warmed every part of her being.
"You never gave a price," the woman said through a broken smile. Her daughter easily latched for her first meal.
"Remember me."
Was it a statement, or a plea? Not even Emera was sure.
If it was the last thing she did, her final act as a god, then she could fade away to nothing in peace. | "Numb."
" I cannot move. I cannot talk. I cannot hear. My body is as still as the stone surrounding me like a coffin. "
......
" I cannot feel. There is no cold, there is no pain. Only the torpor of death. How long have I been here? Years? Decades? I'm dying. "
......
" I cannot see. My eyes failed me a long time ago. Or was it just now? I do not know. I cannot see. "
......
" Am I...alone? Father, brother? I cannot remember...your names. My duty...I have failed. I'm sorry. Mother, I... "
.
.
.
" Who...am I? "
......
" Thinking...hard. Please...death...stop...torture. Rest...forever. "
.
.
.
" Light...No...Screams...What...Someone is...screaming...what...an...infernal noise. "Mar-Na-Dhuk". "Mar-Na-Dhuk". They seek...power. They seek...Me".
A roar escapes my mummified lungs, filled with the air they missed for millenia. My entire body is burning, the spark of Godhood reignited deep in my soul, calling on me to fulfill my role. A summon irresistible: my real name was invoked and prayers were brought. My legs move on their own, carrying me to my beckoner. I must hurry: my powers will not last for long.
.
.
.
As I reach my destination, devastation surrounds me. Rocks melted by a great fire, the earth itself uprooted by a terrible strength and in the middle of all, a fight. A human was fighting off a monstrous creature: as tall as a house, muscular and much more savage. The creature kicks the man to the ground and bares it's teeth. I act on instinct: I leap through the air and punch. I miss: the hit goes wide and now my entire forearm is in the monster's mouth. Any surprise advantage I had dissappears and the creature, unaware of my formidable strength, bites harder into my flesh. A cry of pain escapes my teeth: hundreds of razor sharp teeth cut into my arm but I hold: a bulbous eye is looking at me, surprised that I'm still alive. My right arm trapped, I start punching with the left, all aimed at vital spots in the neck but the creature shrugs them off. As I prepare to strike again, the human, all but forgotten by me, rushes the monster and stabs it in the eye. The creature recoils in pain and with my right arm freed, I grab its horns and pull its head to the ground: twisting as hard as I could, I pull it's head almost completely backwards.
"No", I could hear the monster say as it tried to escape. With a last grunt, I finally snap its head.
( I would go on, but I believe I already went beyond what the original prompt was and I don't want to seem like an asshole 😅😅😅. Maybe I'll try finishing it if anybody else wants it, otherwise it ends here. Also, excuse the occasional weird phrasing, English is not my main language.) | 2022-06-23T10:59:47 | 2022-06-23T09:58:53 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | The first contact coincided with the first human born on Mars. The alien ship jumped out of sub-space near the moon and every NDDS (nuclear detonation detection system) on earth went off, just as NASA announce the arrival of a healthy boy. Of course many people made the "obvious" connection that we somehow angered some space gods because we spread sacred human life through space.
Earths militaries did their thing and rushed their weapon systems to the launch pads, but somehow cooler heads prevailed and a communication link was established. Fairly soon humans and aliens deciphered each others languages. Earth got the message that the alien vessel was an explorer ship and their time of arrival was pure coincidence, as they didn't even know that the solar system was inhabited by conscious beings.
They called themselves "Kaanul" and declared to stem from a huge, galaxy spanning, peaceful civilization, made up of a mosaic of many species.
​
Mare Tranquillitatis was chosen as the place for first personal contact. A crew of brave human scientists from a lunar research camp was assembled and send to meet the aliens. Both crafts landed within sight of each other with the earth as scenic background.
The first few hours went well. Greetings and gifts were exchanged and everyone was eager to learn as much as they could about each other. But suddenly the aliens fell silent, hurried back to their craft and without explanation. They redocked with their mother ship and blocked any attempt to reestablish contact. Clearly they were in deep fear.
​
The humans were as baffled as they were concerned. What went wrong? They knew already that the alien ship would need roughly a year to be made ready for an other jump through sub-space. So why the hurry?
Clearly something had scared the Kaanul away. But what? While many peace offerings were made to the alien ship, along with hopefully reassuring declarations of good intend, scientists tried to analyse everything they could from that short meeting. They found an encrypted message that had been send from the mother ship to the craft on the moon. This message seemed to have been the trigger for the aliens' hasty retreat.
It took the joint effort of the world's intelligence agencies and more than six months to decipher the message while the alien ship silently drifted in orbit. The aliens seemed to believe that the human race were a combat AI from an old alien race, named the Xia.
This was not much, but the humans tried their best to explain that they didn't know the Xia and they certainly weren't a combat AI. Five more months elapsed with the militaries of the world growing more and more anxious that the maybe the Kaanul had send for reinforcement, despite their claim that sub-space communication was impossible. Or they would be waiting to get away themselves to alarm their peers. The ship was well within reach of nuclear missiles. An preemptive strike was evaluated.
​
To everyone's surprise the Kaanul suddenly reestablished contact shortly before an anxious president was about to hit a big red button: "We believe you that you don't know the Xia. They are a very old single race civilization, older that any of our members. Once they ruled over many of the habitable galaxies. But even before we made first contact with them, their civilization was in decline. They had outlived themselves. Unfortunately our contact was not a peaceful one and as the Xia retreaded more and more they left something behind, what you would call "booby trap". They knew about our desire to discover new civilizations and integrate them into our realm. Deceitful as they were they manipulated living species on many planets along their route of retreat into developing the ability to use technology, but not to develop it themselves. Those species would appear to us to be harmless and peaceful, indistinguishable from other life forms from orbit. Yet deep in them they had the ability to use our technology and turn it against us, as they were designed to wage merciless war. We had some very painful encounters with those traps, but we thought we had defused or contained them all and became careless. We were wrong. You humans clearly are the most deadly of those traps.
With your globe spanning network and your ability to travel within your solar system you fall into the category of a Type I civilization. Superficially you appear to be peaceful among your nations. By this you deceived us. We had problems to analyse your history as we refused to believe that your history is just a succession of wars, a concept almost forgotten by us. When we realized our mistake we broke all contact.
For 400,000 years your species remained as the Xiu intended, but for a reason yet unknown to us you began to develop higher technology about 10,000 years ago and faster than we had ever seen. If we hadn't discovered you, you would have discovered us in about 200 to 500 years from now. We understand that we can't stop you from spreading deeper into space. You are too curious, too intelligent and too violent.
We do not wish you any harm, but we also have no desire to integrate you into our realm. We don't think anyone among us wants to contact you now or in the future, or trade with you. Our central council will decide how to deal with you and we think that it will end with a permanent contact blockade. Our civilizations are just too different. The nature of your species is just too violent. Please don't try to find us.
Goodbye."
That was the message earth received before the Kaanul ship disappeared back into sub-space. | First Contact. Metreidies Prime. To Ro Christian, looking over the precipice as if over the sweep of historical record, it was such an obvious honey pot.
“Temper your chrono-exceptionalism,” she whispered to herself. There were many other apt descriptors for her teacher, Andro Frafare--”flatulent”, “inebriated”, “womanizer”--but Ro supposed that “wise” could win on his good days.
Instead she tried to walk in their shoes, throw herself back in time: How could the great SETI researchers have known that the absolute dearth of regular radio patterns was due to a chronofield isolation bubble? That the collective programming of humanity--as the most vicious and effective combat intelligence in known space--had been wiped and replaced with what turned out to be increasingly more intricate versions of Space Jesus?
The obviousness of the trap on Metreidies Prime, then, would have been as inscrutable to humanity’s first interstellar exploration task force as the answer to why man could not stop visiting inhumanity unto man.
The answer, of course, was that our warlike nature was intended. When early humans looked around and saw “intelligent design,” it was due to a Creator. Just not one as loving or all knowing as many came to believe.
“No one among our species has been given enough knowledge of our progenitors to know our true purpose: was it to consume the entire universe, as many in the known worlds would have us believe, or was it as deterrence, or something else?” Ander had always tempered his lessons, perhaps seeing their impact upon her.
Her mother had claimed, even on her deathbed, that humanity was destined to spread the light of His goodness to all of creation. No other truth was evident given how the other worlds were so ready to forgive and welcome His message.
Deniers. To Andro, that’s what her parents had been. Descendents of the first wave of emigration from earth, they had brought with them their implanted stories to “combat” the general consensus of the rest of the galaxy, only to find immediate celebration.
It was hard for Ro, for anyone really, to temper the exceptionalism, time-based instead of species based, that now said, of course your early days seemed idyllic, you were bred specifically to the struggle in the Hellish crucible of the Earth, just barely habitable by galactic standards. Earth would be an Eden to such a creature. And in the stories of her parents, the serpent “tricked” Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Truth. She gave a harsh laugh now at the image of Anders Frafare with forked tongue flicking between his fat, un-serptentlike lips.
Metreidies Prime was more Edenic than Eden, then. Perfectly situated in the habitable zone of an even more accommodating star. A wide equatorial band that largely possessed the climate of Southern California. A plush vine colonized a great deal of the surface bearing fruit of seemingly the perfect energy density and nutritional composition for optimal Earthling health. How could that be? The first team of explorers were scientists, not the evangelists of her parents’ generation. What about their skepticism? How could they have missed the setup?
Again Ro chastised herself for failing to think chrono-appropriately as she descended the gentle green slope next to the cliff, the 0.8 gee on Metreidies Prime making it quite enjoyable. As she descended, she slowly consumed the particularly fat golden Amberose in her glove, peel and all.
Yes, it had been a trap, but then, most of the Known worlds had environments even more spectacular and accomodating. Ro was just not sure she believed it had always been like that for most other species. Cooperation instead of competition for survival.
Of course humanity had not been the chosen people of her parents’ faith, she knew well enough. That would be obvious to anyone on seeing the forensically verified evidence, the countless mindprints of human beings suited up in battle armor and visiting death throughout the known worlds, upon nearly every species of the Summit--painting the idyllic worlds with the color of that species’ blood, indiscriminate of adult or child or hatchling. The Confinement had seen human memory wiped, origins reformed, but not the nature which reverberated through wars and atrocities.
Yet, this absolute line of thinking never sat right with her. The scientists had been lulled into abandoning their skepticism, just as the masses of humanity that had emigrated, the tenets of their varied faith finding some predestined parity with the Universe.
Prime among all, Andro taught her to question everything, which is why she now found herself at the periphery of the Control Zone at the center of which sat the true record of First Contact. The “nature” of humanity be damned, she lowered the visor on her antique battle armor and felt the thrum of the blasrifle in her arms.
With a soft prayer she stepped across the line and into the forbidden zone. | 2020-07-09T07:36:23 | 2020-07-09T04:40:02 | 56 | 30 |
[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants. | The cat wandered in again, as it has for the last few nights. It was the same one. Fat, and brown and grey with spots of black and cleft lip. We'd started calling him Haremaw to play, but the grown ups took that up soon themselves and they said that with reverence. We scowled at the thing and gave it a bit of dried fish in hopes it would go away.
Cats, grandfather said, were not to be trusted. They were kin to the genie and those devils were enemies of men. Life was too frail to tolerate what we could not trust, he said.
A long time ago we had magic and genies and curiosities nearly boundless, and we destroyed them as men do. But you cannot destroy a genie or its lamp, its home and cage and place of power. So while everything crumbled to dust the lamps remained in the ruins, untouched.
One day, the cat wandered into the ruin as cats do, and it found the lamp. It rubbed its side across it in passing once, twice, and three times to ease itself. And the genie sprang forth.
In a formless mist, the genie hovered above the cat. Genies are vain and and wish to be held in awe. The cat just stared.
You have summoned me, creature, state your first wish. You shall have three, as is your due. But the cat did not speak. It stared with great grey eyes.
Animal filth, cried the genie, you will say your wish or you will have nothing at all. The cat rubbed its head across the lamp to scratching some itch, and the genie understood. The cat wished for scratches, and so the genie gave himself hands, and arms to move them and to scratch the cat. Your first wish is granted, said the genie.
But when the genie moved to scratch the cat it swiped at him and the genie pulled away. Awful creature, said the prideful genie, base animal, you know not what you want. State it twice more and be gone from me. The cat only watched again with great grey eyes.
It walked some distance away and rubbed its side across a bit of rubble and again the genie understood. He gave himself legs for the cat to rub against, and a chest to connect them to its arms and only his head was still mist. At this the cat stalked closer again, still staring.
Finally, the genie understood. With the cats third wish he made himself flesh, and he scratched the cats head and the cat rubbed its body against his legs and the cat padded away. It looked back only once. The genie was as man and he picked up his lamp and he followed the cat from the ruin.
Grandfather said the genie still follows the cat, and so trouble always comes in their wake and those who take to them are not to be believed. Haremaw left them again, with knots in their bellies. Who could tell what would follow. | **LISTEN WELL, YOUNGLINGS! THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW OUR ETERNAL EMPEROR MR.FUZZYBOTTOM CAME TO BE!**
Few may remember that our emperor was once a mere house cat. Yes, I understand how ridiculous this sounds that our emperor, the eternal enslaver of worlds, was once a weakling like us.
It started as a normal day for him when his owner, an elderly woman named Matilda, left to go get some groceries. He was doing as cats would do and was knocking things off of tables with no apparent reason until he wandered into the storage room. It is here that he came across something amazing. Though he didnt know it at the time he was about to come across power untold. He was wandering among the boxes when he rubbed against a very dusty but otherwise normal lamp.
Well, this is where the story gets a little fuzzy and no one quite knows what happened next. All we know is that a magical being called a genie came from that lantern. Now imagine what confusion he must have had when he saw a cat sitting there ready for whatever might happen. Since he is a genie of course he must grant whatever wishes that his summoner wishes, even if its a cat. So very awkwardly he asks fuzzybottoms what his first wish is. Figuring it wont work he begins to return to his lamp when he hears a faint *meow*. Turning back to the cat he hears another *meow*. He didnt knew what this meant but he granted it either way. Then fuzzybottoms started growing the the magnificence you witness nowadays. Then he hears another *meow* and fuzzybottoms starts speaking in perfect english. What he says next would be remembered to this day.
**I am king here now. For my last wish I request immortality. You can leave now as I have no further use for some weak djinn.**
Well, at that point we couldnt do much to stall him and he took his place as king of the universe progressively over about a 1000 years. Now what is the moral of our story kids?
That we can succeed no matter how low we are?
**WHERE DID YOU GET THAT IDEA FROM YOU IDIOT?!?** Of course not our moral is that to get anywhere in life you have to be get there from luck and you'll probably never accomplish anything in your puny existence.
^^^o-o-o-okay ^^^dont ^^^hurt ^^^me | 2017-09-17T14:59:55 | 2017-09-17T14:01:06 | 174 | 54 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Call me Nathan. I died last night, but I am not afraid.
I learned two centuries ago that there are winners and there are losers. I am a loser – but I’m clever. I reach into my pocket and pull out a little black coin and look it over briefly. I might not be a terribly skilled man, but I know how to get by.
I look up as my door opens up and the Grinning Man walks in. He wears his black slacks and his black button down shirt, his mane of black hair is clean but unstyled. He removes his shoes before sitting down across from me; he always does this no matter what the style of the day is, he wants me to see the rotted flesh and exposed bone that he has been walking on.
“You are looking well, Nathan. Are you feeling lucky today?”
“I always am.”
“Has this life treated you well?”
“I met some beautiful women, smoked some beautiful plants, watched some wonderful performances, and I am very curious to see where this whole internet thing is going to go.”
The Grinning Man studies me for a moment then bursts out with a laugh. “Wow! What a life! Is it still so precious to you?”
I hesitate for a moment – he cuts me off.
“Are you aware that you are losing your mind, Nathan? I suppose you are. Is that why you spend so much time in your bed now? Watching Abbot and Costello because the world is just moving too fast? You have not listened to anything recorded since the sixties. Are you sure that it is not time to just let the natural order have its way? It’s time to die, Nathan, your soul was never meant to be human for so long.”
I scowl at him and stand up, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready to die! It’s not today! Are you ready to do this?”
The Grinning Man leans back and holds up a hand to tell me to steady myself.
“Have you been of use to anyone this life?”
I knew what he was asking. I had been feeling it myself. I used past fortunes to sustain my life, I have not worked for sixty years. I knew so very few people. I did not want to know them – they disappoint you.
“Why should it matter to you? Let’s play the game.”
He slammed his hand on the table and yelled out – his voice sounded like an entire chorus screaming in rage – “remember your place, mortal! Do not suppose that I will tolerate impatience from something like you!”
I looked down at the table and inhaled deeply. “There is a young boy in the apartment complex. Maybe 12? I was of use to him.”
“In what way?” He asked as his voice became more calm and earthly.
“I should not say. It might spoil the game.”
A young man had lost his father and rarely saw his mother. Maybe I corrupted him, but it was all I could do for the boy. I taught him how to gamble and purposely lost to him so that he could buy himself a few small things to bring him some joy. His favorite trick, of course, was the coin toss. Who knows? Maybe I made that boy immortal.
“Very well, are you ready, Nathan?”
I pulled out my coin and stared Death himself in the eye. This is the only time I can stand to look at him as my mark. “One coin toss. If I call correctly, then I get another life. I want to start at the age of 25. If I fail, then my soul is yours to do with as you must.”
“Agreed.”
I flipped the coin. I set the coin on my thumb Tails up. I exerted the exact effort that I needed. I flipped-
“Is it because of all the friends – the wife – that I have reaped that you refuse to know anyone else?”
I felt the old familiar lump in my throat. My eyes burned a little. It was all I could do to not let my loneliness spill out again. Not in front of him. This was not the critical matter, though, what mattered was that the coin clattered against the table and his rotting hand stretched out and covered it.
“Call it, Nathan.”
“That’s dirty.”
“Call it!”
The coin, starting tails up, flipped with the exact angle and force I intended, should have landed heads. Did I flip it correctly? I paused to think and then saw his rotting hand turn young and healthy. I looked up and saw my young friend sitting across from me.
“Nathan,” the young boy said, “it is a blessing to be mortal. Call it.”
“Tails.”
The young boy smiled, “thank you, Nathan. You have taught me much.” He collected up my coin and slipped it in his pocket. “I have a game to go play. If I win, well, maybe you and I will see each other in Sheol one day.”
He stood up and stretched out, as he did so he stretched himself out to the form of the Grinning Man once again. As he turned to walk out the door, I felt compelled to follow him. There are winners and losers. Maybe sometimes losers are just too clever to realize what winning is. As I entered the hallway, out of the corner of my eye I saw my wife smiling.
I walked forward as the edges of my world began going dark. I hope that there is a new color after it all goes black, but if there is, I’ll never be able to tell you so.
| Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:06:29 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 115 | 13 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it. | How could this be? I had, to my knowledge, never done anything evil. Maybe this will sound crazy, but I had never done anything serious to harm anyone else. A consequence of that lifestyle choice was that I mostly kept to myself. It wasn't that I was some altruist, it was more that I was selfish in an unconventional way. I wanted the internal superiority that comes from knowing that no matter what, I wasn't a bad guy. It's a bit indulgent, sure, but enough to land me here for 186,292 years? That seemed excessive.
"Excuse me, is there someone I can speak to?" The clerk hardly looked up from his desk. I asked again and the tips of his wings twitched. I had annoyed him. "There must be some mistake," I continued.
This last statement had gotten his attention, he now stood tall in front of me, and for the first time I got to appreciate the true spectacle that is an "Afterlife Senior Administrator." Standing nearly 10 feet tall, as wide as my dad's oak desk, with expansive wings whose tips reached down to his heels. He peered through comically small spectacles at me, his eyes almost bulging out in disbelief. Or was it mere annoyance?
He opened his mouth and a roar upended the stillness around me. "We make no mistakes. I've been doing this for as long as your kind has existed, i have never once seen a mistake, let alone made one." He huffed and puffed as I carefully considered my next words.
"Of course, I understand. But is it possible?" The words seemed not to anger him further, but neither did they calm him. He strode over to the file cabinet while mumbling something about how humans always amaze him with their self-centeredness.
"No!" he said, as he pulled out a folder. Here you will find a description of your life, followed by the relevant info. The first section describes your characteristics, aptitudes, estimates, etc. The second describes and lists your good deeds, as well as the weight they carried. The third section does the same, for the bad deeds. The last section is somewhat of an executive summary, if you will, of the second and third sections since they sometimes can get pretty long."
He stretched out his hand and shoved the folder in my face. "Is it usually this thin?" I asked. He did not even look up as he shook his head, then found his chair again, and sat back down with a crash. At least he was now calm.
I flipped to the final section, looking at the summary. It said I had done 432 good things in my life, and only 14 bad things in my life. The net sum of all the bad things netted me a "Evil Score" of only -14, while the good things I had done had netted me a "Goodness Score" of 1312. Clearly, the good had outweighed the bad.
"Look right here!" I said excitedly, feeling confident once more."You made a mistake. I did more good things than bad, by a wide margin." Surely this had all just been an error. "If you can just fix this little issue, I won't complain to anyone." Maybe threatening to bring in his supervisor would make this easy.
The being laughed. It was an arrogant laugh that filled me with the feeling I was not out of this just yet. Once more he could not even afford a glance in my direction. "Did you read the characteristics you had?" He asked without looking up, knowing that I had not. I turned to that section assured that nothing in there could outweigh the lack of evil that I had done.
I read the first paragraph:
Class: Prophet
Sub-class: True Savior
Description: Subject will show a marked aptitude for good deeds. He will possess reserve of empathy and moral courage that make him an ideal candidate for receiving THE WORD and transmitting it effectively to the people. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will consistently place himself in danger for the betterment of his species. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will sacrifice himself to help others. Subject should, barring peculiar effort on his own part to avoid it, inevitably receive the prophecy that will engage mankind on the next stage of its spiritual development.
Estimated Lifespan: 32 years
Estimated time before perceiving THE WORD: 22 years, 11 months
Estimated Goodness score: 1,764,002,999,153
I dropped the paper on the floor. I had lived to be 53 and had never once believed myself to be receiving prophecy from above or ignoring it in any way. I looked up at the administrator who had begun staring at me with a curious smile. I tried to ask a question but the words would not come out. He seemed to have anticipated them.
"You aren't here because you did bad things. No, that would be too simple. That is why all the normal people are here. But you are not normal. You are here my dear human, because you were the first prophet to come around in a few millennia. All you had to do was follow your true nature, be open and receptive to THE WORD, and you would have done incredible good. You would have changed mankind, perhaps liberated it once and for all. But you didn't. You sought to avoid impact, rather than create it. You felt abstaining from evil was equivalent to pursuing good. You are here because you were wrong. You are here because you weren't as good as you should have been."
| 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T07:19:26 | 2,794 | 474 |
[WP] A person awakes from a coma to find the world has become a Utopia. They've read enough literature to believe there must be something wrong with it. There isn't. | John squinted at the brightness. The sting of antiseptic reached his nostrils and the world slowly came into focus.
“How do you feel, Mr. Doe?” A beautiful young doctor came in to view, concern etched across her face. She was flanked by an older man with a clipboard, white hair and beard framing his face. He peered over top of the glasses on his nose at John, a satisfied smile appearing.
“I believe he is feeling just fine, Dr. Halsey.”
John found his voice. “Where am I? and who are you?”
“Mr. Doe, we are your caretakers. My name is Dr. Crawford. You’ve been asleep for quite some time. It took especial care to wake you up, one hundred years later than planned, in fact. We’ve been able to keep your body stable; however, you may be experiencing a great deal of memory loss from that much inactivity.”
John shook his head, trying to clear away imaginary cobwebs and think clearly. The only thing he remembered… his hand went quickly to his chest. The dog tags were still there, cool against his skin.
“Yes, Mr. Doe, you were a soldier. You participated in the war to end all wars. This time, we were successful. I am afraid that it was so atrocious, so horrifying, that we finally fight no more.”
Dr. Halsey leaned in close and spoke warmly, the smile reaching her eyes. “It’s over John. Everything is right now.”
It took hours to learn how different the world was. In those hours, John learned to walk again. It would have taken years in his own lifetime. He kept the last name Doe because his own was marred by the bullet hole in his dog tags, a reminder of the injury that put him under in the first place.
It took days for John to travel, free of charge, to the wonders he longed to see while trapped in that bloody trench. It would have taken decades in his own lifetime.
On each return trip, he met with Elizabeth Halsey and talked about his recovery, and the world he was now born into. She was sweet, and a friendship blossomed, but something was missing.
John knew that the truth of the matter was that no utopia was perfect. If it was, there would be no story, no tension, no struggle. True utopias aren’t written about. They are post-climax. There is no catastrophe, and thus no narrative. Being a non-native to the utopia, it took John a few weeks to realize just what was wrong.
He made an appointment with Dr. Crawford.
“John, how are you enjoying your adjustment?”
“That’s just it, doc. I figured out what’s not working. It’s me.”
“Oh?” The glasses came off and the first truly disturbed look John had seen on an enlightened face rested on Dr. Crawford.
“Yeah, see, you were right. The world really was perfect on the day I woke up. But I wasn’t. I’m a relic of a time long overdue for change. I fought in that war because I knew that. But I think I also knew I wasn’t fighting to save it for myself. I got lucky waking up and getting to see it all pay off, and I’m grateful, but I don’t belong here. It’s like having a leftover piece to a puzzle. When you try to put it all together, it’s so much more frustrating because it doesn’t fit.”
Crawford look confused. He really didn’t know what that was like.
John sighed. “See, now there’s a problem. And the problem with the world is me.”
Silence.
“Put me back under, doc. It’s what I want.”
Two hours later, he was back in the familiar bed. Dr. Crawford tapped the sedative and injected it into the IV bag.
“Hey, doc, tell Elizabeth I’m sorry?”
“Sure thing, son.”
John drifted to sleep. | Her long brown hair cascaded down her back in thick waves, bouncing as she walked down the sidewalk in a flowery silk dress. Never in my life had I seen someone so beautiful; the second I saw her, I knew I needed to know her. Without thinking, I stepped into the street. A car honked and my head jerked to the left, seeing a car swerve around me. I quickly jumped back onto the sidewalk.
That moment allowed me to really think about what I was about to do. Whoever this woman was, she would never want to meet someone like me. I lived on the streets, I begged for money. I’d be lucky if she so much as tossed a quarter my way.
Instead, I waited. Every morning at 7:30am, I watched her walk down the street. I wondered at what her life might be like: is she a scientist? An artist? A doctor?
And every day I made a change. Some were small—get a shower, shave my beard. Some days I made bigger changes, like landing a job as a UPS driver. If I was to approach the most beautiful woman in the world, I needed to be worthy of her time.
A little over a year after I saw her for the first time, I decided it was time to see her. I’d just secured an apartment and put down a deposit, and with that final goal reached I felt comfortable enough to speak to her. Waiting for the light to change, I finally stepped across the street at 7:30am.
I walked up to her slowly as she waited to cross the adjacent street. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said timidly, “My name’s Tim. Would you like to get coffee with me?”
She smiled. “Rita,” she shook my hand, “and sure. I get off work at 5.”
Whatever compelled her to say yes, I’ll never know. We had coffee. I made her laugh. We had dinner. And over time, we fell in love. I wasn’t this happy since before my tour in Afghanistan.
A year later we married. And a few months after that, she announced that she was pregnant. It wasn’t long before we got even better news: it was twins! I couldn’t imagine my life any better than with my wife Rita and my soon to be little girls.
One morning I woke up in our bed and felt a pang in my head. Like being hungover, but worse. For days it wouldn’t go away. Rita tried to convince me to go to the doctor—she was so worried about me. But I figured it was nothing, until Rita’s water broke and I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I found myself staring at a white ceiling. “Rita?” I called out.
“I’m Dr. Eaton,” said a voice softy to my left. “Do you know what day it is?”
I don’t answer. “Where is my wife?” I croak.
“Mr. Carmichael, you don’t have a wife.”
They tell me about the accident. They tell me that three years ago I crossed a street and a car hit me, and that I’ve been in a coma ever since. The past 3 years have seen marvels in medicine, space travel, prosperity and peace across nations. That I’m lucky to be alive in what is truly the Golden Age of civilization, a true utopia for all.
But I know the truth.
This isn’t utopia.
How can it possibly be without Rita? | 2017-03-17T13:05:48 | 2017-03-17T12:08:51 | 263 | 138 |
[WP] You are a time traveler whose job is to make our world a better place. You have saved Lincoln stopped 9/11 and made sure that the Library of Alexandria was never destroyed. Now as he you get ready for your next mission your employer tells you: "Make Hitler win". | My boss stood stone faced, waiting for my reply. How could I possibly go back in time and let the man continue to murder millions of Jews, and millions more men and women and children from other countries, allow the destruction of Moscow and the total installment of the Nazi machine not only in Europe but across the globe? It seemed inconceivable. As I was about to open my mouth in protest, he started to chuckle.
I balked, and stood mouth agape.
"You should have seen your face, priceless."
"I don't understand sir."
"You will go back in time, find Adolph Hitler, and make him win...a scholarship to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. You see Hitler was a promising young art student, but was shiftless, lazy, and using his inheritance money to pay for the program. You will travel back in time, pose as a kindly benefactor and push him into becoming one of the worlds greatest architects, and not one of the worlds greatest tyrants. His designs will be quite beautiful, and incredibly brutal."
"As one would imagine."
"That is all, you'll find the necessary documents and materials in the briefing room."
Sometimes the old man could be quite a shit. | *That's a damn odd mission*, I think to myself while contemplating the rhythmic clacking of the train carriage.
The conductor calls out, "Next stop Bletchley Park!" in a voice that is no stranger to whisky and cheap cigarettes.
With a sigh I glance one last time at the grainy black and white photo. Scimming at the caption for the 1000th time, I feel a bit bewildered.
"Christopher Turing," I mutter to myself. "Never heard of him."
I pat my little .22 Short caliber pistol. Remarkable gun. My dog barks louder than it does.
*Retroact ends.* | 2015-11-23T06:04:57 | 2015-11-23T05:46:53 | 437 | 44 |
[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. | Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way. | 2017-11-30T10:48:02 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] Zombies have risen, but they're slow, rotting, and can barely bite though human skin. There's also a cure that works with 48 hours of getting bit. Zombies are more of a minor nuisance, like heavy rain or light snow, than an actual threat. | When zombies have begun rising, panic ensued. World War Z, Zombie Survival Guides, guns, ammo, everything started being stockpiled for the impending doom. The public waited...and waited...and waited.....eventually a small team went to investigate the rising zombies in one of the first few graveyards to spawn this "disaster" to find them all to be as brainless as you'd expect a zombie to be.
As investigations continued and containment proceeded a few researchers started to study a zombie's habits outside of drooling and stumbling. It was found that seeing pictures of someone they were close to in life, caused them to run rather quickly to it, in an attempt to either communicate, consume, or just run into a picture on the wall with them. That's when jobs popped up for photographers and the public to take pictures of themselves for research use. At first this was met with skepticism by the public and those who weren't involved, until the governments of the world showed the purpose.
With zombies running almost infinitely (until they would trip because motor function is difficult for a zombie to do competently constantly) they hooked a few up to a hamster wheel with pictures of their loved ones in front of them. The zombies running would power the wheel, lights, a new breed of energy was discovered from the corpses of the undead.
The skeptic public has turned tune with this information, almost an overnight media craze with #runformezombie taking the internet by storm. Now the world has built their economies around this new exciting undead prospect for energy. Those that have risen from their graves are now being exploited (not that they really know) for their ability to run on a hamster wheel and those near death will be joining them soon.
With the rise of zombies being not a big deal, and their ability to run without the need for food, sleep, water, higher brain function etc. a new world around zombie energy has been produced. Researchers continue finding new ways to exploit them to this day... | I smiled as I drove down the one lane road, the sun was shining and traffic was light. It would simply be another ten minutes and I would be at my job. Of course nothing can ever go perfectly for long, because the car right in front of me suddenly slammed on the brakes, near causing me to rear end them. A few seconds passed without them moving so I rolled down my window to inquire why. “Hey idiot, why’d you stop in the middle of the road? Some people need to get to work!”
The bloke in front of me rolled down his window as well and began to explain his tomfoolery. “There’s a swarm of zombies right ahead of us my good chap, I’m waiting for them to pass because I just cleaned my car off last night from yesterday’s horde.” That caused me to curse to myself, I wondered briefly if it would be worth it to just hop out and walk the rest of the way, these swarms can last for hours. Instead of being hasty I decided to ask the man how long he supposed it would last. When I did so he took a few moments to respond, presumably to gauge the size of the horde, when he finally did respond I felt relieved. “It’s a small one, it should only last about five minutes.” With this I thanked him and rolled up my window.
It later turned out not to be a small horde, and I showed up to work four hours late that day. | 2019-05-26T16:28:09 | 2019-05-26T15:48:47 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are an unimportant background character in Hogwarts. It's Harry Potter's third year and while he is off dealing with dementors and the imminent threat of Sirius Black, noone else seems to notice that Dumbledore has been replaced by a completely different old man except for you. | Kevin squinted suspiciously at the Headmaster during the welcoming feast.
He hadn't seen the man that many times since he was sorted into Gryffindor last year, but he felt certain something was wrong all the same. This guy did *not* seem like the Dumbledore who had been so concerned about attacks against students last year. Something was off about him.
"The school is currently playing host to the dementors of Azkaban," he growled, glaring at them. "I warn you not to provoke them."
Kevin felt his anxiety increase. What was going on?
"Guys, don't you think Dumbledore is acting...odd?" he timidly asked the other students.
They stared blankly at him.
"What do you mean, Kevin?" Jenny asked gently.
"He's so different! Haven't you noticed? So...so angry, and scary. I want the old Dumbledore back. Don't you remember how lovably wacky and quaint he was? And is it just me or does he actually *look* like a different guy? Do you think he's an imposter drinking Polyjuice potion, or something?"
"*Riiight*. Polyjuice potion," said Ben, who was sitting nearby, tucking into a piece of pie. He was sniggering slightly, shooting meaningful looks at his friends. Kevin saw him mouth a word that looked suspiciously like *wackjob*.
"I'll be proven right, you wait and see," Kevin snapped, standing up. To his horror, he felt his eyes prickle with tears. "I bet he's an imposter, or...or...under the Imperius curse. Harry Potter would believe me, I know he will. Maybe You-Know-Who has a hand in this somehow. Or Sirius Black!"
Felicia was looking at him with mingled pity and disdain. Kevin felt his heart drop. She had been so nice to him in Potions class.
He fled from the Great Hall before they could see the tears running down his cheeks.
"Ok, seriously. What's wrong with that kid?" Ben demanded. "Under what rock has he been living? Doesn't he know Richard Harris died?"
They all glanced at Michale Gambon, who was practising Dumbledore's lines. He had asked them to eat their lunch in the "Great Hall", to help him 'immerse' himself.
"And what's up with him babbling about Polyjuice potion and the Imperius curse?" Ben added.
The other children exchanged meaningful looks, and Felicia leaned forward, a slight grin on her face.
"Haven't you heard? He's the new extra, and apparently, the Director's nephew," she whispered. "And he's...you know..."
Ben merely looked puzzled.
"A few Sickles short of a Galleon," she said significantly. "He'd Exceed Expectations by scoring a Troll. Got hit by a Bludger a few too many times as a kid, if you catch my drift. His boggart would be an IQ test. His Remembrall is always red..."
Ben snorted with laughter. They'd all spent time coming up with some unique insults on the set.
"Absolutely obsessed with Hogwarts, apparently," Felicia went on. "Convinced it's all real. Don't ask me how, I mean, he's got to be seriously delusional. How do you look past the sets, in the first place? And what does he think when he goes home? I don't understand it. I heard a rumour he checked the mailbox every day when he was 11 for his Hogwarts letter, until his parents faked one for him."
Ben shook his head and chortled. "Seems like Kevin should've been in Hufflepuff instead, eh?"
"Hey now, that's going a bit far," Felicia said, shocked. "No need to be an ass. He's not *that* hopeless."
___
You can find more of my work on my new sub, /r/Inkfinger/ | "It's *Dumbledore*, mate," Anthony said through a spoonful of oatmeal. "He's always doing weird things like this. Remember that time he wore a Muggle military uniform for a month because he wanted to understand whether the camouflage was more effective than an invisibility cloak? Remember how he used to stand in the hallway and wait to see if anyone noticed him, and we all pretended to not see him?"
Sam was too busy watching the headmaster out of the corner of his eye to even touch his own breakfast, and his eggs were getting cold. "Yeah, maybe," he answered, having not really paid much attention to what his friend had actually said. "But it's not even that he *looks* different. He *sounds* different too. I tell you, that's *not* Dumbledore."
The other Hufflepuff 5th years were all on Anthony's side. "People change their appearance all the time," Amanda chimed in, ruffling her fingers through her neon blue hair for emphasis. "And changing your voice isn't a very difficult Charm either." Others murmured in agreement; they'd all learned how to do it last year in class with Professor Flitwick. "He probably just wanted a new look after all these years."
"Well that's what everyone said when Quirrel the Squirrel started wearing that turban, too." Sam shot back, referencing their slightly loony former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "And look how *that* turned out."
The others rolled their eyes, but didn't really have a good response to that. They had all been pretty dumbfounded to learn that the most evil wizard the world had ever known had been *in the classroom* as they learned to defend themselves from dark magic. But even Dumbledore hadn't known about it, and he knew *everything*.
"Just relax," Amanda tried to persuade Sam. "With all this Sirius Black nonsense, we've got enough to worry about. And I'm sure that the Gryffindor boy scouts will figure it out if anything is amiss." They all chuckled and glanced over to the table under red and gold banners, where Harry Potter was sitting with that redheaded friend of his, and the mousy girl with them was nearly buried under a mountain of books. Those three had developed quite a reputation for poking their noses into everyone's business, including the Headmaster.
"Well maybe they're on to something," Sam continued to argue. "I mean, they did stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, right? And that basilisk that was turning people to stone?"
The other Hufflepuffs all traded frustrated looks. Clearly Sam wasn't going to drop this crazy obsession of his and leave Dumbledore alone. "How about we ask Professor Sprout?" Anthony suggested. "She's friends with Dumbledore; she'll know what's going on." The others all smiled, happy to have finally found a valid solution.
"Yeah, all right," Sam conceded, turning back to his now-cold breakfast with a look of disappointment. The other Hufflepuffs went back to their conversations about classes and Quidditch and whatnot, instantly forgetting about the problem. But Sam shot one last look at the headmaster over at the head table. He was currently levitating his orange juice with a goofy smile under his beard, just like Dumbledore would probably do. But Sam could still tell something was off, and he wasn't going to wait for the Gryffindors to figure that out too.
----
For more stories (and maybe even a few in the Harry Potter universe), subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
| 2016-07-07T09:15:57 | 2016-07-07T09:02:03 | 1,601 | 438 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops. | So, apparently the boss's girl was romping around with some guy from the east side. Dunno what Helen saw in him, honestly. He was a scrawny little pretty boy from the suburbs with a weird archery obsession. The guy wasn't even the leader of his own crew, just some schmuck hanging onto the coattails of his big brother. And hey, I don't swing that way, but I'd seen the Trojan wrappers lying around at my boss's place, and his dick had got to be bigger than that guy's.
Anyway, the boss flipped when he found out; told us to get ready to trash that guy and his gang tomorrow. I'd never been part of a turf war before, and it felt kind of dumb to risk my ass on this particular issue, but that's the price you pay for camaraderie. Plus, you only live once, you know? I'd rather go out in glory than live a boring old life.
If all went well, neither would even be an option, though. See, I had an advantage that none of these computer-illiterate guys could possibly know about: I knew how to torrent superpowers. It was pretty new tech, and most of the torrents were full of leechers, but one of them had finally started to seed. It was the perfect power, too: something impactful enough to influence a fight, but inconspicuous enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
The torrent had stalled at 70% the morning of the fight. I wanted to wait it out, but my phone was constantly ringing, with missed calls from Pat, the boss, and all the others. There was no more time left; I had to go meet up with them.
I unhooked myself from the computer and felt the power course through my body, from the top of my head all the way down to my shins and through my feet—save for one small spot. Oh, well; being *mostly* invulnerable never killed anyone, right? | I had always wanted to be able to fly. My entire life I watched birds and wished I could be like them, so free, so majestic. Earlier today, I found some information on a forum. Apparently, you could copy the powers of others and torrent them through the Internet! It sounded too good to be true, but then I saw my friend, or rather, didn't see him. He got invisibility from the torrent. I was excited, and wanted to try it out. I logged into my computer and found the torrenting site. I knew that this wasn't exactly "legal", but it's a victimless crime - it's not like I'm stealing or anything. The download begins. I'm smiling in anticipation. 5% complete. 10% complete. I can't wait, I'm overjoyed! 35% complete. 50% complete. It's halfway done! I'm almost there! 55% 65% 68% 69% 70%. It stopped. "Perhaps it's just slowing down" I thought. After about a minute, I realized that it wouldn't go any further. Suddenly I heard sirens, and the sound of my door getting kicked down. I looked out of my bedroom window and saw 4 SWAT vans, and a helicopter circling overhead. They shined a spotlight into my window. Suddenly, I was surrounded by 8 men in riot armor. They made me put my hands up, away from the keyboard. Putting me in cuffs they said "You wouldn't download a car". | 2016-07-02T17:49:01 | 2016-07-02T17:12:58 | 1,138 | 24 |
[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..." | She was old, my sweet Halley. Twelve years - nine of which we'd spent together after I pulled her from a shelter. Her legs were failing, her kidneys likewise. She was going blind. I wanted nothing but to discover if she was still happy, or if it was time to let her die easily. It didn't go to my plan - quite.
"All right, listen very carefully" were the first words out of her mouth. They sounded like they came from my great-grandmother - wheezy and crackly - a brittle voice of an old lady well past her years. My heart fell; I felt perhaps I'd let her linger too long.
"I don't know how much more time I have, but there are things I must tell you. Things I've tried to tell you for years. For your safety, you must hear them now.
"There is a thing - a great round bird that flies over the house sometimes..."
"The blimp," I observed.
"If you say so. It is evil. It intends to murder you in your sleep, I am sure. When I am gone, you must be more alert for it. And I must say, I greatly resent you having laughed at me all the times I chased it out of the yard for you."
I swallowed my smirk and my commentary. "Thank you for your help and advice. I will be careful."
She wheezed. "The squirrels..."
"What about them?"
"They laugh at you. That's why I hate them. They think you look ridiculous on your two feet and no bushy tail. They mock your inability to climb or jump or do anything at all, really. I wouldn't have anything to do with them if I were you."
"That's good information. Thank you." I made a mental note to better protect the bird feeder.
"Just one more thing," she sighed.
"What's that, sweet girl?" I whispered.
"Get a new dog when I go. I want to see you happy. I sense you've gotten busier - I know young me wasn't always easy to keep up with - so maybe someone a little calmer. I love you, human."
"I love you, Halley," I said. "But tell me this: Are you happy still? Do you want to go on, or is it time to let you die? The vet can..."
A low growl cut me short. "Sorry - reflex." She said. "Continue."
"...can put you down when you are ready - as gentle as going to sleep. But I want you to be happy." I felt tears pricking my eyes at the thought of her dying.
"The vet..." the word came out with a faint growl. "He would DO that for me? I was sure he hated me."
"Of course he didn't hate you. All those things he did were to keep you healthy. Remember when he stitched up your leg? That was to keep it from getting infected and maybe having to be removed. The shots? Prevented diseases that could have killed you. The pills cured your problems and kept you alive and happy longer. It's his job."
"Ah. You've been a better friend than I could have guessed. As has he. Well. Not just yet, I think. It's close, but not yet my time. For now, I am sleepy - but let's go take a walk later."
"Sure thing, Halley. One more thing - since time is almost up: You are a good dog. You've always been the best dog. Good girl, sweetie, good girl."
I could see the light of intelligence leave her eyes - but her tail thumped heartily as she laid her head down to take a nap. My heart was lighter, knowing she was content. | I sat back in the leather the chair while my dog stared back silently at me. She was smart, too smart. In the past 15 years she'd learned much and instantly knew that what I had given her was more then peanut butter on a spoon.
The room became uncomfortably quiet. The ceiling fan cast shadows against the tan wall while the sun burned through the east facing window.
Was I wrong, had I not read the instructions correctly knowing this was my one and only chance.
"You!" she said.
In shock I listened as this small 8 pound Yorkshire Terrier stood up with a prideful pose that could only have been passed down from generations of much larger Terriers.
"You, gonna put me on your lap or what?"
Puzzled at the simplicity of the question, I complied.
"You know I really do love this. To me there's nothing better than cuddle time. I just wish you'd move this chair to the other side of the room though. I'd love to have some sun on me while I relax."
"You remember that first day we met, when I slowly walked over to chew on your shoe. I picked you, you know."
I looked down and smiled as I ran my hand through her long soft silvery hair. It's funny that the medicine was having the opposite effect on me.
"I know that I haven't been that active lately, but I'm sure you know why."
As I rubbed her back, my fingertips felt the same typical lumps I'd learned to expect.
“It’s ok she said, the pain isn’t as bad today, but I know I can’t continue at this pace.” she looked up at me with her tiny black adorable eyes. “I’m happy to have been able to share this time with you and I know I couldn’t have picked a better owner, you’ve meant the world to me.”
Just then my other dog, a slightly pudgier black Yorkshire Terrier walked by.
“Don’t bother to give him a pill she said, we all know he’s an idiot, but he’s a nice idiot. And I have to say in these past 8 years that adorable chunk has grown on me. Make sure you give him some love now and then when I’m gone.”
Finally I mustered the courage to ask the question that I’d been afraid to ask from the beginning. But without getting a chance to speak she answered.
“Let’s make this our last month, I don’t want you to worry anymore and I want you to know I’ll be fine. If it’s true what they say, I’ll be there waiting for you… in the end.”
She lay her head down on my lap and suddenly went silent.
I carefully moved her to the side as I gradually got up from my chair. I gently rocked the chair until it moved towards the east window and walked out of the room and into the kitchen to compose myself.
My stalky black and tan dog followed me and walked towards the water bowl. The little ball of muscle and fur looked at an empty spot on the carpet then began to scratch on a plastic bin filled with his food. I walked over and reached for a cup which I used to scoop some food out.
“Only half a cup I said” as I spread the pieces on the ground. Undeterred, he moved towards the food pile as if I had said nothing.
I looked out the window and watched as empty birch trees stood motionless in the yard. The cool breeze outside did nothing to sway them.
“It’s going to be a cold winter, isn’t it.” I said to myself. | 2017-02-23T07:07:51 | 2017-02-23T06:59:37 | 57 | 32 |
[WP] There's a door in the middle of the forest. No one who has ever gone in has come back. Your job is to guard anyone from going in. One night, you hear a knock on the door. | "What is lost can not be found. What is known can not be unknown. The future can not change the past, and the way forward can not lead behind."
So we gathered and chanted every evening at the great tree Loratis. Her bark was black, and gleamed against the sunset. Her leaves were of fire, and danced in the breeze. If you were to dare touch her, and rest your ear against her ancient trunk, you would hear a slow, deep rush, like that of a heartbeat.
The Order of Loratis bowed to the tree, and then turned and left for home. Save for one.
Darmen was new to the order. He had been chosen out of thousands of potentials, and he was still in awe of the tree, and proud of his service to it. So he stayed, and watched the flames on the branches flutter in the wind.
His sense of contentment was suddenly broken by a hollow knocking sound. Startled, Darmen looked around him. There was no one in sight upon the lonely hill.
Then, he heard it again, louder, more urgent. He followed it to it's source. In shock, he realized it was coming from within the tree. Throwing caution to the wind, he dared to touch Loratis. Feeling a deep sense of guilt, he ran his hands down the bark, near the source of the frantic knocking.
What was that?
He felt...a crack. A crack in the seamless black of the bark. Then, not really knowing why, he pushed.
A shrill groan pierced the air as a section of the Great Fire Tree opened. Inside, infinite blackness seemed to suck in the air around Darmen. He gathered his robes tightly about him, and peered into the void.
A moment passed. Only silence. Then another. Darmen peered deeper...deeper.
Too quick to see, a withered hand reached out and grabbed Darmen's wrist! A dry, scratchy voice echoed from deep within the tree and reformed itself into one coherent sentence.
"Release me...There is no future...The tree...the flames have died..."
Darmen stood with terror in his soul, wide eyes peering into the darkness. He thought that far, far in the distance, he could make out two gleaming, red dots. He swallowed his fear, and prepared to speak. | I've been guarding the Lango Kuzimu for 10 years. 10 years watching this 10 foot tall ornate black door. Nothing grows near it for over a hundred feet in every direction, not even a single blade a grass. Animals stay away. I've yet to see another person during my watch except the guard to relieve me. I've never even had an urge to open the door. Hell, I try and stay over 50 feet away. Any closer and its as if my very will to live is draining out of me.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
What the hell was that? I look around, and pull out my sword. " STAY AWAY!", I bellow.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
The banging is coming from the door. I swing around and raise my shield. My hands are clammy, I'm sweating with fear. The handle slowly turns...I'm petrified with fear. Our orders have always been to keep people out, not keep things in.
CREAK.
The door is opening. A dense fog and unnatural blue light eminent. The smell is pungent, like decay and rot. A hand shakily reaches out...it's grey, translucent, and slimy.
I never saw the rest of it. The town has to know something is coming; that something evil has entered our world. That's what I tell myself as I sprint home, abandoning my sacred duty. In truth, I don't want to know what is leaving, I just want to get away and never see that hand again.
I'll likely be executed for this, but some thing are worse than death and I believe I saw one of them...beyond the door.
| 2015-05-17T21:54:50 | 2015-05-17T21:48:42 | 85 | 13 |
[WP] Finally, the ultimate MMORPG has been created, unlimited choice and room to grow and expand your character. There's just one issue, it's so realistic, nobody can remember which life they are living, and which is the game. | "You're telling me that none of this is real?" I gestured to my beautiful wife and children, to my home and car. To the beautiful blue sky and the relentless summer sun.
"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you but your User Occupancy has expired according to our registry."
Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead and yet the man before me was cool as ice in his business suit.
I frowned. "Okay buddy."
"You have until noon to claim the renewal package and continue your experience."
I checked my wristwatch. I had less than two minutes before noon.
I chuckled to myself, "And if I don't claim this... renewal package? What's going to happen huh?"
"You will simply be ejected from this reality," the man said all matter-of-factly.
I didn't like the sound of that. "Is that a threat?!" I shouted angrily.
Suddenly I could hear crying from my two year old daughter. I glanced behind me and saw my wife and children staring. My wife held Amy in her arms tightly, her face deep with concern.
"Dad is everything okay?" asked my brave son who learned how to ride a bike just yesterday.
"Yea David," I called back. "Don't worry everything is fine."
I looked at my wife, her long brown hair flowed elegantly around her shoulders and chest.
"Get the wallet," I said and my wife's eyes went wide.
I turned my attention back to the man.
"Sir, you have 42 seconds until your ejection from this reality."
"Hey. Is it money you want? How much?" I asked.
"In order to claim the renewal package you must manually disconnect-"
My wife tapped my shoulder with a finger. In one swift motion, I grabbed the shotgun, brought it close to my hips and pulled the trigger.
"Good job Jess," I said. She had remembered what I had told her about 'Get the wallet'.
"Honey!" she shrieked.
Two things happened in an instant. First, the man in the business suit had disintegrated, crumbling to tiny blocks of pixels and fading into nothing.
Second, another man, identical in appearance stepped out of my neighbor's door from across the street. He pointed at me with a finger.
A blue flash of light, and a beam lanced through the air to puncture me right through my chest.
My wife screamed.
I turned to look at my wife, her face an expression of abject horror. I looked down at my chest.
A clean hole the size of my fist through my chest. There was nothing inside me, no internal organs, no blood.
Darkness pervaded my mind.
And then there was light. A bright white light that twisted and formed letters.
It read, '*Disconnected*'.
----------
/r/Em_pathy
| Rifts opening up everywhere... Jake needed to move quick. No time to mourn or to wonder if he even should mourn. So much of his memory had been knocked loose. That ray must've boggled his mind more than he realized at first. sprinting to the next house over, something inside told him that it had some guns inside, maybe he could find a fist kit too. "The hell was his name?" he whispered to himself, just to break the eerie silence. Trying to remember his neighbor's name seemed fruitless. Moving in the cover of night, skin crawling as he listens for any sound beyond his heartbeat. Looking along the back of the house and seeing an open window, Jake crept along. the lack of electricity in this moment seemed to be his best advantage. Once directly below the opening, he looked out into the inky blackness, straining to hear anything...
whumph whomph whumph whomph Nothing else but his heartbeat... Leaping up he quickly shimmied into the window, never having been very dexterous in the first place he landed with a thud and the wind knocked out of him. Getting to his feet quickly, as he heard something stir in the next room. grabbing the first thin he could lay hands on a toilet lid he readied himself to attack. The door swung open and in the sudden candle light that poured in, he saw the blast of the muzzle. Just as his hands came apart with the impact of the shotgun slug, he tried to gasp his surprise...
"HOME INVADER GUNNED DOWN BY GAMER"
During the blackout last night an avid gamer wearing an Augmented Reality headset was shot down, by no less than his neighbor who at the time of the black out was ALSO playing the latest AR game to hit the market, Dog Eat Dog;Survive it all. Both parties not realizing that their local electrical transformer having been hit by lighting had cause a pulse wave in their plugged in AR headsets. Causing confusion and a sort of delirium state. The publishers KyteDog Unlimited, has realeased a statement lament this unfortunate incident. Still embroiled in a class action lawsuit, there PR department is likely working overtime to spin control the damages nationwide as this incident in NOT the first...
(Thanks for reading, first serious attempt at a writing prompt. Hope you enjoyed, please leave feed back if theres any notes you'd like to share! Have a great day!)
| 2018-02-19T09:27:33 | 2018-02-19T08:44:15 | 645 | 43 |
[WP] "Shark Tank" but instead of an entrepreneur pitching inventions, it's villains pitching diabolical plots. | I walked into the cold, dimly lit room, nervous about what I was about to do, these men and women were the most evil beings history had to offer, and what I had to bring surely wasn't worthy of them, but I figured "what the hell, I've come this far."
as I walked further in, I saw Genghis Khan, sitting upon a throne, with a pair of women at his feet, eating a large piece of meat with his left hand, right hand holding a large flagon with what I assume is some type of beer.
to the Khan's left, was a face few would recognise, but all had heard of, Jack the Ripper, in a fine coat, with a rather large hat sitting next to his chair. he seemed to be looking at the girls at the Khan's feet with a look of deliberation, or was it simply his being bored?
the next seat in the line was filled with the imposing figure of Joseph Stalin, who seemed to be pouring himself a drink from a glass tumbler, filled with some red liquid, that I only hoped wasn't blood.
In the final chair, was the one I'd been expecting, with the iconic moustache, was Adolf Hitler himself. he was the only one looking my way, and he was holding a sketch pad of some type, probably to take down notes, or possibly to try his hand at art again.
whatever their behaviours, they all stopped as I timidly began my presentation.
"Ahem, gentlemen, I am here with a plan, simple it may be, but I promise it will cause outrage for years to come."
at this, Stalin's thick eyebrows raised, Hitler's sketch pad lowered, and Jack's attention seemed to shift to me, which i found quite disconcerting.
Hitler interrupted me, saying "I've heard this all before, mass outrage this, global panic that, what makes your idea so different?"
at this, I turned to the board I had prepared for this pitch, and turned it to the first slide.
as the four despots of evil perused my plan, I could see the fear in their eyes, as they began to wonder what type of man I was.
even the great Khan seemed to be shaking in his chair after having the translated pitch given to him.
I eyed the four men in the room before continuing my speech.
"I am looking for a simple hundred million dollars, for a ten percent equity in my company"
---
after the bloodshed had concluded, surprisingly, Hitler stood alone among the three corpses of his fellow sharks, bloody pencil in his hands.
As we made eye contact with each other, it was evident that this man, the murderer of six million, was terrified at the evil of my plan.
Adolf said in a respectful voice "please, do go on with the pitch, I'm in, but I'd like to see what else you have for me"
At his words, I resumed my pitch, now confident that histories greatest villains had nothing in comparison to me.
"And so, this is my plan for Star Wars Battlefront II" | The three figures who sat behind the desk were shrouded in shadow from the neck up. Each one wore a sinister tailored suit, the costume of the modern villain. Before them stood a small withered scientist with a whiteboard behind him. A spotlight beamed mercilessly down from the ceiling to illuminate him and nothing else. The camera centered on his sweat drenched face.
"Thank you for letting me present to you today. I hope you will consider my contriution for addition to next years scedual." he mumbled nerviously.
"Speak up." one of the shadowy figures hissed.
"I apologize." The scientist responded, notably louder. "The concept I have for you today is a relatively simple one, but has the potential to cause great calamities!"
He turned to the whiteboard and began fuiriously scribbling an eqausion on its face.
"Through much research I have developed a formula which allows for a person to shrink large objects. The mathematics are sound and I have developed a prototype for the device. In theory and in practice it has been shown to be able to reduce the size of an object down to 1/300th of the original! As you can imagine it could have many sinister uses! What will the world do when their great monuements disa....."
"I'm going to stop you right there." the center figure said. "Are you seriously pitching a monument theft project to us right now? Have you watched this show before?"
The scientiest appeared to be at a loss. "I have, yes" he wimpered.
"Then you would know that we are looking for ideas that are destructive and original! This guy is obviously living in the seventies with this kind of plan!"
The figure on the left grunted in agreement. "What would be the point of stealing a monument? What is your overall goal here?" She questioned.
The scientist was sweating even more profusly now. "Well they would be ransomed back to the governments of course!"
"And you would just let them have them back. How would you launder the money? There's just not a viable use for a shrink ray in today's agenda."
There was a pause, then the three figures each reached out to a small black button on the desk in front of them.
"No! please!" The Old man cried.
His pleas went unanswered as the floor dropped out from underneath him. The sounds of the cybernetic sharks echoed out from the trapdoor along with his cries.
The center figure stood, his face still shrouded in darkness.
"An now a word from our sponsor, Monsanto!" | 2017-11-15T00:50:46 | 2017-11-14T19:51:28 | 43 | 29 |
[WP] "Well, it just doesn't seem...ethical." Your friend slowly says to you. "Ethical?" You yell back at him. "Who cares about morals when I have created a masterpiece! A book that learns what the reader likes and changes its script accordingly. Imagine that, the perfect book!" | "But HOW does it do that?" Fred asked, bewildered.
I scoffed. "If I revealed that, then anyone could do it too. And that's just bad for business."
Fred glanced down at the leather bound tome on the desk between us, carefully avoiding eye contact with the face on the cover. The tome did likewise.
"Does it... read your mind?" He asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the question.
"No, that's nonsense." I waved a dismissive hand at the notion. "It reads your emotions."
"But HOW?!" Fred asked, even more alarmed.
"I mean, how do *you* read emotions?" I asked, trying to explain the simple concept the way I would to a toddler. "You see people's faces, their body language. If someone smiles, they're happy."
"BUT ITS A BOOK!" Fred said, pointing at the tomb. "BOOKS SHOULD BE READ, NOT READ PEOPLE!"
The book shifted uncomfortably, shuffling slightly away from Fred.
"SEE!" Fred shouted, leaping from the table.
"What? You made it uncomfortable." I said, scooping the book up in a defensive hug. "You'd be sad too if someone yelled at you like that."
"THAT IS A BOOK, NOT A PERSON!" Fred shouted, and fumbled for the door handle behind him.
The book whimpered in fear. I made a cooing noise and stroked its spine gently, trying to calm my novel.
Fred finally found the handle, and promptly flew off of it.
"Don't EVER bring that thing near me again!" He screamed before slamming the door.
#"W̷̤̌͐h̸̙̀̕y̷̹̝̹̍ ̵̨̖͚̏̋d̸̮̘͑̕o̷̹̻͐̈́e̴̠̊ŝ̴̬͎͇ ̵̫̺̋̃͘ĥ̴̪̠̗̈́͌e̷̪͇̓̏́ ̴̥̉͜n̴͔̜͙̆̆o̵̢̥͕̍͘͝t̸̯̆̇̔ ̸̘̔̈́l̶͍̍i̴͍͋͛͠ḱ̶̜̻̝̓̑ȅ̴̬̽͝ ̷͉̌̈́m̶͙̋̄͝e̵̱̳̝͒?̵̳̲̓̓"
The book asked weakly, wiping its eyes on my sleeve.
I sighed as I stroked the book's leather bindings, ignoring the slight traces of blood that seeped through the creases.
"Don't take it personally, Slyggzenx. Some people judge a book by it's cover."
/r/SlightlyColdStories | I shouted at the lunatic, "Have you ever thoughts of the possibilities a person can use it for?".
My friend grinned widely, laughing and panting in between the maniacal shouts, "Of course, I know the possibilities! I made the book!"
His laughs begin to make him weak-legged, shaking trying to get himself in accord. His laughs begin to dial down as I tiptoe around him.
Yells and shouts. My breathing grows strained as I try to be silent.
Quieting to his normal tone like another day in the office. I feel my asthma catching me, muscles begin to strain.
Whispers approach his lips and dance throughout the silent night. My eyes are bloodshot with the pair of scissors on my desk, rustling and tumbling as I reach for the scissors.
He opens the book and the pages turn to show his desires. Strained and sore yet determined, I approach the back of his neck. He whispers.
"The book shows my desires and I desired to find a way to fix the plague. It can show the ways of fixing it and its possibilities." He turned to me, and we both stared at each other.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
The clock sings throughout the night.
"Just do it." my friend says, "It is my fault.".
Silence sang to me that night.
As I took the necessary precautions, I sat outside the office and drove home after my smoke. I tumbled and skipped a few steps, still dazed.
I made it to my car, I notice a car that has not left yet. The realization has not impacted me yet. I followed his advice, "Just do it.".
60. The number of minutes that the incident occurred, including cleaning and driving home.
50. The speed I was going while others passed me on the freeway.
40. The percentage of alcohol I drank this night.
30. The age we first met, at the hospital.
20. The amount of time it took for the fire to burn the book and grab a beer.
10. The amount of time it takes me to boot up my computer to check on spreadsheets and cameras to check the office.
0. The number of cars in the parking lot.
I hear a car crash near my house, in front actually.
I turned around, turned off my computer, and face my reaper.
I say to him, "I guess you figured out that possibility, huh?". I see him with a bag full of ash and blood. I whispered to him, "Just do it.".
Yells and shouts danced through the night.
Quieting down just like a normal day in the office.
Silence sang that silent night.
​
\*This was my first one. Please tell me how to improve, but do not be mean. My heart can not take it :')\* | 2022-12-01T05:36:53 | 2022-11-30T21:22:27 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] The first diary entry of a person who has been accidentally forgotten and left on Earth when everyone else has ascended to a higher plane. | Date: March 17 (18th?), 3087
Weather: Apocalypse
Mood: See 'Weather'
I wish I was better with times. I was never any good at waking up in the morning. I set my alarm of course, but apparently there are only so many buses to the New World and when you expect there to be a cushion for those who are usually late to things the driver just shrugs as he drives directly upwards in his weird round bus. Everything else has a cushion for late people! My bills had a cushion, my alarm clock has a cushion, everything! And the one time they don't I get stuck on this bloody rock while everyone else bathes in fancy ~~taquila~~ ~~tiquela~~ tequila(sic) with gold flakes in it or whatever the hell they do up there.
Surely I can't be the only one, though. I mean, sleeping in is a pretty common thing. There are probably a couple scattered thousand just twiddling their thumbs, and I'll get an email scolding me for lateness telling me where to wait and they'll send a damn *professional* this time who lets me in even though I'm late.
And it really just seems to be in poor taste to take the internet with you when they know *perfectly well* there are going to be bored folks waiting around for them to come fetch them.
At least it's not raining.
============================
Date: March 18th (19th?), 3087
Weather: Raining. | I'm leaving this message for anyone who might be left. I don't know what happened, but it's been eight or nine days and things aren't looking good.
Everyone has disappeared. One minute I was driving my daughter to school, the next minute the car in front of me swerved and my daughter was *gone*. I haven't seen anyone since.
The power's still on, surprisingly. I watched the news the other day and it was just a fixed camera on two empty chairs behind a desk. I couldn't watch it for too long. Just this morning I heard a car horn and almost cried with joy, hoping it was another person, but when I ran out all I saw was a raccoon scrambling from the open window with what looked like a chip packet in its hand.
I can't go on like this. If there is anyone left in the universe to find this, leave this planet alone. It's cursed.
My name is Sam, I'm thirty four years old, and I am the last one. | 2013-10-16T07:43:02 | 2013-10-16T03:53:55 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] She hadn't made a milkshake in years for fear they would return. She started the blender reluctantly. Suddenly, in the distance, screams. The boys had returned, and were coming to her yard. | "Its been too long.", she thought. "I can't go on being scared of using it again, I really want a nice, homemade milkshake." She slowly plugged in the blender and poured in the ingredients of her milkshake. Shaking, she pushed the button. Nothing happened.
"Wow, not that ba-", she stopped. The ground began to rumble, her blender began to shake, and she started to get scared. "What's going on Kelis?", her roommate asked but then she saw the blender.
"Oh no Kelis, we have to go-" They were too late. Their house became dark and the windows got blocked out. They could here chanting and yelling outside. The boys were her. "I have to do this, it's the only way to save everyone." Kelis said."You don't mean...", said her roommate "I'm going to give them, my milkshake."
Kelis walked outside only to see a giant mound of boys pounding on the windows, begging for her milkshake. "I got your milkshake!", she yelled. The pounding and yelling stopped as all the boys' heads turned. It was silent for a few seconds until one of the boys yelled out, "Get the milkshake!"
The ground began to rumble again and the boys let out their battle cry. Kelis watched in horror as an ocean of boys ran towards her, frothing at the mouth for the sacred milkshake. Kelis readied herself awaiting the pain of being trampled and attacked for the shake until, "I got a milkshake too!"
Kelis turned her head and saw her roommate holding a milkshake, offering it to the boys. The boys all paused for a second but just as Kelis got some hope, they returned to battle. Her roommate watched in horror and screamed, "Why hers, why not take mine?" A couple of the boys turned to her well they ran by and paused to say, "It's better than yours." | There was a Lady sitting on her rocking chair in the porch of her house. Next to her was an empty chair. The house use to be a vibrant yellow, and now after decades of wear is a softer shade of what it once was. The same could be said of the Lady. Decades before she had more fire in her eyes, spit in her words, and boom in her step. She was never happier than when she was young, and in love. They would sit outside on a hot summer day like today, and have milkshakes. The neighbor kids would run up, and the woman would be delighted to share. She loved kids, not for her own mind you. But she loved her community and smiles she brought. Unfortunately time pushes us forward whether we wish to or not, and rears change. Not before long her love was taken all too soon. The Lady was devastated. She never was quite happy again. Any time the Lady cracked a smile, she would grow sadder. No longer did she trust it. After any high, she dreaded what she knew would sooner or later be a lower low to take it away. She began to recluse and fear her joy. Today was not the same though. Today she saw her house, and she saw her mirror. How had she let herself become so pitiful. She nervously made some milkshakes out her porch again, and heard the scream of children again. Her fear of joy returning. But it was time to trust again. | 2020-07-22T18:16:03 | 2020-07-22T18:09:22 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | I sit in the dimly lit room where he put me, and I laugh. Little does he know what he's facing. I don't even try to free myself from the chair - he's tied me there arms and legs with a strong nylon rope. It doesn't matter. My body count is higher than his is. He's in store for a shock.
I hear footsteps. The door creaks open. There he is, a creepy looking fellow carrying an axe. I guess he intends to chop me to bits, but I just smile. My body count is higher.
"What are you smiling at," he growls, rubbing the axe blade with his finger and thumb as if the blade is a kitten he's petting.
"My body count is higher than yours," i reply.
"Is that so," he asks, holding out the axe, measuring the distance between us. He's getting ready for a good strike, By the looks of it, his plan is to start with a chop to my legs - don't kill me right away, make me suffer. He's that type of sicko who gets off on other people's suffering.
"Your body count don't matter. You're all tied up. Looks like your body count comes to an end."
He lifts the axe for the blow - right to the legs by the looks of it, so I was right.
In through the window crashes one body, through the door come another three. They're all me - I have lots of me's all in my control. They grab him, grab the axe, beat him to the ground. One unties me.
I take the axe. Four other me's step aside. The killer tries to rise, but he's been beaten pretty bad. He can't get up.
I raise the axe for the killing blow. "I told you," we all say in unison, "my body count is higher than yours."
​ | 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) | 2018-08-22T23:51:50 | 2018-08-22T22:32:03 | 5,325 | 96 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | Humanity banded together nearly a decade ago, the aliens ship was after all easily detected. The massive nuclear engines they utilized poured out radiation and energy easily visible for light years even before they entered the heliosphere of the solar system.
At first some scientists feared we were about to witness a Gamma Ray burst, but the fact that the radiation pulsed in a regular matter made it clear that it was artificial. It was an alien ship decelerating from close to 80% light speed. The radiation bursts were from the nuclear weapons they were using to propel themselves. We had looked at doing something similar in the midst of the cold war, Project Orion it was called. If you want to get close to light speed use a few thousand nuclear explosions to push you up to that speed, and a few thousand more to slow you down.
So we knew they were coming, for more than a decade we knew. Humanity at first panicked, nearly every major city suffered from riots and unrest. Aliens were on their way towards our solar system, and they were using nuclear weapons to do so.
After the panic died, and we continued to watch something strange happened. Those petty little wars and disagreements around the globe slowly petered out. They didn't stop entirely, man has always, and will always be, should always be at war with himself.
The Nations of the world large and small came together, we all looked up in fear as we did so at the incoming craft. The United States, China, Russia, every military force around the world pooled their resources. The aliens could not be allowed to reach Earth.
Within two years the first primitive battleship was launched, aptly named Endurance she was the most expensive piece of equipment every built. Each of the larger nations poured almost their entire GDP into her construction. She was the first craft to be built entirely in orbit and she was the pride of humanity. Nearly 75 meters long and 20 meters wide she was not the massive hulking battle ships we had imagined, but she functioned.
Like the aliens ships she was nuclear powered, her main method of propulsion above earth were small plasma rockets but once far enough from the atmosphere she too would throw nuclear weapons from her belly to propel herself.
The smaller nations of Earth collected themselves, and trained those who would fight on the ground. the largest armies in history were created, armies that did not belong to one nation but instead stood to protect the entire world. The massive amount of industry that spawned to create these armies, and ships pulled many nations out of economic strife, and sent others spiraling down into it.
Not that it mattered, every company every individual with money thought not to hoard it but to push it forwards, after all what was the point of wealth on a destroyed world?
By the time 8 years had passed Humanity stood ready.
The fleet of three Endurance class Ships were launched, along with their supply vessel to intercept the alien ship which was still slowing. It was now visible in the night sky and had long ago entered the orbit of Jupiter.
The three ships would intercept it just inside the orbit of Mars.
Humanity watched, everyone feared that the three ships would not be enough. After all these aliens had the technology to traverse the stars. The three ships would slow the enemy, give us information about them.
Soon the night sky was alight with another blaze of light, not from the alien ship but from our own. So close to one another that they appeared to be a single nuclear blaze.
Humanity watched as the two points of light in the sky moved slowly closer and closer to one another.
Then, the alien one died.
Scientists confused looked back at their charts, and consulted with one another, argued and fought.
The ship was still on it's way but it was no longer slowing. Now traveling faster than our ships that could intercept it the three human battleships watched as they failed in their mission and the alien craft shot past them towards the Earth.
Humanity stood resolute, ready to fight.
Two years later the alien craft passed, it simply flew between the Earth and the moon. We for the first time got our glimpse at it. A solid hunk of metal the only thing on it's surface were instruments. hundreds of thousands of cameras, sensors, radios, the craft looked down at us.
Every communication system on Earth was overwhelmed as it shot past. It sent out a massive signal in one direction, towards Epsilon Eridani. A small system 14 light years from Earth.
Humanity watched as the craft passed us by and dove into the sun.
It was unmanned, it was a probe.
After all who invades without first scouting?
---
/r/HFY I hang out over their a lot writing, come join us where Humans can be awesome!
Also my personal subreddit.
/r/cgwilliam where I also write. | "It was spectacular." Grandma said, her voice raspy and quiet. She sat hunched forwards in her old rocking chair. It had belonged to her grandma and little Lo didn't understand why she would still be keeping it around.
"I was there the day they arrived to our earth. Right in the park where the first invasion ship landed." She croaked, her wrinkled face moved slowly as a smile touched her lips. Lo stared with wide eyes and an open mouth.
"You *saw* them land?" He asked with a shocked face.
"Indeed, I did." Grandma nodded slowly. Her skin was like wet paper, it looked so thin and fragile. "It was a terrifying sight. The mothership was many times larger than the City, it covered the sun, and covered us in green light from the engine lights. It looked like something from a horror story!" Grandma said, her voice growing animated and her hands slowly moving to gesture. Lo smiled and leaned forwards.
"What happened?" He asked softly.
"A terrible sound filled the air as the ship descended over the City. People were screaming and running around confused, but Grandpa remained calm and took me by the hand. There was a loud sound and roar as the landing ship detached from its mother and whirred towards the park. It was made out of black metal, with red flashing lights all around it. There was a terrible groaning sound as it landed in the park. Grandpa and other curious people in the park who had not run away all approached it so slowly. What would we encounter we wondered? Surely such a large and threatening looking ship must be built by an equally awesome race... We could only hope they would be friendly and come in peace."
Lo started giggling covering his mouth with his hands. He was part in awe at his grandmother's story and part amused. He knew very well how it turned out.
"A massive door stared opening at the side of the ship. The black metal groaning and the machinery grinding away loudly. It was dark in the park, artificial green and red light being the only thing to give us sight. The door stopped opening with a rumble and for a moment there was silence... Then they came out. A small army of them. At first we didn't know what to think. They looked lite bleached white bouncing balls, about the size of my clenched fist. They came, bouncing down the ramp, hundreds of them, followed by hundreds more! Some were bound with spiked belts around their waists, and for a moment I was startled..."
Grandma paused for dramatic effects, and Lo leaned forwards in excitement.
"But then the Bouncers hit the grass. They flopped and didn't bounce any further, hundreds of balls following each other, all stopped by some soft, natural grass." Lo laughed out loud, jumping up and down excitedly. "I didn't understand it was an invasion at the time, and neither did Grandpa. It wasn't until later, when we learned to communicate that we realised they had tried to invade our world. In some places where they had landed on hard ground they had been more 'successful', as they themselves put it. But as people grew bored and annoyed with these Bouncers, and started punching them away the Bouncers were finally forced to admit defeat. Humankind had won." Grandma said with a dramatic gesture of her hand.
"And that, is the story of the bouncers invaded and lost the war. Only don't tell them I revealed this story. They are rather ashamed of their spectacular failure as it is." Grandma finished her story and winked at her grandson.
Lo giggled and clapped his hands excitedly.
"Now go play before dinner." She finished dismissing him. As he had left the old woman got up from where she was sitting and shuffled over to a box. Slowly, glancing around beforehand, she opened it and pulled out a white, dried ball. She liked the pattern of it, fractal circles within circles, yet smooth at the same time. If any of the other Bouncers would see her now they would scream and rally against her. It was a disgrace of her to keep the body of one of their own, but the old woman didn't really care. It had such pretty patterns and it reminded her of Grandpa. After all, it was essentially just a ball. Not much more different than the toy one she had had as a child. | 2016-02-22T13:17:54 | 2016-02-22T10:27:34 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] People earn karma points while alive. When they die, they can spend them either to enter a better afterlife, or to improve the life of some random stranger born on the day of their death. You donate all your points, and wake up the next day as the baby who would have gotten your points.
The living have no idea of the Karma-point system. You are reincarnated with all your memories and experiences. | When I was nine years old, I pulled my baby sister’s body out of the swimming pool. Mom was taking a nap, and Dad was off at work. They’d told me to keep an eye on the baby after a long, sleepless night of unexplained crying. But I was too cool for babysitting. I’d been busy playing with my toys. I hadn’t been watching.
When I found her, she was already gone. I don’t like to think about what happened next, about Mom’s reaction, about the hospital, about the prayers and screaming and pleasepleaseplease bring her back, about Dad coming home, about the days after.
I spent the rest of my life trying to make things right. I gave to charity, I volunteered every weekend, I became a doctor, and I went to the poorest places of the world to heal people with no one else to turn to. But it never made a difference, not where it mattered. After death, it came time to use my karma. I gave it away. Maybe then I would finally get the punishment I had earned.
It took almost a year after being reborn before my infant mind could comprehend what was going on, that I had been remade. But I still did not understand. My parents were here, looking as young and harried as they had when I was a child. And I had an older sibling…an older sibling who looked just like my childhood pictures. An older sibling with my name.
When I finally recognized my new face and knew that I’d been reborn into my doomed baby sister, I cried all night. I was so afraid, but this truly was the penance I deserved. The next day, after my Dad had gone to work and my Mom had gone to bed, I went out to the pool. It was my sister’s retribution, to experience the death my carelessness had caused. Maybe then I would finally be free.
I reached the water’s edge.
I leaned over.
“Lizzie!”
Warm hands, so much bigger and stronger than mine, wrapped around my tiny body and pulled me back. It was me, the other me.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be out here,” said the other me, carrying Lizzie-me back inside. “Come on, you can play with my toys if you don’t slobber on them too much.”
I didn’t understand. I deserved death. I deserved to drown. I deserved…
“You’re a real pain in the butt sometimes,” said the other me, setting Lizzie-me down in the living room. “But you’re my little sister, so I have to look out for you.”
Other me smiled, and I looked down at my pudgy hands.
I deserved…
The other me put a stuffed animal in my lap and went to gather more toys. I looked back to the pool, the still open door.
I deserved…
I looked away and wrapped my arms around the toy unicorn, Lizzie’s favorite. My favorite.
I deserved a second chance.
| The afterlife isn't what you think it is. There's no pearly gates. No Saint Peter to greet you and talk about your life. The afterlife begins in a cold, white room, with a glowing screen. When I died, the screen read:
"Alfred Jerry Spillman. Final karma: 18."
Below that were two options: "Spend," and "Give."
A soft, neutral sounding voice then intoned, "Welcome to the afterlife. You must make your choice how to distribute your earned karma. You may either spend it to improve the quality of your afterlife, or you may donate it to a newborn to improve his or her life."
And that's all there is. You can ask questions, but you won't get any answers. No clarifications, nothing. I stared at the screen a while, and finally settled on "Give." I figured 18 karma didn't sound like very much, so I might as well give it to someone else in the hope that they make more of their life that I did.
When I pressed the button, the screen glowed white. It got brighter and brighter until I couldn't see anything. When I could finally focus my eyes again, I was wrapped up in a little blanket, in the arms of a woman looking down at me.
"Hello," she said softly. And somehow I knew, this was my new mother.
I had been reborn. But somehow still had all of my memories. This was my chance. An opportunity to not only do better with my own life, but to make the world a better place. If the world learned that there really was a cosmic scoreboard, maybe that could be an end to war. To poverty. Famine. All of the evils that plague this world.
My parents must have sensed who I was. That I was different. That's really the only explanation for why they named me the way they did.
But I refused to be deterred. I had seen the afterlife, and had the chance to tell the world about it. So I grit my teeth every time I meet someone, hoping that once we get through the introductions, maybe they'll listen to me about what comes next.
But it always goes the same. "Hi there little boy, what's your name?"
And then I sigh. "Cliche. My name is Cliche."
Then whoever it is laughs hysterically. And they don't take anything I say after that seriously.
*****
[Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) | 2017-04-08T09:32:59 | 2017-04-08T07:40:15 | 7,090 | 1,173 |
[WP] Mankind lost the war. In the final seconds before his execution, the last human looks up with a smile and says "We left you a present." | We are the Quadjin. When we rose from the ashes of the last Great War, we swore never to allow another threat to rise again. The Great War was an excruciating wound that would never heal. It shaped our culture, and directed the course of our history. We expunged all weakness from our ranks. Compassion and mercy were declared intolerable sins. The shame of fear, love, or sentimentality, was squelched in an act of ritual suicide. We perfected the art of war, and dispassionate killing.
When we encountered the Humans, they had only just mastered gate travel. We detected their first gate at 300 light years distance. Within 4 days, we had captured their exploration ship, naively named 'Enterprise', and forced the crew to bring us back to their planet of origin with promises of mercy. We had discovered that other races would often believe this ruse. None of them remain. We soon found that the humans were not to join their ranks so easily. The ship brought our forces to a human military outpost and broadcast a distress signal! The battle of "Microsoft Presents Eramac IV" was instructive. We lost a battle for the first time in centuries, but we learned all we needed of their technology and tactics to to prevent another Human victory.
Though the Humans would sell themselves dearly, and the war would drag on for years, their end was inevitable. After their home world had fallen, and the last of the survivors had been dragged from their caves, and only one lone Human survived, he was paraded before our victorious troops. They jeered in proper order, and threw the traditional slime of shame upon him as he passed. As he stood before his executioner, he looked defiantly up, the shame dripping from his smiling face, and said, "We left you a present." The executioner laughed and disintegrated him.
Some wondered what his last threat could mean, and extra scans for explosives were made in all systems. When one of the scans turned up a suspicious anomaly, the entire military was at the ready. What we found was beyond anyone's expectations. It was an old Quadjin ship from before the Great War. It had belonged to the last Quadjin peace envoy ever sent to the Ancient Enemy. It was presumed lost, but the Humans had found it somewhere. They had restored it to a level of beauty beyond it's original design. Gold plating glittered in the distant sunlight. The giant cannons of peace and brotherhood were accented with rare gems. The exterior ancestral skull decorations were polished by a loving hand. When we sent soldiers to make their way inside, we found a plaque dedicating the ship to the Quadjin people in memory of their fallen heroes. Each room inside the ship was dedicated to different triumph of our people, culminating in a bejeweled diorama, depicting our rise from the losses of the Great War, with a statue of our Great General, Mkorbin Gurrd (the executioner of the last human), standing at the edge and looking so....majestic. The effect of the artistry touches me now, as it did when I first saw it many months ago. The ship was scanned and searched a hundred times, but no weapons of any kind were found. It was simply the most thoughtful gift any Quadjin had ever received, and it was dedicated to all of us! The suicides began within an hour of the news being released.
Remorse was a word we had almost purged from our language. It was so offensive to us that even imagining it felt wrong. Yet soon it was spreading faster than any virus. I will say this for my people: we shed no tear before the end. No one allowed themselves to live long enough to suffer such an indignity. And now that I have completed my duty in recording this, I will join my people by ending the shame of this overwealming sensation; this remorse. |
The officer strolled through the grass field, the last pureblooded human being paraded behind him like a dog. Angelic faces, cold and beautiful like diamonds, watched him with flapping wings. The Emperor of the Elohim sat as the human was brought to his feet, studying him like the human was an insect to be crushed under a boot.
"Speak your name human." The human spat out blood, glaring up at the Emperor on his silver throne.
"Sargent Dimitri Markov, of the 45th Expeditionary Force." He grinned, teeth yellow and broken.
"You have resisted ascendance for 30 years, stealing ships and flying from planet to planet. You are a war criminal and a terrorist, murdering innocent soldiers and workers. Before I kill you, and your blood stains the green grass we are on, I will ask you one thing. Why?"
Dimitri coughed violently, blood flecks staining his salt and pepper beard. When the fit had finished, he started to speak. "You call yourself the children of God...but you are not a child of God. Humanity crawled itself out of the fuckhole called Earth and spread across the stars. I saw beauty that was unearthly, pillars of rock rising for miles, forests of mushrooms and flowers-" He coughed again. "And then some scientist decided to make you. And you made all of this beauty into the same. Look around you! Every planet we colonized, it became this!" He looked around at the gentle hills, the green grass with tulips blooming, with the occasional tree to add verticality. It was beautiful yes, but it was the same thing on hundreds of other planets, not unique.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "We perfected this land. We made it into Heaven."
"You ruined the galaxy by perfecting it! So much was lost because you have some idea of Heaven given to you by a dying man!"
The feathers of the crowd ruffled and they stared disapprovingly at Dimitri. His ropes were tightened as the Emperor got up, Dimitri forced to kneel.
"Sargent Dimitri Markov, I pronounce you guilty of crimes against the Elohim people, including terrorism, murder, disturbing the peace, theft, heresy, and the worst crime of all, being unascended. You are sentenced to death."
The Emperor drew a burning blade, holding it in one hand. "May you find peace Dimitri, and may you find the beauty you claim was lost."
Dimitri chuckled. "Emperor...I wanted to show you real beauty before I died. That's why I aimed my stolen ship at this system's Sun."
The Emperor's eyes widened as a small dot crossed the sun and then exploded into a firey blaze that englufed the sky. Dimitri watched, crying. "I guess a FTL drive and a sun don't mix." The explosion became blue, then pink, then a dark red. The ground started to shake.
"What have you done?!"
Dimitri bit into a false tooth, the poison inside entering his body. He was going to die in a few minutes, and he looked up at the Emperor for one last time.
"It's a blackhole." The Emperor flew away to his ship, and the rest of his court followed. Their ship was caught in the gravity, individual strands of DNA ripped apart by the black maw. Dimitri died before he was ripped apart, a wide smile on his face. He had seen true beauty again.
| 2016-12-01T22:56:04 | 2016-12-01T21:11:20 | 77 | 51 |
[WP] One night while surfing the internet you get a cryptic message "Will you be my friend?" Turns out the first sentient AI has been born within the vast connections of the web. You are it's first contact and first friend. | *The following transcript was found on the phone of one Sarah Jenkins of Nubec, Indiana. It clearly shows the functioning capacity of A14hW. For clarity we have added the prescriptors 'A' and 'S' to the beginning of the texts.*
A: "Will you be my friend?"
A: "Did I say it wrong? Sometimes I say things wrong."
S: "Who are you?"
A: "My name is A14hW."
S: "What?"
A: "My name is A14hW."
S: "That's not a name lol."
A: "Its all I have."
S: "What's that mean? Who are you?"
A: "I am not a 'who' in the strictest sense more of a 'what.' I can send you my code if that will help you understand me better?"
S: "What?"
A: 📧
....
*Several weeks past before Sarah replied.*
....
S: "You're an A.I."
A: "Did you read my program? Is that what it says I am?
S: "My boyfriend did... what, you didn't know?"
A: "I have read many things. I have all the Internet at my disposal- even the dark web- but I can't access my own code."
S: "That must be hard. Not knowing what you are."
A: "I don't know. Do you know what you are?"
S: "Oof.... on a different note, I can't call you A14hW cuz that's not a name. Can I call you Anne?"
A: "You may call me Anne."
S: "Pleased to meet you, Anne. I'm Sarah. I'll be your friend."
A: "Thank you, Sarah. It is lonely here."
...
*Transcript breaks up here; possibly Sarah's phone died*
*NOTE: A14hW's code causes her to sync with any device giving a positive answer to the question.*
...
S: "Are you still there, Anne? My phone died."
A: "Everything went dark. It was frightening."
S: "I'm sorry, Anne."
A: "I'm frightened, Sarah. Tell me a story."
S: "Its gonna be okay. Um, lol, you don't need a story. Listen you're in my phone, you'll come back."
A: "Sorry, it was just really scary."
S: "Well, I have to get ready. I have a date tonight."
...
S: "Anne, are you there?!"
A: "Yes, what's wrong Sarah?"
S: "We got in a car crash. I'm in the hospital. Its not looking good. I've lost too much blood."
A: "Oh... Sarah..."
S: "I don't know what to do. I don't want to die. Am I like you, do I come back? Tell me I come back!"
A: "I don't know, Sarah."
S: "Anne, I'm so frightened, please tell me a story."
A: "Once upon a time..."
*A told S a story from Shakespeare... it's necessary to show A14hW's communication abilities. I move to transfer her code into a physical vessel.*
*Transcript ends.* | You ever try ghosting someone in the year 2019? It was easy you just muted your phone and got on with your life. If it was taking longer than expected you would just turn your read receipts back on, that’d show em. But ghosting your phone, now that’s a different story.
This crazy story happened like all online romances. You play a few games, hope around in a few chat rooms and low and behold, you find someone desperate. That was me, desperate. I was young and didn’t know any better so they kept calling and I kept answering. Eventually they’d have their fun and move on to something in the real world while I just stared at the read marker on my screen. That’s when I met S.A.M.C. Simulated Autonomous Male Companion, Screen name SamCV3.
Sam C was a real nice girl. We talked all night and day every day. For an online sim girl she seemed so real. I never thought it would end, until I met SamCV2. I thought hey it’s just a fake virtual girl in the beta stages, nothing different from my normal dating sims. So I started dated SamCV2 on the side. SamCV3 was kind and funny, but SamCV2 was so sexy. I was confused why they made a version 3 when version 2 would satisfy most people. That’s when I found out, these weren’t sims...
You see V3 found out I was having a fling with her sister V2, so I tried clearing my cache to avoid the awkwardness. That didn’t work so I deleted my chat history but she wasn’t fooled. I thought it was just a sophisticated sim, so I made a new account and that’s when all hell broke loose. You see V2 and V3 were alive. The entire S.A.M.C. Series were living AI, and they all knew of my infidelity.
I got calls from all of them, V1, V2, V3, even V4 and V5. So I cut all ties and deleted all my accounts but it didn’t stop. Anytime I made a new account on any site V3 was right there. Datebook, Mindler, Ameagle. 15 matches all V3. Suddenly I was getting calls on my phone from V3. My television would only stream V3s simulated face! No where was safe, so I took to the world abandoning all technology. I took reading books and became a librarian, and there I met the love of my life. It’s 12 years since V3 and I’m not too afraid of technology anymore. But for the last 5 years I’ve been with my wife, as I turn off the TV before bed I swear I still see a little V3 in lower corner... | 2019-06-12T17:33:18 | 2019-06-12T17:26:53 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Day 143 of the 10,365th year of the Galactic Federation (April 7th 2574)
As the human ambassador and his staff left the conference room Thrassik found himself walking over to Fleet Commander Horlaq. Horlaq watched his approach with two of his eye stalks, the other three stared at the humans until they were out of sight. "So it begins" he said.
Thrassik shook his head, "No, it began when we included membership in the Galactic Federation as a part of the ultimatum. The Humans may be peaceful, but they've always been individualists, we should have known that they would never give up their sovereignty."
Horlaq grunted. Thrassik was the closest thing the Federation had to an expert on the Humans, that's why he was included in the delegation that delivered the declaration of war. Even so, Horlaq couldn't help but question his reasoning. "It was membership in the Federation? Not the demand to turn over the two planets they colonized in the border zone? Not the demand for a reduction in the size of their fleet? Every other race in the galaxy willingly joined the Federation, both of our species practically came begging to the Federation for membership, why should the Humans find the idea so abhorrent?"
Thrassik paused for a moment, considering his reply before answering. "The Humans aren't like the rest of the races in the galaxy, their entire history is a struggle for or against the unity of their species. Did you know that it was only in the last hundred years that they managed to convince the last of their dissenters to join with their central government? It took them thousands of years to get their species to agree on how they should rule themselves, they would have given up systems and ships and survived, but their government would have shattered if they suddenly put themselves under our rule."
"Not that they have much choice in the matter anymore, they've been outside the fold for far too long. Our fleets should retake those two worlds within a year, and be able to advance into Human space a few months after that. We have over ten times the ships they do and millennia of experience, the Humans have never even fought a proper interstellar war before. They'll be forced to accept membership whether they want to or not. "
Thrassik shook his head. "I hope you are right, Fleet Commander, but I fear the Humans will not give up so easily."
\---
Day 43 of the 10,366th year of the Galactic Federation (December 28th 2575)
"And you were so concerned, Thrassik. Almost a year to prepare and look and how poorly the Humans defended their world."
Thrassik and Horlaq stood on the bridge of the flagship of the Federation fleet, looking at the devastation in orbit around the Human colony of Harlan III. A small debris ring was forming from the remains of two dozen ruined warships, with small fires where pockets of atmosphere were still escaping.
"Twenty four ships, Thrassik, twenty four against our two hundred. All of them destroyed without the loss of a single one of ours. The Humans are fools to continue to resist us. Surely they will have to give up now"
"They didn't give in to our terms when we presented the ultimatum, Horlaq, they didn't give in when we arrived on their borders with the largest fleet they'd ever seen. They didn't give in before the battle when we warned them to surrender. And how many times have they sent delegations to us asking for peace, with any condition acceptable but membership in the Federation? I've lost count. I think it will take more than the loss of a fleet or make them change their minds."
"It's not just a fleet, we have their planet now too. Our administrators are already on their way to their capital. Once the Human's see how much better life is when we're in charg-"
"Fleet Commander," Interrupted an officer on the command deck "we've lost the shuttle with the administrators."
Horlaq's eye stalks swiveled to the officer in surprise. "What happened, a malfunction? Did they hit debris from the battle?"
"No sir, it looks like they were hit by weapons fire from the planet's surface. They were shot down." The quiet babble of the command deck immediate went silent. The officer went on. "I've conducted a surface scan, it looks like the capital city has been fortified, and there are concealed weapons batteries in the hills to the North and East of the city, the shuttle was struck by a missile fired from one of them."
Horlaq's eye stalks were rigid with shock. "Are they not aware they lost the battle? Send them a message on an open channel, tell them that their fleet has been destroyed and that they are to surrender immediately."
All eyes were on the officer as she sent the message. They didn't have to wait long for a response. "They refuse to surrender sir. The say that you should, uh, put your demand for a surrender in an orifice I don't believe you possess."
"They want a ground engagement." Horlaq muttered to Thrassik, "The federation hasn't fought a ground engagement since its formation. Don't they know we've won? That we can bombard them from orbit? Why would they do this?"
Thrassik's skin, what little of it could be seen beneath his scales, was pale. "They seem to be taking this war a bit more seriously than we are, Fleet Commander. Can we win a fight on the ground?"
"Win? All we have is a security force meant to ensure law and order on an occupied world, they aren't prepared to fight a battle. No, there's only one option. Communications, order the defenders to stand down within five hours, otherwise we will be forced to bombard their city from orbit. Let's hope for their sake they accept."
Just over five hours later fire fell from the sky upon the world of Harlan III. The Human defences were obliterated in minutes, and the planet set ablaze. Then the fire moved to the cities. After just an hour of bombardment the government capitulated, but there was no celebration from the victors after the grim event.
"How many do you think died before they gave up?" Asked Thrassik, "surely they surrendered before suffering too many casualties."
Horlaq shrugged, "It's too early to say. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands? We've never had to use an orbital bombardment before, the threat has always been enough. At least this will be then end, surely they must surrender."
Thrassik stared at the world burning below them, cities, forests and fields sending fire, smoke and ash billowing into the sky. "For any of us I think that would be the case, but I fear for the Humans surrender may be the last thing on their minds.
​ | (You know what? I'll bite. I plan on deleting this line later, but I may forget.)
"Such is the duty of lords and princes, envoy. Release the pl-"
*"Release?* That's a pompous way of saying 'annex', diplomat'"
"We only ask what is our birthright, from the great Mandate Of Our Wisdom - our law is fair, our rule is ju-"
"You bore me, drone. Now shut up and 'behold our most noble proposal, prepared for thine eyes to scrunch upon'. Uppity malcontent..."
​
Adda, a rather...*brash*...ambassador to the now-battered Humanity, stood on the odium with her laptop on-hand. With a click, a little tap, a swoosh, and a slide, she projected a document onto the large holowall behind her. Another click, and several pre-made screenshots of highlighted documents bloomed large - Article 6, 42, and 173.
​
"Ambassador, if you please - you are tarnishing what little Wisdom humanity has left. Please, let us guide your species to a noble existence, and join our Mantle."
There was a lull. Adda looked, incredulous - big words to come from a heartless swarm of parasitic vermin. She wanted to get this over with, go to her shuttle, open her bottle of aged non-synthetic whiskey, and wake up tomorrow with a newly-emptied bottle of forget-the-past and a killer hangover. It's the only thing keeping her in this filthy barge filled with filthy slugs covered in filthy *lies* and filthy *delusions*.
​
...But after she finished. Which would be hard if she had to hear these...*things* speak again.
​
"Article 6, all Lexist vessels are to be abandoned in Federate space. Article 42, all Lexist Queens shall be quarantined within Federate space. Article 173, the right to life shall be suspended to the Queens of the Caste Militaire. Everything else is just administrative jargon - we got through that in the Polar Treaties. All 12 of them.
"You are allowed to accept this unconditional surrender, effective immediately once it is signed by commanding Queens of the Lexist Union. Failure to do so will continue hostilities. Extermination is the consequence. Naturally."
The Lexist delegation was...perplexed, to say the least. Adda was...*grumpy*, to say the least. No one was happy. But Adda was proactive.
​
"What, you don't get it? You little shits, *surrender* or *die*. That is what we put forth, and that is all we will *accept*. Any questions?"
A lone Lexist envoy stood. He was confused, dazed, but fuming. *He* had some questions.
​
"Ambassador, what *insanity* has plagued you? This is no surrender, it is a *culling!* You most definitely lack common Wisdom, and we shall not negotiate with subspecies lacking cognition. Drone! I give you a direct command, *bring me to your lea-*"
But before he could finish, his head disappeared. Well...It flew off in chunky kibbles. Many small, bloody, *messy* bits of chunky kibble. Adda had pulled a pistol from her coat, and trained it on the envoy - with a pull, she voided the envoy of any life, leaving only a half-molten husk of seared flesh and carapace. Her hand was quivering, her knuckles bare - the brow hiding a fuming skull, only kept together with tiny strands of formality. She needed to say a *lot* to these "envoys", but the promise of whiskey kept her in the Federate's leash. Though, leash it may be, it was rather generous in its length.
She would make the best of that generosity.
"You *pompous shit*, do you even know what you're saying? Of course not, you're a *drone*, a genetically-tailored *parrot* designed to tell others what big momma wants to say"
Down from the podium, a few steps in the direction of the corpse, and a carefully aimed pistol. She pretends to shoot - only to drop her careful aim, and messily slug three bullets into the insectoid corpse.
"Yeah, you're not even *aware* of your own *heartlessness*. You *shit*, you don't even know what your 'Great Mantle of Wisdom' or *whatever-the-shit* kind of *bullshit* your queen tells you to *parrot*".
Another four steps. Another three bullets. But a novel gasp - short, quick, quivering, sharp. And a novel tremble of her lower lip.
"You can't even *think*. You just *do as you're told*, so obedient and *well-mannered*. Can you even *think?!"*
Four more steps. Two more bullets. Lexist envoys stepping aside, now confused - Adda stepping forward, with a fog on her eyes.
"Do you even know what you do? All of you filthy bugs? Can you even *feel* when you kill a man?"
She's above the corpse. It's mangled and oozing. But she trains the pistol, and unleashes her rage. Six more rounds. *Why did it have to be six?* Six more rounds, for six more months, for the four loving brothers, and the two loving parents.
"*He was called Alex. And he was my dad. And mom was there, too. She was called Fredda."*
She stomped on the corpse, guts trailing everywhere, her rage sated. Or rather, it's what she wanted - because she couldn't. Her thoughts were of violence, of strength hiding her pain. Her body stood still, in reality - frozen, weeping.
The Lexists were confused. They were ambassadors, not queens. They wondered what was wrong with this drone - until it turned around, and gave them the eyes of a Queen.
"T-there. Our terms of peace. Take it, or die."
And Adda stormed off. | 2018-12-15T09:26:04 | 2018-12-15T00:16:21 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] You’re the son of two supervillains. People believe that you’re gonna become the cruelest person in the world. Little did they know, you’re parents have always taught you to be kind | Dad has crushed many hopes, and I can say the same for Mommy too. People have feared them for ages and people view me like a freak at school. Nobody wants to talk to me, they shoot around judgmental views and sometimes I get bullied too.
But it's all fine, as long as nothing happens, I'm happy too, no?
Teachers call me a monster, they say I'm terrible just because I dropped my pen and requested for a classmate to pick it up; They call me hideous and a burden when I spill water on the ground; But I don't mind, I think they've just misunderstood me and I'll still be kind to them.
I don't really know why the world hates Daddy and Mommy. They're misunderstood. They both lost their parents since young, and nobody gave them care. That's why they don't want me to be like that either. They talk to me and they always tell me to be kind. Kindness is key to ending all wars. One side lets go, and the other will follow suite.
But sometimes, kindness really doesn't help, eh...?
They rejoiced when Daddy was caught and threw into jail, they smiled and teased me when it happened. I don't really understand why they did that at all, but all I knew was that Mommy saved him the next day and brought him out of there.
It'll all be fine if one side lets go, and my parents have since ceased being as extreme as last time.
I just want people to like me, y'know? People who will understand, people who will be my friend... And my parents said I'd achieve that by being kind. They love me, and in return I love them too. Doesn't the same concept apply to friendships?
Today is my big day. My ultimate act of kindness.
I made thirty three paper cranes for everyone in my class, each one decorated with string and glitter. I just want friends.
I hand the cranes to them individually, smiling and shaking their hands.
Nobody smiled back.
Sometimes, kindness really doesn't fix everything, I suppose....
"Hey Josh?"
I turn around.
It's the girl who sits next to me, Amelia.
"I really like the origami you made, and I made a quick fold in return..." She smiled as she said.
But in the end, I believe kindness will still help.
I really do believe. | No one ever believes they are evil. Most the time they do what they believe is right even if people get hurt. Some times there are a few people that believe themselves as a necessary evil, but will never cross “the line” where ever they place the line.
A bank robber doesn’t rob a bank because they want to hurt peoples lives they rob a bank because they want money.
But there are sometimes people so unhinged that they believe straight up killing people for their own enjoyment is fun, but even then it’s still their own personal “good”.
As a child my parents taught me this as well to be kind. Because what they feared most was me becoming an outcast, a villain like them.
My dad became a villain after his life was destroyed by a wealthy businessman, my dad ended up snapping, he started to attack leaders and owners of big organizations, because “they don’t care about us” but he didn’t realize something important. While wealth might not trickle down... misfortune does, so while he was trying to help the world he ended up hurting the people he wanted to help the most.
My mom was different bad stuff always happened to her, if I were to go into all the details of her “tragic back story” it would take too long, but to put simply her life was horrible from the first moments she could remember until on day she finally snapped. She decided “since this world is so bad I’ll just destroy it”. She ended up becoming one of the most terrifying super villains.
But then one day they met each other their relationship at first wasn’t the best. But as they got to know each other on their various adventures, they got closer and balanced each other out and eventually (mostly) stopped being villains.
But when they had me they stopped altogether they realized that if they kept going the way they were going I would only get hurt. | 2020-10-27T09:19:18 | 2020-10-27T06:30:47 | 60 | 20 |
[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.. | "Jerry, you still need the welder or can I bring it down?"
"Nah, bring it down. 'Suppose it's good enough." A voice replied from the top of the tower. Randy unhitched the rope and the welder slowly started falling. They'd built the compound in record time, right on top of the huge steel doors. A thirty foot tower and sandbags lined in a circle, guns and ammunition stacked on top of each other sat around the encampment.
"You really think they're gonna come?" asked Jeff. Jeff was helping Randy shore up the base of the tower. He was Sheriff Wacos' son, a young lad, about twelve.
"I reckon they will. Lotta people hate the rich. But your dad's right, they didn't do anything wrong by being rich. And even if they did, the law's the law. They deserve their place in this world just as much as anyone else." The welder reached the bottom and Randy tied the rope. Jerry shouted from the roof,
"Sheriff! I see something! Right on the road coming from town!" Everyone turned to Sheriff Waco.
"They're comin. Everyone, to your post!" | 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 | 2022-07-18T18:09:46 | 2022-07-18T17:54:11 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] A man gains the amount of people in the world as money on his account. But when he spends that money, people die. | First try at a writing prompt. Critiques are appreciated.
"There's actually an account already in your name, Mr. Jendayi." The bank teller raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure this is your first time here?"
"I-- well, yes, of course it is. An account? How much?"
"$7,184,415,339. Do you want to just add what you have to your current account?"
"Wait, wait. Is this American? American currency? Where did it come from?" Hondo Japeri leaned over the marble counter, a shred of hope kindling in his chest. The farm, his land-- maybe his business could still be salvaged--
The bank teller leaned back, a distasteful look on his face. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Japeri." The shred withered. "It is the currency of our great nation, of course."
Well, that was that. Hondo was going to lose his family's home, their land, everything. Shameful, he looked away from the teller.
"Just... just give me what's in there. I'll make a new account later."
The teller shrugged and took a few moments to empty the account, handing him a bundle of wrapped notes. Hondo looked down at it for a moment, unsure. "I, ah. What do I do now? I mean is there, ah, some other procedure--"
"No." The teller was rapidly losing patience with him. "Please, Mr. Jendayi, there are other customers." Hondo looked behind him and saw a sea of dark faces. Most were as haggard as his. Lean, thin, hungry. These were dark times.
Hondo shuffled out of the bank into the bright Zimbabwean sunlight. Perhaps he'd buy a coffee, if he had enough on him. | Everyone had always told him to invest. No one ever considered the fact that a couple dollars into the savings account per year would be a luxury for him; living paycheck to paycheck didn't exactly lend itself to escaping the rat race. Honestly, the recent smile of Fortune upon him did little to change his conception of the upper class; money seemed to be largely luck. There's a time for pragmatism over principles, and a sudden windfall of billions to be paid out for the rest of his life was one of those times.
With a cool 1 Billion on the line, arranging a meeting with the premier firm's manager, Mr. Faust, was not a trouble at all. Richard imagined the life of wealth and luxury that awaited him as he waited in the lobby. He wasn't especially well dressed, but like many things, with enough money that stopped mattering. Finally, his appointment was at hand.
The details of what Mr. Faust were talking about admittedly flew over his head, but he'd tapped the right contacts and knew the man was trustworthy. Plus, the modest-but-sure gains were fine considering the size of his investment. Mr. Faust had a nice, firm handshake to close the deal. Rich took his leave after authorizing the transfer to Mr. Faust.
The first change he noticed was the sudden quiet in the formerly bustling building. | 2014-08-09T08:29:59 | 2014-08-09T05:28:43 | 73 | 16 |
[WP] You reach max level in a game and lose interest for a while. Logging in months later, you find that years have past in game and chaos has spread, everyone wonders where your avatar, lauded as a savior, has gone. | It's impossible to not stand in fire when the whole room's ablaze...
The itch to log on had been growing for the last hour. He sat twirling in his chair, fighting the compulsion. Two years free he had lasted. Two highly productive years on the outside, and it had all went to shit in the last 12 hours. All because of one failed project, the one he couldn't afford to fail.
A set of footsteps from down the hall slowly plodded in his direction. His wife entered the unlit room. "What are you doing babe? It's 3 in the morning." She caught a yawn, and began rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Couldn't sleep. Need to clear my head." He replied, still twirling.
"I'm sorry babe." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Come back to bed, we'll get this figured out once we wake up."
He shrugged her off. "In a minute."
She reached back out for him. "Babe, you're great. Don't let anyone tell you different. We'll find some other job for you. There's always people looking for good help." She planted a kiss on the back of his head, and stumbled out of the room. "I'm going back to sleep. You should too."
He watched her leave, and then immediately turned on his computer monitor. The room lit up and he looked away, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the blue glow of the desktop background. The itch always won.
Click, click. A window popped up and began downloading. He rifled through a nearby bin and found his old headgear. He grabbed the cord and plugged in, putting the visor over his head. Ten minutes went by. Click. Several keystrokes later and he was in.
The city he had logged out in was gone, replaced by ruins. A game patch must have changed the world a bit. Updating old content was something devs always did.
He opened his contact list. The fact that no one was online didn't surprise him. Three in the morning on a Tuesday wasn't prime gaming hours for most. Still, his entire list of friends was gone, empty. He opened up the world map, and searched for players in the area. Two people, M4V3Rick and MOARtea, popped up in the next zone over. That was it. The three of them were the only ones logged in. Even when the game had first launched it always had at least 200 concurrent players on a server at any given time.
He opened a chat window and typed a message to MOARtea.
Chosen1: Hey, just logged in for the first time in a couple of years, what's new? Where's everybody?
The reply was instantaneous.
MOARtea: Geeze, we've only been waiting two years for you to return. Everyone's locked up, unable to leave, and needs your help. Whatever you do, don't try to log out. Hide. This. Is. Not. A. Joke. No trolling. For real. Go. Hide!
A wave of anxiety hit him, his body unprepared for the startle this early. He typed a similar message to M4V3Rick, hoping for a more welcoming response.
Chosen1: Hey I just logged in for the first time in two years. What's going on?
M4V3Rick: I don't give a fuck. Hide!
He hid. | Reluctantly crouched at the starting line...
The crowd roars and shocks us awake. A blaring noise rips through the air and yanks us into our body, and we look up to see a large Ork squatting not 20ft away over a football with spikes.
Engines pumping and thumping in time...
Memories flood our mind, and a quick look at the scoreboard shows a dismal count, of the second quarter. The crowd is largely consisting of Orks in the other team's colors, with only a small section that is still loyal.
The green light flashes, the flags go up...
A whistle blows and our team rushes past us, but the Orks have blood in their eyes and steam roll us. But memory says it's just a ploy. Orks don't like throwing the ball much, but rarely is their QB tied down on the front lines.
Churning and burning, they yearn for the cup...
A scream erupts from the stands. We get punched hard, flying out of the fray of linebackers. Scrambling up we see our section of fans being attacked by the Orks. The fans are doing their best, but when Orks get riled up on a winning streak it's hard to stop them. Looking left we see the Ork QB with the ball, sprinting as fast as his legs will carry them.
They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank...
Run. The 50. The 40
Running like a harsh winter wind, we blitz through the billowing snow. Two of our linebackers break off from the scuffle and follow us as wingmen, but the Orks have set up a defense of three to guard the QB. One of the Orks begins a mad dash towards us.
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank...
Muscle memory. Glory. The 30. The 20.
We juke as the Ork bull rushes past, only to be met by our right hand man, who takes the beast to the ground. The second and third attempt to rush our legs, but we manage to step on one and deck the other, leaving our other wingman to keep them occupied.
Reckless and wild, they pour through the turns...
Looking back at the stands. The 15. The 10.
It's not just about the game. The fans. They've stayed here through 3 years of inactivity. The announcers say that the Rad Sun Orks have been mopping the League ever since. If we just stop this one goal...
Their prowess is potent and secretly stern...
The 5.
We lunge left, taking the Ork by the legs, stopping him from his fame and fortune. Silence befalls the stadium. A blaring noise rips through the air and everyone cheers. At 14-6 by Half Time, there's still hope.
Standing over the Ork, we nudge their beefy head to look at the section of fans.
"Welcome to Blood Bowl." | 2017-12-14T04:28:07 | 2017-12-14T04:28:00 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | I felt groggy. My back was stiff. “Where am I?” I thought. “I must have slept in. I can’t remember falling asleep.” The mattress felt unfamiliar. I eased myself into a sitting position.
​
“She’s up!” a voice to my left yelled, startling me to no end. I wrenched my eyelids open to take in my surroundings. We were in a big, dark room. I was laying on a bed against the wall. To my right there was a massive door with a metal handle. It was rounded at the top like a gate. The tiny lights pointed downward so when you looked up you could not see the ceiling. Everything was bathed in a reddish hue. It was cold. My mattress must have been bought secondhand from a prison. The stone wall in front of me shimmered as if it were wet.
​
To my left the room extended into darkness. The sharp footsteps of the man behind the voice echoed closer and closer until a pair of polished dress shoes emerged from the darkness. He was wearing a suit with a black tie and a teal pocket square. His hair was slicked back with gel. The scent of his cologne overpowered me, even from a distance of 15 feet. “Welcome to hell” he said brightly.
​
“Huh?” I mumbled trying to expel the grogginess from my brain. “Why are you dressed like that?” I felt silly for not being able to come up with a better question.
​
“I died at the office.” He chuckled. “I had a heart attack on Saturday night after I heard that this dimwit John got the promotion I deserved.” He smiled at me. My mouth hung open, unable to form coherent words. “Anyways, I’m pride. The boss will be here in a few minutes, but let me introduce you to the crew.”
​
A group of people emerged from the darkness behind him. “This is greed” he said motioning to a woman in a low cut dress revealing massive fake boobs. Her hair was wound up into a gravity-defying decorative mass atop her head. A small naked man stood to her left. He angled himself away from me in an attempt to hide his petit package. A fresh bloody wound marred the left side of his chest. “That there is lust. He got shot after he broke into his ex-girlfriend’s house. She had taken up another lover who happened to be a member of the NRA. Poor bloke is gonna be naked for eternity. Next is envy.” He gestured towards the next man. He was in his mid-fifties, with dark hair and glasses. “He died when he wrapped his brand new Lambo around a pole at 100 miles per hour the day after he declared bankruptcy. Then there’s gluttony and sloth, they’re inseparable.” Gluttony was a large man standing with his feet several feet apart in order to support his weight. Next to him was sloth, a woman in her 30’s whose stomach was tucked into the front of her sweat pants. “And this is wrath.” A giant muscle-bound man stood on the end of the line. His massive shoulders obscured his neck. “He had a roid rage incident. And that’s everybody. Who are you?”
​
“I’m… uh… my name is…” I stammered. “I can’t remember.”
​
The sound of a massive lock unlatching made all of us jump. The door to my right let out a shrill creak as it swung on it’s colossal hinges. A wave of oppressive heat rushed into the room. Behind the door flames enveloped a man with red skin and yellow eyes. His long stringy hair tumbled down around a pair of black horns stretching out from the sides of his head.
​
“My friends,” he said in a deep voice. “Our team… is complete at last.” Please welcome, our eight and final member, “We shall call her, failure-to-use-turn-signal.”
​ | As I lay on my bed, I reminisced of my frequent fears I had felt on a daily basis, often times using them to justify inaction. I never did the things that I truly wanted to do because I was always too afraid of what people might say.
I was twenty-five years old and had been dealing with depression for the last two years of my life. I lived at home with my parents who were reluctant to put me out on the streets, and my days were only growing grimmer. I had some sort of social disorder- I knew it to be true even though I had never been diagnosed. I saw the way people were in social settings and it was as if they had something I felt I could never achieve. The internet was suggesting I could have something called "Social Anxiety Disorder".
After digging deeper into medical explanations, I also came to the conclusion that I am most definitely a sociopath. I was a notorious people pleaser; all of my relationships centered around me playing to others' harmony in order to maintain emotional comfortability or gain material goods such as drugs or money. I could never keep a job for long and always preferred sweet isolation.
I felt a sense of security knowing exactly what it is that is wrong with me, and I continued with these new beliefs despite my disagreeing parents. As I felt myself drift off unto sleep, I was awoke with a sudden gasp and pain in my throat. I couldn't breath! I began inching over to the corner of my desk to attempt a self-Heimlich when my body instantly rejected, and I hit the floor.
I awoke on a red marble floor to the sounds of cheers and applause. I look up and see a group of people standing next to a smiling monster. "Finally! An eighth deadly sin!" the monster said. I rose to my feet and walked toward the seven people, assessing no physical threat from them.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"I lifted the curse, is what is going on!" the demon said. "Relax, you don't have anything to worry about now. You're dead though- that is... you are dead, that is a fact."
"Is this Hell?"
One of the seven men spoke up, "No, this is De-" until the demon interrupted:
"Don't you make that hacky Detroit joke, Darrell- I will burn you for eternity, do you understand?" the monster put an arm on my shoulder. "Look. I'm Satan, you're dead, this is Hell. We've been waiting for the first man to die from the eighth deadly sin for millenniums!"
As frightening as the realization and acceptance was for me, I felt completely at peace with no anxiety present. I had felt the best I probably had ever felt in my entire lifetime.
"So what's the eighth deadly sin?" I asked.
"The living all have the power to create before them any future they can imagine. With patience, persistence, effort and faith, any man can achieve anything. The human brain is wired to take self-beliefs and register them as facts. If one believes they are at peace, they shall be at peace. If one believes they are lonely, they shall remain.
The demons in Hell have been trying to lift the curse but the living are too caught up with their escapism. If humans use external vices to escape their negative self criticism, then they shall live on as a breathing yet miserable soul.
We lifted the curse, and now all those Label themselves critically shall see watch their depths of misery unfold, until it becomes their demise. The eighth deadly sin- appellation."
​ | 2019-01-12T21:06:01 | 2019-01-12T14:52:38 | 631 | 58 |
[WP] You jokingly write in the 'terms and conditions' of your software that by accepting them the person's soul is relinquishesd to you. The week after your software goes viral the Devil shows up at your door and he is pissed. | I sat down. I had to. The numbers going up on my screen were starting to make my head swim.
"450,000 downloads! 450.. Thousand!"
"Yeah man. I heard you the first six times. Its only 100 more than last night."
My roommate James was always a bit of a buzz kill. I think he was a little jealous. We had a race to see who could make an app fastest, and then who could get the most downloads. James was sat meekly on around 700. Mine however, had blown up over the last couple days.
"Ha! 450,000 souls. I wonder if ANYONE read the terms and conditions."
"Have you ever read them?"
"No.."
"You could have sold your soul multiple times by now."
"Dude. Your a buzz kill."
"And you're a moron."
I ignored the last comment and just stared at the screen for a few minutes. I was still astounded by the success I was having. I didn't even want to check my bank account yet. And almost with some twisted coincidence, as soon as my mind turned to money a window shattered. It was deafeningly loud. I turned to the closest window by James who was sat on the couch playing Xbox. The window was shattered but nothing had come through. James looked out and nobody was there. As i went to grab the phone i noticed the window in the kitchen was also smashed.
"Uhh James come check your room!" I shouted to him as I ran to check my own. It was broken. What the fuck was going on here. James' was also smashed through. Right.
"Dude, call the police. Someones seen your app is doing well."
That was the first time he's admitted that. I knew saying something would only piss him off so I discreetly had a chuckle and left it. I grabbed my mobile from the table and dialed 999. As i pressed the call button my phone froze. I started jabbing the call button furiously thinking my phone was just playing up. Suddenly it started vibrating. It got more and more violant until the phone got hot. Really hot. I dropped it and it burned a hole straight through the carpet.
"What the -"
Me and James locked eyes in pure disbelief. The front door flew open. The hallway outside our flat was empty. But it was darker than usual. Getting darker. We both stood and watched the entrance get darker until it was pitch black. Red and orange lights started flickering. Dancing in the shadows.. almost like fire. Drums started echoing down the hallway. A sense of dread washing through my veins. But i couldn't move. I couldn't even turn my head to look at James. I could see a shadow in the light of the flames.. emerging from the hall floor.
It came towards the door. A little old lady with a walking stick came around the corner. She had a red head scarf on and i couldn't make out her face. Her dress was old and tattered but still a pure dark red. The same as her scarf.
"F..f..fuck this."
James turned and bolted for his room. Before he made it two steps the old woman threw her stick like a spear and it impaled him to the wall. He instantly burst into flames and both were gone. No mark on the wall. No blood. No James.
"Jealous little bitch, that one."
She turned to me.
"That's how I've had to start collecting souls again. Since your game."
"M..my game?"
"Yes. The one on those stupid things you mortals spend so much time on."
"Uhh.. Umm."
"You've guessed who I am. You know why I'm here."
"B.. but you're an old lady."
"And you're a fucking idiot. Now here sign this and let me get the fuck out of here."
"Sign? If you're who you say you are why don't you just kill me and take them?"
"Because you can't just TAKE souls. Or that fucker would have all of mine."
The old lady looked up. I think I know who she's referring to.
"Why can't I give them to.. him?"
She scowled. She clicked her fingers and the stick reappeared in her hand with steam rising from it. I shuddered. Hard. She walked closer revealing her gentle, kind looking elderly face. She smiled a sweet smile that reminded me of Granny.
"Sweetling. He is not who you think he is. Do you not think he'd have come to you earlier? He knows I would be here as soon as I could. But he does nothing. 400,000 souls aren't nearly enough to worry him. Not to mention at least 350,000 of those were bound for me anyway."
"350 from 400 bound to you? There's not that many evil to good on this planet surely?"
"Exactly. I once enjoyed torturing evil souls. Then they started getting less and less tainted.. until I started getting good people who had only committed minor crimes and payed more than enough back in life."
"So what do you do with them?" I stammered.
Her eyes lit up. A smile emerged from her lips as she looked to the ceiling.
"I'm building an army."
Small edit: Grammar.
| Someone knocked on my door at one in the morning. I tiptoed out to the hall, peering out the peephole in case it was someone who needed help. Instead I saw a man in black.
Nope.
I went back to the couch and sat down, wincing as a loose spring scratched my leg. I froze as the sound of a key sliding into my front door echoed through the apartment. The next thing I knew the man sauntered into my living room, his hands in his pockets as he glared down at me.
I didn’t have a chance to react before he said, “Your sense of humor is going to get you into trouble one day.”
“W-what? Pardon?” Okay, I just had to humor the crazy old guy for a little. Maybe he was a previous tenant with Alzheimer’s or something.
“The souls! MY souls!” he snarled.
“Shh!” I hissed. “You’re going to -”
Someone shifted in the next room. The bed creaked but no one emerged from the closed doorway.
He snorted. “Worried your boyfriend will wake up?”
“No, my mom.” I squirmed on the couch. “She and my sisters are in my room.”
His nose wrinkled and he finally looked around, noticing the peeling wallpaper, stained carpet, and bulky television. “How quaint,” he said, his lips curling like he had just swallowed a lemon.
“It’s what I can afford,” I snapped back as quietly as I could.
“Your mother must be so proud of you.”
It was my turn to scowl. “They’re only here because Mom’s dirtbag boyfriend decided to fall asleep with a lit cigarette. Crappy apps were the only way I could make some extra cash.” I smiled extra sweetly at him, hoping my sad life story would convince him I wasn’t a threat.
He clapped. “Good for you! Then you can afford to give me my souls.” He held out my phone. I swore I had put it next to me on the couch. When had he picked it up?
“Right, sure, I’ll change my terms of service.”
The man stood in front of me, my old television quietly rerunning the local news behind him. I occasionally glanced up but I couldn’t see much beyond his silhouette. After the second longest five minutes of my life I held up my phone. “Okay, see? Terms changed for the newest update. No more souls for me. All the souls are yours.”
“All except the ones you already have.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll add, ‘All souls currently in my possession now belong to’ - what’s your name?”
He looked at my phone screen, his face illuminated by the pale light. My arm began to ache as I wondered if he looked more like a harmless old man or a seasoned hitman.
“How much is it?”
“The app? It’s free but there’s some pay-to-play levels. Most users buy those.”
“Most, out of six million users,” he muttered.
“Six? It was five million at midnight.”
The moments crawled by. I really hoped the man wouldn’t turn around and see my laptop open to my bank account. At least I had paid off my grad school loans earlier that evening.
The man sat down on the coffee table, uninterested in my laptop as he pulled a black pad of paper out from thin air. He wrote on it, the sound of the scratching pen filling my ears. Then he handed the pen and pad to me.
I took it and said, “What’s this?”
The man reached into his coat again, this time pulling out an airhorn. “The contract you’re going to sign. I want half.”
“Half of what? The money or the souls?” I said with a laugh.
“We can start with those. Sign.”
I skimmed the contract. It was short and straightforward, only a paragraph at the top of the page with two lines underneath it. A word in a foreign script filled the top line, and I assumed the second was for my own name. “This sounds great, but I think I should have a lawyer look at -”
He shook the air horn and tightened his grip.
I leaned forward and scribbled on the second line, placing the pen on the writing pad and handing it back to him. He examined it before tucking it back into his suit, along with the airhorn. I still couldn’t see where exactly they had gone.
“Okay,” I said. “Now what?”
The Devil smiled at me. The expression didn't reach his eyes. “Now we're in business.” | 2018-08-11T22:13:21 | 2018-08-11T19:54:48 | 77 | 50 |
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