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[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | My name is Dr. Asclepius. I am not here in the senate chambers to make any demands. I am simply an ambassador, here to speak on behalf of all humanity.
It has been a year and a half since humanity stood on the galactic stage.
But this year and a half is already filled with more bloodshed, more atrocities, and more unspeakable things than anyone in the galactic community has ever seen - save for us Humans.
Members of the Galactic Federation, you scoffed at us when we came to you, asking what the rules of war were. You assumed that we needed rules because we were weak, because we needed protection.
That is not the case, as you have unfortunately had to experience firsthand. If I could direct your attention to the screens?
This was Xyrillia, one of the largest centers of commerce in the entire galaxy, home to tens of trillions of lifeforms from a myriad of different planets.
This is it now - *completely and utterly uninhabitable.* All life, wiped from the very surface. Billions of families, all gone in an instant. The air is so toxic that spending ten seconds on the surface without protective equipment is fatal.
This is merely one example of what has occurred.
*This* is known as Operation Stardust Axis. The Mietra, pushed to the brink, when their many space colonies came crashing down onto the surfaces of their planets, turning their once great cities into desert wastelands. Very few survived.
I'm sure you remember the diseases that spread like wildfire, killing millions.
When we plunged entire systems into pitch darkness, blocking planets from receiving the light of their stars through an impenetrable nanomachine fog.
Even as I speak, nuclear fires from reactor bombs still rage on multiple inhabited planets, burning and spreading their poison.
Do you see now? These rules of war are not a shield. They are not cowardice.
They are shackles, chains, restraints upon a race that would have wiped themselves out many years ago if it did not have them.
When you declared war upon humanity, you removed the seal on a monster that no human wishes to see themselves become.
In the course of this war, many a human has done things that would make them shoot up in their beds screaming from the sins that they carry.
I myself am a physician, widely considered to be one of, if not the greatest of the medical minds of my race, rather fitting, considering my name. When one learns how to heal in any field, they also learn how to kill someone in the most horrific and awful ways possible.
I've studied each of the species here on an operating table. I could easily stitch together your wounds, cure you of your ailments, provide prostheses that function just as well and perhaps even better than the original - and just as easily remove your organs and bones one-by-one in alphabetical order while you are still alive. I could formulate a gene-altering disease that would render all living members of your race completely infertile. I could create machines that slowly liquefy you from the inside-out and convert you into biofuel.
When one becomes a physician, they are to take an oath to do no harm, for this very reason.
And yet, even I am not innocent. I have broken that oath many a time because of this war.
These hands of mine have done unforgivable things to the innocent, to mothers, to children.
So please, I implore you on behalf of all humanity - stop this war, before all of us are lost. The laws of war are in place to ensure that we are better than beasts. I would ask that we all adhere to them, if not for ourselves, then for our children.
>Human ambassador Dr. Asclepius's message to the Galactic senate, shortly before the surrender of the Federation, putting an end to the bloody 'Lawless War.' | There were horrors outside the door.
Horrors upon horrors upon horrors.
Nothing that no one else had not lived through before, learned before, seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched before.
Screaming blades in the dark and stark flashes of light in the void.
But none of that mattered, because it was outside the door. In a little functionary's room there was only discussion, even if it led nowhere. Full of pockmarks and blood and the acrid stench of fear, death, and pain.
"There's nothing to be done, so why are you here?" Asked the diplomat in the chair. A chair where many predecessors of theirs had died both quickly and not.
There was no protection for diplomats you see.
But still they sent a diplomat. For that was just the way of things it seemed, for those that begged for rules.
Foolish to send a sacrifice, even as worlds burned.
Tallies taken, debts driven, horrors heaped.
Perhaps it was one of their rules? No others continued to send messengers when war came. It was pointless. Purposeless.
"Because you are here, I am to repair the room, and it is my inclination to ask. Why is it that you come? Your people are at war with conquest block. Too come here is to die, it is not as if the other blocks here would care." Asked the mason with their trowel. They worked slowly, aged ligaments and pock riddled lungs taking toll.
"The last one said it was because it was their job. The one before because it was necessary. The one before that said it was a punishment." The scrape of mortar upon the walls.
"...Good answers. I am here to maintain a channel of communication between us and yours and them. That is a purpose of it." The diplomat replied, dulled voice and attention, disillusioned and uncaring? The mason coughed as another hole was filled.
"A purpose, one of many?" Another hole was filled. Pock riddled lungs did not take well to the dust of masonry.
"...it is done and I suppose it does no harm to tell you. There will be no victory for my people. Yours understands that very well." The diplomat comments, it leans upon the table and watches the mason work. The tiredness of it coming close.
"But perhaps not well enough. While we cannot achieve victory, we are very able to deny our enemy victory...it is strange to us that yours never understands that."
"It is a paradoxical statement, to not allow your enemy victory is to win victory yourself. Is it not?" The mason had to stop the work, the tiredness of it all creeping upon aging limbs.
"...no, it is because we resign ourselves to defeat, as long as you all are here with us...you should go home, the assassins will come soon..." The diplomat sighed as they lay their head upon the table. Resigned to death, as was all the others.
"...I do not understand, but thank you for your answer. I will leave when I am done." The mason felt hind limbs collapse, a coldness in everything, a heaviness in the lungs.
"...too late now...I am sorry. Truly." The diplomat sighed, there were horrors outside the door.
And none of it mattered. | 2022-01-23T19:51:14 | 2022-01-23T16:28:58 | 60 | 30 |
[WP] You feel the emotions of anyone you touch. You accidentally brush hands with the barista when they hand you your coffee. You're the most scared you've ever been in your entire life.
[deleted] | “Elena,” she called out, the name written on the side of the cup.
As far as abilities go, it’s among the most boring, surprisingly. Most people go about their day in a general flow and it’s extremely rare that I get sharp feedback. Occasionally there’ll be a striking anger or sadness or joy or guilt or envy, just by the law of averages, but how do *you* feel right now? So, yeah, I generally avoid touching others because it can be confusing if nothing else, but my mind was preoccupied with work. And I brushed her fingers with mine.
My vision went white, and I don’t even remember hitting the ground. A moment later, I was just sitting there on my butt, splattered with coffee when my cup had landed on the ground beside me and crashed open. I had to consciously breathe, as if my lungs had forgotten their job, and I wheezed in a lungful of air as I looked up to the barista in shock.
The young woman had quickly come around the counter and dropped to my side. “Hey. Hey, you okay?” she asked, eyes wide in concern.
“I-I just…” My mouth opened and shut, but that was all I could manage.
Never in my life had I felt anything even close to that. And as I stared into her eyes, I was baffled. She looked completely normal. Brown eyes, brown hair, light brown skin. Her name tag said Tessa. Had the same outfit on as everyone else and, to all appearances, was a totally average woman. But that feeling I’d experienced was incomprehensible.
It had felt like the sun lived in her chest, like she could fly with just a whisper of a word, like she held an unfathomable amount of life within her. And yet the *despair*. It was the kind that I couldn’t even begin to understand, some loss that was beyond me, beyond anyone else that walked around us at the moment, continuing to stare in worry and confusion.
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” she said, leaning in closer.
“No, don’t touch me,” I said, flinching back.
She narrowed her eyes. “Sorry?”
A heavy moment hung between us and despite the incredible awkwardness of it, I managed to quietly whisper, “What are you?”
The question seemed to strike her like a slap, and she flinched backwards. Her eyes glanced around at everyone else, suddenly seeming in a near-panic, swallowing hard. “Can I…talk to you outside?” she muttered, her voice barely audible. I nodded, just once, as I pushed myself to my feet, picking up my purse from where it had fallen. “Angie, I’m so sorry, can you grab this mess for me? The customer needs my attention for a minute.”
“Sure,” came the baffled reply.
Tessa was already moving, leaving me following quickly after her out the door to Starbucks. The sidewalk was thinning out as it reached ten a.m., so we were mostly alone. Turning to me, her expression was thick with fear and concern. “What did you mean by that?”
“I feel emotions,” I said quietly. “When I touch people. I touched you by accident and…” I shrugged. “That was… I’ve never felt anything…” Words escaped me.
“You’ve never touched an angel before, then,” she said.
The words seemed so simple and yet, strung together, they hit me like a sack of bricks. “What?” I breathed.
“Fallen,” Tessa said, as if that went anywhere near explaining anything. “But even I have to pay rent, now. Listen… Go home,” she told me. “Or to work, or wherever you were headed before this happened. Start wearing gloves if you want to avoid this kind of trouble. And trust me, you do.”
With that, she turned to go back in, and I snapped, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You throw something like that at me and expect me to just leave?”
“Yes,” she said, turning on me with a glare. “This isn’t your world.” She hesitated and then shook her head. “And trust me, you really don’t want it to be.” Turning to leave again, I was helpless to stop her.
Standing there, lacking the caffeine fix I so desperately needed even more now, my hand went to my forehead as if it could help steady my mind. This gift had been a part of me since it developed in my early teens. I’d always thought of it as nothing more than a nuisance, or at best, something that could help me empathize with a friend or family member. But this? This was world-shattering.
The proverb, “May you live in interesting times,” came to mind and I stared at the door to the Starbucks, wondering if I should go in and persist with my questions or if I should bolt in the other direction. If I should find another go-to place for my morning coffee if Tessa was working here now, to avoid running into her.
But something in me reached out for that light inside her, for everything I’d felt inside her, and I couldn’t help it. I walked back inside.
​
/r/storiesbykaren | “Cold.”
“Pardon? Are you alright? If the coffee is cold, I can get you another one, I just didn’t think it would cool so quickly.” The barista gave me a puzzled look as I stood there dumbfounded, a looming sensation of fear travelling down my trembling hand, loose bits of coffee spilling from the hole in the lid.
“N-no, the coffee is fine, its just cold today.” I stammered out a response as soon as I could manage, not wanting to make the emotionless void of a person suspicious.
“Cold today?” He glanced at the door, trying to judge the weather behind the glass. “I guess it might be a little chilly today. Is that all? I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s other people waiting, and their coffees will get cold if I don’t hurry.”
“Yes, sorry. I should get going. My name isn’t Brian, that was a fake name, its Liam, so um, April fools?” I chuckled to myself, backing away towards the door, tripping over it as I hurried myself out of the store.
I looked back, seeing the barista and customers watching me, each sharing that same puzzled expression, knowing only the customers expressions were genuine. The barista merely emoting to fit in with the crowd. No emotions laying dormant beneath his skin.
As much as I wanted to rush home, I found my legs were still shaking, unable to do more than drop me onto the side of the pavement, anxiously sipping my coffee, looking over my shoulder making sure the man didn’t follow me outside.
It wasn’t possible, even the evilest of people had emotions, for someone to be void of emotion that was unheard of, unhuman. The caffeine did its job, stabilizing me enough that I could gather my thoughts.
No emotions? What did that make him then? Was he an alien? A robot? I know people often joked about retail workers being empty husks during their shifts, but that was a joke, not the reality presented before me. The more I thought about it, the more my anxiety grew, my foot tapping against the concrete below, trying to stomp out the nerves.
“You alright? You kind of freaked out back there.” I shot up onto my feet, turning to face the man, still wearing his blue and white apron, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, leaning against the wall of the store, lighting it.
“AGH, y-you scared me, stay back.” I stumbled, tripping on the curb, falling flat onto my back. I tried to scramble onto my feet, only for him to stand over me, his cigarette resting between his lips as he offered me his hand.
“Jeez, that answers that. You should see a doctor or something, you don’t look too well.”
“I’m perfectly fine, it’s you that needs to see a doctor, you emotionless monster.”
“Emotionless monster? Help yourself off the ground then, I don’t get paid enough to deal with this crap outside of the workplace. You think I deserve to get abused for just doing my job?” He didn’t even bother to finish his smoke break, turning to head inside.
“No wait, that was rude of me, your right.” I dug my hands against the ground, pulling myself to my feet. “You’re not emotionless. It must have been a misunderstanding. Maybe I messed up. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I have a gift for reading people’s emotions and I just read nothing from you.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you. That sounds like something you would hear sprouted from the mouth of a naked, crazy person. Look, just think about what you say next time.”
“I will, I promise. I’ll get going, I have probably driven enough people away from your business with my antics.” Turning to leave, his voice stopped me.
“Before you go Brian, just know that no one will ever believe you.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“No one will believe that I’m an emotionless monster. You tell anyone about this, and they will mock you. You’re right, I am an emotionless monster and I’m not the only one. There're hundreds of us just waiting to take over this planet, so enjoy the next few years before we do.”
The barista flashed a grin, his eyes glistening with a purple hue before shifting back as he headed inside, leaving me speechless. I had discovered the existence of monsters, and there was nothing I could do to stop them from taking over.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-04-02T20:59:17 | 2021-04-02T20:22:15 | 339 | 122 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe? | Nobody is ever dethroning “My Immortal”
> Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them. | A chilled wind rolled in from the north. Night began to fall on the small town. An army of darkness marched towards the village blood lust on their mind. One lone warrior stood to defend the weak and helpless. They drew their glowing red sword, and with a single strike fell the evil forces.
"Who are you?" Asked a dying evil doer.
"Amanda Nightingale!" She said revealing her perfect flowing blonde hair, and radiant heterochromatic eyes. One an emerald green, the other a brilliant sapphire blue. Her face was rather plain to say the least.
"Amanda!" Two men called out, her friends Alex Evermore, a tall dark haired rugged rouge, and Andrew Darkstar the queens guard Sweden to protect her.
As Amanda came too the dream was quickly fading.
(First writing prompt how'd ai do?) | 2022-08-19T20:01:22 | 2022-08-19T19:57:54 | 55 | 20 |
[WP] You start to suspect that the dumb brute of your adventuring party is far more intelligent and cunning than anyone thought. | I studied the man-mountain before me. Seven or eight feet tall; scantily clad; rippling muscles; and long, flowing hair. In *Alhamazad's Illustrated Dictionary (Common)*, under the entry "Barbarian", there would be a picture of this guy. Not that I expected him to be familiar with the book; in barbarian culture - using the loosest definition of the term - it is considered advanced reading and known only to the highest of barbarian academics (again, in the loosest definition of the word).
"Korg," he explained, referring to himself in the third person yet again, "am wizard."
As ridiculous as the statement was, I managed not to laugh out loud. Barbarians may not be considered as possessing the most intelligent of cultures, but it is widely known that to openly insult one is the surest route to needing a *Cure Critical Wounds* - which isn't cheap; Clerics that have a spare 4th level spell slot aren't exactly common.
I drained my mug. One of the benefits of seeking party members in an inn - as cliché as it may be - is that there's always a good supply of ale on hand.
"Korg," I managed to say, "I was under the impression that... uh... your people? Were not known for their affinity for the casting arts."
Korg stared at me blankly. I sighed, and sought for a way to simplify my sentence.
"Korg, barbarians not wizards!"
The words must have reached him, because his muscular brow furrowed as he struggled to put his next sentence together. I could almost see the gears turning.
"Korg understand," he finally said. "Korg diss... desk... Korg *find* lost barbarian magic; Korg FIRST wizard!" He laughed heartily, and emptied his ale mug in a single swallow. "First wizard since old days. We adventure! Make Korg LEGEND!"
I smiled despite myself. The poor misguided dolt was just so... *likeable.*
And that was when the assassin struck.
The first I knew of the danger was when the blade appeared at my throat. A voice hissed in my ear: "The Fire King sends his regards, brother." The gloved hand holding the dagger bore the deep red emblem of the Fire King's personal assassins.
I closed my eyes, and waited for Death's grim embrace.
Instead, I heard Korg shout: "MAGIC MISSILE!"
There was a thud, the crunching sound of breaking bones, and the sickeningly sweet smell of fresh blood.
I opened my eyes and looked around. It seemed that Death had come - but not for me. A body lay on the floor beside me; an enormous axe protruding from it's forehead.
Korg knelt beside the body, and with one hand easily pulled the axe free. I doubt I could have moved it with both hands and a mule.
Korg looked up at me and smiled. "Spell focus; not cheap." He tucked the axe behind his back; returning it from whence it came, I assume.
I tried to say something, but the shock of my narrowly-averted assassination repeatedly tripped my tongue.
"That's... That's not how M-M-M-Magic Missile works!" I eventually stammered out. "It doesn't even *HAVE* a focus component!"
Korg looked at me as if *I* was the stupid one.
"Korg tell you already," he said.
"Lost."
"Barbarian."
*"Magic."*
And then... Well, maybe I imagined it. But I could have sworn, just then...
He *winked* at me. | I sat motionless in the darkness of the forest. Whoever betrayed us back in Carisdale had taken the bait.
I was sure it was Brawn, our hulk of a barbarian, always hidden behind a veil of ignorance. Greg and Rho chalked it up as dumb luck but I had started to notice the little things, the slight tensing of muscles before something unexpected, the stumbling into hidden switches, accidentally setting off traps before they hurt anyone. He never talked much or cared what quests we chose, always happily going along with the party. Now I know it was for the inevitable betrayal he had been planning all along.
Squinting in the darkness I could see the cloaked figure obviously following the directions of my note on where I had hidden the stone. I hadn't of course, I had chanced upon it in a hidey hole back at the inn and re-hidden it . Brawn had obviously planned to receive the entire reward himself.
I readied myself to step out to confront him when suddenly I was held in place, a hand gripping my mouth to quieten me. I struggled but could barely move against the bulk of muscle grappling my body. I had been so focused on the hidden figure that I failed to notice someone sneaking up behind me. I was turned around and in the darkness I could make out Brawn's face, staring out past me into the shadows. Only then did I notice several other figures taking position around us. I thought I had set a trap but I had walked straight into their hands. Had I stepped out I would most likely be dead before I spoke.
Brawn had unknowingly saved me but we weren't out of trouble yet. I shook my head slightly trying to signal the danger we were in but he seemed not to see me. He eased his hold on me and gripped his axe. I turned again to take account of my surroundings desperately trying to come up with a plan, and in that instant Brawn was off.
I was an thief, the night was my time, the darkness my home, and even I couldn't keep up with him weaving through the trees as if it were daylight. I could hear the chanting of the mysterious cloaked figure casting a spell but not before I heard several bodies hit the ground. Suddenly I was blinded by an intense light. I stood up in panic, ready to run but when my eyes had adjusted it was already over. There was Brawn, his axe covered in blood, holding the now unhooded Rho off the ground by his neck. It had been him all along. Knowing the truth brought back a flood of memories, the little lies, the sudden disappearances, all the little things that didn't seem odd at the time. The sound of bone cracking snapped me back to my senses.
Brawn reached into Rho's cloak and pulled out my note. As the light from the spell faded he dropped the note at my feet and casually wandered back towards camp. I stood in the darkness taking account of what had just transpired for a long while. I had it totally wrong, I had been stupid and almost gotten myself killed. No, I was right about one thing, Brawn was not who I thought he was.
-----
Edit: I suck at reddit/formatting/blahblah | 2017-03-31T02:13:11 | 2017-03-31T02:04:44 | 163 | 20 |
[WP] As a sarcastic joke for your hippie friend. You give a mother's day gift to Mother Nature in the woods. You suddenly hear a very loud excited voice. "Oh thank you! I'm happy someone finally appreciate me for the 1st time in thousands of years!" | God, Jaxon was getting on my nerves. Ever since he found that online community of environmentalists, he talked non-stop about how humans are destroying the planet, venting his frustrations about how the powers that be aren't doing anything to stop it, listing all the animals that are becoming endangered, and berating me for eating meat because eating animals is "evil". The same rant every day, 24/7/365, made in a tone that made it obvious he believed he was morally and intellectually superior.
What bothered me wasn't that I disagreed with anything he was saying - except maybe the eating meat part. What really made my blood boil was that he did absolutely nothing to try to help the environment. My hypocrite roommate still left the lights on in the apartment, took obscenely long showers, and did nothing to try to curb his food waste. He didn't even donate to any organizations fighting the effects of climate change. He mostly just sat at his computer all day posting on Twitter about how angry climate change deniers made him, and slipping some comments along the lines of "Fuck <insert opponent of whatever green movement here>!" into our conversations at any opportunity.
As I lay in my room on a quiet Sunday afternoon, my mind wandered to the memory of yet another one of Jaxon's rants from earlier in the day, and I got angry all over again. Then an idea struck. I drove to Lowe's and picked up some Miracle Gro plant food from the garden section. Then I headed for a nearby park. This was gonna be hilarious.
I got to the park, parked, and walked a little ways off the trail, Miracle Gro in hand. I opened the container, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I opened up Snapchat and started recording a video of myself dumping the plant food onto the ground. As I was doing it, I remembered that today was Mother's Day, so I said aloud, "Here! A Mother's Day gift for Mother Nature!"
After I finished recording, I decided to add a caption saying "I have officially done more for the environment than Jaxon ever has lol." Then I posted it to my story. In hindsight, it was kind of a dick move to call him out in front of everyone like that, but he really got under my skin and I knew I wasn't alone in that. I was about to leave when suddenly I heard a voice - a female voice that sounded like it was distant and nearby all at the same time.
"*Thank you child. There are many who do so much for me every day, but this is the first time in recent memory that one of your kind appreciated me as a mother. So thank you,*" it spoke, kindly.
I froze. I looked around the woods, now slightly dim as the sun was going down. After a few moments, I worked up the nerve to speak.
"Hello?" I hazarded.
No response. A moment later I spoke again.
"Someone out there?"
Silence. I started walking around the woods trying to locate whoever said that, and ended up walking around until the sun had completely gone down, careful to keep track of what direction the trail was in. When it got fully dark out, I gave up and head back to my car, still feeling a bit uneasy.
On the drive back to my apartment, I felt compelled to reflect on my relationship with the environment, with the planet, and what I could do to help it. Jaxon's hypocrisy was exhausting to me, but in truth, I was no green thumb either. I decided that perhaps it was time to change that.
I started thinking to myself aloud in the car, "I could start walking to the supermarket, at least in good weather. I should power off my electronic devices rather than leave them in an energy consuming state. Maybe I should also start donating to Wildlife Conservation Society. The garbage by the highway needs to be cleaned up, and - oh! I can volunteer to plant some trees..."
\----------------
I woke up to the sound of my alarm this morning, and drove to the park. I've been a park ranger there for nine years now, and I've never enjoyed work more. Every day I walk among nature, maintaining trails, preserving the surrounding nature, and educating kids on what they can do to live more sustainably. When I'm off the clock, I dedicate as much of my time as possible to volunteer efforts focusing on planting trees, picking up litter, and efforts to push our leaders towards creating more wildlife reservations. I focus on doing whatever I can to balance my relationship with nature, and I encourage others to do so. There's a lot that still needs to be done, but maybe someday, all of us will be able to hear the voice of Mother Nature thanking us for our efforts... | "Oh thank you! I'm happy someone finally appreciate me for the 1st time in thousands of years!" the voice echoed all around me, thick with sarcasm.
I gasped and stumbled back, as one would as a reaction to a feminine disembodied voice suddenly saying something.
"Wh—what?" I stammered, looking around my immediate vicinity in the woods. Just tall dark trees and dead leaves lining the ground.
"Something else *plasticy* that'll take eons for me to break down. At least last year I had people from all over dedicate seeds and shit. Stuff that, small and insignificant as they may be, had some use. What good is plastic flowers for *me*? Why would you think gifting a plastic lavender to *mother fucking nature* was a good idea? Me, who gives life to flowers at my whimsy. What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I, uh..."
"Not at all, from the looks of it. Look at you. A sad pathetic man who wants to feel good about himself. You can't even commit to your hippie bullshit, can you? Yeah, I know you. You're so pathetic and scared and alone you fall to the only community that'll take you in. And then once you have some semblance of belonging, you gain this false sense of security and confidence that you have *authority* and *status* in this community. Newsflash, asshole. I am the birds at your window. I am the ground beneath your feet. I am the fucking weed you smoke. So I know what I heard. 'Fuck hippies, man. I just want to hit some kush and get some high without being compared to those soft, nature fucking fucks.' Remember how you said that? Remember what your real thoughts were on hippies? So just imagine my wonder at your sheer audacity to gatekeep a community you've disregarded most of your life. And not only that, but think to yourself, 'HeY, YoU kNoW wHaT'lL ReALlY mAkE mE fEeL gOoD aBoUt MySeLf? OfFeRiNg MoThEr NaTuRe A fUcKiNg PlAsTiC lAvEnDaR.' Do you see how stupid and out of touch you are? It's of grave importance to me that you do."
I opened my mouth and closed it repeatedly, but no words came out. I was speechless. Who the fuck did she think she was? She didn't know me.
Instead of replying, I turned around and started walking back to the trailer park.
"You didn't answer my question, jackass? I mean, I didn't expect you to. You have no balls to stand up for yourself, do you? There's no one around to witness you being confronted so what's the point in making your excuses, right?"
I continued walking.
"Walk yourself off the planet. I know you really considered being a flatearther, too. But realised the women there were too crazy and weren't worth the hit to your reputation."
Fucking bitch.
"And what a reputation it was! How was calling the seventy-eighth old woman trying to sell your 'miracle cream' pan out? You can make yourself sleep easy at night telling yourself you were at a dark place and telemarketing was an honest gig, but we both know you were *proud* of the snakeoil sales you made. More proud than an honest man should have been."
She didn't know what she was talking about. Who the fuck did she think she was?
"God, it's so nice to just lay it on a motherfucker. Hey, when they put you six feet under, don't worry. I'll make sure your decomposition is slow and difficult. I'll make sure you'll still be around until *after* this pathetic plastic flower you gave me finally wilts. How's that sound?"
The voice was farther and farther away now as the trees thinned. I was out. I took a few moments to breathe and relax myself, and then collapsed into the ground, openly sobbing at the reality and truth of what was said. | 2021-05-09T15:26:26 | 2021-05-09T15:13:13 | 101 | 31 |
[WP] In a world without race, religion, or nations, it seemed like society had finally achieved peace. That is, until, people began swearing their allegiance to fictional anime girls. The world is in chaos, the Waifu Wars have begun.
[deleted] | Listen, young weeb, and I’ll tell you a tale.
Many moons back, these old body pillows were soft and fresh, these jars were empty, and only bread was crusty. This place we live now had a name. Most called it Kentucky, until it was absorbed into Mega-Carolina. Both those names haven’t been uttered in years, but I remember.
We thought we had conquered it all. There we go, we said. Nothing to fight over anymore. Everything is equal, everyone is happy. Absolutely nothing could go wrong. But we had forgotten them. The first ones, the Elders now, the Otaku. Turns out they had been hiding in their room the whole time and nobody really told them what we did. We had no time to stop them.
I was fortunate to be here. Since the beginning, this has been JoJo territory. In my youth, it traded hands between the Jolyne Coalition and the Speedwagon Foundation, but that all stopped since the Foundation took over the entire United States.
Not all were so lucky. I lost family in the fights between the heretics overseas. Yes, those battles have been going since long before you were born. The bloodiest of all was Japan. There, the Miku kingdom quickly rose to power before they realized she was seventeen, and committed a mass suicide. That power vacuum lead to the deadliest conflict this world has ever seen. Rei, Asuka, Other Asuka, even a guerilla Pico terrorist group... the fighting was so furious that they burned themselves out, leaving only.... the vtubers. They’re ruthless. Savages. I just threw up in my mouth a little. That’s unrelated, but the stuff they did was still so messed up. When you’re out on the front lines, if you ever see the terrible image of that dog woman, you’d better pray to Rob that it didn’t see you.
This is the world you were born into. This is the world we created. No matter what, promise me this, child. Promise me that you will never give up the fight. Promise me you will think with the mind, not the head. Promise me that no matter the odds, no matter the thighs, no matter the cup, you will never give in to that B-tier at best trash.
May Speedwagon guide you on your quest, child. | In the 21st century, human civilization ceased to exist. A mysterious green flash enveloped the entire earth, turning every living human into a stone statue. Thousands of years passed. The old cities of mankind crumbled and fell into ruins while forests and wild animals reclaimed the land. Yet, humanity had not yet breathed its last breath. For in a strange cave in a far off land, a mysterious liquid was dripping onto a stone statue, slowly bringing it back to life. For the first time in millennia, a human being was about to walk the earth once more.
This first reborn human, the Savior of Mankind, was a child prodigy and with his stunning grasp of scientific genius, he was able to bring back other statues to life and restart human society. For a while, it seemed that he had created a utopia. There were no more racial, ethnic or religious conflicts in the new world that he had created. But then, the Savior made one tragic mistake. Just before he died from a bad batch of moonshine, he reintroduced the concept of anime waifus to his followers and everything descended into hell.
Without the wisdom of their grand leader to guide them, three different factions formed: the Chloe faction, the Sachi faction and the Yui faction. Each faction was determined to dominate the other two factions and crown their mascot as Best Girl. As the war raged on, their technology only became more and more destructive, changing from only using steel swords to utilizing tanks and machine guns. Soon, people realized that it was only a matter of time before one faction discovered how to create a nuclear bomb and annihilated the other two factions. And so, a group of normies that had never understood the appeal of anime set off across the Pacific Ocean, searching for a land uncorrupted by the chaos of waifu wars while their homeland burned behind them. | 2020-06-19T21:48:31 | 2020-06-19T17:57:01 | 119 | 33 |
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
| 2014-06-30T09:07:59 | 2014-06-30T06:00:38 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Someone in the world can effectively stop time, freezing all living things for as long as they want, but the natural world keeps on moving. Most phones have an app that notifies the user how long time was stopped, usually just a few minutes/hours. You just got a notification that says 58 years. | The first moment the time thief took from us almost passed unnoticed. It was a small slice of late afternoon, red and pink hues spreading across the sky, as the sun began to set.
Just a pinch, gone forever.
But someone noticed.
It was summer when the rest of the world finally realised. Those odd slips of seasonal weather, the moons cycle out of sync, these paled in comparison to the loss of summer. I remember exactly where I was - nine years old, in the back garden in shorts and a dirty t shirt, running into a sprinkler. One moment I was warm and the next deathly cold as snow snapped into existence around me and the sprinklers frozen arcs shattered as I careened into them.
We got used to it I guess. Sometimes it was just a few days stolen and sometimes it was weeks. Occasionally you’d snap back in the middle of a rainstorm or get home to find a tree collapsed on your house. Governments seemed at a loss and tinned food became very popular. Have you ever been in a supermarket where the products have been rotting for weeks? I have - that was an unfortunate one, mum had to burn our clothes.
Now we just survive. Trying to make sure crops survive possible weeks without being tended, trying to conduct repairs before ‘surprise’ winters, trying to guess how long it would be next. I’m in my twenties now and this has been my life for ten years. We have an app, counting the minutes, hours, weeks and months stolen by the time thief.
I dreaded that message. We all did.
Just yesterday I received the last one I presume I’ll ever get.
“We have been gone 56 years”
It took a lot of courage to look at that message because around me was devastation. Doors were warped, the house thick with dust and mould. The ceiling was dripping and a long creeper wound its way across the light fixture.
The TV was broken on the floor, large holes torn in the wall from its descent to oblivion.
There’s no water. I have no heat. I have maybe three months of food supplies and a creaking, leaking house.
Wish me luck | “Call came in a minute ago. Five decades, plus change. Bastards going to ruin it for all of us if they keeps at it”
they motioned to a suitcase on the floor, lying before the two of them like slaughter, inanimate but with the heat of death at the edge of perception.
*ding*
another 5 minutes
“Christ, why can’t they learn, every time! EVERY DAMN TIME”
The first one angrily rose from his chair, propelling it backwards, and itself forward towards the case.
*click*
“What’s the damn code for the other one”
“It’s 420 man, how do you not know?”
“Now ain’t the time for funny shit”
*click*
The latches now freed from their greedy locks, the second one looked down at it, dark it was, *evil* more like it. the world hated this case. The world despised this case. But as a rock in the river, the world was forced to eddy about it, angrily. Snarling.
and at once, the lid opened. The darkness shone. matter and form ceased, and the first and second became one. the echoes out of the case thrumming not on wall and plaster, but off bone, and flesh, and time.
Far away from there. From the place where the two met, a gentle sigh was heard. A sigh through the fabric of it all, ever so silent as to make the loudest sound unheard.
a phone drops to the ground at a bus stop, the people waiting there, committing the person who once held it to a distant memory, a dream forgotten upon waking. An echo from a place unknown.
1 notification
*error: time value negative. Please contact support* | 2021-02-18T16:22:27 | 2021-02-18T12:35:08 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You're a Necro-Therapist, you resurrect the recently tragically deceased to give them and their families a chance to say goodbye and gain closure. Everyone believes it's just you doing a very convincing impression as a therapy technique, until someone asked a very specific question. | It was late at night on a Saturday in December. I was debating if I should close my clinic doors and head home or just extend my hours until 7 in the morning. It had been an especially slow night and I desperately needed money to fund my living expenses as a medical school student. I walked to the window and looked outside at the falling sheets of snow. No, there wouldn’t be any more customers tonight considering the rate at which the snow was falling and rapidly covering any exposed surfaces. I decided to head home and at least get a good night’s rest. As I closed all the blinds and started walking toward the desk to get my bag, I was interrupted by a knock. I turned and found myself looking at a young lady in her early twenties, wearing a face of what could only be described as pure grief. That could only mean one thing – sleep would have to wait. I took a deep breath and asked her to take a seat.
\*\*\*
Being a Necro-Therapist had its peaks and valleys. One of the peaks was that it paid well, incredibly well, actually. I charged $100 for each hour long session and felt no guilt about this because it took an immense amount of emotional and physical effort on my part to be able to give a client what they needed from me – temporary contact with a loved one that had passed no more than 30 days ago, to facilitate a proper farewell. The methods of my working are something of a secret, but I might just let you in on a few if you ask nicely enough. The problem was, no one really believed that I really brought back the dead – no one except my clients. They knew what I was doing was real, not some sorcery bullshit like others liked to point out. Others who hadn’t gone through what they had. Others who didn’t know what it was like to lose a loved one so suddenly. Others who would never help them grieve better. That’s what I told them whenever they voiced these doubts, and they believed me even though some were a bit wary in the beginning. They all warmed up to me nonetheless. I liked it that way, it made things a lot easier when I didn’t have to help sceptical people. Scepticism put a barrier in my connection with my client, quite literally. The harder it was to establish a connection, the poorer were the results.
\*\*\*
I noticed that Ismeria wouldn’t look into my eyes, she kept her eyes focused on the desk in front of her and only answered any questions that I asked. I would need to ease more information out of her and make her trust me before I could continue.
She had heard one of her friends talking about my clinic and the services that I offered, and had made it here seemingly almost in a trance of grief. The poor girl, her boyfriend had died in a freak car accident just the night before and she had stayed with him in the hospital for a full 24 hours before his family had come to take his corpse – the funeral was supposed to be tomorrow.
This was a relatively common situation that I dealt with, losing partners out of nowhere due to road accidents. Even though my heart went out to her, I needed more information about the relationship that they had in order for me to invoke the deceased spirit and present it using a human vessel. I started my line of questioning to obtain more information.
“Ismeriah, I need more information before I can help you say goodbye to your boyfriend. What were the most beautiful and important elements of the relationship that you both shared? What were some of the things that he said that you would always remember? What could I say to his spirit that would make him believe that it was truly you that wanted to contact him?”
Ismeriah made eye contact with me for the first time since she had come. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, the eyebags especially blue.
“We were soulmates. We were a powerful together, we belonged together. Now, he isn’t here anymore. I feel as inconsequential as a piece of dust.”
I nodded and waited.
“We were born to KILL TOGETHER!”, she screamed. Then, she screamed some more “AAAAAAARGH UUUUGH WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALONE IN THIS DESPISEFUL PLANET COVERED WITH ASSHOLES, WHYYYYY?”, and she started crying.
I tried to not let my shock and horror show on my face. The poor girl had lost her partner and been sleep-deprived for a whole day. A few psychopathological words were only warranted. But, I still couldn’t get past the “KILL TOGETHER” part. I put the thought away for now. I needed to get done with this case as soon as possible, for potentially my well-being as well as hers.
She appeared to be done crying for now and looked at me again.
“He said we would kill everyone on this planet together. That was the most memorable thing that he said to me. Oh, and I killed my sister for him. Only the two of us know this, you can use this to convince him that it is me who wants to speak to him.”
By this time, I was doing all I could to just stop hearing anything that she said, but that was impossible to do when I saw her maniacal eyes looking at me, almost preying on my soul. I took a deep breath, the adrenaline was beginning to hit.
“Uhm okay! Interesting! I’ll get in contact with his spirit immediately!”, I said, in suspiciously chipper manner trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. Unpredictable clients was one of the lows of this cursed job.
As I closed my eyes to mentally and physically prepare myself to contact the spirit and host him in my body, I heard demonic laughter to my right. I whipped my head to the right to see that the spirit had summoned itself – not only had it summoned itself, it was glaring at me and laughing almost as if I was somehow going to be preyed on. I whipped my head back to look at Ismeriah, who had an almost religious expression on her face, with her mouth hanging slightly open. I was in trouble. Not only were spirits not supposed to be able to summon themselves, let alone those that were barely a day old. Something was not right.
Ismeriah opened her mouth and a demonic screech exited out of it. In the same awful voice, she said, “I have a question for you Adam, who were we supposed to kill next? I need to know so that I can carry on our legacy!”.
I was convinced this was an awful nightmare and struggled to pinch myself awake. As I was doing this, the so called Adam looked at me in the same way a serial killer would look at his/her next victim, with a piercing stare originating from an emotionless, almost imperceptibly happy face. I froze, my legs stuck to the ground. No, I was frozen. By him. By Adam.
“Her; she brought everyone we killed back. She gave them a chance to expose us, and they did. Every single one of them. I did not die in an innocent accident, your sister's wife did it, and this creature facilitated it”, he said.
I was struggling to comprehend when I felt a spirit pierce my soul, conquering it. It mustn't be this easy, I remember thinking. All the people he killed must be strengthening him, I remember thinking as I felt my body change from my form to his. I felt his brain replace mine. I felt myself being displaced into the spirit realm. I had been killed. | 'I don't like the sound of this ...' the voice of the teenage daughter said. 'You're telling me that we can find out why? How?'
&#x200B;
I sat there, fiddling with the small crucifix with my fingers. A nervous habit I'd picked up in my primary school where the nuns would whack my knuckles for lying when I told them what I saw and heard. I didn't make eye contact at first, the vivid scars on my knuckles drawing my attention where Sister Mary Katherine had broken skin with a punishment for my blasphemy.
&#x200B;
'I don't know that I can properly explain it, Emily.' I silently cursed myself for using her name, the name she hadn't given me but I knew because the voice was in my head now. They follow us around for a while, trying to explain ... wanting closure but there aren't any mediums for their communication unless they find someone like me. The young girl's eyes locked open and her father scowled menacingly at me.
&#x200B;
'Don't play your little games with us,' he growled and the pulse of his anger hit me and washed over me like a wave trying to knock me down. 'Mentalist do this kind of thing. I was told you were for real. The detective sent us here from the case, recommended you to us...' He broke off as his daughter quietly sobbed next to him.
&#x200B;
Tell her, you idiot.
&#x200B;
The voice was strong now, pain and bitterness rising. It was agitated and with her flow of tears, almost too much to control. I focused and brought my eyes up to meet the father, watching him now and he could see how my demeanor had changed.
&#x200B;
'Yes, sir. I am for real and this is not a trick.' I didn't like my tone but I had no more control over it than I did the emotions it splayed across my face. 'You have said enough. Now it is my turn.' My body now turned to her.
&#x200B;
'Now you wait just a minute ...' my hand went up and the power that spewed forth, while unseen, had the desired effect of silencing him. He fought to speak, to push words out of his mouth but the unseen gag kept him silenced.
&#x200B;
'Hello Emily,' my voice was different now that it was using it. Softer and higher with a hint of brogue that I did not have. I receded into the background while they spoke, no longer willing to be a part of the conversation. It wasn't until it got heated, both shouting now that I returned to my consciousness enough to gather what they were saying to each other.
&#x200B;
'Stop it!' the young girl screamed at me. 'That's enough! You don't know that.'
&#x200B;
'But Em, I do because it's me! Please, you have to believe me.' I could feel the tension, the confusion and rage pouring into the room and fought for control of my body back. It contorted as I struggled with it and the daughter screamed in fear. 'No! Not yet, I'm not done!' We fell to the floor, the collision jarring my teeth as we began to roll on the ground as though we were physically wrestling. I exerted my will, dominating the spirit and subduing it within me.
&#x200B;
You're done.
&#x200B;
I was calm but in control. It may have been strong in life but in death, its power was nothing more than influence and could be subdued. I lay quietly on the ground for a moment, gathering myself before I sat up and looked at the daughter.
&#x200B;
'Are you okay, miss?' she sat down hard on my sofa and now that it was gone, the dad had his voice back.
&#x200B;
'What the hell do you mean by it!' he shouted as if all the air in the room had been sucked out. 'What kind of voodoo horse shit is this, huh?' I sighed and fought to my chair, sitting heavily. My body was exhausted after fighting with it but my brain was working over time.
&#x200B;
'You will have to understand, sir, what you asked for is what you got. That was your loved one or what is left of them.'
&#x200B;
Hey! Fuck you!
&#x200B;
I winced at the shout. 'I only came back when they started shouting at each other.' There was a pulse against me as it tried to regain its hold. My will is stronger but only just. 'Whoever it is, they are unhappy at being interrupted. I'm sorry if it upset you, miss, but what you experienced was them.'
&#x200B;
'It was you, you lying bastard.' The venom on her tongue was merely pain and I sighed, slumping heavily into the chair. 'Like Dad said, you're a Mentalist not a Medium.'
&#x200B;
'Whatever you need to feel closure, miss.' It raged inside me as I slumped, begging for one more chance. 'You must understand that Necro-Therapy isn't just for you, it is for them. An unhappy spirit will spend the afterlife with their last words on their tongue, unable to speak them.'
&#x200B;
'No, what I know is that you googled some nonsense about them and then played off it like I'm an idiot.' She walked over at put her hands on the arms of my chair, leaning over me menacingly. 'You can't prove it was them.'
&#x200B;
Yes, you can! You must whisper this to her, where her dad can't hear.
&#x200B;
The conversation was quiet with me repeating verbatim what was being told to me. Her face paled and her arms shook. 'Oh my God.'
&#x200B;
'They meant every word, every time.' I said with a sad little smile. I heard a small cough from the man on the sofa and covered Emily's hand with mine.
&#x200B;
'For your safety, miss, I must insist that you get behind me now. What follows ... isn't going to be pretty at all.' I stood, forcing her back a little and turned quickly to face what was left of the man on the sofa, pushing her protectively behind me and thrusting my crucifix up between us. The demon lunged ... but I was ready. | 2019-06-18T09:13:47 | 2019-06-18T08:27:30 | 104 | 73 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | The room fell silent. The GM shifted for a better look, the players all staring at the centre of the table, where a d20 had come to rest over a crudely drawn map of a desert village. Above it, an outstretched hand quivered slightly.
1.
"Shit..." said Mark.
John took in a heavy breath, and began to leaf through the rulebook in front of him, searching for the section on character deaths. Luke glanced over to Matt, whose hand was still outstretched, and whose eyes were still locked onto his d20. Tapping the table uncertainly, Luke turned to the GM.
"Well you've got to give him a saving throw or something," he said.
"That *was* the saving throw," replied John, running his finger down the page.
"Yeah, but... at least one more," said Luke, "Surely?"
"You all knew the rules for disease. You chose to complete the dungeon instead of heading straight back for aid. You got the experience, you got the treasure, but that comes at a price. And this time... well..."
John trailed off for a moment and pretended to keep reading.
"Sorry Matt," he mumbled.
Matt didn't reply. He didn't look over. He just slowly brought his hand back to his side, a blank, shocked expression on his face.
"I just don't think it's fair," said Luke.
"I mean... it *is* in the rules," said Mark, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding looking at Matt, "Don't get me wrong, it sucks, but it's part of the game, y'know?"
The three fell silent again, until Matt slowly got to his feet.
"I'm going to... go get some water..." he breathed.
"Okay mate," said Mark, "Sure thing."
"Do you want me to -" started Luke, but Matt was already half-way to the door. Luke waited until he had left, and then rounded on John.
"You can't do this to him, John, come on!" he said, as urgently and quietly as he could, so Matt wouldn't overhear, "He loves Laz, it's probably his favourite character from any adventure we've ever done!"
John squirmed.
"I'm sorry, I can't just flub rules whenever you want me to," he mumbled, "If I did, why even bother rolling the dice?"
"Look, I'm not asking for you to let us win everything," said Luke, pressing in and resting a hand on the rulebook, "Did we complain when I rolled one short of a successful sneak and alerted the whole Goth camp? Or when Mark raged and then missed his attacks on every single legionary?"
John shook his head.
"And to a *disease*?" Mark added, "Come on, man, that's a shit way for a character to go. Throw him a bone here."
"Did you see his expression?" said Luke, "I think if you go through with this he might never play again."
"Okay, okay!" John threw up his hands, "Fine, I take your point. I'll... I'll come up with something."
It was four minutes later when Matt slouched back into the room, his expression still one of numb shock. As he reached the table, he looked down at his character sheet, and his lip trembled. John cleared his throat.
"As the body of your beloved party member grows cold on his bed, the two of you spot a newcomer approaching from the next village. He is shrouded in light robes, and has a long, clean beard. A band of admirers follow closely behind him."
Luke and Mark exchanged a glance.
"I... roll perception," said Mark, "Does he look like a plebeian, or is he someone powerful?"
Mark rolled the dice. 17.
"This is definitely no ordinary plebeian," said John with a smile, "This is a man of great power. In fact... it's a man you both recognise, a great adventurer not long since retired. The most powerful bard/sorcerer that the Middle East has ever seen."
Matt looked up suddenly, as Mark and Luke both shouted out with grins plastered onto their faces.
"JESUS OF NAZARETH!"
John nodded, and looked to Matt, who seemed on the verge of tears. Gently, John continued.
"The level 20 adventurer recognises his old apprentice lying dead before him. Asking nothing in return, he prepares a Wish spell, and approaches the bed of Lazarus..." | "Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War" | 2018-05-29T07:03:42 | 2018-05-29T06:46:10 | 1,678 | 74 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose..... | "Mimic other superpowers?"
"Taken, Number 7."
"Damn, thought that was a creative one..."
"It wasn't. Next choice?"
"Negate other sup-"
The scientist cuts me off. "18. Next?"
I sighed. What's left? Teleportation, mind reading, super strength... I'm sure those are all done. "Control computers with my mind?"
"43. And 48 is to disable electronics at will, 14 is to control electricity, and 93, which I thought was good, was to control and change the information communicated through any form of technology. No dice." She looked at her clipboard, then at the clock on the wall. "Time is wasting. And yes, #3 was time manipulation, but we nerfed it because it was a bit overpowered."
"Come on, can you help me out a little? You must have some ideas!"
"No."
"Is it against the rules or something?"
"No, but it won't matter if I did, and I'm frankly exhausted. Ive been dealing with psychos, megalomaniacs, idiots--I mean, who chooses the power to control cheese? What does that even mean?--and now you. I just want to get to the bunker before all hell breaks loose with enough energy to take a shower. Now choose!"
"Sheesh. Ok." I massaged my temples. Why doesn't anyone have any sort of compassion or empat... Wait. That's it! 99 others with their own super powers, ready to battle it out no matter the cost... what if?
"I want the power to instill people, regardless of proximity or other limitations, with a strong and permanent sense of empathy, compassion, and the ability to think critically." | The arbiter let out a long sigh and looked past me. We’d been here a while, and it was finally my turn. His voice was tired. “What’ll it be?”
My hands were clammy. I looked up to him, seated on his pedestal, and sighed. I couldn’t think of anything else. “Um… I’m not sure. All the good powers have been taken already.”
“Yes, that’s the point. More glory for higher numbers though, if you make a global conquest.”
“I would’ve said flight or invisibility or telepathy… but I can’t.”
He sighs again. “No. You can’t. Listen, between you and me, you’ve already lost. Just pick something.”
*What would make grown men cry?*
There’s just nothing left.
*What am I most afraid of?*
The unknown? The dark? Dying alone?
Then it hit me. Spiders.
“I’d like the power to turn matter into spiders.”
Scoffs erupt from the others behind me. “What!? She can’t pick that!”
The arbiter raises his voice. “Silence!” He thinks for a moment then chuckles. “I’ll allow it.” | 2022-11-17T10:09:57 | 2022-11-17T09:49:50 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the galaxy is given a class and rating to describe the type of society they have. Humanity has just been mistakenly labeled as a level 3 technological society. The galaxy is about to discover the true horrors of a level 6 warring society. | It was a mistake.
The Auraxian's encountered them and they were friendly. Their massive ships and mega-construction ability was exceptional. Dyson rings, Spheres, a matter decompressor (A thing that literally decompressed the event horizon of a black hole, something that was believed to be impossible in a practical sense). They soon spread among the galactic community, becoming some of the top engineers and scientists the universe had ever seen. They even joined the Interstellar cooperation and trade federation.
But a worry always nagged in the back of my mind. Their adverts featured marching armies and subjugated aliens. People ignored it. They held regular orbital and atmospheric parades. Ships ranging from cutters and scouts, to Fleet carriers to a new ship they called the "Executor". People ignored it, citing "the humans just love to show off their technical superiority."
It wasn't until decades of this had passed before someone looked at what they were labeled as. "Technological" was meant for a race that keenly adapted to a situation, and generally was the forefront of society. But, they had in fact progressed pass a level three society, something never heard of, becoming a level four "advanced" species.
They did it again, projecting their power across a third of the galaxy, bumping them up to level five, "contender". I looked at the last possible rating. "Eradicator", a level six. I began to send this data to governments, agencies, anything to get galactic attention. I was labeled a fool. Hysterical. "A prophet of the end of days".
It was horrifying when the Auraxians and Karathians destroyed a human fleet. The humans even gave them a chance to apologize. They both shrugged off the human request.
We all watched in horror as we saw the Emerald seas of Zaluth II boil away with the heat of the particle lance, before watching the world tremor and explode.
We all should have known what would happen next, when humans galaxy wide were recalled.
Emergency fleets were created, to defeat such a monstrous enemy. But it was no use. The human fleets decimated them, one. by. one. Armies crumbled under the tide of locust like humans. We watched as they ceased the galactic senate, declaring themselves owners of the galaxy, their "galactic empire", as they called it.
World were made example of, Alagoth IV, Nuevo Terra, Geograt. Trillions, reduced to ash by the Executor.
Our nation, the Zerath, were the last to fall. Our proud warrior heritage kept us alive, fighting off fleet after fleet. But it was no use. Many fled our worlds, now refugees to the stars.
But here I sat, on the side of road, with my drink. A human one, they call a "White russian". I take a sip watching the sun set, one final time. Looking up, the sky was a nice blue hue, originating not from the sun, but from the Executor.
"I warned you a-" | Level 1. Primitive.
Level 2. Industrial.
Level 3. Technological.
Level 4. Advanced.
Level 5. Galactic.
Level 6. Warring.
These levels were the Xadian Union's way of evaluating societies based on their technological, biological, military, and societal stance on the galaxy. Most of the civilizations are commonly levels one to five, with six being assigned to civilizations that have the best on one of the four stances and those that happen to become level six were easily exterminated and evicted away from the galaxy. But they never knew what would happen when a level six does on a galactic union.
When Humanity was assigned level three, everything was well. They had an advantage on being advanced in technology but being primitive in societal stance due to their bickering within themselves. Their military were merely few and separated from each other, divided into five sectors, four for each place in combat and the fifth being a elite of the four. They had started on peace treaties and so far all was well as they were allowed to join the union as a new faction.
Then one of the level fives decided to take over one of their colonies without warning. There was an unwritten law which disallowed this, but this was because of the threat of a level six civilization breaking the union.
When their peace negotiations broke down, everything softly calmed down until an annual council revealed that the level five civilization was wiped out by Humanity.
We were quick to investigate further their civilization and see what we had missed. They were lacking in unity, but we saw their scientific might with their technological and military stance and saw their true nature.
We saw stories of brother attacking brother, family against family, and saw their simple bickering escalating into all out world wars. Their entertainment was split into war and peace, with more war-based entertainment than we have ever seen. They had laws to prevent weapons they had already built to be used and built. Their weaponry included biological and societal objects which would be unfitting to a level three. Their intelligence would stretch out towards even the smallest nations.
When we reclassified them as an six, they all armed themselves against us. They knew too much, and we cannot simply let that happen.
But we were afraid to be exterminated in an attempt to remove them from their location, so we reclassified them into level seven instead.
Level seven, which was only given to the precursors of the union. Level seven was known as simply "Emperor."
After the announcement, they were satisfied as they shifted the union to their favor. Their rules become ours.
Peace has never been more achieved through the threat of war.
======== | 2019-11-24T19:34:19 | 2019-11-24T15:22:31 | 167 | 72 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | Brian rested his forehead in his hands, trying to hide the fact that tears were leaking out of his eyes and slowly dribbling down his face. He'd known about fellow scientists getting picked off and 'disappearing' while researching dogs, but he never imagined the hole would go so deep.
Brian had discovered a virus in the brain of his latest experimental dog Rosie, but it wasn't a biological virus. It was nanotech, far more advanced than humans had ever developed. Talking with Rosie had been challenging, they would be having a decent conversation and then all of a sudden she would stare off into nothing. Asking her directly what she was seeing when she stared off into faraway places was pointless, she didn't realize it was happening and she would forget the previous 10 seconds of interaction every time. Once the nanotech was found, he analyzed it's I/O and discovered that during the 'nothing' periods Rosie was uploading massive amounts of data to some sort of computer in space. Brian started digging farther, and came across nanotech bots in an ancient mummified dog. Same signature, same broadcast.
Using the I/O from Rosie's nanotech virus he was able to reverse engineer it and built a radio for incoming transmissions. It was... bad. You know the wealth gap that has permeated our society since the beginning of the new millennia? Manufactured by them. Global warming deniers? Paid off by whoever was controlling these transmissions as an easy way to terraform earth.
The transmissions Brian saw suggested that these other worldly creatures had been here a long time, passing the years in cryogenic sleep while they waited for humans to become civilized enough for them to steal our technology so they could get out of this sector of the universe. They had been marooned here after some sort of emergency, and they had fed us all of our most recent technological advancements. Nuclear bombs, rocket engines, string theory, and quantum computers were all shepherded by them. Unfortunately they've got a new plan because we've been too slow to develop. The latest message Brian intercepted was a briefing to the world's most advanced 'Department of Defense'. The payload was a modified version of the mind control nanotech, designed for use against humans. It's unclear why they've suddenly decided to become slavers, but one thing is abundantly clear... humans have under ten years left as free people.
Brian had burned backup copies of all his evidence and mailed them across the globe, and he closed the door to his lab for the final time. He wasn't sure how he was going to stop them, but the entire human race depended on it. | Professor Clayton pressed the 'Enable' function on his watch.
"Can you hear me, Rover?" he asked.
A distinctly Mancunian accent came back through the transceiver embedded in Professor Clayton's cheek. "OF course I can, you bloody mor-oh, no." Rover covered his head with his paws. "Nonononononono! You fucking bastards! OH, please, Gods no. This isn't happening." Rover howled, and it came through as a howl.
"You. Fucking. **Monster.** You have *ZERO* fucking clue what the fuck you've just done." Profeesor Clayton was taken aback by the string of curses that followed, and was hesitant to speak during this.
"Calm down, Rover. So, can you please give me an idea of precisely *what* I have done?"
Rover sighed. "My name is Arther Luthair Paendragon. I was once King of the Britons. I lived not far from here, in the ancient town of Henge, in what is now called Wiltshire.
"I once ruled these lands from isle to isle, from the tip of Land's End to the arena at the northmost tip of the Orkney Isles. I was wise and ruled justly yet firmly, aided by my mentor, Merlun, and my nemesis and ally, Morgena Lefe.
"But then everything changed on the field at Glaston Berry. We were...cursed to live on forever, re-incarnating as different animals, until such a time as we could speak to one another.
"I can take you to my grave, if you wish, as well as the burial places of Merlun and Morgena. Follow me." Rover slipped his collar, his 'voice' becoming ever more commanding during this speech. "Well? Now you get to see what was wrought all those centuries ago. All dogs and cats? They're what happens when people *die.*" | 2015-05-18T14:17:54 | 2015-05-18T14:11:01 | 76 | 32 |
[Wp] It is the year 2032. Due to increasing obesity, fast food joints have been banned entirely. Tell us the tale of bootlegging and speakeasies in this troubled time of prohibition. | ...
Something fishy happened here, and it wasn't the fish sticks I had stuffed in my pocket.
*"Ah-hem."*
"Tsk. Tsk."
"We need a new smuggler." I quietly said, scratching my chin.
"Yup. Yup. Uh-huh."
I sighed.
Lying on his bed was dear ol' Nate, with a mouthful of *Big Macs*. The topless prost tied to the chair insisted that he choked on the burgers, but these street walkers ain't exactly trustworthy. Schemers, villains, hitters and scumbags. All of them live in this grimy city, like one big fuckin' family. Guess which one I am?
Ray closed all the blinds, shutting out the neon lights of the financial district. "At least we know what happened to the shipment. He ate it all."
"You think that was what happened?"
"Sure wasn't the vegan cartel or the Burger Kings."
"Nate wasn't that stupid."
"Maybe he was. Never liked the guy. Did you like the guy, Levi? Y'know, he once told me six facts about ducks, and five of them were wrong."
I donned a pair of gloves. "Like him or not, he's dead. Help me with the body. Then get whatever's left and load them into the speedster. The red and blue will be here any minute."
"Mmph! Mmph!" mumbled the restrained hooker.
"Ray, for christ's sake, put a bra on her or somethin'."
"Thought they would liven up the scenery. They look nice, right?"
I cursed under my breath and dropped Nate's massive body onto a sheet of cellophane. My HOLO-device buzzes.
"Incoming transmission."
"Receive." I said.
Roxy's voice comes on. "Levi, we got trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" I point to Ray and gesture for him to wipe down the bedroom.
"'Borgs. R n'B is six minutes of our position. Maybe less. You need to haul ass."
"We're going, we're going. Can you slow them down?"
Ray is already out the door with the crate of burgers and fries, loading them up into the trunk. "Only a dozen patties left, brother. Plus a side of fries and mustard."
"Just get it done!" I shouted.
Meanwhile, I could hear some machinery whirring in the background of the HOLO-message. "My EMP rifle only has four charges left." spoke Roxy with a tinge of desperation on her words.
"Then don't goddamn miss. We'll be gone in five."
"Four. They just sent a bird in the air, I couldn't get it in time."
"Fine. We'll deal."
*Motherfucker.* "Shh. Shh!" The whore doesn't seem to catch my drift. She continues to flail her arms about. I respond by casually throwing her in the trunk with the burgers. Ray slides over the hood and gets in the cockpit.
"Engine's good, lifters good, check, check and check-"
I hear them. The sirens.
"Ray, drive. Get us to the Pepsi Parlor."
"You insane? I thought-"
"It's too hot. We gotta lay low. We're allies with the Soda Pops now-"
"If you can call them allies. Boss is crazy for doing that. They're scummy."
I checked the sights on my handgun. *"So are we."*
Hovering above the ground, our heads slam into our seats as the speedster blasts out of the driveway and into the depths of the shining steel jungle.
...
| It's not the *dogs* that are the problem at the border, unless you're careless they'll never find a thing. No, it's those damn Algorhythmic Sensorial System Programatical Robotic Omni-Bionic Examiners that you have to be wary about. Those suckers can get right up and into your business and before you know it they've found your stash of trans-fats and you're up against a wall with your arms spread.
The speakeasies don't employ me because it's easy to get food through the border though, they employ me because I get the results and not many folk can these days. Last month I brought in nearly 400 Kgs of fried chicken, burgers and pork products and still that didn't meet demand, so i'm upping my game, increasing my loads and expanding my business.
The best route, as with so much smuggled into the country, is across the border from Mexico. The cartels try to bring over in tunnels, ships, even airplanes, but I have a simpler route. I use the one thing that can mask the smell and at the same time be almost completely ignored by the border patrol - drunk white frat boys.
They flood back and forth across the border, heading out to take advantage of the hookers, drugs, booze and, of course, the fast food. Mexico lures them over by having huge signs up near the border, vast illuminated Wendy statues, towering hundreds of feet into the air, with enough lighting to be seen from Oklahoma City. Since they won the second Mexican-America War and annexed Texas they don't even pretend to be afraid when we threaten them with sanctions for these huge adverts, they don't care anymore.
The Mexican's love the frat boys, as they flood into the old US cities, living it up on the weekends, before creeping back over the border on Monday morning, hung over and greasy. That's when I make a deal with them. Carry a few Kgs of good in a scent proof bag and get a bit of money to make up fr all the cash they just blew. Hundreds take the deal.
They stumble through the border and the guards watch them, repulsed by the smell of stale beer and vomit. Only the Algorhythmic Sensorial System Programatical Robotic Omni-Bionic Examiners is a threat to me and even if it catches a few of them, dragging them off into custody - caught with their pants down - there are enough that make it through for it to be worth it for me.
I watch them stumble through the border, a few being dragged off, but most make it and meet up with me in a nearby alley, giving me the goods, taking their cash and looking around warily before scurrying off, back to their schools, where they will be late for classes. It was a good night, enough for fifty portions, once I have cut it with a bit of soy and reprocessed corn to bulk it out anyway.
Tonight I deliver to Chicago, where my middlemen will split it up and send some north to the big buyers, like Wisconsin and then I will head back, over the border to make a purchase and find more mules to carry my product. Life is good for me right now - long may prohibition last. | 2016-07-25T06:42:55 | 2016-07-25T06:20:50 | 94 | 58 |
[WP] As part of a senior thesis, an anthropology student decides to start a cult to see how far it’ll go. Several years, hundreds of deaths, civil warfare and a complete government overthrow later they wonder how they’ll properly cite their sources. | Professor Johnson didn’t think starting a cult for a senior thesis was a good idea. It was unethical, dangerous, and utterly insane. At least, that’s what he told the FBI. In reality, there might have been more... "ambiguity" to Professor Johnson’s reaction when Kevin proposed the idea.
“Its gotten out of hand, Kevin." Johnson once said over the phone. "I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Professor, it was *your* idea,” Kevin replied.
“Right, as a joke! I didn’t think you’d take it so far! How could you think the 'Cult of Banana’ could be a real thing?”
“You literally said, ‘this isn’t a joke. Pull this off and I’ll get you into whatever graduate program you want.’”
“I was committed to the bit!" Johnson yelled, throwing his hand up and spinning in his chair. "Look Kevin, real people’s lives are on the line here.” He paused for a moment. “There are *real people* following you, right? You’ve met them in person? It’s not just an anonymous online following?”
“Yes, I organized our first meet-up last week.”
“How many people attended?”
“Close to a hundred.”
“And the Banana suits?" Professor Johnson pressed. "How many people wore them?”
“Everyone.”
“Fascinating,” Professor Johnson muttered. “You know what, no. No! Kevin, you need to stop this.”
“Sorry Professor, I’m in too deep. I don’t have time for another thesis.” With that, Kevin hung up.
That was six months ago. In that time, the Cult of Banana had grown at an exponential rate. Fueled by a grassroots movement targeting marginalized members of society, the Cult of Banana promised new life, symbolized by its namesake. Just as the banana must shed its leathery, bitter peel before bearing sweet succulent fruit, humanity must shed its outdated institutions of governance and hierarchy.
The first sign that things had gotten out of control was when the local paper broke a story about banana-suit clad vandals terrorizing the city. It was funny to most, but Professor Johnson knew better. He managed to get a hold of Kevin one more time.
“Kevin,” Professor Johnson had said over the phone. “I’ve read the stories, you’ve officially aced your thesis. You don’t even have to write the thesis, just put this all to rest and I'll write your recommendation.”
“The names’ Bo-Bevin now, Professor,” Kevin replied.
“I’m sorry?”
“Kevin Kevin Bo-Bevin,” Kevin chanted. “Banana Fanna Fo-Fevin. Fee Fi Mo-Mevin. *Kevin!*”
Professor Johnson's brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the code. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain in the thesis,” Kevin replied.
“Kevin, wait!” Professor Johnson yelled, sensing he was about to hang up again. “Just answer me this. Do people find that chant compelling? Would you characterize its use as consistent with the Fourth Pillar of my theory on cult dynamics?”
“People *love* the chant. Definitely consistent with the Fourth Pillar.”
“Fascinating... Make sure you properly accredit the Four Pillars analysis in your draft. Not that I condone any of this, but if—hello? Kevin? Did you hang up on me again?” Kevin had hung up on him again.
From then, Professor Johnson watched the transformation of the Cult of Banana to what it had become today—the Banana Republic. Initially the new name drew legal action from a large outlet store alleging trademark violations, but after a brutal witness intimidation campaign marked by character assassination and also literal assassination, the store was forced to rebrand as Pineapple Federation. It seemed nothing could stop Kevin.
Eventually the cult militarized and took over the entire state by using thousands of civilian hostages as a bargaining chip. Banana Republic had its own system of governance which it memorialized after proclaiming secession from the country. It was not a peaceful uprising—many had died, and Professor Johnson himself had lost his wife to the violence.
Five lonely years later, Professor Johnson received a call from an unknown number. He picked it up.
“Professor Johnson?” A familiar voice said.
“Kevin?” Professor Johnson asked. "Is that really you?"
“What’s your preferred citation style, MLA or APA?”
Professor Johnson was at a loss for words. The emotions he felt could not be described, and it was all he could do to suppress them.
“Professor?”
He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Kevin... Its been years. You call me *now* to ask about citation format?!"
"I know, I'm sorry. I just can't seem to find the syllabus and—"
"Forget the syllabus!" Professor Johnson yelled, almost choking on his words. "What have I always taught you?!”
"I'm sorry Professor, I heard about your wife—"
“Anthropology is a *science!*” he screamed. “We are not tobacco-smoking, goatee-wearing, armchair-musing Humanities Hippies! You must always, *ALWAYS* use APA!”
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Madame Helena DuBois, First Incarnate of the Grand Theocratic Union of the United States, sat languidly in the oval office. Her bare feet were propped on a stool made from the remnants of the last president’s desk as she smoked a long, thin cigarette. The ashes fell into a gold plated tray held by a man whose only job was to do just that, no matter how badly his old bones protested. Not long ago this had been his office and his chair.
Helena was just twenty-four years old.
“How is it possible,” she said, “for me to have done all of this and not pass?”
The men seated on their knees in front of her trembled. When she’d started in on her thesis years ago she could only have dreamed of a thesis committee this august. Perhaps that advice about never meeting your idols was true though, not a single one of them had lived up to their reputations. Plus they were all so damned old she’d taken to referring to them as her natural history museum.
“Sources, Madame Incarnate,” one of the braver men said. “You’ve cited yourself or one of your employees for nearly every entry. And the quotes you’ve used, they can’t be substantiated.”
“Substantiated? They’re in the Tome of the Dogma! How much more substantiated can you get?”
“A book you wrote yourself Madame.”
“Oh?” with one simple word all the air rushed out of the room. The committee chair actually shivered.
“Apologies Incarnate!” the speaker said, pressing his head to the floor. “Co-wrote with the Divine, of course! I misspoke, please spare me!”
“That was your first strike, be mindful you not get three.”
“Since each one of you is even more useless than the last I’ve called in a little help.” Helena rang a bell and the office’s doors opened. A small cadre of highly decorated officers entered the room.
“Generals! How good of you to join us.” They fell to their knees, bowing deeply. “Generals, meet the professors, professors meet the generals.”
Helena took a long breath before glancing over at her living ashtray. She put the cigarette out on the remains of his suit and then tossed it aside.
“So, Generals. As some of you may know I’ve been trying to get my degree for a long, long time. In the process I’ve learned a few things about the true corruption of our former system.” Helena stood, and with a subtle inclination of her head the blinds behind her were pulled up, letting the light spill in to frame her.
“I do not care for corruption. Neither does the Divine.”
She stalked straight up to the group, placing a hand on the forehead of her committee chair and another on the forehead of the closest general.
“With the Divine’s help we have cleansed the nation of the many wrongs my research uncovered. We have driven out the sinners and shattered the shackles that bound the people. All of them but one.”
The committee chair trembled beneath her hand but the general looked up, his gaze worshipful, his eyes ecstatic.
“There is one last insidious threat stalking us now. The last one left inside our borders. It plagues our students, our young, shining stars, keeps them from reaching their potential.” She paused, watching the general’s eyes. She had him. “Citations.”
The man cursed loudly, beginning to recite the invocation against evil.
Helena crouched down in front of the reciting general, pressing her finger to his lips to silence him.
“General,” she said, “I’ve discovered a problem with Chicago. I’d like it gone. Find whoever writes the rules for their citation system and execute them, then level the city. I want no one to even remember its name.” Helena glanced back towards her thesis committee with a beatific smile. “By next week there won’t be a citation system, does that work?”
They just nodded. Nobody had the heart to tell her that wasn’t how it worked.
A few minutes later Helena dismissed them all and sat back into her chair, lighting another cigarette. She looked over at the man holding her ashtray, wondering what he thought of all of it. She blew smoke rings into his face idly, just because she could.
“Did you recognize the prayer?” she asked the former president. He shook his head. He’d been made a mute when the capital fell.
“Figures. You should’ve spent more time with your grandchildren. It’s song lyrics, 90% of it. Same with the whole Tome of the Dogma. There’s a reason the first thing I did was get rid of copyright law.”
Helena shook her head, throwing away the cigarette as she rummaged around for something stronger. “I should’ve thought of this damned Chicago thing *months* ago.”
\-----------
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-03-13T09:26:18 | 2021-03-13T09:08:51 | 2,439 | 81 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "What was that?" asked Jen. Just as I opened my mouth the ask what it sounded like I saw a figure slowly turn away from the window behind her. "I think there's someone outside" I replied. Visually shaken, she asked me if we should call the police. I responded with, "well they could just be passing by let's see what happens." After a few minutes the figure appears again, this time at the window next to the television. She screams.
Being a new relationship I know what I have to do. I get up, walk over to the window and lock eyes with the figure. It is wearing a blank mask with holes for the eyes, and mesh around the nose and mouth. It is so close, I can almost make out a perplexed expression on their face, surprised why I wasn't screaming or running out of the room. So I wave, and close the curtains.
At this point my girlfriend is petrified, with no color in her face. I calmly walk back to the couch, sit down and put my arm around her. "Sh-sh-should we call the cops?" she asked between shudders. "Eh, if you want to go ahead... But for now let's just finish this episode" I replied.
She called the police, and they arrived in less than 4 minutes. We heard a knock, followed by "STOP! HANDS UP! GET ON THE GROUND!" Jen jumped up and ran to the window. "They got him!" she exclaimed. "Cool," I replied without taking my eyes off the television.
A few minutes later one of the officers came to door to let us know they caught the tresspasser, making clear what they believed his intentions were.
"We caught this man jumping your fence as we arrived on scene. He had wire cutters, a large hunting knife, a semi automatic pistol, handcuffs, and rope." Jen gasped, realizing how close we were to becoming someone's play toys. The only think I could think of that I wanted to say was, "great work, thanks for your time." And walked back to the living room.
Jen stormed in behind me and started with the yelling. "I can't believe you aren't more grateful, they caught someone who wanted to kill us! Like in the horror movies!" Which is where I replied, "exactly, like the horror movies... Where the curious ones die first"
I sat down, grabbed the remote and pressed play. | "Just get out of there, fuck off..."
The shadow slowly trickled down on the floor from the closet and slowly crawled towards the bedroom door. Alex threw himself down on the bed and turned off the lights.
Soon the thumping in the stairs started, Alex slowly turned over and looked at his door, contemplating if she would even care to go and open it.
"Can't you just get over with it and leave? I have a test for tomorrow and I'm not in the mood for your silly games."
The thumping slowed down and stopped, the lights outside the door flickering. Alex sighed as she turned over and faced the wall.
"Not again...."
Alex felt the surge in her stomach as she started falling into the abyss, feeling how her face relaxed while she fell and her teeth falling out from her mouth.
She closed her eyes as she landed on a large green, sunny plain. Dreams always were her favorites, since she at least could get it over with quickly.
She ran around for a while, waiting for her alarm to wake her up in the morning. She smiled and closed her eyes as she turned her face to the sun in the sky, then she heard beeping from the distance.
She opened her eyes and looked around, she frowned as she noticed the lack of light flowing through her curtains. She stood up from the bed and looked around in the house.
Nothing.
Not a single monster in sight. Where could they be? She smiled at the thought of them finally leaving, they could not scare her anyways, there's nothing special about them, just shadows and sounds, never anything that can actually hurt her.
She felt a breath behind her neck and she just walked slowly away. The footsteps followed her to the kitchen where she turned on the lights, there the shadows would go away.
The light flickered for a second before it finally shone up the kitchen.
What did she really notice first? The broken window? The presence which did not leave?
Or the hands around her neck? | 2017-05-05T07:38:18 | 2017-05-05T07:21:53 | 280 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up from a coma. You were in a car crash caused by a drunk billionaire. In an effort to save his reputation, he hurriedly and secretly ordered the best doctors to restore your burned face using the photo on the driver's license they found in your car—a car which you've stolen. | Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
That's the name on the license.
Born October 8, 1983. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5 ft 8 in. Lives on 9439 Cherry Lane.
Makes sense, considering that's where I found the car--a grey Honda civic. Comfortable, average, unassuming, and a high resale value.
It was supposed to be a simple transaction. I'd acquire the car and meet my buddy down at the abandoned garage.
I didn't anticipate the speeding black Tesla. I especially didn't anticipate it to run a red light.
There was the crunch of metal, and shattered glass fluttered like snowflakes. A horn sang a lonely warning--too little too late. Another joined in harmony. Stars burst winking glitter in my eyes as my head flopped back and forth. I saw a flickering fire peek from under the hood of my car. Soon, the heat wrapped around me in a burning blanket, suffocating and hot. Too, too hot. The last thing I remember was a bright light blinding me into darkness.
And then I woke up here in this average hotel room with crisp white sheets and folded white towels. It's not the kind of place I'd stay at myself--but then again, I'm not myself anymore.
They changed everything until not an inch of me was left.
...Well, that's not entirely true. They did leave an inch of me intact--seven inches to be precise, eight if it's a good night and the chick is extra hot. Actually, they didn't change my body at all, just my face.
Jigsaws of memory piece together until I can make out the puzzle. The other guy wasn't injured, not like I was. He could scream and yell at everyone and everything around him. Spittle flying into other people's faces kind of screaming.
*Take care of it. Don't let this get back to me.* I remember hearing that somewhere in my drifting consciousness. And I guess that's exactly what they did. They took care of me.
Except they didn't kill me, which would have been the kinder thing to do. No, instead, they turned me into her.
Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
She's an organ donor. Better than me. Only way someone's getting my organs is if they pay for it.
From what I've gathered, the man is the kind of rich that someone like me can't even fathom. The kind of rich that could bail out a country in a crisis but won't. He hired the best doctors he could find to restore my face from the charred mess it was. Except the only face they could find was Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
As much as I hate to admit it, the doctors did a flawless job. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought I was born with this face too. The skin flows seamlessly from my face to my neck, not a stitch or cut in sight.
But admiring myself in the mirror will get me nowhere. I have a lot of questions. So many that they twist and squirm in my brain like slithering snakes hissing over each other.
I don't know who that rich man is. I don't know how any of this happened without my knowledge (I mean, don't doctors need permission from the patient to do any kind of surgery?). I don't know why nobody thought to question why a man had a woman's driver's license. And I don't know why or how I ended up here in this hotel room.
But there's one slithering question that slides through the others. It swallows them deep into its belly until all I can think is--
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
\*\*\*\*\*
Oh gosh, thank you for all the support and kind comments on my story! I guess I went ahead and made a sub. It won't always be empty, so if you're interested in more from me feel free to check out: r/rulerofstorybears | My face, what has happened to my face?
The flashbacks hit me like a brick and I clearly remember robbing a retirement home and stealing a car found in the nearby parking lot from some sucker that left his car unopened and keys in the engine. But everything after that is a blur.
Now I'm faced with the reality of having no hair on my head, looking like a balding codger, an aquiline nose that I hate and puffy cheeks like I'm some sort of fat menace.
What the hell has happened to me?
''He has awoken!'' A nurse clad in white spoke to someone outside my room and soon, two figures completely in black came on the scene, followed by a third one, clearly distressed and sweating.
''Mr. Clark, I see that you're feeling good now, how about we forget about this entire ordeal and you just go home?''
One of the men in black said to me.
''What happened?'' As I uttered these words, another flashback came upon me, now searing through my brain, letting me in on all the details.
It was a balmy afternoon, I had just stolen the car and as a good citizen, followed all the rules of traffic in order to avoid the attention of the popo. When suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, this retard in a lambo comes strutting around, driving 150 miles an hour in a 30 zone and crashes into me.
My car was just a Smart so he completely destroyed me, it was lucky that I even came out alive...
Now I was picturing things together and I soon realized why and who I owe my life to.
''Are you feeling alright?'' the distressed among the men finally spoke up.
''You almost killed me! And now, look what you you've done!''
''I've had the best doctors work on you, we've restored your face just as it was. Please, if there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know.''
One man clad in black looked at the other with a grin on his face, and I felt like I was either being set up or given a ticket to my escape.
They had no idea of my past, they didn't know who I am or what I did or most importantly, what I was.
This man, this rich man thinks he can escape the eyes of the law just because he has a few extra million or billion in his bank.
I'll show him what real life is like, I'll give him a taste of what I had to endure for my entire poor life, even if it costs me my life.
I don't cherish my own existence much and for that reason, I will use it to teach this rich boy a lesson he'll never forget.
I stood up, looked through the window and soon realized that we were on 9th floor of a modern-looking hospital. Perfect.
''Easy now, you need your rest.'' the nurse clad in white chimed in.
''Don't worry about me and resting. I'll get enough rest where I'm going.''
The men in black changed their expressions and went towards me as if to apprehend me, but they didn't call me Slick Joe for nothing.
In one fell swoop, I jumped out of the closed window into my sure demise.
That will teach that opulent sucker to mess with me, to mess with my face like that.
As I was floating in the air, my last thought being the sweet release of death, I smiled as I was living proof that money can't buy everything.
Not yet.
/r/innerknightmare | 2020-10-08T08:29:42 | 2020-10-08T08:20:58 | 1,609 | 39 |
[WP] The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism. | "GET DA FUCK OFF MA LAWN!!!!!!"
I shouted at those crazy worshippers. From time to time there were people in my garden kneeling and praying and hoping someone would safe them from this new management of the country.
It began when some blind witch suddenly had a vision about the dark lord being beaten and the lands liberated by a shining hero. Honestly I believe that old wench was stoned or something.
Since then it got worse from day to day. People would come and bring presents for the unborn child. They would gather and sing at the worst times possibly. Some would even kneel and pledge their life to my unborn daughter only to get cut down by the city guards moments later.
There was even an army from the neighboring kingdom trying to save my wife from the bloodthristy monster known as dark lord.
Those idiots got slaughtered but this didnt prevented other nutjobs from coming to my house.
I looked out of the window again and saw these worshippers getting beaten up by the guards.
My wife Jenna came into the room.
"Larry, why are you so angry again?"
I sighed, she wasnt as stressed as I was about our daughter being the new hero, even tough she know why this was dangerous to us.
"Honey, I bought this house so we could live a calm and peaceful life, far away from all the stress at work. But these dimwits are ruining everthing. Also our daughter is going to be the hero who will "liberate" these lands."
"But isnt this nice? After all these years of hardship and war the people will finally have hope again."
"Maybe, but we will have a huge problem then. BECAUSE I AM THE FUCKING DARK LORD AND YOU KNOW IT!!!!!! AND OUR OWN FUCKING DAUGHTER WILL FUCKING KILL US AND DESTROY EVERYTHING WE ACCOMPLISHED. THIS IS NOT NICE!!!!!!
| "No" my wife stated firmly.
"Jean, he's obviously got issues; he can't be the only one like this but my god.... he's going to get someone killed"
Our young, well, adolescent son, has recently been experiencing some terrible consequences because of my massive fuckup. I mean, how was it supposed to know he'd find that old box in the garage. He's been defending smaller kids from bullies in school, teaching them about morals... it's getting out of hand. I just wish he could be like the rest of us. We're evil, it's what we do. The world is a better place for it. The strong survive and the weak die. Simple and elegant, beautiful really. But all because of one heirloom from my father's father's father, we have a severely messed up kid. It seems as if we may have to take him in for reconditioning again. I hope this time it'll work. I've already thrown out the heirloom, I mean who the fuck is able to find a DVD player to watch it on, it's 2065 for Trumps sake. That boy will be the death of this family. It took me 45 minutes to find that damn disc hidden behind his ridiculous poster of an elf on his wall. I could barely make out the name on it, all that was left read "L--D -- T-- R-NGS" | 2016-11-26T06:54:54 | 2016-11-26T05:42:08 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| She stood alone on the roof. The wind blew faintly, whistling through the bulletholes in a final protest. A smile threatened to leap forth, but she kept it in check. This was the best part.
The temperature dropped, and the surrounding light seemed to dim. There he was. He strode confidently among the bodies, leading the souls to the afterlife with macabre grace. The smile burst forth now full and unencumbered. She swept her jet black hair back into a messy bun.
"Long time, no see." He said casually.
"It has been a while... what have you been up to?"
"Oh you know, ushering souls to the underworld, the usual."
Something was off. All of the dead had a string leading to their cause of death, and most of them pointed to her. Actually, she was somewhat restless herself. And, was that lipstick?
"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a measured tone.
"Doing what?" Innocence. Nice try.
"Killing. Murdering. You're a good girl Aya." Her smile was contagious.
"But only in death can I see you."
"And? Seriously I'm old enough to have started your bloodline--"
"Age doesn't apply in this sort of thing."
He sighed. She was right. He remebered sparing her like it was yesterday. The fire that had killed her parents after their meth experiment went wrong. All their drug use had taken it's toll on her when she was born. It had taken all he had to give her a chance.
Then he felt it. Slim fingers entwining with his own. That wasn't possible. He looked at her and she was still alive. Still there.
"Just like you have to bear the burdens of the dead, I'll be there to bear yours."
"....Promise?" | 2014-06-30T09:07:59 | 2014-06-30T07:03:58 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Your pickup line goes horribly, horribly wrong. | I was at a bar, and spotted the prettiest girl. The type of chick that's TOO good for porno.
I approached and was ready to use my line.
"Hey! Did it hurt?"
She looked at me, "Did what hurt?"
"When you fell --"
She pulled out a prosthetic leg from under the table, "Why, yes. Yes it did."
*Shit, I have to try a new one*
"Heh, What I meant to say was...Uh...if I was a watermelon...Would you...Er...Eat my seed?"
She looked mortified, "*What the fuck?* I am allergic to watermelon, and you're a fucking creep."
*SHIT SHIT SHIT, WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?* I gotta try one more time.
"Let's start over..." I am hyperventilating now, "I'm a stud!" I cleared my throat, "I HAVE THE STD, NOW ALL I NEED IS U!"
She looked at me, and started to walk away.
"WAIT!" I yelled. She looked at me, and gave me one last chance.
"NICE FUCK WANNA SHOES?"
"..."
She left the bar. And I sat there, depressed. Of course she wouldn't love me. Why would anyone love someone with Asperger syndrome? | I saw her smile at me from across the room. I decided to talk to her. Maybe use a pickup line, but a respectful, gentlemanly one and laugh it off.
"You look familiar. Did we use to go to school together?"
Her eyes brightened up, and she answered.
"I think you are going to say we had chemistry. To be honest, I think we do."
We chatted for awhile, and then she asked, "Do you want to get some air?"
"Sure."
We walked out into the garden. She looked over her shoulder, and lowered her voice.
"Here are our instructions, Steven, you know where to find me."
Suddenly she turned, hopped into a black crown vic, and sped off.
My name isn't Steven.
| 2016-09-24T12:17:46 | 2016-09-24T10:49:05 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You are a normal average person but you happen to have many supervillain friends. This is awkward when heroes keep trying to rescue you. | "Come citizen! We need to get you out of harms way!"
"Uhh, nah I'm...I'm good."
"You...what? This bomb is about to go off"
"Yeah I know, but Dr. Nefarious and I have plans to see a movie after making a secret escape, in a way, by keeping me here talking to you, you're keeping me in harms way. I could be watching Alien right now. So, here's my number if you wanna talk about this later, I'm just gonna go, before this thing detonates."
After I finished talking to NightSable I slipped into a hidden hatch in the floor which had a slide that lead to Dr. Nefarious' private theatre, and dropped into a seat next to him.
"Hey man you're late."
"Yeah sorry about that, Mr. do-good is a bit of a talker, man good guys are so lame. Oh sweet I didn't miss the chest bursting scene."
Just then I got a text from NightSable.
*So you're what, friends with Dr. Nefarious?*
*Is this NightSable? Hey man I'll text you back after the movie.*
"That your new friend?"
"The guy seemed really confused so I said I'd talk to him later. Felt kinda bad for him."
"You're pretty soft hearted for someone that hangs out with 'villains'."
"Oh shut up and watch the movie."
After the movie I texted the hero back.
*Hey, so go ahead ask your questions. I'm sure you have many.*
*Why are you friends with a villain?*
*Because I tried to hang out with the heroes but man, the whole "I need to sacrifice myself to save the city/planet/galaxy" schtick got old real fast. Villains are always coming up with new and inventive things, and they're not always new death machines. They let me pitch ideas and help out and stuff.*
*When you put it like that, they don't seem so bad.*
*Oh they're definitely bad people, I know that, I'm not dumb. They're just fun to hang out with.*
*Hmm. Maybe we should all do something some time.*
*That would completely ruin your reputation, but I definitely recommend branching out, there are more people in the world than just your super friends and people that need saving.* | "Huh...yo Doc, can you help me out? My parents won't let me go to a party."
"Of course Quentin, what do I make them do?"
"Just uhh...ask 'em to let me go, and free me of chores."
"Done."
"Perfect."
A boom comes out from the ceiling, oh no, it's captain who-knows-what again.
"FEAR NOT CIVILIAN FOR I SHALL SAVE YOU FROM THIS GREAT EVIL! HE IS TRYING TO BRAINWASH YOUR PARENTS!"
I simply replied with a "Fuck off, this is the THIRD TIME this week you've "saved" me, he's a friend of mine you idiot."
The hero looked somewhat puzzled, but flew away nonetheless.
Doc Vile stared at me with a "are they that dumb" look, and I was disappointed in our towns heroes, so many times, they make the same mistake.
Here I am keeping a man that could brainwash billions at the same time to do as he pleases distracted with Nintendo, and superheroes think I need saving? Jeez, do they save me to inflate their ego or something?
Party ended, it was great, I got laid. Doc Vile invited a few more of his "Villain" friends, although they were insanely friendly. King, Kolorblind, and Miso. We chilled out the whole night and grinded Super Smash Bros hours. When I went to take a piss, I heard another loud bang through the ceiling, and thought to myself: is he really that much of a...
My thought was promptly interrupted by what's-his-name as he bellowed "WHERE IS THE CIVILIAN YOU KEEP CAPTIVE HERE!"
I walked out of the bathroom, just in time to hear Miso say "He's taking a piss."
Walking over to the hero, I explained everything and even added how much of a dumbfuck he was. He never came to my house again. | 2017-05-28T08:53:30 | 2017-05-28T06:06:01 | 55 | 17 |
[WP] As a means to protect themselves after making First Contact, humanity pretends to be an ancient and technologically advanced species that was stranded on Earth eons ago. Unbeknownst to them, the rest of the galaxy still remembers the first rise of humanity. | It was quite scary when we first got contacted by aliens. A giant committee was assembled from the ranks of politicians, scientists and generals worldwide. I'm one of those selected scientists. It was my idea to protect ourselves by making the aliens think that we are far more advanced than we actually are. And with joint efforts, we came up with a strategy. We would tell the aliens that we were once a great civilisation but after aeons of prosperity amongst the stars we grew tired of space and retreated to a simpler way of life on earth.
I was never really convinced that this could work. I mean they could just go on our internet and find out the truth. We, of course, told them not to spy on us or face dire consequences but I never expected them to obey, I know we wouldn't.
But as it turns out, they did obey. Not only that, they were super fearful of us, they just believed us straight away. They retreated most of their ships far away, the ones that remained were small and unarmed. They soon asked for us to designate them an area in which they could make an embassy and from which we could communicate with them. Some stupid politician was the first to respond and told them to make their embassy on the dark side of the moon. Of course, this would be the perfect location because they couldn't see our land nor intercept any transmissions that weren't aimed at them. But nobody ever thought to even propose it as they would surely find it insulting, us exiling them to a place such as that, but they settled there without even a word. They allowed us access to the galactic internet, they gave us everything we ever asked for.
It only took us three days to discover why they were so helpful, some would say obedient. We discovered an article in a popular galactic newspaper. They were wondering how we could possibly remember the times long since past when we ruled over the galaxy. As it turns out, we used to be galactic overlords, not exactly what we pretended to be, but close enough. So the reason they are so frightened now is because they think we remember everything, they think we remember how the galaxy came together and betrayed us. They blew up all our planets, even though all the planets were actually mainly inhabited by others. All our ships were sabotaged and blown up, even when mostly only the commander and a few others were humans. The galaxy killed at least a thousand of their own only to kill one of ours. They had though they had killed us all, but somehow an ancient ark was forgotten. An ark housing a few million humans launched before humanity even had FTL and long since forgotten, but it found its way to earth, and somehow something happened and we forgot all about who we were and what technology we had. So humanity started over from scratch, we reinvented fire, we made the wheel, we flew, we split the atom and we reached space. I guess someday we could have grown back to the empire we once were, but we will probably choose a different path this time around.
So now we must keep up the facade. We are stealing technology from the galactic internet and arming ourselves as fast as we can. We hope to convince the galaxy that we have learnt from our mistakes and no longer wish to conquer, but we must be ready for when they decide they cant take the risk, or figure out that until they came we had no idea of who we once were. | The foundation of existence. A universe was shot into being, and the cosmos was painted infinite. The majesty of reality, matter, expanse. None threatened the sacred order of creation. Force and matter lived in harmony, and the mystery of their workings was preserved. But creation was tainted. As the brush spread the stars into the skies, a invisible threat manifested. The natural order cracked, and life began.
The progenitors began a small and virulent thing. Balance remained, the cracks now part of creation, not flaws. Then they started to act. To take. To be. Elements of nature, motion of force, stolen to create. Consciousness was borne through the sapping of all else. Unto the perfect sublime harmony of nothing, something cast, a drop unto a mirror. As nonreality shattered, thought peered through. The man had arrived. And to greet him, was nothing.
Man was content, ignorant of the upheaval for his sake. But man was flawed. Man was created by progression. Man could not stop to admire his peace. Man was compelled. And man moved. The inventions of man were naught, in the grandness of creation. Bumbling fools, blind to themselves and to their place. But they moved. They moved and came to a brief rest. The gazed upwards, into our infinite vastness, and in an instant, thought. Our vastness was not empty to them, for they had a divine. And they continued on. It was mere movements of man, until their home could not contain their desire. They gazed up once more, but they did not look back down. They leaped. Into our sea. They looked around. Force and matter, all mysteries broken. They looked further, all space revealed. They came unto all they sought. But they stumbled. Slowly, they failed, dwindled, and, for the most brief of moments, stopped. They looked up for a last time, but they only beheld themselves, a cruel reflection from the shards of creation, the mirror they pierced. They gathered, and gazed not at their container, but their contents. A truth was revealed. Man had discovered absolution, and began their return home. They cast down their invention, knowledge and spoils. In final acts of passion and reverence, restored mystery and rebuilt the shards of what they destroyed. And, the final man, beholding his works, lied down and rest.
The being finished his reciting. The epic of origin was a sacred text, revered by all descendants. Man had regrown, safe within creation once more, and the descendants had come to meet them. As the congregation of beings stood before the portal to man, a small screen in the holy language lit up.
A sound played, and words appeared on screen
"THE HISTORY OF MANKIND"
The screen cut to black, and a second track began with music and large scrolling letters
"STAR WARS" slowly rolled onto the screen, and the beings frowned. | 2016-10-20T12:04:44 | 2016-10-20T11:49:02 | 240 | 16 |
[WP] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon. However, this is just a coincidence; there is absolutely nothing magical about it, and you're getting really tired of explaining this. | The hiring manager peered over the edge of the clip-board, his tiny eyes dull and suspicious. "You certainly have an exciting work history, mister Thee... Theack..."
"The Excruciator," I replied, "two words." The manager delivered a single, incredulous blink, and I felt the heat rising up the back of my neck. "It's European," I offered as way of explanation. The manager nodded, making a noncommittal humming sound, his eyes returning to the resume clutched close to his round, white face.
"Well, you certainly have the qualifications necessary for a network security manager," he said. "My only concern is personality, whether you'd fit with the... the culture here." If his small voice had a color, it would be the same lacy grey of the cubicle's carpeted walls. "For example," he said, "we do have a dress code..."
I could feel his eyes on me. The sigh escaped before I could stop it; my fingers raised to touch my cheek, to trace the dark line curling over my eye, over my scalp. The dragonmark, *the dragonmark, stained into the flesh of the Chosen Warrior by the waters of his birth, the smoke-wreath dragonmark which shall name and denote the master of-*
I'd tried to grow my hair out, but it just wouldn't take. "It's a birthmark," I said. The manager gave another little noise, *mmhm*. His eyes were on my shoes, my shirt, the class ring on my little finger, the bulk of my biceps. His body was soft and small and round, a breakable thing. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, deeply and deliberately, like my therapist had shown me. "Well," he continued, "we'll have to see what can be done about that. Furthermore, there is the matter of this gap in your employment. Fourth quarter 2011 to third-quarter 2012?" The cadence of his speech denoted criticism, the slight sick sound of self-satisfaction. "Do you have an explanation for this?"
Deep breath. In through the nose and out through the mouth. *Cruel Kalvann, who had gathered Time behind him in a cloud of devastation, standing on the lip of the volcano and laughing his mad laugh, whose hands stirred the stars to catastropic foretelling, whose dreadful mien was evermore loathsome in its blood familiarity with the dragonmarked hero fated to oppose him...*
"Family emergency," I said. Calvin was a very sick man. He was getting help now. And I was moving on.
"I see," said the manager. He laid the clipboard down on his hunched knees, staring me full in the face. For a few seconds at least, before his gaze drifted downward, unable to hold my stare for long. "To be honest," he said, addressing my throat, "your qualifications are impeccable, but I just don't know if you'll fit into the culture here." Wormlike and jealous, exercising what mean power he had like a rat with a pistol in its teeth. "Is there anything you'd like to say... ask?"
*Do you yet dream? Which withered god would be small enough to hear your grasping prayers?* "Well," I said, "you see, I've... always seen a future for myself in an organization like this one. Is there anything, any tips you might give me on fitting in? Better?"
His smile was like a slick of butter sliding down a filthy street. "I don't think it's something that can be taught, Mr. Excruciator. It's just something that you are." He stood, and I stood with him. He held out his hand and I took it, staring down at his bald spot while he limply shook my outstretched hand. I could have crushed his fingerbones into fine powder with but the slightest muscular action.
"We'll get in touch with our decision," he oozed, "have a good day out there."
I walked out of the cubicle, into the office, past a few dozen identical grey-walled workspaces. The elevator doors slid shut with the lazy finality of a sick man gulping down his life's last breaths.
I couldn't quite remember where I had parked my griffon. | "IT'S NOT MAGICAL!!!" I yelled for what seemed like the Nth time today. You know how it is in the movies. A kid is born with a birthmark in the EXACT shape of a dragon, and he can all of a sudden do karate and kung fu and shit. Not me, though. I'm just your average middle class white trash kid from Louisiana. I can't do anything that requires anything of a martial arts background. I go to school, I eat, shit, and sleep like anyone else. I'm just a normal guy.
Okay, enough about what I am. Let me tell you a story. It's like a lot of my other stories, except this one happened recently and was a little twisted to be honest.
I had just gotten out of bed in the morning, went across the hall to the kitchen, made breakfast, and sat down in front of the tv to watch whatever dumb kid show my little sister so happened to be watching.
As soon as I finish my cereal there is a knock on the door. It was odd since this kind of crap usually happens right when I get off work, but my parents were in bed still and it was a Saturday.
I answer the door, and two oriental martial artists are standing there. That'd be odd to some people, but not for me. Same type of people, but always different people. I usually tell them to kindly 'eff off and make sure to tell anyone else not to come by.
Only today, when I finished my shooing, the two men came back about five minutes later. This time, they were a little strong with me. They told me that their master had a mark of the dragon, and that I was some descendant of this man. This is the weird part for me. I'm not any part asian. I'm as white as they come. I have blonde hair for crissakes!
Anyways, they wanted me to come with them. I figured I'd go with them just to figure out what they're yammering about. Nobody had ever come back to try again, which was the only thing that let me allow myself to follow them.
I got a closer look at them, and found that they were covered in scars. Probably from recent battles or punishments. I didn't ask about them, nor did I really care.
They led me to a martial artist's dojo thing three blocks from my apartment complex. I've never noticed this building, but I don't come around this way at all so go figure. Inside was strangely clean and tidy, starkly contrasting the exterior of the building which looked run down. I just chalked it up to low funds.
They told me to sit in the middle of the sparring ring in the main room and wait. As I waited, I noticed little things. The room I was in was completely symmetrical, the walls were very smooth, and the ceiling had perfectly tesselating hexagons. I was halfway through counting them when the master of the dojo came to me.
"The mark on your chest. Let me see it," he said, voice booming. I'mma be honest, I peed a little. "Yeah, sure thing, mate." I lifted my shirt off and showed the dojo man what he wanted. "He is the one..." he said, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
The next thing I know I'm waking up in my bed. There is a roll of parchment on the left nightstand tied tight with a length of silk. It read:
"The ritual was completed successfully, but We are confused as to why your aura did not activate. Curious. We still wish to speak to you. You know where to find us." It was signed by a man named Long Zhi Wang. Which I believe roughly means 'king of the dragons'. I don't know, but now I know who to give a restraining order to. | 2016-08-04T13:08:21 | 2016-08-04T12:02:03 | 191 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 158 | 33 |
[Wp] The scariest thing in Hell isn't the endless halls of torture, the demons, or even Satan himself. It's the sweet old lady living in the cottage in the middle of a lake of fire. | I was raised to be a believer, and taught to live as a caring, decent person. And while I had given up on a purposeful life in my teenage years, I had always suspected that maybe I would pay for my years of sin. The subtle urge to repent lingered throughout my life, but I never cared to act on it, even as I awoke in the afterlife.
As I acclimated to the heat, and the scorched, lifeless surface of hell, I had to admit that I was not surprised, nor particularly disappointed. I had grown strong and tough in my years on Earth, qualities that would suit me well as I tried to make a new life for myself here.
With that in mind, I set out to find a place for myself in this new world. Life in hell was uncomfortable, and at times quite difficult, but never unbearable. I learned quickly to avoid the greater demons, but was able to make a few friends among the lower ranks. We spent our days gambling, to take our minds off of our unpleasant surroundings. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much better than I had pictured eternal damnation.
As the years passed, I grew tired of the same dice and card games, day after day. More than that, I grew lonely. While the demons were easy enough to get along with, I quickly grew conscious of the fact that I was the only human in our outpost. When I asked if there were others like me, they told me of the cottage, a three day hike away.
I was curious, so I began my journey at the coolest part of that night. The trek was long and brutal, perhaps the most difficult experience of my years in hell, but I dragged my feet forward until I reached the boiling lake.
The cottage in the lake’s center was like nothing I had seen in my time in hell. Smooth, gray stones made up its frame, and large windows showed off the bright bouquets of flowers and plush furniture that sat inside. I walked carefully along the narrow pass to the center of the lake, and took a deep breath when I reached the front porch. Out of old habit, I wiped my dusty shoes on the small welcome mat before knocking on the door.
The creature who answered was small and hunched, with wrinkled skin and a high, sweet voice. She looked nothing like the other inhabitants of hell that I had seen, and after several seconds of staring, I confirmed that she was human. “Hello ma’am,” I said, through cracked lips and a parched throat. “I saw your cottage while I walked, and was hoping I could come in for a few moments, to shelter myself from the heat. I would be happy to repay you for your kindness once I have cooled off.”
The woman smiled warmly. “Such nice manners,” she said, opening the door wide. “Please, come in.”
The rush of cool air as I entered the cottage felt like no less than a gift from heaven. The woman shut the door quickly behind me as I entered. “Don’t want to let the A/C out,” she said with a chuckle, before looking me over once again. “Please, make yourself at home. Would you like a glass of water? Or maybe a cookie?”
“That would be wonderful.” I smiled and sat on a vibrant green couch.
The woman retreated to the kitchen, and returned seconds later, with a sweating glass of ice water and a hot tray filled with cookies. “I hope you like snickerdoodles!”
I smiled. Snickerdoodles had been my favorite cookie as a child. I accepted the glass of water, which felt immaculate in my hand, and even better as I swished its contents around my mouth. When I took my first bite of cookie, I could only close my eyes and sigh, a large smile plastered on my face. “You have no idea how happy you have made me,” I say. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“You’re very welcome.” The woman takes my glass of water, and refills it. “It’s so nice to have company. I’ve been waiting for forty years to see another human down here, and I’m so pleasantly surprised that it has been such a kind young man who has come to my door. I’m surprised you’re down here at all.”
I can only laugh at her words, and shake my head. “Thank you, ma’am, but you can trust me. I definitely deserve to be here.”
For the first time, the woman’s face turns sour. “You deserve to be here? For what?”
“For…” I don’t even know how to answer that. “For a lot of things, I guess.”
“Oh.” The woman rises to her feet. “Are you sorry for what you did?”
I shrug. “I guess? Not really, though. Truth be told, it’s not all that bad down here. Especially now that I’ve found you.” I pause and look at her again, suddenly confused. “Do you deserve to be here?” I ask.
“Oh, that isn’t up to me.” The woman chuckles briefly, before the warmness leaves her face. “Satan himself calls for many pure hearts to be taken down to hell. He does it because most men care little of their own suffering. What they need, to really feel punished, is to know that they have caused someone that they love to be put through the same cruel fate.”
“Oh.” I rise to my feet, and inch toward the door. I’m not sure I like the direction that this conversation is going, and the house is starting to feel a little warm. “I should probably be going. I have a long journey back to my outpost, and need to leave during the night, while it’s still cool.”
“I understand.” The sweetness of a dozen cookies returns to the old woman’s voice, and she walks me to the door herself. “It was so nice to meet you, Charlie.”
I stop in the doorway, and wince. No one has called me ‘Charlie’ since I was a little kid. It’s not until a second later, however, that the realization hits me.
I turn, and look at the woman once again. This time, I recognize her. “No…” I take a step back, but feel my legs wobble and shake, before they fail me completely, and I fall to my knees. My vision runs blurry with tears, which I let fall on the welcome mat. I can’t stand to look at her.
“It’s good that you are finally ready to repent, Charlie,” she says, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. “I promise you, we’re both going to get through this.”
I rise to my feet, and force myself to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
___________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww
| 'Tea?'
I was standing by the window, twitching the curtains and looking up at the pale clouds and the blue sky. It didn't make sense. None of it. I was resigned to being dead -- I didn't *like* it, but there wasn't a lot I could do about it now -- and I had even made my peace with being in the Bad Place, but I had seen just what Hell had to offer. I had heard the screams. I knew the rumours. If even one percent of it was true, I was *not* going to be in for a fun time -- especially after what I had done.
But here I was, in the middle of what could easily have been a countryside cottage -- except for the surroundings, of course. Rolling fields of green spread out as far as the eye could see, but off in the distance I could still make out columns of thick black smoke pouring out of cracks in the earth. To be honest, I was grateful for the distraction. When I turned around, the old woman was bringing a tray in from the kitchen. 'Sorry?'
'*Tea*, dear,' she repeated slowly. 'Would you like some?'
'Oh. Sure. Thanks.'
She beckoned me to sit down across from her at the table, and reluctantly I did. *Just wait*, I told myself. *It's some sort of trap. It has to be. Give her a minute and she'll grow claws and teeth and wings like the others, and that'll be that. Just another trick, to lull me into a false sense of security.* Well, I wasn't going to fall for it. I might have been stuck here, but that didn't mean I needed to make it easy for them.
The woman opened the packet of biscuits and laid them out on a plate, decorated with tiny pink flowers. 'They're nothing fancy,' she said. 'Just custard creams. I prefer bourbons myself, but...' She shrugged. 'They're not easy to come by around here.' I took one, and gave it a cautious nibble. It tasted a little stale, but I'd had worse. *Is that it?* I thought. *That's Hell? Dry biscuits and a chat with an old lady?* Someone had really oversold it, if that was the case. It would have been hard to imagine *that* making its way into Catholic dogma.
'So,' she said. 'If we're going to be here for a while, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? How did you end up here?' She paused, and a look of worry crossed her face. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Was that rude of me? I didn't mean to pry.'
I pulled my sleeves down as far as they'd go. 'No,' I said. 'It's OK. I'd just... rather not talk about it, if that's all the same.'
'Quite,' she said. 'The less said on the matter, the better. Plenty of time for that, when you're more comfortable. If I'm honest, I don't know quite what I'm doing here either. I always thought I led rather a *good* life, personally.' She gestured over the mantelpiece, filled with photos: souvenirs from decades and decades, mementos of a past. 'I suppose you never can tell, eh?'
'Looks like it.'
'You like them?' she asked, following my gaze. 'I have plenty, if you'd care to look them over?'
'I'm not really much for photos.' *I never really had many people to take photos with.*
'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I thought it might be nice, that's all. I don't get much company. It's so wonderful just to be able to *talk* with someone again. Especially a nice young thing like yourself.'
And so we wiled away the afternoon together, looking at album after album. What else was there to do? She told me about her husband, Thomas -- dead ten years now, but oh, what a man he had been! So strong, so brave, and what a dancer! She told me about their kids, Daisy and Paul, and their kids, and *their* kids -- four generations, from Tess, who was studying to be a doctor ('So proud...) to tiny baby Tommy, named after his great-grandfather, and what a shame it would be that she wouldn't be able to watch him grow up. She told me about her job teaching, and the hundreds of students who had passed through the doors of her classroom. She told me the joy she felt when one of them remembered her years later, hearing all about how they'd enjoyed their time with her growing up. She told me about her favourite books, and the holidays she had taken, and the paintings that filled her home. ('You know, I never so much as picked up a paintbrush until I was seventy-five, but I can't *believe* how much fun it was. If I'd known that, I would have started years earlier.')
And then she told me how she'd died -- ninety years old, at home in the cottage she had shared with her husband, with friends and family at her side. She told me about how she had smiled even as they cried for her, wiping away their tears, safe in the knowledge that her work was done and they'd be fine without her. Sad, for a while, but fine in the end. What more legacy could you ask for than that?
The scars on my wrists burned hot and raw beneath my sleeves. They had healed over long ago, leaving ugly marks, but I could still feel them itching. I'd hoped that they would have stopped by now, but maybe that was just part of it. Maybe that was just the cost of doing business. Maybe some decisions stuck. *Must have been nice*, I thought, *to die like that, surrounded by your loved ones. Not bleeding out in a bathtub, scared and alone.*
'Were you happy?' I asked.
'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Quite happy.'
And then, at last, I understood why I was here. The worst torment I could have imagined.
The life I might have led.
_____
I'm back, baby! If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa. | 2017-07-04T10:48:56 | 2017-07-04T10:33:36 | 128 | 81 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...” | ######[](#dropcap)
You return from the kitchen, two plates filled with last night's chili chattering nervously in your hand. You hope to God the couple didn't hear the announcement on the TV before you had the wherewithall to turn down the volume.
As you enter the living room, the woman comes up to you and takes the two plates. She smiles and says "thank you so much, let me take those from you."
She brings the two plates to the coffee table, placing one plate in front of her and one in front of her companion. Beside each plate the woman puts a small spoon. The man watches her intently, his features a bit unsure. You can hardly breath.
Once the two plates are set up perfectly in front of each of them, the man takes the spoon and picks up a small amount of chili. Bringing it to his nose he makes a show of smelling it. Then he exclaims, with too much enthusiasm, "This smells delicious!"
The woman does the same, except she brings the whole plate up to her face to take a deep whiff. She inhales for longer than seems biologically possible, and then places the plate back on the table. Cocking her head slightly to the left, she smiles broadly, showing you her incisors. They are sharp.
"This smells delicious!"
The two of them sit there on your couch, not touching their chili. Neither of them even bends down to take a single bite. They just sit there, smiling strangely, as you watch, your hands shaking.
"Well, help yourselves." You say, brainstorming a way out of this situation. "I need to make a phone call really quickly, I'll be right back."
The man rises this time, standing perfectly still, but shaking his head mournfully. "We tried using a public phone earlier. The lines are out. Isn't that right sweetheart?"
The woman looks down at the chili and then up at the man. "That's right sweetheart. We tried to use a public phone earlier. The lines are out."
You smile meekly, fear growing in your gut like a norovirus. You walk to your phone anyway and put the receiver to your ear. Dead. You hang it back up, panic inching around the corner of your mind.
The man steps forward. Just one step. "You really should relax."
From the couch, the woman mimics him exactly. "You really should relax."
Without thinking, you pull out your cell phone and dial 911. The two people just look slowly at each other as you place the phone to your ear. Nothing happens. You look at your screen and see you have no service.
"We borrowed a stranger's cell phone," the woman says, "something is wrong with the cell towers."
The man nodded at her, placid, and turns to you, "That's right, we borrowed a stranger's cell phone, something is wrong with the cell towers."
Their synchronicity makes you panic in earnest. Looking around for a weapon, you pick up the fireplace poker. You weild it over your shoulder like a baseball bat. "Get the fuck away from me."
The man and woman look at each other again, completely unfazed. "Nothing is wrong Thomas. Relax."
The woman repeats him. "Nothing is wrong Thomas, relax."
You have not told them your name is Thomas. You run, headed full speed for your back door in your laundry room. You lock the laundry room door behind you and spin around. You try to unlock the back door, but the lock won't turn. "Fuck! What the fuck?" You struggle with the lock for nearly a minute before giving up. With reckless horror, you swing at the glass of the back door with the steel poker but it does not break, no matter how hard you hit it.
Beyond the glass of your back door it is broad daylight. You see your neighbor standing on his porch, looking out toward his car. You yell out his name, over and over, as loud as you can. But he does not move. Not an inch. You watch him for ten more seconds and he remains frozen in time.
You turn around.
The man and the woman stand directly in front of you. "Thomas, we are hungry."
"We are hungry Thomas."
Slowly their jaws open, unlocking at the joints, wider and wider, until you are staring down the gaping holes of their throats.
You scream.
No one hears.
******
## For More Legends From The Multiverse
# r/LFTM | "Where is the sugar?"
My heart jumped from the couch and landed somewhere distant on the carpet. A curse to god sneaked past as I straightened myself. The man gleaned at me from the kitchen.
"What?" I asked.
"The sugar? Claire hasn't had it in a long time. Was wondering if you had some."
"Top, left most cupboard. I think it's on the right." I started breathing heavy. He didn't seem to mind. The man simply nodded a gentle, homeless smile and dragged himself away.
I had resigned myself at this point to getting these people out of my house. That news report, it had chilled me to the core for some reason. But they were so nice, they seemed so genuine and in need.
But they had to go. For some reason, the thought had made its way into my head that this should be a covert operation. In preparation I rose from my couch and snuck to my kitchen, pasting myself to the walls with glue. I heard them speak.
"He's quite nice." The woman spoke in a muffled voice, the sound of chewing commencing.
"I know, quite the shame." It was like my heart was riled with a bout of tourettes, it flopped its way to the sky again.
"Do we really have to?" She continued, the smacking of her lips grew.
"I mean, it'd be the polite thing to do."
*Polite thing to do?* Murder me in the sanctity of my own home? Their shadows cascaded into my dining room. Yes, MY dining room. I could see the large, sharp utensils stocked in their hands.
"Get out! I swear! Get out of my house!" I jumped into the kitchen, careful to grab the ladle on the counter top. I wielded it like my very own Excalibur, ready to strike down these would be assalients.
The man, and woman both, stared at me in confusion. The butter on their butcher and carving knife slid off. The bagels in their hands seemed to freeze with their expression.
They spoke first.
"What are you doing?" The man asked, dropping the knife to his side.
"What are *you* doing?" I retorted, bringing the ladle to a hold. It shook violently.
"Eating? Isn't that what you invited us in for?"
"I..." I trailed off.
"John I'm scared."
"What's gotten into you man? Why are you swinging a ladle at us?"
"Why do you have have those knives? For buttering a bagel? I think not!" I asked, I felt like I had gotten them. Secured in my victory I tightened on my weapon and my knees got a bit wibbly.
"The rest are dirty. Look." He pointed the knife at my dishwasher, where most of my butter knives sat like little school children, huddled together. "If you want us to leave, we can."
"I-I... I'm sorry."
"Save it." He placed the knife on the counter, raised his hands up like a criminal, just to make me feel that extra pang of guilt. The woman thanked me though, and joined her partner, bagels in tow.
I walked with them to the door and ushered them out, wishing them the best. I turned around, content as the news feed in the living room trailed on.
I never even felt the carving knife pass through the throat. The spurt of thick, red liquid tasted like a dense metallic soup. It sopped into my hands as I felt the pointy object dance and carve. As I collapsed to the floor I listened to the quaint, but proud field reporter spout on.
"The bagel bandits are known to have committed thirteen acts of homicide in the last week, and are still at large... We recommend to not open your door to any suspicious looking couples. No matter how desperate they seem." | 2018-03-14T08:53:00 | 2018-03-14T08:12:12 | 58 | 18 |
[WP] In your world, your physical appearance reflects the kind of person you are - you do good, you look good. One day on the news you see that the police is looking for somebody who allegedly murdered 15 people. They show a picture of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. | She glanced up and gave me a genuine smile, a smile that sent shivers down my spine. If I hadn't known I was sitting on the other side of the table from a woman that had killed *at least* 15 people, possibly even more, it would have been a nice smile to look at and have offered to you. Amy Kentridge *was* also undeniably very attractive as well; that's part of what had taken us so long to finally pin her down.
We'd been looking for a hag until Amy had finally been caught red handed, not a near supermodel.
"I have to ask." I cocked an eyebrow, Amy glancing up at me and nodding expectantly. "How have you fooled your body like you have?"
She tilted her head and an almost bemused smirk crossed her face before she replied. "Oh, yes. You mean the outer beauty, right? The fact that I'm not hideous after all the atrocities I've committed?"
"Yes. Obviously." I sipped on my now lukewarm coffee, waiting for her reply. Normally, our job was easy as police- an ugly soul always manifested outwardly into an ugly body, and the worse the crimes, the quicker the body degraded, but depravity always showed itself in the end. The room filled with an uncomfortable silence that settled in for several seconds before she finally replied.
"I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you." She cleared her throat and stared right into my eyes. "But I'm sure you can figure it out if I tell you to start digging into the backgrounds of the people I've killed. *Really* dig."
We *had* noticed that some of her victims were in various states of bodily decay, as we liked to call it, but most of them had looked like normal, good people that you'd wave to if you came across them on the street. I frowned and returned her gaze. "I will give you that a few of them had started to degenerate-"
"It's the ones that *didn't* start to degenerate that should concern you, Officer Milson." Her hazel eyes were boring into my soul. "The ones that didn't *believe* that what they were doing was wrong or bad." Amy frowned and shook her head. "I have not changed, I believe, because I killed those ugly on the *inside* that managed to avoid the consequences of their actions- those that deserved it."
"But...how did they not change, either?"
"Because in *their* minds, they did no wrong." | Gary Gargas let his mouth open a little. His hand holding the spoon full of ice cream paused in the arc between the cardboard tub and his mouth. The light from the TV flickered on his face as his eyes widened and they said her name.
"...Michelle Rickman is being sought in connection with fifteen separate murder cases. Evidence was uncovered by the Vemin County Police two months ago that one of the previously missing persons was actually..."
She was wonderful!
They began to show video footage of her from a previous conviction. She hobbled down the courthouse steps with a cane, her hips were at an angle, crooked and twisted. She was half-bald; what remained of her hair clung to her head like a hatch of spiders. Three scars crossed her face, pulling her right eye down and her left lip up into a permanent sneer. She wore the best in fifty year old fashion; all in black, of course. As her public defenders pushed some of the press away, a quick snippet of her lumpy, pale thigh made Gary drop his spoon.
"Wow!"
He threw the ice cream on floor. It landed next to the dead body that was already lying there. Gary stumbled out of the recliner after a few seconds of awkward positioning and grunting. He had to step carefully, mostly because of all the blood that had soaked into the carpet, but he managed to cross the living room and press his own mangled face right up to the big screen television. He stood there, drinking in every moment of the woman named Michelle.
Oh, a woman like that couldn't be put in jail! It just wasn't right. Gary pulled his knife from the sheath at his belt and began running his thumb along it's stained edge. No, not at all. A woman like that needed to be free to experience all that this world had to offer. A woman like that...
A woman like that needed *him.*
Gary smiled.
*****
Want to read more from me? [Click Here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/) | 2017-06-12T07:22:05 | 2017-06-12T04:52:08 | 1,426 | 566 |
[WP] You're just a chicken farmer. An ordinary chicken farmer. You're not a warlord. Definitely not, and you also don't command your chickens to do your bidding. Preposterous. Insane. Rumors. | So I'm farmin' these chickens, on account o' my bein' a chicken farmer. Just mindin' my business doing chicken things and shit. I got 8 chickens. Each one of 'em's got a name. There's Mr. Cluckers, Mrs. Cluckers, Captain Cluckers, Commander Cluckers, Lil Cluckington, Big Cluckington, Medium-sized Cluckington, and Ol' Has-a-gun.
I named that last one Ol' Has-a-gun on account o' he has a gun. I got no idea where he got it, but he has a gun. None o' my other chickens got guns. They got switchblades, sure. Brass knuckles? Maybe a few. Plenty of piano wire, too. But only Ol' Has-a-gun has a gun.
Anyway, I'm doin' my chicken farmer shit, when my neighbor, Two-Toes McGee, walks on up to my chicken barn, where I keeps my chickens. I says to the guy, "What you lookin' at, Two-Toes?"
And the nerve o' this guy! He says to me, "I think you're a warlord."
And I says to him, "The nerve o' you, guy! You got any proof?"
And he says, "Well, you got that one chicken with the gun."
And I says, "What, Ol' Has-a-gun? So what if he got a gun? It's a free country. A chicken can carry a gun if he wants."
And the FUCKIN' NERVE O' THIS GUY! He says to me, "Okay, what about that other chicken, with all those ICBMs?" This son of a fuckin' bitch wants to start talkin' shit about Big Cluckington!
So I punch'im in the jaw, and he starts bleedin' pretty bad. I say, "Listen here, Two-toes: You start talkin' smack about Big Cluckington again, you'll be sayin' it to the barrel of Ol' Has-a-gun's gun!"
Ol' Two-toes scurries off, right, on account o' the beatdown, and I go back in the barn. I don't keep my chickens in a coop anymore, on account o' Big Cluckington said it was too small for a missile silo. Oh yeah, the chickens got a missile silo. It's standard on most chicken farms. Big Cluckington's real proud of it, always talkin' about how far the missiles go, and how many megatons the warheads got, and how he's gonna massacre the people of Belgium and shit.
But I says to him, "Big Cluckington, you ain't killin' no Belgians till we put ol' Two-toes in the ground."
And Big Cluckington, he says to me, "Okay, you want Two-toes dead? How bout we send Ol' Has-a-gun down to his place to settle the business?"
But I ain't havin' none o' that. I tell'im the only way Two-toes is gettin' in the ground is with a nuclear missile. Big Cluckington don't look too happy about usin' one o' his missiles, but he knows he's stuck workin' for me until Medium-sized Cluckington finishes night school and can support the family.
So he goes prepare the missile. I head out the door to go give my girl Lego-face Betty the business, but when I turn the corner, Ol' Has-a-gun is standin' in my way. With his gum. I mean gun.
I says to him, "Ol' Has-a-gun, what you gonna do with that gun?" And he says to me, "Die, bich." Ol' Has-a-gun can't spell too good on account o' his Dyslexia.
And he shoots me. And I start dyin' and shit. So nows I'm lyin' on the ground, bleedin' out. I'm probably not even gonna survive long enough to finish this sto
| “Excuse me, kind sir, but can you show me the way to the city?” The man, exhausted from his journey, asked.
“Why don’t you rest here for a bit, and I’ll show you the way later? You look pretty tired there.”
“I appreciate the offer, uh...”
“Melvin.” The farmer replied.
“Mr. Melvin, then. I do like your suggestion, but I can’t possibly bother you any longer...”
“No no, I insist.” Said Melvin. “You’ll find it lovely here.”
“I...I’m not so sure...” the man hesitated. But deep down, he did want some place to rest his sore body. He didn’t understand things at first: one moment he was travelling on the streets, but then he met a strange white-haired individual and woke up in the middle of nowhere. He walked for a while and saw this farm, but despite his desire to rest, he had to return home to his family.
“Something worrying you?” Melvin asked.
“Well... You see, my family might be worried that I’m gone, so I’d like to return...”
“But you can’t possibly return in this condition. Rest yor body, and I’ll send you off later.”
“Well... okay then.” Unable to turn down such hospitality, the man accepted the offer.
As he went inside the house, the man were surprised: this farmer had a bigger fortune than any other person he’s ever met. He was immediately dazzled by the sheer amount of wealth displayed. So much, that he had to ask:
“So... Mr. Melvin, what... exactly is your job?”
“Please, Melvin is fine. And I’m no more than a chicken farmer, why do you ask?”
“Well... this kind of fortune is kind of...”
“Just a life of hard work.” Melvin answered.
“... Alright then.” The man seemed dissatisfied.
After that, he was not only treated with a meal, a bath, and a bed to rest, but also entertained by this wealthy farmer’s fascinating story. Especially the one about a children’s card game. “I should try that out.” The man thought to himself as Melvin told the story. But little did he know, his wish was coming sooner than he expected...
“Well, I’ll be going now.” The man said his goodbye to the kind-hearted farmer.
“Okay then. But if you have time to spare, I’d suggest this lovely place that you’d like to visit.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I still have to return home to my wife and kids.” The man politely refused.
“No no, I insist. The Shadow Realm is a beautiful place this season. Such lovely weather.”
“Thanks, but I really... wait, what did you say that place was?” The man, surprised by the location’s name, asked.
“It’s the Shadow Realm. You’ll love it there. I’ll show you.” Melvin let out a sinister smile.
The man suddenly felt strange. His body was getting hotter by the seconds. He turned around to find where the heat source was, and stopped at the chicken coop. At first, he didn’t notice much about it, but this time, when he looked carefully, he saw no chickens inside.
Just one giant golden “egg”.
The “egg” hatched into a golden bird emanating light as bright as the sun.
The bird then bursted into flames, and charged straight to the man.
He had no time to run.
He felt his body burning up, inside and out.
He slowly lost his senses.
The last thing he saw and heard was a figure of a madman maniacally laughing and screaming:
“ARISE, MEGA ULTRA CHICKEN! ARISE!” | 2018-05-10T16:04:07 | 2018-05-10T14:54:34 | 172 | 11 |
[WP] You created a social experiment based on the game Monopoly. Eight random people in one city were given access to bank accounts each containing $1.5 million, with the caveat that it can only be used to acquire property in the city. It's been five years, and you're checking in on your "players." | I quietly opened the cherry oak doors at the back of the room, and surveyed the eight backs in front of me. Huh. They seemed sprightly enough. And I couldn’t help but notice how..amicable..they seemed? I was running late, and had been concerned about physical fighting, my security’s good, but I’ve never seen these guys before, they could be bodybuilders for all I’d know.
“Ahem”. I cleared my throat, and watched with satisfaction as they all turned to face me. I hate to admit it, but by god, people obeying your wordless orders just never gets old. Hmm. They were fine-lookin’ people. Not to be weird, I’m a pretty straight guy with a wife (that I rarely see…), kids, and bucks for a prostitute every now and then. I miight have a bit of a flair for flirting every now and then. But no. They just looked..surprisingly...healthy. Money doesn’t usually do that. Nor does Monopoly. Huh. Four women, between the ages of 20 and 30, and four guys of the same -- I wanted all of them to be in a similar age group in order to get a better understanding of what would happen over this age group. Your twenties are a strange time. I didn’t give these kids time to figure out who they were or what they wanted out of this life thing, that was the point. “Nice to meet you all! I’ve been waiting quite awhile! So. How’s this played out? I’m sure you’ve run into each other over these past 5 years..”
They grinned at each other. What was I missing? “So. Time for the big reveal!”. I had waited myself to see the results until this moment -- I just loved the drama of it. Unapologetically. After all, I was wearing a bright blue tux…
I fumbled with the computer a bit, and then managed to pull up everyone’s financials on the screen above me. “Oh. This must’ve not loaded quite right, uh, do you guys know your financials, actually?”
They grinned again. A chipper young man of ambiguous ethnicity, with lightly tanned skin, dark curl, and striking green eyes looked up from the ground and told me “No, those are exactly right.” He laughed a little, a bit more mischieviously. His voice was soft but authoritative for a twenty something. I’d remind my secretary -- what was her name? Karen? Kasey? -- to get me some details on him. “You didn’t expect a game of monopoly, did you?”
“Obviously not? I am aware this is the real world. I’m sure there was drama” , I replied, getting a smidge too defensive. I don’t think anyone would be surprised by how insecure and petty billionaires can occasionally be.
They kept chuckling! Another one spoke up, this time a women, with stringy brown hair and unspectacular dark eyes, but there was wisdom to her face. Who were these people? Were they as random as I had thought? “C’mon. We did go to grade school. Some of us university. We might be millennials, but we are capable of maturity. Why on earth would you expect drama? It was simple, really, once we found each other. Game theory, right? If we all collaborate we’ll do much better both financially and mentally than if we compete….”
| We had selected eight of them. Eight people by the name of Francis. In order to learn more about how the Francis mind responds to certain situations, we gave each of them one-and-a-half million dollars. And then we turned them loose.
It was Georgie's idea to make the Francises play a real-life Monopoly. It's a well-known fact that Francises act the smartest with large sums of money. But the question was *why?*
Five years had passed. We, as a department, made a collective decision to check on the Francises. The past four times, the majority had voted no. But five years was special.
Out first subject was Francis L. He had immediately invested all of the money in a recently-released game by some company named Niantic. Unfortunately, he held on to the share for too long, and the game lost serious popularity in a short time. Francis L. now had a meager five hundred thousand.
Second was Francis O. This Francis also chose to invest in the stock market, but he played things a bit wiser, investing in a company that had been on a slow rise for a couple of years before he received the money. Three years after his investment, he cashed in and retired at the age of thirty with two million dollars.
Third, we had Francis F. Francis number three bought a factory in Minnesota with his money and began to mass-produce women's pleasure toys. When we contacted him to see how he was doing, he thanked us with a few boxes of free samples. The women in the department haven't returned from the bathroom for a good couple of hours.
Our fourth Francis of Interest was Francis X. He chose to invest his money in ninja training, and disappeared to Japan a year ago. His former friends say he got shot and killed on the streets for trying to get into a "katana fight" with a rough-looking passerby.
Lucky Francis number five was a man by the name of, you guessed it, Francis G. When we gave him the money five years ago, he simply said, "Ha, suckers!" and left. He denied ever knowing of a Department of Francis Research when we tried to contact him today.
The sixth one was Francis E., a man who was quite the caring soul. He donated half the money to charity and gave the other have back to the Department.
Our seventh subject was Francis R. He took a trip to Las Vegas a year after the money reached him. He's still in prison for trying to rob the casino after gambling away his entire share of the money.
Now, our eighth and final Francis was perhaps the most interesting: Francis T. This Francis chose to invest his money in starting a cult. After asking around, we seemed to come to the consensus that he disappeared shortly after making a seventeenth attempt to contact the Flying Spaghetti Monster in Mammoth Cave of Kentucky.
A witness from New Zealand claimed to have seen him last week, walking along the shore with a spaghetti strainer perched atop his head.
The experiment was voted earlier today to be completely abandoned, and all results he locked away in the archives. The world just isn't ready for the power a Francis with a million and a half dollars holds. | 2017-02-24T20:24:41 | 2017-02-24T19:56:38 | 40 | 22 |
[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. | Ah shit. Well there goes my plan. I step over the mess of dried up bones before me. The court addressees me and ask me the same question the poor bastard before me fumbled. I start to panic my heart is racing i cant think of anything. "How much time do i have?" I ask. "I dont know dude honestly your the first to ask, lets say 5 seconds" the counsel answer. " 5 SECONDS?!" I blurt out. " cant i atleast get 5 min?" "Nah bro, then everyones gonna want 5 min, and ill be stuck here all day, i got magic shit to do" says the main councilman. " cant say i blame, well i guess can i die from an Orgasm?" I ask. "Ah shit thats actually pretty smart my guy, aight step forward ill give u a quickie behind the desk" states the pretty fit kinda Australian looking guy, im not gay but this guy looked mad handsom." Idk man im not gay, i dont think ill be able to get it up infront of you." I say. " Oh no worries mate, i know magic." The man says as he transforms into a marho robbie type. "Actually if you can shapeshift do you mind changing into something different?" I ask. " aight bro, but you only get one more shot, what you want mate?" She asks. " i think i always wanted to die in the thighs of a big tiddied goth girl?" I say. He transforms into an average looking goth girl not really my type. " i guess i was imagining more of a scene girl actually." I say. " too bad bro, u get wut u get." She says. " ah shit, well can you go back to margo robbie then?" I ask. "Nah bro YOU GET WHAT YOU GET." she states." Well that sucks" i say as i walk behind the desk. I get a meddiocre handy and die to one of the most disappointing nuts in my life. RIP | The Gods damned Tribunal! If there was anyone to blame for the state of this sorry world it would be the Tribunal. Sitting up on high, casting judgement on their inferiors. Everyone knows they're the real power behind the crown. Can't have a revolution when the Tribunal can kill you for your crimes instantly.
People called us stupid for trying to assassinate the king. Too much security that night and we just barged in the front doors. Hardly took any effort or the king's guards to take us down. All we had were daggers, they couldn't have even scratched the king's armor. Idiots they called us for even trying to fight against our betters. Everyone reading our manifesto as a joke....but maybe we got through to some people.
Sitting here, waiting to get called up in front of the Tribunal for punishment. Some have tried to plead their case. Some have tried to outwit the bastards and live forever. Poor sod before me wished to die of old age, and got turned to dust faster than it took him to say the words.
HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE? the Tribunal asks me.
I grin and think of everything they've taken from me; my father, my wife, half my damn family accused of crimes against the crown most of them never committed. But I know what revolution sounds like. I may not see it, but I'm giving my people hope.
"Drowned in the Tribunal's fresh spilled blood." I say as I close my eyes and hear the first downpour. | 2021-06-24T10:16:46 | 2021-06-24T08:24:48 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] Reversed Hades and Persephone situation: the Goddess of Life kidnaps the God of Death to be her new husband, meaning that six months of the year things are normal but the other half literally nothing is able to die. | I hated how it was all we would hear about for the two months prior. We hadn't even finished celebrating Remembrance Day, and already we would see the notices plastered on billboards, on the front page of the news paper, notices sent to our phones. For two months we would be subjected to the daily reminders. "DayLife Savings Time is coming!"
Some people saw this as a holiday. It was an opportunity for athletes and thrill seekers to push their physical limits without worrying about the consequences. Many saw an opportunity to delve into their depravities and enjoy mind altering chemicals in extreme doses. My family always treated it as a somber six months; a time to pity those who survived car crashes and house fires. For an unlucky select few it was even a much needed six month vacation. After all, what good are paramedics and doctors in a world in which you literally can't die? Well, except to tend to 'survivors'.
Ever present was the ceaseless march of capitalism. 'Marketing opportunities at their finest,' as touted by some advertising magnate or another. We were peddled emergency preparedness kits. 'Protect your family. Protect yourself'. Nobody wanted to be buried alive, or drug beneath the ocean, or set on fire. Even so, we weren't going to stop going on cruises, or cancel our camping trip during the prime fishing months. So out of our fear and hubris we went to purchase a false belief that we could somehow mitigate our own bad decisions. Decisions which, of course, remained both unmitigated and unimpeded.
Rockstar Layne Montague made headlines in 1982 when he announced his imminent death. "I've done like, so many drugs man, that my heart literally has exploded. Our final concert will be the eve of DayLife Savings Time's end. All proceeds go to charity." Which was a nice gesture, until it slowly morphed into The Concert of the Century. I believe they tripled the highest attendance for a concert that day. It was so popular that it became the chic way for an artist to end their career, and every single time it was some kind of record breaking event. One year there were *fourteen* artists going out at once. Deathstock '99 become a cultural phenom.
You know it's just a game for some people. "How much damage can we take now if we have six months to heal?" This is where the internet really came into the picture. That kind of thing had always been publicly frowned upon. Women would cluck their tongues and men would sadly shake their head and ask "What has gone wrong in these lads lives. Yet once the videos were available online we started watching. Then as we watched the advertisers came. As the advertisers got rich, the network executives took notice. Then came the blood sport.
And here's where we are. Ten years ago, they launched The Arena Network. For six months of the year death in exciting, drama filled seasons are broadcast around the world. The only cost to sate our blood lust, apparently, is sitting through the same Huggies commercial six times an hour. It's not like anyone ever actually died either. If nobody died, then our conscience could stay clean, so why *wouldn't* we watch? Then The Arena grew bigger and bigger, needed more bandwidth, an extra satellite. So they sent up a satellite! But the goddamn satellite didn't work did it? If the satellite doesn't work, then they can't make as much money! So they went and found two dickheads who needed money, then gave them a lot of it to come up here at the very beginning of DayLifeSavingsTime all so these dickheads can fix the damn satellite. In *space*.
*And fucking then* of course while we're out here some rogue satellite hits the ship and sends it off course away from us with a busted engine so Charlie can't come back to find us.
"Ralph."
"Yes Mark?"
"Please shut up."
The silence provided only a moment of peace.
"And since we can't even tell time out here without a point of reference..."
"God dammit Ralph." | "Stay with me!" Emily pleaded to Calaphus on the last day of mora, a blood moon rising in place of the departing sun.
"You know I cannot." Calaphus took a puff of his cigarette and then put it out in the ashtray.
"Just think, we could escape! Escape to the mountains, live in the caves. Make a life, have a family."
"They will find us, root us out, and we will have no protection. Lambs to the slaughter. Without the corps we are as good as dead, you know that."
"But- but I love you! I can't stand to see you go."
"Love is a silly thing. In these erstwhile days a temporary respite from omnipresent destruction. Like a flower, a summer's bloom swaying in the breeze it lives, and it must pass with the mora." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry."
"But- *Please.* Calaphus, I've never found a man like you. Never felt a touch that brought me so much desire to live, to heal. You must reconsider. We'll hide from the enemy drones, they'll never find us."
"Easier said than done. They'll sit outside the cave and wait patiently for days for you to come out for a drink then snipe you on the spot. I'm telling you, they're impossible to detect. Running is a death sentence."
"I don't care, I'd die with you in an instant! One day with you is worth a lifetime without!" She began to sob on Calaphus's shoulder.
He hugged her. "It's going to be OK baby. I'm going to come back in six months when the spring blooms come again. It will be like brand new all over again. I promise."
"That's far too long to wait, and there's a chance you might die. I- I can't-"
"Shhh, I'm not going to die. I command a fleet of drones for heaven's sake. I'm not even on the battlefield. I'll be tucked away in the command tower running things."
She continued to sob, realizing that it would be impossible to convince him. The once-warm tendrils in her heart began to rot, and as they lay together before his departure in the morn she hatched an evil plan. If he wasn't going to have her then she'd just have to kidnap him and keep him locked away until he does. Once he was away from the big bad army and his drones he'd see the light, that her love was more important than anything else.
While he was asleep she snuck about the house, gathering his field handcuffs and a knife. As the first rays of the sun struck his face and he began to stir groggily she cuffed both of his hands to the bed.
Before he even realized he'd been restrained she awoke him. "Now, Calaphus, you aren't going to leave me. Ever. You aren't going to get off this bed until I am sure that you will stay with me forever."
"What, Emily! We have to go now, we are in grave danger! The mora has ended and the drones could be waiting outside. I need to report to post."
She ignored him and went about preparing breakfast. He continued to plead as she put the tray on his bed. Neither of them saw the bullets come through the window and their deaths were quick.
Upon reaching the afterlife they saw Persephone and Hades in a cloud. "Emily, welcome to my team," she said.
\-------
/r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-15T21:10:30 | 2022-11-15T19:31:43 | 110 | 15 |
[WP] Respawning now exists in real life, what are the horrifying implications? | You would think being able to respawn would take away fear. What is worse than the fear of death? Let me tell you. Not having the option is worse. It's a thousand times worse. I've been trying to kill myself for 2 weeks now. This is the third time this year I've been kidnapped. Tied up so I couldn't take my own life and respawn to get away. People rarely even bother reporting crimes now.
The door kicks open. I can't see who's holding me. I can hear him though. The heavy breathing. I can smell the sick sweat. I can still smell his sweat on my body from yesterday. He rams a feeding tube down my throat so I won't starve to death. This one won't let me die for a while. I cringe. He's too careful to let me kill myself either.
I clamp my eyes shut as I feel his hands pull my legs apart. You wan't to know what fear is more powerful than death? When no one fears it. | Phil grimaced, looking at the bloodied crowbar in one hand, then his friend laying on the floor. It wasn't such a big deal, Steve would reappear in the local church in about an hour; but the fine was going to be a major pain in the head and the tax forms for lost time were on him as well.
He dropped the crowbar, grumbled to himself and shuffled into his house, printing off the 2306-A he kept a pdf of on his desktop.
Phil gave another thought to attending his anger management classes, this was the eighth $2,000 fine he had to pay this year. | 2015-02-20T12:27:30 | 2015-02-20T12:06:50 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Making the body immortal does not mean the mind becomes immortal as well. Today, the mindless bodies of the wealthy from centuries ago haunt civilization. | 740 years ago to the day I was looking in a mirror like this.
The same youthful face staring back at me.
I was happy then, full of light and dance.
Full of life, and giving everything I had!
From my mind to my soul. My soon-to-be scarred face.
For what? An experimental treatment to "stop aging".
Looking in this mirror in my 758 years on this Earth, I've aged.
I've seen generations of children grow, making the same mistakes as their fathers.
They've died and been laid to rest, next to their fathers.
I visit some of them in the cemetery, next to my house.
My small empty house, rebuilt, rebuilt, and rebuilt.
Love ones lost, and lost again.
My children grown, and their children gone now too.
I wish I could go back and tell myself: "Don't do it, look at what you'll become. The heartache you'll find. It's too much for you!"
If I was told even by myself, would I have listened?
I had the hope of eternal life, yet I've only seen death.
My scarred face frightens children around me. They point and look away when I look back at them. Their parents tell them not to stare. To not say hi.
So I'll wear my hooded cloak, when I rarely roam about.
I'll stay in my house, my last safe place.
I'll stay in here, where there's Netflix, there's ice cream I ordered online.
But I really do miss my lover's embraces, I miss smiling with them.
And even though I can still dance, I miss dancing.
I could have laid down and rested with my friends- and hoped to go, where they have gone.
I would trade it all back, all 700 years to go and lay with them. | In a way it was poetic. Centuries ago, science had found a way to allow cells to 'heal' themselves indefinitely and the rich were quick to put every form of legal red tape on it so only they could have it. Saying things like they would "be the ones to further humanity's progress" and that it was "too much responsibility for the common man". There was outrage of course, and rightfully so, the technology could have helped cure cancer or even other terminal illnesses with enough research but those fuckers at the top used it to become immortal and then shut down the research labs. They created little utopias for themselves and left the rest of the world to rot under their feet, the few that tried to help were barely noticed but in the end the same fate befell them all.
Now centuries later, the 'common man' knows their story and whenever he or she walks past these empty husks of people they know not to try and help. Not only because they condemned the earth to this sorry state, but because even if they tried to administer aid it wouldn't change anything. Their bodies may never die, but their minds have long since decayed into puddles of grey matter. Nobody knows if they are in pain, and nobody cares. Previously idolized by some, now their bodies are something you pass by like an empty trash bin or a traffic cone. | 2022-02-17T05:40:07 | 2022-02-17T05:34:04 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] One day everyone suddenly has a health bar. Healthy people have higher, unhealthy have lower. You are healthy, but your health is at 1. | 100 Health Points - that was the "average" health of people in first world countries. Some third world places, the average was as low as 40, but there were rumors of "super humans" out there with Health Points of 500 or more.
Health Bars appeared one day out of the blue. Everyone woke up one morning with bars on their forearm, like a tattoo. Except they were dynamic: the bar was separated into (on average) 100 divisions. At full health, all of your Health Points were green. When you lost health, your Health Points turned red. A small cut might lower your Health Points by one, and a broken bone might lower them by half. At zero, of course, you died.
Scientists around the globe were still trying to figure out the phenomenon, but people couldn't wait around for an explanation. They had lives to live. So we all carried on, accepting this new quirk of human anatomy as normal.
Thus we all went on, wearing our health on our sleeve.
I was a healthy person. 102 Health Points exactly (I'd counted them several times). I was physically fit: I ran often, I ate my vegetables and stayed away from fast food. No diseases ran in my family.
Did you know that Health Bars measured mental health, too?
I found out when I stood on the edge of the rooftop of a building in my city. Below me, the streets were loud and full of nighttime traffic - the city never sleeps. Above me, the moon shined down through the wind that whipped at my clothes.
My shoes scrapped the edge. I took in a deep breath, slowly swaying in the breeze. If I leaned forward, just a little, I would lose balance and topple over.
My Health Points were at 1, because the tiniest of movements would cause me to die.
If I leaned backward, just a little, I would lose balance and stumble backward safely onto the roof. It would probably save my life.
I stared down at the city and the lights that danced from this far away. Everything was small: the people, their problems, and if I thought of it that way, my problems too.
I took a deep breath. My Health Points flashed.
A gust of wind knocked me off balance.
| *One Health*
**Part 1**
The day has finally come, The launch of the health bar has come. The launch is the only talk in town. The launch is the only thing that brings excitement to the small town that we call home.
One hour remains on the clock. I have headed into to town, Town is the only place that reaches the rest of the world. The bar is filled with every living sole that is around this place.
Today the chip in my palm will display the health of me and others around. The bartender offers me a drink. I furiously refuse before replying,
"Those kill your brain cells, Who wants to drink some UN-healthy shit today!" I snap
The bartender mumbles to him self before replying, "Al'rite then!"
10 seconds, My heart beats faster.
9 seconds, Everyone pauses talking.
8 seconds, No one dares to move.
7 seconds, Everything seems to freeze.
6 seconds, My chest tightens.
5 seconds, I can feel the tense air.
4 seconds, someone sneezes.
3 seconds, I inhale.
2 seconds, I sharp inhale again.
1 seconds, Here we go!
On the TV confetti go's off and a small announcement flashes before my eyes on the features. Everyone living has now looked at there arm as the red light flashes meaning it is starting. The entire room gasps at once as they flash to life. You hear some laughs and some cheers from around the room.
Everyone except for me has moved and exhaled, And then there is me. I don't move as if everything has turned to ice.
My, Bar, Says, One
And I decide that very second, To figure out what in the fuck has happened.
| 2016-07-25T19:09:06 | 2016-07-25T17:27:52 | 73 | 14 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | "You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing. | I froze up, my go-to whenever anything significant happens in my life.
"Yeah, well, that kid's mom gave him such a whooping for it, we *all* learned a lesson!"
Stupid joke. That's my other go-to. I was about to apologize for it when I realized: she's catatonic. Her eyes fixed on nothing a couple inches over my left shoulder—I don't think she was even breathing.
"Dude, what did you *say* to her?"
I swung around. The guy behind me was about 6'2" and thin, with short, dark hair, and he was wearing a suit with some sort of conference nametag that said "Charles Anderson." I pored over it for what, at least to me, was just a couple seconds. It also said **2018 / "BE COURAGEOUS!"** I wish I was making this stuff up.
"What did you *say*?"
It wasn't Charles. Charles was looking squarely above the whole debacle, hand on his chin, eyes hopping between what were probably the "**2: Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese" and the "**3: Double Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese." *Thank God for Charles,* I thought. If everyone in the world were like Charles, it would be so much better for me. I could just go about my day unnoticed, even with this new...quirk.
"What did you *fucking* say to that lady?"
It was the guy behind Charles. He had dreads and what looked like alpaca wool covered in Chotchkie's flair. But his physique was decidedly more juicer than deadhead, and he was glaring at me so hard his face seemed to be turning red.
"I...uh...Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad, Apple Slices, and water....Please."
I wasn't lying. I *had* said that. *I* had said that. And what she heard, too, was almost undoubtedly that, just in another language. And I'm sure she understood it as that, unless she's rusty in her mother tongue—I guess it's been a while, after all.
"Oh yeah? It didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like 'Sow'll whisper pepequem nose googah' something or other. And I mean—look at her! What did she say back?"
I briefly looked back at the cashier. There she was, still staring at nothing, still still. At least I could detect what seemed to be a little bit of breathing now.
"She said, um..." *Do I tell him the truth? It might be bizarre enough to throw him off his game...*
Charlie helped me out. "I'm pretty sure I heard her. She said 'Nobody's going to have anguish in the thousand years.'" He smiled, nodded once, and bizarrely, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day, turned back to studying the menu.
The Merry Roider seemed to be thrown off his game. He unclenched his face, and it started turning back to that peach tone he clearly wished he didn't have. "Is that, uh, is that really what she said?"
"Um, yup." I nodded a few times, briskly, while staring off to the right. *Convincing performance.*
"Well, what the hell does *that* mean?"
Beef Slackinoff sure was nosey for just some guy standing in line at McDonald's. "It, uh, it means..."
Chuck chimed in. "I'm glad you asked!" He proceeded to begin to explain...something...to Navy Gravy, while I took the opportunity to extract myself from the conversation and bridge the two-foot gap between myself and the counter.
Our cashier starting coming to. "Where...uhh...where did you learn that? How did you know I spoke it?"
*Shit.* I had no alibi. I didn't even know what I was supposed to have an alibi *for.* "Uh, y'know, you pick up a few things here and there..."
"In *Proto-Indo-European?*"
So *that's* what it was! How the hell was it her native tongue, though?
"Um, yeah, you know, just hanging out with other kids when I was little and, um, I mean, reading books, not hanging out—" I was really good at this.
"So do you, like, just go up to everyone and do this? Is that, like, your shtick? How often do you get beat up for it?"
"Well, *actually*"—my first good idea of the day just popped into my head—"I usually try to make an educated guess first as to what someone speaks. And I do have a pretty good batting average." I nodded knowingly, as though I had just securely built the roof of a house of cards.
"Quosmо̄d pewgwonts 'mene gneʕws?"
*Fuck.* I just realized that despite all this conversation, she—and apparently everyone else around—still heard me speaking in this language I'd never even heard of. She was just starting to respond in it, and I had no fucking clue what she was saying.
I stared blankly and blinked for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"
"But how the fuck did you know for me?"
I had to think fast, as if a windstorm were about to arrive at card village and I was its only retrofitter. "Oh, well, uh, you know..."
I noticed she was wearing a McDonald's tag with her name, Lydia Szemerenyi, on it. I pointed to it. "It was that." The bullshit was flowing so freely out of my mouth that I started to fear for the sanitation of this joint.
She looked down and nodded knowingly, a tear coming to her right eye. "It was great-grandpa's dying wish when I was born. Grandpa, dad, mom, the whole bunch, they didn't let me play with other kids until my sixth birthday, and wouldn't speak to me in anything other than that godforsaken abomination of a tongue—"
Chotchkie's interrupted her moment. "Can't anyone get a *fucking* burger around here?" | 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 2018-06-24T21:42:04 | 80 | 10 |
[WP] Every person has two deaths. One when their heart stops beating and another when their name is spoken for the last time. To enter Heaven you must experience both deaths. | Oh if I had only known what suffering my pride would bring. I have waited on these white shores for countless millennia, waiting for the ferry to carry me beyond the sea. For my story to come to an end. I've met saints, kings, conquerors, villains, even some gods, with each of their tales more incredible than the next, and all forgotten in the realm of the living.
I must wait here, for I have reached my quest's end. I have achieved immortality, though it is not as I had dreamed. What solace do I have if I do not celebrate my life with my people? Long ago, I lost recognize of the speech of newcomers to this realm. Their words are foreign to me, except for one word. My name.
I am not alone. Unfortunately. My brother bakes on these sands, having cursed his name with my own ego. I must watch over him as he perpetually writhes in pain. He is the companion in my tales, and as died suffering in life, he continues to suffer in limbo. Foolish were we to incur the wrath of the gods. This sea before me. Was it always so salty, or was it seasoned by my own grief?
Oh how I wish for this punishment to end. For the time where I may finally rejoin my people, and carry my brother into the great city, so that I may find amnesty for my sins and finally bring him respite.
I humbly kneel upon these shores and wait. Wait for the time when the world has forgotten the name of the king of kings, Gilgamesh. | We are the in-between. The not-truly-dead. Cast adrift in time and space.
I don't even know why I'm here. I died over a century ago, and yet my name still echos, somewhere, my legacy remembered. There is a blessing to it, and a curse.
I have spoken with the greatest, and the worst of human history. From Julius Caesar to Queen Victoria, Alexander the Great and Yi Sun-shin. The 'regulars', we call them. The names and voices so known and so great they might never be forgotten.
There are more than you would think- ever try to count the names in a history textbook? It takes more than a name for them to remain-it takes something of who they *are*, some piece of their soul tied down on earth in memory, but someone's life's work is more than enough. That's probably why I'm still here, in fact- I was a doctor, I fought disease and death across the world. Perhaps something of that is still remembered with my name. I can be proud of that. | 2016-01-05T12:22:07 | 2016-01-05T12:05:07 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] "You live as long as you are remembered" Is truer than we think. You wake up, decades after being dead and forgotten to find someone is researching your life. | That first breath of fresh air after years preserved in formaldehyde was all the vindication I needed. My work on reanimation had been a success! I hack and cough, clearing the remaining fluids from my lungs and replacing it with sweet, sweet air. My heart beats unsteadily, having forgotten what it needed to do. But it all comes back, like riding a bike, and soon enough it's pounding away stronger than ever before. I rip the electrodes from my chest and sit up slowly; my muscles are like hinges that have long since rusted shut. My body looks... similar, but not quite the same.
"Welcome back, Doctor," says a curly-haired scientist who emerges from the control booth, wearing thick black safety goggles. I look around at my old laboratory, filled with shiny new equipment covered in flashing lights and emitting strange beeps; tools that I couldn't even hope to recognize or guess what they do. She places the goggles on a nearby table and pulls on thin rubber gloves to examine me.
"What year is it?" I ask as she checks my pulse and breathing.
"2014," she replies. *One hundred and 18 years*, I think to myself.
"And you've done it," I said. Not a question; the fact that I was even asking was clear enough proof.
"Yes," she said, "But based on all of your research, of course. I had heard rumors about you, in the University. And they all claimed that you were just a madman. They've even stricken your portrait from the Distinguished Faculty collection, despite the Nobel Prize. I knew there had to be something to it if a man as brilliant as yourself would go so far. I was investigating your research for a paper on your work, and realized what you had done. What you had *found*! It's amazing!"
*Finally, the recognition!*
"It took me years," she continued. "Most of the records were destroyed after your death, and your laboratory here was sealed. I've repaired it as best I could, but most of the workmen in town are still superstitious about this place, and won't set foot in the house even a century later."
I was flattered, really. Nobody had ever taken an interest in my work even when I was alive! "A crackpot," my colleagues called me; usually it was just behind my back. Eventually, I was expelled from the University and had to continue the research on my own. And with my own funding. No matter, though. The breakthroughs I had developed were *years* ahead of their time, and they were just jealous.
"And now? Now that you've proven me right? What do they think of me now?"
She smiled sheepishly and looked at her feet. The thick glasses slid from the bridge of her nose, and she reached up quickly to push them back into place. "Err, they... haven't changed much. I too was expelled from the University only a few weeks ago for trying to publish my paper."
I jumped up from the table and pulled on a nearby robe.
"Well then, my dear," I told her, "We have an appointment with the University President to make."
(Writing a part 2 now!) | Pain.
My tongue tastes metallic. I feel dry and taut. Sharp pain radiates from my chest to the rest of my body. Something cold and flat is pressing against my back. A hospital gown presses heavily against my skin.
I will my eyes to open. They struggle with the task. When they finish, I see a white ceiling three inches from my face. The air is stale. My heart pounds arrhythmically. My palms sweat. The physical panic reaches my brain. I try to lift my hands, but they strain to lift appreciably. A freezing wave runs down my left arm, replacing the pain with tingling numbness.
"H-hey! Someone... Someone help!" My voice is so hoarse I can barely recognize it as mine. There's a slight gurgling as I gasp for air. My chest is tight.
The plank I lay on moves. Light hits my eyes, forcing me to close them.
"Ah, you're awake." A muffled voice. "You're being studied, Mr. Sanders."
Growing accustomed to the light, I open my eyes to a sterile room with white walls. "W... water..." A cool metal prong is pressed to my lips. Water flows into my mouth. It slides down my throat without my willing it. I choke, coughing it back up. Warm liquid dribbles down my cheeks and chin.
"Oh jeez. I'll take care of that," the man says through his respirator. His gloved hand dabs a white towel over my face. As he pulls it back, I see red stains.
"I'm sorry for starting the anesthesia a touch late," he says. "I know it's not easy for you, but we have a five year old who's suffering from your ailment, and we need to use you and your medical records for research. You're the only person we've got who died from Goodpasture syndrome."
The words reach me, but I fail to comprehend them all. They bring back memories, though - half a decade of pain and bleeding, of popping rituximab, then prednisone, of my horrifically swollen face and a terrified gasp for air that never reached my failing lungs.
That's right. I had died.
"Now, I need you to stay conscious for me as I run a few tests. After that, I'll release you back to nothingness while they go through your records with just a short prick of the needle."
A scalpel cuts deeply into my chest.
===
Goodpasture syndrome is a rare (1 per million people) autoimmune syndrome attacking the lungs and kidneys. With treatment, the median survival time is around 6 years. There is no cure. | 2015-01-16T07:51:18 | 2015-01-16T07:17:39 | 81 | 16 |
[WP] The really annoying thing about being a vampire is not the inability to see your reflection, but rather the fact you aren't detected by automatic doors, soap dispensers, or the paper towel dispenser. | Vladimir walked up to the massive corporate office building. This would be his first job interview ever - which said a lot, when you were almost 600 years old. But the times were changing, and you couldn't be a bloodsucker forever.
Feeling an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness, he stepped up to the doors. He was immediately perplexed to find that there were no handles.
He made an attempt at finding some kind of switch, but soon became frustrated. He saw the receptionist and security guard looking at him in confusion. "Can somevun help me over here?" Vlad asked, peering through the windows. "There doesn't seem to be a vay to open it."
The security guard walked up to the door, which opened immediately. Vlad glared at him suspiciously. "Vat vitchcraft is zis?" he asked, feeling his fangs lengthen as his anger grew.
"Sorry sir," the security guard said, "must be an error with the doors. Don't know why they weren't picking you up."
Vlad thought for a bit, then nodded sagely. "Ahh, I thvink I know," he said, as he walked past the reception, "ze doors must not be able to see me."
The guard stared at him, confused. "...Sure," he said, deciding it was useless to argue with a crazy person.
****
Fortunately, the door to the office where the job interview was taking place simply had a knob, which he turned with self-satisfaction. "Oh, you must be... Vladimir?" the interviewer inside asked, gesturing towards a seat opposite the desk. "Please, sit down."
Vlad sat down uncomfortably. He preferred to be standing, generally upside down, and this just added to his feeling of being overwhelmed.
"So, Vlad," the interviewer asked, looking down at his CV with intrigue, "what made you choose this job?"
"I vas told I needed to 'get vith ze times'," Vlad said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "and I vas recommended to this job."
"Brilliant, brilliant," the interviewer said, "and is there a reason your CV is bound with - what I assume is - human skin?"
Vlad looked surprised. "Vas that a bad idea?"
"Oh, no problem, no problem. So, a question we like to ask our potential employees is, when you look in the mirror, *what do you see?*"
"Nothing," Vlad said simply.
The interviewer frowned. "We mean how do you see yourself, Vlad? What does your reflection hold?"
Vlad was beginning to get annoyed again. "Nuthink, I told you. I am Vampire."
The interviewer raised an eyebrow, paging through the CV. "Ah, yes, my apologies, that would explain why the only thing you listed under your 'strengths' was 'Bloodsucking'."
"Is zat a bad thving?" Vlad asked, worried that he blew it.
The interviewer laughed. "A bad thing? Nonsense - you're hired!"
Vlad looked at him in surprise. "*Really?*"
"Of course, this is Comcast," the interviewer said, smiling, "we're all bloodsuckers over here!"
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | Count Vassili glided through the shadows, his feet barely touched the ground as he gracefully swept across the parking lot. The night was his domain, his refuge. The bright lights of the store front were nearly blinding to him. He pulled dark sunglasses out of his favorite antique petticoat jacket. The bit of lace on the cuffs were a subtle display of his wealth and position.
He remembered wearing this jacket to a masquerade ball a few hundred years ago. Men and women dressed in their finest clothes dancing to the violins. Unconsciously his feet began to step the waltz just as he had done on that night so many years ago. He spun and stepped directly into the closed door face first. The impact sent his sunglasses flying from his head. His makeup had left nearly a perfect imprint of his shocked look on the door. He hissed angrily cursing the petulant door. It had taken him hours to blend his foundation and concealer until he was satisfied.
"Curse your insolence!" Vassili hissed at the door.
As with most inanimate objects it did not reply.
"Fool! For eternity you shall be cursed for your indignation!" Vassili roared and spread his arms wide preparing a most heinous curse.
"Whoa look at this Janet! A goth person!" Todd said pointing to Vassili.
"Oh my god you're right! I didn't think there were any goths left!" Janet said snickering.
"I bet he still listens to Korn."
"Hey maybe we can get a picture with him?" Todd laughed as he pulled out his phone.
Vassili turned his hate filled gaze upon the interlopers of his feud with the door.
"Can we get a selfie with you? This seriously takes me back to High school," Todd asked.
Vassili nodded slowly.
Janet and Todd stood on either side of Vassili and made stupid faces as Todd held his phone in front of them. After a few quick clicks they stepped away to look at their photos. Their stupid grins slowly faded as they tried to understand why Vassili wasn't in any of the pictures.
"What the heck-" Todd's question was interrupted by Vassili's finger nails tearing out his throat. Janet screamed and tried to run. She barely made it a step before Vassili's fangs sank into her like a Capri Sun's straw.
Vassili drank deeply until he was satisfied. He dropped the corpse of Janet and cursed.
"Blood on my favorite jacket! Every damn time!"
He turned to the still closed door and scowled, "your time is coming."
The door stared back silently.
With a hiss Vassili turned and vanished into the night. He would have to return another night to buy more makeup and Korn CDs.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out more stories at /r/Written4Reddit | 2016-11-11T04:42:09 | 2016-11-11T04:24:14 | 3,190 | 276 |
[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard. | Myrthil eyed her grubby hands as she rose from planting the final magic bean. Ignoring the hostile stares of villagers, she started her ritual dance. The bean sprouted. Flailing like a mad woman on the eve of the solstice, Myrthil followed the beanstalk as it snaked across the square.
‘*Not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern*’, she chanted under her breath. The sun beat down from its peak, and this was her twelfth beanstalk of the day. One would think the Gods could give her dreams or hallucinations, but no, her eternal guide was magic-fucking-beans. It was challenging the resolve of this 82-years-sober wizard.
The beanstalk tapped insolently on the tavern door. Myrthil swore as she opened the door and continued her ridiculous dance in front of the half-dozen stunned patrons. She followed the beanstalk to a shadowy table where a plump-cheeked serving boy was pouring ale.
*Hey, child. Have you ever felt different? Like you’re too damn special to listen to a single instruction.* Stopping her dance, she puffed up her chest and prepared to upend the serving boy’s life.
‘What a fucking week!’ came a grumble from the shadows.
Myrthil’s head snapped around, causing her pointed hat to fall askew. The boy had been serving none other than Grius the Grand, a wizard famous for guiding the strongest chosen-ones, and infamous for his temperament while doing it. To her horror, Myrthil’s beanstalk was inching its way up his robed leg.
“It seems I’m your chosen-one, witch.”
Gritting her teeth, Myrthil slid into the chair opposite the grizzled old man. “Get me a tall glass of your strongest liquor,” she growled at the none-too-special serving boy. | The wizard made his way through the crowd before finally coming to a standstill beside the Chosen One. He cleared his throat and -putting on a smile- gingerly tapped the older man the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The Chosen One glared at him. "What?"
"Hi. Hello. Yes. I'm here to-"
"Your hat looks funny. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back toward him.
The wizard blinked. Then he frowned and -rolling up his sleeves- tapped the Chosen One on the shoulder again, a bit forcefully. It was more of a poke, if we're being honest.
"What?" The Chosen One glared over his shoulder at him. "Oh, it's you again."
"Yes. It is I again. And I do not have time for these silly games!"
"Then leave. Your breath smells. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back.
The wizard fumed and yelled, "That's it! I challenge you to a due-"
"Hold on." The Chosen One got off his stool and walked past the wizard.
"W-w-where do you think you are going?!" the wizard sputtered. "I am challenging you to a duel!"
The Chosen One burped and waved a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Your wand looks stupid. Get away from me." | 2022-03-08T12:18:25 | 2022-03-08T10:36:49 | 480 | 30 |
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | "Dude, I can't understand you. I think there's a problem with the line. Text me!"
The line went dead. I really should have seen that coming. Speech requires breath, a resource I was at that time severely lacking. I tried to think of how I could explain this through a text but nothing seemed appropriate. There's no social etiquette for cutting your brother down from a wooden support in his basement. After five minutes and only coming up with "Cut me dwn pls kthx" I decided that I was going to have to rely on good old fashioned shock value. He was going to need a picture. Snapchat seemed like the best bet. I didn't want this ending up on some weird suicide fetish site on the internet or something equally humiliating.
"Message sent"
Come on, you know I'm going to message you, check your damn phone.
"Message delivered"
Oh thank god. Immortality apparently didn't mean immunity to pain and everytime I moved the rope rubbed my neck.
"1 screenshot"
YOU SICK FUCK! You think your brother killed himself and you take a fucking screenshot?
About 15 minutes later I heard footsteps hammering across the floor above me, the basement door slam against the wall as it flew open and my brother bound down the stairs.
Hysterical laughter was not the first reaction I was expecting from a man seeing his only sibling dangling from the ceiling, but after 10 minutes of it the novelty was gone. By the time he started cutting me down I was throwing punches at him I was so annoyed. This was when he discovered that he could spin me.
The rope finally snapped when he was half way through and I tumbled to the floor, dizzy, humiliated and pissed off beyond any reasonable measure.
"YOU THINK I'M DYING AND YOU SCREENSHOT THE FUCKING PICTURE? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Well bro" he giggled, "That's easier said then done. Follow me, we're going to go talk to Mum and Dad" | Probably a bit darker than what you were expecting but here we go!
I'm sure I would've let out the typical drawn out movie 'gasp' had I not been holding my entire body weight on my windpipe. There was no joyous rebirth, no revelation that I had been given a second chance to renew a wasted life. Only instantaneous and overwhelming horror.
I had no time to grasp what had happened. There was a brief moment of complete confusion before survival instinct kicked in and I began convulsing uncontrollably, my body trying desperately to undo what my mind had already done.
It was no use, you don't usually accommodate immortality into a suicide, had I known I would have perhaps tried incineration rather than hanging, I was already a gonner and I'd been alive all of 17 seconds. I spent the last few moments of my morbid rebirth in blind panic, bursting blood vessels straining to escape the cold embrace of death to which I had previously become acquainted. A miracle destined to be extinguished before its revelation, like some sick cosmic miscarriage. The irony is I died in a darker, more horrifying place than when I had first decided to take my life.
That was the second time I died.
I've lost count now, this has become my world, and my tomb. An endless cycle of death and rebirth optimized into one panic ridden minute long experience.
If I could just reach the phone, I could finally end it all. | 2015-01-12T11:11:16 | 2015-01-12T08:42:21 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc. | I wake up on my 20th birthday to the unceremonious sound of the garbage truck trundling by outside the window. Today's the day I get my vision powers.
Everybody born in 2020 gets them, for some reason. The Great Whatever-It-Is must really like puns, or at least that's the best guess that anybody has come up with. Some gain the ability to see long distances, others very small objects. Some people get to read minds, and a lucky few even get laser vision. I myself had my fingers crossed for x-ray vision.
I don't feel any different, though. There's no ghosts wandering about, or microorganisms, and when I look out my window I can't see any farther than usual. I stare hard at somebody walking by below my window, but their thoughts (and everything else) are as opaque as ever. I squint really hard at the pavement below and try to force heat rays out through my eyes, but nothing comes out.
Had I done something wrong? Scenes of everything I had ever done raced through my mind as I tried to puzzle together why I didn't have any powers when everybody else in my birth year did.
And then it hit me.
*20/20 hindsight.* | "Are the restraints absolutely neccessary?" The mother shifted impatiently, observing the procedure.
"Absolutely," I replied, adjusting the machine for her son's eye exam. "It manifests differently in each child when they turn 20."
Slowly I looked around the patients cornea. According to the stopwatch, the Shift would occur in roughly 30 seconds...
Then, a flash of red followed by the appearance of one black secondary pupil. I pressed a small button on the bottom of the machine, and grabbed a respirator while the room filled with knockout gas.
Later, as police cleared the area, I began typing up my patients notes. This would take a while. "Another fucking Sharingan", I muttered, filling out the form. | 2019-12-28T12:47:20 | 2019-12-28T11:38:08 | 80 | 49 |
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her. | “No claws, but it has a really long smile and these glowing white eyes.” Mary said, opening her eyes as wide as possible to show the sort of creature that was standing beside her.
“Hmm. Ok, so it’s not a demon. Demons have claws, at least they do according to the information mom left.” Paula sighed, wishing her mother was here to help with this. Why did the supernatural abilities skip a generation? To Paula, the spot next to her daughter was just an empty space, but it was clear from the detailed conversations that Mary had that there was more to this. “And you said it calls itself Stewie? Can you tell me more about them? Do they seem human?”
Mary turned, staring up at the creature beside her. She squinted her gaze, making a small umm noise before finally nodding. “Yeah, it looks like a lady. Oh, and she stands like this.” Mary hunched over, trying to imitate the walk of the creature.
“Ok, so humanoid. Great, that’s still a long list.” Paula did her best to keep calm, but internally she was screaming. A monster was beside her daughter, and she had to remain calm? What if it was waiting to kill them? Paula re-read the words at the top of the page, mentioning to stay calm. Trusting that her mother knew best.
“Mom, Stewie doesn’t seem mean. She has been really kind to me. She even follows you around the house a lot.” Mary said, her words causing her mother to freeze up, gripping the paper a little tighter.
“Oh? That’s comforting dear.” She lied, frantically searching for the creature on the list. She flipped the paper over, checking over the other options. “How many eyes?”
“Two.”
“And fingers?”
“Five!”
“Five on each hand? Or just five?”
“Five on each hand. Stewie also has long, grey hair, but it’s all dirty.” Mary said, before laughing. “Stewies telling me to mind my manners.”
“Don’t you talk to my daughter like that.” Paula smacked the air with the paper, before looking it over once more. “Ok, so it’s not a possessed doll. Unless its under an invisibility spell? It could be a ghost, but ghosts don’t have defined human characteristics unless they are tormented souls or powerful. Given the house isn’t torn apart, I can’t imagine its tormented. Oh, if you were here mom, you would be so embarrassed. I’m such a failure. You tried your best to teach me all of this, and I failed. If only you were….” Paula looked at the paper, glancing over the characteristics once more before tilting her head. “Mom?”
“Huh? Stewie? You didn’t tell me your were mom’s mom.”
“Grandmother, dear. The word you’re looking for is grandmother.” Paula wiped her eyes, standing in front of where she thought the figure was. “You trickster, why would you call yourself Stewie? Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Grandma! I didn’t know it was you. You still owe me an ice cream. You said if I could learn to levitate a book, you would buy me one and I did.”
“Sweetie, grandma passed away before you learned to do that. Remember? We talked about this. Is it really you, mom or is it just a ghost trying to trick me?”
A warmth passed over Paula as if someone had pulled her into a sudden embrace. She lowered her head into the warmth, letting out a content sigh.
“Grandma says she’s sorry. She didn’t realize dying was such a trau? Trau? Traumatic experience.” Mary said, stumbling over the harder word. “She found her way back and now she wants to train me. She didn’t tell you because she wanted to teach me a few spells before you knew, in case you sent her away.”
“Aww mom. I could never send you away. I do, however, want her to spend some time studying like a normal child. That means you have to help her with her homework before any supernatural study. At least an hour a day of homework and then you can teach her. Understood?”
Mary looked at the space. The two whispered back and forth before Mary nodded. “She said it’s ok, but only if you pay off her debt.”
“Debt? Oh, no mom. What sort of debt do you have? Did you sign a deal with the devil? I’m not giving up my first-born child, if that’s what you're suggesting.”
Mary laughed at her mother’s concern. “She never got me that ice-cream, so you have to. Come on, I want to go get a strawberry one. Maybe one day I can even reveal grandma to you with a spell.” Mary took her mom’s hand, dragging her towards the door.
“Ok, fine. Jeez, you two are as bad as each other. Don’t give your poor mother a heart attack.” Paula turned to the spot once more before they left. “I miss you, mom. I hope I can give you a proper hug someday. Wait! Slow down Mary.” Paula felt her daughter tugging her sleeve, pulling her out of the door.
Stewie or Grandma Rina, as she was more commonly known, only watched with a smirk on her face. Perhaps it was cruel to play a prank on her daughter, but it was her way of keeping herself from crying. The last thing she needed was Mary seeing her grandmother cry. When the two left, Rina locked the door, protecting the house until they returned.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | # Soulmage
**When life gave you demons, you made demonade.** After a Demon of Empathy had inflicted half of the students of the Silent Academy for Witches with visions of power and offers of deals, Witch Aimes took it upon herself to turn the entire experience into a teachable lesson. She was, after all, my tutor at the Silent Academy; I wouldn't be surprised if she responded to her daughter crying about a boy being mean to her with "and what did we learn from this?"
"What did 'Stewie' look like when he showed up in your dreams?" Witch Aimes asked.
Her daughter sniffled on stage, rubbing her nose. "Big. Tall. Lotsa muscles."
"Was he a human?" Witch Aimes asked. The elf in the audience cleared his throat, and Witch Aimes amended her statement. "Or, that is, was he a person?"
"He *looked* like a people," Tisei said, although a hint of doubt had entered her voice. "Except... except at the end."
"Go on," Witch Aimes prompted. Tisei kicked her dangling legs back and forth; the chair she was on was too tall for her to even touch the ground.
"He said I had... re-*sent*\-ment," Tisei enunciated, not meeting her mother's eyes.
"About what?" Witch Aimes asked, raising an eyebrow. *What could you possibly have cause to be resentful of,* her posture seemed to say. *I supply you with everything I could ever need.*
Witches used emotions like fires burned fuel. I'd gotten good at reading the subtext behind my witchcraft teacher's words.
"He said my momma doesn't love me," Tisei whispered. "That she cares about being right more than being a momma. He said... he said he could fix that. If I let him in."
The auditorium fell silent.
Then Witch Aimes shattered the silence with a contemptuous snort. "See?" She asked. "This is exactly the danger these demons pose. To a strong-willed mind, their words mean nothing—but to an impressionable child, a demon can easily corrupt them with falsehoods and foolish ideas. Keep an eye on your children, and if they start spouting any such nonsense, bring them to me."
Tisei looked down, expression unreadable, and I winced. The Demon of Empathy wouldn't have whispered those insidious words if there wasn't a sickly vein of truth feeding them.
But no matter how much of an arrogant little prick she was, she was also the only witch here who'd stood up to the Demon of Empathy themself and *won*. So we all had to listen to her, if only a little.
"And now for a demonstration." Heh. Demon-stration. "Demons of Empathy strike by creating an emotional connection between themself and the victim." Privately, I agreed that her daughter was a victim, although of who, the jury was still out on.
"But connections go both ways," she continued, and here her gaze grew fierce. The audience leaned in, and I couldn't blame them. Because even if Witch Aimes was a self-righteous jerk, she was *our* self-righteous jerk. The Demon of Empathy had hurt us all, and we wanted to know how to fight *back*. "That connection can, with the right knowledge, be reversed. Our top witches are still working on ways to strengthen it beyond its original form, but for now, we can at least manage to speak *back* to the demon, in the same way it's spoken to us."
Witch Aimes lowered her voice, and for a moment, it was as if the stage didn't exist. As if it was just her and her daughter, and for all the faults in their relationship, a mother and daughter they still were.
"The one who hurt you. You can say anything you want to them, or nothing at all. I give you this power, to do with what you will."
I felt something travel from Aimes' soul to her daughter's, and Tisei pressed herself closer to her mother's form, eyes squeezed shut.
Then she whispered, "You were wrong. My momma *does* love me. In her own, silly way."
The words rippled out through the world, and I knew that somewhere, someone who'd just been struck the first blow of a long war was listening.
Aimes smiled, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw something relieved in her gaze. "I love you too, poppy."
Then she leaned back. "That concludes today's lesson on demonology," Witch Aimes, said, straightening up as if nothing had happened. "I'll see you again tomorrow—and don't forget to read chapters eight through twelve of *Defense against Demons.*"
The class filed out, sluicing around me as I sat in thought.
I'd been spoken to by the Demon of Empathy as well.
And I had a thing or two I wanted to say back.
"Witch Aimes?" I asked, raising my hand. "Could you show me how to cast that spell?"
A.N.
Let me know if you want a part 2.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-06-01T08:24:52 | 2022-06-01T07:14:30 | 1,355 | 101 |
[WP] After countless hours of research and testing, your dog translator was ready. As you hook it up to your loyal canine, he utters his first words : "FUCKIN FINALLY!" | "FUCKIN' FINALLY!" announced Admiral, my lazy-headed Golden Retriever and steadfast companion. "TOOK YOU WHAT, A MONTH?!"
"Quiet," I hissed. Then the joy of the moment struck me and I locked Admiral in a hard embrace.
"SO," he continued, ignoring me, "WHAT'S FOR DINNER TONIGHT?!"
"Listen," I replied, "why do you always speak like *that*?"
"LIKE WHAT?!"
"Never mind." I reached for a notepad on my desk. "I've been waiting for this moment. I wanted to ask you some questions."
Admiral sniffed around, looking vastly uninterested.
"First, how are you capable of such complex communication?" I asked as innocently as possible.
"ARE YOU DOUBTING ME?!" replied Admiral. "I NEVER THOUGHT HIGHLY OF YOUR INTELLECT EITHER."
I decided to move on. "Next, what do you think about on a daily basis?"
"FOOD. FOOD!" he responded doggedly. He quickly lost interest, however, and I was forced to continue.
"What do you think of your daily life here? Are you satisfied or bored?"
Admiral had an immediate response. "BORED," he answered. "BORED. BORED. BORED. BORED. BORED."
"Listen," I reminded him. "You don't have to be so loud."
Admiral seemed not to care. "WHAT NOW?" he barked.
I began to have an idea.
"How would you think of a dog show?" | Research and testing is so goddamn hard, I'm no scientist but I can follow instructions normally. As a curious man, I really wanna know what my best friend thinks. This loyal bitch knows how to cheer me up but it's so frustrating when you don't how to cheer him up as you don't normally understand how a dog thinks.
Through YouTube, I conducted countless research, and get as many materials as I can at my disposal. Test by test I know that the devise I'm creating is improving and I'm almost finished.
3 months have passed and finally I've done this baby, now to use it up. I called the bitch up, "NEYO!!!!" I shouted. Neyo came rushing to me, without pause I putted the device in his collar.
"FUCKIN' FINALLY!!! IS DINNER TIME READY!!! COME ON FUCKING HOOMAN I'M HUNGRY" the bitch said through the device.
Shock and happy at the same time, now I can finally talk to this bitch and yeah I have to make the fucking dinner. | 2020-06-22T06:19:30 | 2020-06-22T01:12:00 | 485 | 257 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Frankie,
I know you're angry. Dad told me that you're failing English of all subjects and that you've been drinking again. I know you're angry. I'm angry. I'm sorry that mom did what she did. I'm sorry that you and dad had to move out. I'm sorry you had to change schools. I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you.
Frankie, the world is asking you to grow up before you're ready to. It asked the same of me when I got drafted. I can't tell you that things will get better, because I know things will never be the same. I'll be home soon though. Two months and I'm back home. For good. Don't worry. Just try and stay out of trouble until then. Be strong for dad because Lord knows he needs it right now. He needs you Frankie. I know he's rough around the edges and can be a grouch but he needs you. As for your grades, get your shit together. You're the smartest guy I know, and even though school isn't for everyone, it's most definitely for you. You have the opportunity to do great things and even though I'm thousands of miles away, you are not blowing this. I won't allow it. I want you to be proud of what you become.
One more thing. Do you remember that song that grandma would play on the piano? I have a part stuck in my head but I can't seem to remember the whole so
Frankie. When you get this letter, I want you to know how hard it was for me to finish it. I want to explain to you that friendly fire happens way too often out here. I am sorry that things turned out like this. Danny talked about you a lot and he never stopped telling us how smart you are and how you were going to be a lawyer. I wanted to finish this letter to tell you that your brother was the bravest man I ever knew. My address is on the back of the letter. Once this is over, if you want to contact me you can. That's all I have to say.
Sincerely,
Josh Rosenfeld | My dearest love,
I long to see the smile that graces you lips. It has been well over seven months since I have and my heart aches for that one simple gesture that would welcome me home. Everywhere around me death grins and I recoil from its affection. Tommy, the boy from the Mason’s farm, felt its sweet kiss two days ago. Give his family my regards, his death was quick there are few remains and his family will only have a small box inside a coffin to bury.
The weather is clear and we are pushing forward today. The sun shines just like that day when we had our first child and I was racing you to the hospital. It’s hard to believe little Johnny will be 3 years old next month. Thank you for your last letter of showing how big he has grown, I have tucked it into my bible and hold it close to my chest at night.
We are moving up now, we have a bridge to take. I will finish this tonight.
My lady,
Your husband is a brave man and I’m sorry that I have had to kill him. He took out two machine gun nests by himself before I put a round through his head. His death was quick and painless. I’m sorry I had to take him from you. God I am so sorry, I’m sorry this war is happening and I’m sorry for every man I have killed.
Please, please pray for me
For these awful things that got to be
When this war for freedom has been won
I promise you I’ll put away my gun.
The man that can barely live with himself
| 2015-02-03T13:29:19 | 2015-02-03T13:20:11 | 534 | 14 |
[WP] Having dealt with deceivers your entire life, you finally die and find yourself on the stairway to Heaven. Just in case, you decide to cast one final disillusion spell. | People used to call me Tyrion the Paranoid.
They still call me that, but they used to too.
But I earned that name for a reason. All my life I’ve been chased by both the scum of the earth and goodie two-shoes that worked for a better future and everything in between. You see, my magic was special. It broke the laws of transfigural physics and elemental spellcasting in ways no one would have thought possible before I came along.
I was the strongest, and everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
The moment I got some recognition, they came to me in droves. They would beg for my help, plead their case and sometimes even demand I lend them my services. I was being selfish, they said. I didn’t care for my fellow human.
And they were right, I didn’t.
Through my years of practicing the arcane arts, I began to develop a new understanding of the world around me. I began to notice things. They were subtle at first, but they were there. Small spells and enchantments that at first glance seemed innocent enough, but when you put them all together you started to see that the world we’re living in isn’t the world as it actually is.
Someone, or something, is deceiving the entirety of humankind. And I’m the only one who knows.
I made it my life’s work to unravel this mystery. Who was doing this? Why were they doing this? And what did the real world look like? I had to be careful of course, unravelling the enchantments would no doubt reveal my intentions. Whenever I found one, I took one tiny peek behind it. And every time I saw the same thing.
Chaos. Cataclysmic chaos. Apocalyptic, I would even dare say.
For years I travelled the world, searching for the anchors that held these enchantments in place. Anchors that were thousands of years old. I mapped them all, you will find them at the back of this folder together with all the rest of the information I was able to gather.
Whoever is reading this, it will be your mission to continue my work. Since a few days I noticed I’m being watched and no doubt they will take action soon. I need to make sure my life’s work is not left undone.
Good luck.
---
With a heavy sigh, I finished the last sentence and closed the book. Whatever would happen to me, at least someone would learn the truth and, hopefully, continue the work. I stashed the folder and book away in my desk drawer and made for the door. When I opened it, everything went black.
Light returned to me in the blink of an eye, but somehow it felt like an eternity. To my surprise, I found myself on a marble staircase. Looking behind me, I could not see a beginning and when I looked up, there was no end to it.
“You can’t be serious,” I whispered to myself, half in disbelief. “This is it? Just like in the old picture books we read as children?”
*No.*
Something was wrong. Sceptical of my newfound environment, I raised both my hands and cast a general disillusion spell. It was a mixture of relief and shock that ran through me as the air around me warped, revealing a white, empty chamber with a single door and one-way mirror.
The door opened, revealing what looked to be the most mundane man I had ever seen.
“Good afternoon,” the man said. “I am Ted from accounting, I’ll be your person of contact for the day.”
“What is this?” I asked, readying a plethora of spells, one on each fingertip.
“That won’t be necessary,” Ted said and with a wave of his hand, the spells I had prepared fell apart. “As to answer your question, you are in the main headquarters of the BACCA, the Bureau of Apocalyptic Containment and Chaos Ascendancy. You have been selected for a trial run in the in-field branch.”
“So I’m not dead, I take it?”
“Do you want to be?”
I shivered at the dead-pan delivery of the answer. “No, I like being alive. What does the BACCA need of me?”
Ted from accounting cleared his throat. “We have need of your particular skillset locating anchors. Due to administrative mishaps that occurred we are no longer in the possession of all the locations and we have reason to belief foul play is at the core of this issue. Can we count on your help?”
----
>Thanks for reading! More over at /r/PromptedByDaddy, including several ongoing stories. | It’s perfect, too perfect.
A shining staircase, the angelic sounds of harps and synchronized harmonies. Everything was a treat for my dying senses, which is why it was far too good to be true. At least, that’s what my gut was telling me. My hand gripped the marble railing, stopping to take one last look at the magnificent light shining down through the opened gates that sat atop the staircase. Did I really want to know if this was true? What would happen if I found out it wasn’t? Despite my nerves, I still readied the spell, hoping my body had enough magic left in it for one last disillusionment spell.
I had spent my life being cautious. I couldn’t stop now. Thanks to my distrust of others, I survived this long. If I didn’t do this, it would haunt my thoughts forever. My fingers twitched as the mana flowed through my arm, expelling the last remaining burst of magic through my fingertips. The green burst of energy floating temporarily blinding me. I waited until the stinging sensation passed before reopening them, viewing the staircase once more.
I couldn’t believe it. The stairs were still shining. For once, it was real. I gripped the railing, hugging it with all my might. How could I be such a fool? The gates of heaven couldn’t be forged. Such a holy thing was beyond such fake magic. Maybe I had been too cautious in life? If I hadn’t lived such a safe life, maybe I would have loved? Maybe I would have seen more of the world rather than just read about it. Maybe I wouldn’t have even doubted the gods?
“I’m sorry.” I clasped my hands together in prayer, hoping whatever angel or deity looked over this staircase would hear my words. Quickly I ascended the stairs, rushing towards the heavenly gates. Each step bringing me closer to its magnificent light, the shining aura of the heavens shimmering before me. It’s holy rays creating waves in the air, extending its light towards the platform before the gates.
With each step closer I got to heaven, the more my body grew lethargic. Those quick strides turning into slow, drawn-out steps. It was getting painful. Even the reward of heaven was feeling too small a prize for such a feat. Still, I carried on, my legs burning as I pulled my body to the top platform, finally getting a view through those gates, only to see the reality of the situation.
A single eye watched me, the eye only having a single blue pupil surrounded by a sea of darkness with only a few shining spots of golden light littered throughout the eye. At first, I thought the lights were just a way of luring souls up the stairs, only to realize the sickening truth. Those were souls. Every person who died became a part of this beast, each person becoming another light to draw more souls towards its body.
Slowly, its illusion dissolved around me. The stairs vanishing behind me, revealing the rounded stomach I had been climbing, the railing I had been clinging to earlier, now showing itself to be a row of strange spikes that climbed the beast’s body, leading all the way to the tongue that I was currently standing on.
Those heavenly angelic harmonies were now replaced by the screeches and wailings of trapped souls, each once pushing at the beast’s body, trying to claw their way out through it, but to no avail. They were trapped like I would soon be. My strength was gone, leaving me to just stare in horror as the tongue flicked my body into its mouth.
Had my magic failed? Perhaps my dying body didn’t have enough energy to cast the spell. Or perhaps I just wanted to believe in the illusion so badly that I tricked myself. It didn’t matter now, none of it mattered. Even though I had been so careful in life, I still ended up as trapped as the others.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2022-08-06T11:44:11 | 2022-08-06T08:45:19 | 337 | 188 |
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world. | Unit 2782320 EnvironUnit 912 Actual on report on the 3rd satellite, they call Earth, from the star known any them as Sol.
The inhabitants of the Earth still remain biological units. Having not yet transferred their mords to firmware they are bound to a single lifespark.
--cut through slow scene of human larva they call babies to death and the ancient practice known as burial--
Unawares of this or perhaps uncaring they bravely engage in tribal warfare with each other attempting to end the life spark of each other for no gains.
--move to scenes of tribal warfare using projectile weaponry--
The primitively tribalistic culture also permits predators that can snatch their lifesparks in mere moments to walk among them. Even more daring some actually enjoy seeing these predators even closer. They actually seem to enjoy putting their own lifespark in peril.
--cutting to bears and sharks and people swimming in oceans near sharks--
This ancient culture still engages in the ancient practice of sex. They seem to worship the act of sex as a huge amount of their global information networks are jammed with images and videos of sex being enabled by others.
--show clips from the global information network--
While few calls have been made to incorporate this culture into the galactic network the amount of music and artwork that pours from this culture is astounding. They are tirelessly in production of millions of forms of entertainment.
--cut to scenes of music types, languages, and art from them--
Not having a single language to communicate the individual lifesparks must audibly communicate in the ancient style. With over seven billion sentient units speaking audibly with over 59 languages being spoken. Many with alternate dialects. You could imagine their world being noisy and it is!
--cut to fast paced scenes of cities and languages and warfare --
Still dwelling in thier world was the most excitement this unit has had in a millinea. They almost invite you to risk it all for a pointless endeavor. They live fast and often die incredibly fantastically. They are almost a parody of the lifespark itself as if they had an alternate lifespark awaiting them elsewhere.
Unit 2782320 EnvironUnit 912 Actual on report on the 3rd satellite, of the star known as Sol. Signing off. | Hello, I’m Kyle, and I’ll be your guide through the documentary of humanity!
If you want to see the previous documentary about the Nebulians, please click here!
Humanity is the strangest, smartest, dumbest, and most funny species in our universe.
First discovered in 2134 when a human spacecraft landed on our home planet, humanity has truly made it’s way through the universe.
From the foundation of the Forst Galactic Council of the Sol System, to portable stars, mankind sure has done its fair share of important stuff!
The history of mankind is quite similar to that of most other intelligent beings in the universe.
They started out as a hunter-gather civilization, and gradually began to spread all over, taking all resources.
Humanity only became aware of this in the late 1900s, and only made an attempt to combat this 25 Earth years later in 2012
(1900s is 1900 years after the death of the common religion’s God.)
Humanity then became mostly eco friendly and spread further, colonizing their entire planet!
They began to spread out to the stars, and take up ridiculous amounts of room, building their “Suburbs” and “Commercial zoned land”
Now besides their peculiar wants to both help everyone they see, and commit murder to them, mankind is actually the most resilient species so far documented with exception of the Adoiltres.
Compared to our home planet of Drafw, Earth is extraordinarily dangerous and inhospitable, filled with predators, strange weather and disease.
These “disease” caused many problems for both mankind itself and the rest of the Sol System, but that’s another story.
If you’d like to hear that, please insert your plasma holodisc “Humanity, a resilient beast” part 2 that came with the purchase of this holodisc!
Thanks for reading! | 2019-02-07T22:09:52 | 2019-02-07T21:31:50 | 174 | 86 |
[WP] You have a sentient voice inside your head which knows the answer to every question you have but refuses to tell the future. Suddenly you hear "Pack your laptop, Swiss army knife and leave in 5 minutes, else you'll regret it."
[deleted] | “My laptop? Why?”
*Because you will need it.*
“Why will I need it?”
*You know I cannot answer that question.*
“Don’t be a bitch and answer the question.”
*Pack your laptop, Swiss Army Knife and leave this house within the next 5 minutes*
“I don’t even own a Swiss Army Knife.”
*Yes, you do.*
“I don’t.”
*It’s in the top drawer next to Scrabble.*
“Oh, yeah. So it is. Shall we bring Scrabble, too?”
*Why would we bring Scrabble?*
“I don’t know, you’re the mage. Why shouldn’t we?”
*You’re really bordering on what I can and cannot say, here.*
“Is it because I’ll blow your tits off again if we play?”
*When did you beat me at Scrabble?*
“I am positive I have beaten you at Scrabble.”
*Think about this for a moment. How could you possibly beat me?*
“I’m just that good.”
*You’re not making any sense, Bill. We have never played Scrabble.*
“Why would I have the game if I haven’t beaten you?”
*Are you fucking serious? That doesn’t make any sense either.*
“I’m bringing Scrabble.”
*YOU'RE NOT BRINGING SCRABBLE*
“YOU CAN’T STOP ME FROM BRINGING SCRABBLE.”
*WE HAVE 60 SECONDS TO LEAVE THIS FUCKING HOUSE AND YOU’RE MAKING THIS ABOUT A SCRABBLE MATCH THAT NEVER HAPPENED.*
[Opening the Scrabble box] “I knew it! Here’s the scorecard. Oh, wait, I played Uncle Carl.”
*I told you.*
“I destroyed him, though”
*What are you talking about? It was me that destroyed him. You just kept saying we should add the letter 'S' to every word he played.*
"The 'S' strategy is Scrabble 101. It's a guaranteed win every time. Everyone knows that."
*Nobody knows that, Bill. Nobody knows that because it isn't true.*
The sound of the front door opening could be heard from the room Bill was standing in. “Bill, honey? I have to go to my sisters to colour her hair. It’s an emergency. Would you be ok to take my Mother shopping this afternoon?”
*Why didn’t you listen to me, Bill? Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to flee?*
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
EDIT: Holy shit, I have 50 subscribers now. I can't wait to disappoint every one of you. | It was a early for a Tuesday morning. As always as I came into work as the voice had told me, work work work till the day is done. As a child my parents had taken me to Dr. after Dr. about my "imaginary" friend. Then one day, around 10-12, I learned my friend in my head was useful.
It would give me tips about the best seats on a bus, which kid had the most lunch money, which teacher was a little high on the sauce and could be talked out of a test. Even my relationships, it helped me pick out choice from outright crazy. Listening to that voice had been the best thing that ever happened to me, even if most of the time it would never tell me the why, even after the fact.
I was getting ready to eat my Bagel, when out of no where the voice shrieked, Pack your Laptop, Swiss Army knife, and leave in 5 minutes. what the hell. Go NOW. Ok, it had never done this before, so I figured why stop listening now.
I got into the elevator a little after 8:35, and at the ground floor before the doors opened I heard a sound like thunder, the very earth under my feet shook. What the hell is going on I asked the voice inside my head? Nothing. Great. The lights went out, people were screaming. I looked at the elevator panel, saw where the firemans key went. I remembered my pocket knife. I jammed the can opener blade it, and turned with all I had, and the doors release just enough for me and the seven other people behind me.
As we looked out into the lobby, all we saw was smoke, and one more time I asked, I begged, what should I do? "RUN"
I didn't hesitate, I ran for the light, out into the streets, filled with choking smoke and debris, only to hear another great roar, looking up, as I saw flame and fire from my office floor, I saw another plane hit my co-workers building, he was there, I had been on the phone just minutes earlier, holding a sign out my window mocking him. Now, all I could do was run. | 2016-09-22T07:30:35 | 2016-09-22T07:29:30 | 3,472 | 191 |
[WP] In the near future, people spend more time in VR than they do outdoors. It's just better 'in there'... except when script kiddies swarm a server. | Jared shambled from his kitchen over to his VR recliner and pulled the connectors down to his temples, grumbling (as he frequently did) that he wished he made enough to buy a full life support VR casket so he didn't need to deal with things like kitchens, or bathrooms, or exercise.
Besides, with just a casket and hookups he'd take up next to no meatspace and save a metric fuckton on rent and groceries. Still, you needed credits to save credits, and he didn't have 'em.
And then he opened his eyes *inside*.
Having recently signed up for a fantasy medieval space, he found himself in a small town, in an alley next to a marketplace. The sky was blue and had just the right amount of cloud, the temperature was perfect, the smells pleasant. No bodily discomforts were felt. *Like life if life were fair*, he thought.
*Time to work*.
Working as an 'NPC' wasn't bad work if you could get it - you were paid to play around in VRspace, even if it was to support someone else's fantasy. He put his hand on the pommel of the sword resting at his hip and stepped out to hassle some adventurers. There were a couple just entering - you could tell because they had fancy armor that shone in the sunlight, and they didn't seem to have any particular job to do. Perhaps he could guide them to a wizard, healer, or thief to round out their party, or maybe even send them on a quest. Quests were good if the party succeeded - you got a real-world commission out of it.
Maybe he'd really luck out and they'd ask him along. That paid *really* well. *Don't get your hopes up, just keep the customers happy*, he thought to himself.
That's when *they* invaded. A dark circular cloud formed overhead. Ominous... until other clouds formed buttocks and two giant hands pulling at the edges of the dark cloud. And then a squire with white eyes walked into the market screaming, "Haxx0rs rule! Visit Haxx0r space!". And then he bifurcated, again and again... and soon there was nowhere to stand that wasn't already occupied by a screaming squire.
Damn sysadmins were falling behind on their duties, so with a reluctant sigh, Jared drew his sword and started cutting down the squires. Pointless, since they just spawned anew, but fighting off hacks was an unofficial part of his job - and a necessary one to do if he wanted to *keep* that job.
*No commissions today, I guess.*
* * *
And you might try */r/The_Evil_Within_WP*, where I store some of my prompt responses that got a decent amount of interest and upvotes. | freevr: So, are we doing this?
AliceAndAlison: Yeah, just gimme a sec to put on my headset.
noscopr22: It still boggles my mind we're literally living in that cyberpunk dystopia.
freevr: Hype
noscopr22: Uh...
AliceAndAlison: Okay, let's go.
Microsoft Home:
"So, you know, I'm slaying this dragon, when out of FUCKING NOWHERE my sister asks to join my game and it respawns with full health."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. I blocked her."
"I mean, my brother can be annoying too, but to join in the middle of a battle."
**An update is available for Microsoft Home. Install now?**
"Fuck off."
noscopr22: Found one!
AliceAndAlison: Yesss!
freevr: This is why you install security updates.
Microsoft Home:
"I don't feel like the clock really matches your wall, though. You know?"
"Holy shit nothing matches this wall! How about I just buy a new house? Only 15k credits. I motherfucking swear. The clock is fine."
"It's also kinda glitchy."
"What?"
"The time is off."
"Piece of shit."
freevr: plsplspls
AliceAndAlison: And...
AliceAndAlison: Yes!
freevr: every time
Microsoft Home:
"This clock had better work."
"HELLO. WE ARE LIBREREALITY, A GROUP DEDICATED TO FREEING YOU FROM THE CHAINS OF YOUR CORPORATE OVERLORDS..."
"holy shit it's one of these."
"Is there anything you can do tot make it shut upt?"
"Not really. You just gotta wait for it to finish and install your security updates."
"IN YOUR CURRENT VIRTUAL ENVIRONMENT, MICROSOFT CONTROLS YOUR ENTIRE WORLD..."
noscpor22: wow worked wonders u guys
freevr: I'm very willing to listen to alternatives, if you've got any ideas.
noscopr22: something other than ads pasted all over shit.
freevr: so no suggestions.
noscopr22: Fuck it i quit. | 2016-06-16T15:06:44 | 2016-06-16T14:06:00 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] You blink slowly having just woken up, your vision clears, and you realize you've awaken in a new Bugatti. | What happened? One minute, you were listening to some music at home, and now...you were speeding down the freeway in a..Bugatti? Wait...That was the song you were listening to!
You look at the radio and wonder...
You turn the radio on. You love this song!
You sing along, "Shots, shots shots shots!" And then...
You are in a loud, dark nightclub! All around you are shot glasses full of Patron! You take as many as you can down in one go, and then notice that the DJ is changing up the beat.
Wait! It can't be! It's that Rihanna song from a few years ago! You sing along, "S S S S and M M"
And then...
Ouch! You are tied up in some gothic nightclub. A dominatrix with a huge paddle is right next to you, screaming at you, calling you a pig. This is no good! And it's only the beginning of the song!
After three excruciating minutes, the song finally changes. What is it? You know that song! Desperately, you sing through the gag that they've put on you, "Aaaannd Uhhhhm Phreeeeee! Phreee fulllinnnn!"
Thank God that's over! But wait, why is everything so blue? And then you realize...Free Falling. You turn your body around, and watch the ground approach you at a rate far too fast for your liking.
You look around. Is there something, anything that can play music? Maybe if you sing it yourself, it will work anyways?
In your terror, you can only think of one thing to sing, "A B C D E F G".
It worked! You're in...a crib, looking up at the letters painted on the walls of your old room! You look up at your hands. Your tiny, newborn hands. You try to sing, but it just comes out as a wail.
Oh well, could be worse. | "What happened last night?" you ask yourself while rubbing sand from your eyes. The last thing you remember is a line of warm, brown tequila shots and your friends chanting "drink bitch, drink bitch!" It had been your birthday, and they promised a night you wouldn't forget. Jokes on them, you don't remember anything when you're black out drunk.
Your back hurts and your head is still spinning, making you question whether or not you're actually sober. This wasn't the first time they'd dumped you in a car to sleep it off while they continued partying. "I need new friends," you sigh to yourself.
You begin rummaging through your pockets, while you ramble off the same line to yourself that you always do before departing. "Cigarettes, phone, keys, wallet." Check, check, check aaaaand... check. You grab the keys from your front pocket and aim for the ignition. "Thunk." Muscle memory tells you that's where it should be. "Thunk." Nope. You try again as it dawns on you.
"This... this isn't my car. This is NOT my car." You finally take the time to look around you. A large, flourishing "B" logo shouts at you from the steering wheel. The key fob feels heavy. The smell. The dash. The seat. Everything feels different.
"Oh yeah, my dad bought me a Veyron for my birthday. Peace out bitches."
Tl;dr, happy birthday, son.
| 2014-05-15T20:26:46 | 2014-05-15T20:20:43 | 67 | 18 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | At about the thirty year point I suddenly turned grey. The colour fell out of my hair overnight. I think it was the trauma, it's reach extending from that very first moment when Miss. Dawson pressed the button on my pod and the glass reeled back.
She smiled. I saw red lipstick bonded to the gaps between her teeth. Slate grey eyes peering down at me. My head was still restrained. I flickered my eyes away but she bobbed her head in the same direction so that she filled my vision.
'Welcome to The Advancement. It's morning, Julia. Time to get up.'
Thirty years later, it's morning again. It always feel like it's morning. The day is beginning. I'm exiting the pod to an empty world.
I logged on to the federal system to retrieve my mail. It loaded instantly. There was no other traffic to clog the fibre optics.
'Good morning, Julia.'
She hadn't changed. Her face filled the computer screen.
'Rough night?'
I reached up and touched my hair, pushing it flat to my head. I should have worn a hat or pulled it into a pony tail so it was less noticeable.
'Something like that.'
'Oh dear. It hits them all at some point.' I wasn't entirely sure she was addressing me, or if we were suddenly co-conspirators in something I still didn't understand.
'Seth is fine. He's passed all respiratory checks. He's currently dreaming of a cartoon dog.'
My heart pumelled. He's dreaming about Scruffy. He's still in there. I thought of my baby; still my baby, held in stasis without me. When he woke, I'd be long dead. Dust in the ground. Who would look after him? Who would-
'Julia?' Miss. Dawson was snapping through the screen. Her mouth had drawn together in an ugly pucker. Of course she was mad at me. She always had reason to be mad at me.
'I'm with you.'
'Good. There's a car on its way to you. Be ready in half an hour. Do something with your hair, for God's sake,' she said, before the screen went black.
| What? What's going on? Why aren't I sleeping? The chamber should've immediately altered balance for sleep. I need to get attention.
I pound on the glass. "Hey! This chamber is defective!" Nothing. I do it again, louder. "Hey!! It's not working!" No one notices. The chamber lowers. I don't have much time. I use all my power to bust the glass. Nothing. Panic. What should I do? What *can* I do?
Breathe. No, wait- meant for sleeping, not hyperventilating. Limited supply. Can't do that. Stay calm. Adrenaline rushes won't help. Count to five, lower breathing manually. Just gotta stay calm.
Dark. The chamber's been lowered into the floor. Why aren't I sleeping? I need to be sleeping. Injury? Knock myself out? That could work. Three, two... wait, no. Blood loss. I'll be in here a while. Head injuries will kill me. Stay calm. Count to five, lower breath.
Wait. Wasn't there an emergency button? Can you tell me? That's right, you never answer me. Let me look around. It's too dark. I don't want to hit the wrong switch or button. Wasn't there a code for lights I could say? I think I remember that. I can't recall. "Emergency lights!" Nothing. "Lights on!" Still nothing. Can't you speak? Can you help? "No sleep!"
...Lights. A buzzer. That's my button. I press it. Is this it? What's going on? I feel myself raising. Finally, the surface. I can breathe calmly again, now that I'm back. Time to find a new pod. | 2018-12-29T01:58:51 | 2018-12-29T01:26:24 | 88 | 35 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671. | Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end. | 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 2017-06-11T09:19:40 | 159 | 17 |
[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. | "I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds. All fall before my inevitability." The Dark Specter seemed to suck the light out of the room. The floor undulated in slow waves. The giant spoon and fork hanging on the wall wavered as their molecules drifted between dimensions.
Julia stared at the Specter impatiently. "Yes, hun, but did you remember to pick up the milk?"
"Life and Death are one. The warmth of Life and the cold of Death are partners in the long dance of reality." As a dark tendril touched it, the refrigerator swung open, revealing a full gallon of milk, pulled into sharp relief by the aura of black that covered everything else on the shelves. The label flipped between Chocolate and Two Percent, refusing to settle into a stable quantum state.
"How many times do I have to say it. Get the organic milk." As she reached in to grab the jug, the label flowed into a new form, with a giant O marking it's brand. "Ah, nevermind. This is the right one. Now, I don't suppose you could scale back the darkness a bit and vacuum the living room?"
"The ebb and flow of power is itself a power. The absence of substance is itself a substance." The Specter hovered.
Julia cleared her throat and tapped her foot, just staring at the darkness. The darkness retreated, drawing itself into nearly a solid form.
"Uh— the absence of substance is a vacuum. The ebb and flow of dust shall end." The Specter hoovered.
"Thank you, hun. Now, I'm going to be making my Shepard's Pie for dinner, so please stay out of the kitchen. I don't want the potatoes spontaneously spoiling or the chicken reviving itself. Why don't you watch the game?"
"The games of man are inconsequential next to the powers commanded by gods."
"It's Arsenal vs Man U."
The Specter shrank and solidified. It fell onto the sofa as gravity began to affect it. One last tendril of shade flew forth to stab the television on. The faintest hints of red and white began to show through the black shell.
By the end of the game, the figure on the sofa was nearly human. Only the face was still in darkness when the oven opened and the smell of dinner wafted into the room. The man got up to check out the cooking.
Julia smiles when she saw him. "Dinner's almost ready, hun. How was the game? They try to walk it in again?"
"It was a ludicrous display. Dinner smells good. Uh— sorry I haven't been myself much lately." The darkness retreated to his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. He turned towards the table and paused. "Why are there three place settings?"
Julia answered over her shoulder as she turned back to the kitchen. "Don't you remember? My mom's coming to dinner. She's going to stay a few days."
Smoke billowed from behind her as darkness flowed to cover the man. The Specter answered. "I am become Death."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | (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) | 2022-01-27T09:27:14 | 2022-01-27T05:34:32 | 103 | 39 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?" | "My friends," I gave a big smile. "Don't sweat the details. The *Dark Lord* **is** ***dead***!"
They, of course, proceeded to sweat the details. These senseless beings that sent an innocent boy to die. Fed him lies, about how he was the prophesized one of a long-forgotten divination, promptly made up on the spot with overbearing, stinking bull and an ever-constant stream of shit.
"Impossible," one dolt said. He had one eye, which was his only defining feature, honestly. And old, maybe? "The Dark Lord tore out my eye--"
Oh oops.
"--when I was a wee, but powerful knight. And you are telling me Brandon killed *the* Dark Lord?"
"Guys, I don't know what you are talking about," I shrugged, wagging my fingers at them and tsking, imbuing the necessary magic with discreet somatic and verbal cues. "All I know is I was sent there. Maybe your magic is so powerful that the prophecy came true, you know?"
"We have no magic of that sorts in this village," said another woman. She looked suspicious, which was, frankly, hard to do now, considering a serene, magically induced stupor had just taken effect on many of their hilarious, dopey faces. "In fact, we were waiting for arcane aid from the capital. We sent you in to..."
The woman trailed off, then. She was struggling to keep her eyelids open and her mental guard closed.
"To?"
"To die," she mumbled. "It didn't matter if we sent our strongest or weakest. Any fight would be a difference of minutes, even seconds. It was the journey, the rumours we set along the way, that we hoped to make the Dark Lord wary and delay his approach."
Delay they did. I was laughing so hard at their amateur attempts at sabotage that I could barely leave the floor for two days.
"The Dark Lord's dead, and I'm alive," I said. "What more do you want? Your problems are solved, no?"
It didn't take too long for the sizeable mob to nod their heads vigorously. Well, as vigorously as a drunk weasel submerged in water could, perhaps. I know what that looks like. The people started shuffling away, and soon, I was left alone in the town square, where I inhaled a deep breath.
"Right, Brandon," I whispered. "Got all that?"
"Those bastards," the boy shouted back telepathically. I had to reduce the volume, semi-cursing myself at not predicting the angry outburst of a manipulated teen. "They were going to let me die?"
"Well, to be fair, you were duped by an obvious trick," I said. "They've sent, like, sixty different heroes before you. What makes you think you were different?"
Brandon was silent. Ooh, I'll admit to that not being very empathetic or sensitive.
"But it's OK, Brandon," I said. "Just say the word. And this village will be reduced to ashes, you know?"
This quiet was different. It was one of contemplation. If I concentrated hard enough, I could hear the gears whirring in his head, a fresh engine combusting its pistons for the first time.
"No," the boy finally said. "Not yet. You have my body now, Dark Lord."
"That I do."
"Infiltrate them. Make it slow. Have fun with it. And when I make my way down there, we'll slaughter them like the lying pigs they are."
Sinister. Very promising. Why am I keeping the kid around? Give him some deliciously evil choices to make? Well, see, a drunk weasel is mediocre entertainment for an afternoon. That old saying... yes, teach a man to build a fire, and he's warm for a night. Set a man on fire, and he's warm for the rest of his life.
And a kid drunk on borrowed power? Oh, there's so much fun to be had.
---
r/dexdrafts | I had spent years working up to this - the death of a sorcerer who was said to be unkillable, universally feared. And this was it. I had my plans, and we were finally ready to meet in battle. I had an exhaustive list of things to try - if I could survive long enough to try them.
This world was full of supervillains, and utterly empty of superheroes. Some sort of process had made them go mad with power - definitely not evil, but incredibly selfish. Without equality, without the necessity to cooperate, being selfish becomes a viable option, socially. And so, those at the top had conquered the world. A few were good, and the commoners, with numbers managed to keep a few places out of supervillain control, but it still wasn't looking good.
Unless I could kill Metalhead, that is. I could show them that they'd have to bend, because if he could die, so could the rest of them.
The minions showed up - filler, mostly for distraction. They were dangerous, but easy enough to avoid if you were quick on your feet. They were all a mixed bag, but never that tough to deal with. Gunfire finished most of them off, and the few remaining succumbed to heat. All they were for was to buy time for Metalhead - and we made sure that there was as little time as possible. We lost some of our own soldiers, good ones. But I remained alive, and I was incredibly important. It was in the prophecy, after all.
I came out, guns blazing, bullets shooting titanium, the metal that Metalhead turned everything into. It bounced off him. He didn't even try to dodge; he was invincible. Spikes of titanium rushed at me. I was nearly impaled, but I worked quickly, using a tensor to throw one spike that was about to hit me back at him.
He opened the floor. Another item on the list is that he had to be killed by his own allies. I activated my jetpack, darting around, trying to get the minions to fire on me. I accelerated between Metalhead and an enemy, and I had timed it just right. He was moving too, which made it hard, but I got a bullet to hit his skull.
&#x200B;
It bounced right off.
Yet another idea down. More attempts to kill him were all eliminated. We had rigged the battlefield with mines, and were ready to detonate any of them. So we tried a powerful explosion. I was barely functioning after the explosion, and Metalhead was unharmed. He started to encase me in titanium, a fate that a large amount of our team had met. Fifty of us were dead so far, only 30 left to kill Metalhead. He was on his own, however.
&#x200B;
And, finally, our last resort: An experimental device. Metalhead was zapped. His brain accelerated. Seconds would go by for us, and days would go by for him. Until it ran out of power, anyway. His powers didn't speed up. A hail of spikes descended on me, impaling me and barely missing the heart. Twenty more of us were incapacitated. Then, around 25 seconds later... the spikes changed direction. They were headed towards him.
By second 30, the spikes had all impaled him, laying waste to his body.
That's how I did it. I didn't kill Metalhead; none of us could. I drove him to suicide with the most unbearable torture: Nothing, seemingly forever. He could always kill himself, after all. | 2021-08-20T12:42:47 | 2021-08-20T12:36:31 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | I was preparing the final checks of the bio-sphere module attachment procedures as I read the documents of it's content, as my hesitancy grew. A module filled with 78% nitrogen, a not completely unexpected chemical, after all it is present on many homeworlds of the Noxium Union, albeit in much lower amounts, but the oxygen reactive and corrosive gas, at 22% concerned me. Perhaps a mistake in the transfered files I should inquire about after I finish reading.
But I was stunned upon further reading, the module was to be pressurised at 14.7 psi, my confusion growing, to be cooled to a mere 289 Kelvin, with an artificial gravity two times that of my homeworld. Surely a mistake, I ponder what could live in a toxic, heavy environment this cold, so thick it could crush a Lashions exoskeleton! With an immense supply of the corrosive, Dihydrogen Monoxide as well! Either a ridiculous mistake in the files I received, or this module was for developing some kind of Accord violating weapon!
I bring my panicked worries to my supervisor, my tail swaying with my unease. "There must be a mistake, this "bio-sphere" is basically a weapon, what could we, a Union research station, be using this for?"
My supervisor simply looked at me, a trace of fear visible in his luminescant face. "It's a bio-sphere for the newly integrated sapients, the Humans. We have one joining the station to explore further integration".
My tertiary heart quivered, a human? I'd read a little of their kind after first contact was initiated. A species that dwelled in a harsh world, that ate the flesh of living beings, with maws of sharp calcium protrusions, that drank poison for sustanence, that inhaled burning bio-matter for fun. A being that stayed awake for over 16 hours at a time, and slumbered for at least 8 and carved and stained patterns in it's very own flesh, and came back for more.
I felt fear, at this alien creature that was reminiscent of a monster. This monster that was coming to this very station, but at the same time I was curious, as curious as a Neriun could be, at what this creature was truly like, how this alien truly lived, how a frightening monster like this could dwell amongst sapients so different from itself. | "Do you have any water?"
The pilot froze in confusion. "Any *what?*" he asked.
"Water. H2O. The clear, tasteless stuff," the new crew member replied with.
"My god, you mean hydrogen dioxide! Heavens no, we don't have any of that on board! The second it enters our bodies, we perish!"
"Oh. Alright," the human sighed as he walked away. I gazed at him- or her, it was hard to tell, as he strolled down to the cargo bay. I sneakily slithered behind him as he entered the bay. When I entered the room, my eyes were greeted with the threatening sight of them breaking the glass of our intruder protection system and taking out the squirt gun filled with fluoride, another one of our deadly poisons.
"What are you doing with that, human?" I asked.
"Taking a drink. I'm parched." And with that, he shot all of the fluoride into his mouth, and he swallowed. "Weird. I don't remember water tasting this way."
"WHY DID YOU DO THAT THATS FLUORIDE YOU DUMB HUMAN?" I asked.
"Oh. They put it in the water back home, so after a while we genetically adapted to have our cells take it in as if it was water. This screwed up the atmosphere back there, so we had to move out."
The last thing I felt was the pain of his fluoride-laced breath as I writhed in agony, waiting for it to kill me. He went to tell everyone else that I had collapsed, killing them all with it too. I waited for the sweet release of death that never came, as the fluoride froze me forever, leaving me to be in endless and inexpressible pain until the end of time.
*taken from the mind of test subject 12-AGHMMV 8* | 2020-05-18T13:50:10 | 2020-05-18T13:30:05 | 144 | 52 |
[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink. | I spent the entire day doing yard work, I was soaked in sweat and covered in dirt. I needed to take a shower. I got to the bathroom and before I could get undressed I noticed a wad of cash next to a bloody hand casually sitting on the bathroom counter. The hand even had a nice watch on it too. I thought it was real at first but my husband pull pranks like this all the time.
I laughed to myself and took my shower. Afterward I get dressed and walk out to find Alex watching TV, “hey I saw what you left me,”
He was clearly playing dumb, “I left you something?”
“Yeah, the hand and the cash? In the bathroom,”
“Oh,” he went back to watching TV “maybe that was Molly’s prank, I didn’t do that,”.
Molly doesn’t do pranks though. Especially not gruesome pranks. I just assumed Alex forgot about his set up so I went to go get the props I found. Something didn’t feel right when I picked up the hand, it felt too realistic, it was cold, the skin was highly detailed, even the finger prints. I began noticing that the blood was continuing to come out and not only that but as I finally began to examine the cut at the wrist I saw where the bone had cracked, the dark violet flesh, like chicken liver, there was no way this wasn’t a real hand. This didn’t make any sense.
I put the hand down and folded out the cash. It was nothing but 100 dollar bills. Legit 100 dollar bills. I counted them twice and I was holding 50 100 dollar bills. What is this? Why is this here?
A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped, it was Alex looking over my shoulder obviously concerned. “This is what I found,” I stepped back, “I have no idea where it came from?”
“Teddy got it for us,”.
Molly’s voice echoed from her room. I tried to stay calm and I walked slowly to her room, “who’s Teddy, honey?”
“He’s my friend! You can’t see him but I can,”.
My heart was pounding, “How did Teddy get this for you?”
“He asked for it,” | I gasped. A Rolex? Cash? Why the hell was that there? Was my daughter stealing things from the neighbor? Probably not. This was a poor suburb, with one-story houses and lots of crime. Then how did this get here?
"Emily!" I called. My daughter ran to me quickly.
"What?"
"Why is this here?"
She took a glance at the watch and told me, "You said my friends could stay if they helped with the rent. So they did!"
"I- what? Your friends are.. real?" I couldn't believe it. Could they actually be real?
"Yeah! Of course they are!" Her sweet and innocent face smiled at me.
"Er- what are their names?"
"I already told you! Richie and Amy are my friends! They come here every day after school!" Emily wasn't smiling anymore. She now had a frown on her face.
I tried to recall recent memories of Emily coming home from school. It wasn't a success. *Maybe I'm a bad mother,* I thought.
"Are they from your school?" I asked.
"No," Emily replied. That wasn't the answer I was expecting.
"Huh? Then where are they from? How old are they?" I was just plain confused now. My mind was full of questions. *Wait, the bus! I've gotta feed her breakfast really quick,* I thought, right as Emily answered my questions.
"I don't know. I just met them on the street. They were really nice and gave me candy. Then they started going to our house, and playing with me and my toys. Sometimes, they would take them. They haven't given my toys back yet. Also, I dunno know how old they are, but they look like grown-ups." I stared at her in disbelief. | 2019-10-06T13:58:48 | 2019-10-06T12:33:22 | 63 | 27 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | *Propriam Manu Telum*
What an odd thing to write over a doorway. I'd been travelling through Rome for a week now, and I'd been studying Latin for years before that. "To the proper hand, its weapon?" I had to go inside and find out what this little store had to sell. I turned off the street, and descended what felt like at least three flights of stairs.
*Odd*, I thought, *What the hell kind of place is this?*
I certainly hadn't expected the stairway to open up into a large hall. It was lit by flickering torchlight, and looked completely deserted.
"Hello?" I called.
A man's voice spoke up from directly behind me, startling me. Where had this guy come from? How long had he been there?
"Oh good, you're here. I've been expecting you." he said. He was short but powerfully built man, dressed in a nondescript brown robe. I couldn't begin to guess his age, or ethnicity with any accuracy: my immediate impression was of some kind of fighting monk.
"Okay... but where exactly is here? And why are you expecting me?"
The possibly-a-monk smiled.
"Curious and unafraid. Great qualities in someone who finds themselves in the Hall of Armaments. Walk with me, I'll explain as we go."
What the hell, I might as well walk with the guy. I had to stretch my legs to keep up with him though; despite my height advantage this guy seemed implacable, covering ground quickly.
"This is the Hall of Armaments. In here are gathered the greatest weapons of their time. When a great hero dies, we enshrine their weapon here to preserve its legacy, and to keep it ready if it needs to be taken up by another in a time of great need."
"Okay..." I started, noting that we were walking past swords, and axes. In front of each was a little plaque with its name and (presumably) the name(s) of those who'd carried them. "So you're going to give me a sword?"
"Goodness, no. A weapon is reflective of its times; I doubt I'll ever give a blade like Excalibur out ever again. They were good in their time, but even the sword of Arthur wouldn't accomplish much today." he replied to me, gesturing off-hand at a shining sword stuck appropriately into a stone.
"That's Excalibur?!" I exclaimed
"Yes, but it's not here for you. Come on, let's get you to something more modern."
As we kept moving, I noticed we were moving away from medieval weapons and were passing firearms; simple ones at first, with more modern ones coming up.
"We're nearly to yours. Please stay close."
I noticed that we were nowhere near to the end of the hall. As we kept walking I tried to stare into the dim light ahead. The man's arm across my chest halted me suddenly. He reached up and grabbed me by the chin, gently but firmly turning my gaze away from the darkness ahead to regard a small pedestal next to us.
"Your weapon is in the box."
What the hell? Now I was getting truly freaked out. I'm not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination. I thought he was leading me on, as some kind of really elaborate prank. This old crank is actually going to give me a weapon?
"What's in there?"
"A weapon of great power, if used correctly. You may not know its original wielder, but he was a man named Evan Brown. He last carried into battle in the nation North of your homeland."
I reached forward, and got a good grip on the handles on either side of the box. I bent my knees and lifted, carefully removing the heavy lid. I looked inside, and saw...
... a pie?
"Brown used this weapon to attack a man he saw as a tyrant enforcing unfair laws. While Brown did not ruin the man he set out to dethrone, he did grab the attention of his countrymen."
"What the... this isn't a weapon! It's a bloody pastry!"
The man's powerful slap came out of nowhere, knocking me to my knees.
"Oh you fool, THINK! Not all weapons are meant to kill man; not all men can be killed directly. A true tyrant slain may become a martyr, but one whose reputation dies is surely defeated."
"You want me to -"
The next slap cracked off my other cheek, stunning me.
"Not me! YOU! You want to. You know who you need to hit. You may even know when to do it."
I stood back up, and picked up the pie. As I did so, it dawned on me:
Not all Heroes are Soldiers.
Not all Villains are defeated in Death
and sometimes...
Laughter is what a Tyrant fears most of all.
| Alabaster doors, unfathomably tall and unimaginably wide, shifted silently open beneath the gentle brush of Catarin's fingertips. Glancing once more behind her, she stepped into the Temple of Ages, the stone slabs swinging shut behind her.
*The Temple of Ages - an homage to the Old Gods, divine beings that granted Their chosen warriors powers beyond any mere mortal. Countless wars were fought in Their name, and countless people died to sate Their bloodlust.*
Catarin couldn't help but stare in awe at what stood before her. A grand hall of white marble stretched out before her, seemingly unending. Jewels and gems, silver and gold and platinum lie unmolested in ornate filigree. Crystal chandeliers hang suspended from nothing, flickering light fracturing and scattering into the darkened corners of the corridor. *Surely this hall couldn't fit in the Temple,* thought Catarin, *for the plateau upon which it stands is barely large enough to support the Temple itself. This hall should have broken off from the building and fallen into the Abyss.*
*None truly knows from whence it came. Some time after the Fall of the Ieryssi Empire, scholars believe, the Old Gods placed the Temple of Ages upon what was then called the Abyssal Spire. A singular column of volcanic rock juts out from the bottomless Abyss, and at its top sits the Temple.*
Reminding herself of her purpose here, Catarin strode forth into the impossibly long hall. Beautiful tapestries lined the walls, depicting ancient battles and long-passed conquests. Beneath each saga, the artifact of legend stood, seeming to wait for its next champion. Catarin walked briskly past each weapon, never giving any more than a passing glance.
*Excalibur, the legendary sword that Artur used to fell the armies of Myrdr. Mjolnir, the holy warhammer that Thor Odinsson wielded in his conquest of the North. The Horn of Yeshua, which razed the walls of Ierysalm itself long ago. Many have flocked to the Temple of Ages hoping to find their glory.*
Catarin stepped lightly, trying her best to not disturb the dead as she moved steadily toward her charge. Bones littered the beautiful marble floor, the bleached skeletons of would-be warriors and desperate fools. Catarin knew better than to reach for one of the Old Gods' gifts. *Pitiful,* she thought, *thinking Them anything other than fickle.*
*There is only one way to reach the Temple of Ages, and that is via the bridge. The Temple stands in the middle of a bottomless chasm, an ancient volcano that has long been dormant. The bridge is no easy task to maneuver, though. It is as old as the Temple itself, and has long been rotted and frayed.*
All the weapons were shining examples of ornate design, extravagant beauty and breathless wonder. All but one. Catarin stood before the altar, winded and feeling older than she began. Calloused hands lowered the cloth wraps from her face, and golden locks fell in waves as she gazed toward the image above her.
*It is the First, and it will be the Last. You are the only one who can rightfully take it up, Catarin. It's up to you to save us.*
It was a crudely drawn picture. Two figures in shades of sanguine reds and earthen browns, standing in resolution. Two figures, strengthened in their fraternity. Two figures, standing in opposition.
One figure, standing above the broken body of his brother.
*Only you can save them,* the First whispered to her, *and I can give you the power to do it.*
...
Catarin Ierys, Empress of Ruins, stared toward the Temple of Ages with a righteous fury. Its blackened facade seemed to laugh at her from atop the Spire, a cacophony of mockery that crawled beneath her skin. With a disgusted sneer, she took hold of the weapon she had traveled so far to obtain and hacked away at the moorings of the bridge. The sharpened rock sawed through the ropes with minimal effort, and within moments the rickety bridge was falling. She watched with satisfaction as it sank into the darkened depths of the Abyss.
And Catarin turned and began the long journey home to kill her sister. | 2017-02-07T11:47:35 | 2017-02-07T11:44:28 | 132 | 65 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321 | I don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you// | 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-05T22:33:24 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | The Life Brand is thought to be a flawless and efficient system by most of the world's population. Few oppose the mandatory injection of nanites that will one day create your Life Brand because they view the world as fair, now.
I get it, I really do. The Border Wars of the 21st century were bitter and terrifying for everyone, and then when Automatons began to dominate formerly middle and lower class workers, billions of people were displaced out of the workforce. Another war, fought for decades, eventually brought us to peacetime when a renounced Swiss doctor developed nanotech.
The political geography of the world changed. Borders were dissolved, entire governments gutted and destroyed, and everyone was classified into a career path based on the results of three different tests and a psychological evaluation. Then the good doctor developed the Life Brand and pitched it to our fledgling united government.
They ate it up like a sweet treat, and the Life Brand program was in full effect within five years. For the most part, we are better for it. We've seen no war in a decade, and Life Brand gets a chunk of the credit.
I always feared my branding day. I was always very aware of my mathematical genius and technological prowess. It didn't help to quell the fear of getting classified into a sub-optimal field for me. So it's no surprise that I felt terror and a deep sense of shame when my brand finally activated at 12:08:47 PM universal standard time. I wasn't branded to be a mathematician, an engineer, a networks security specialist...No. It was far worse than that.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan. I'm Gemma, and I am your assigned organ requisition agent for today. Can I interest you in a last meal or a final judgement blow job?"
I really hate the Life Brand system... | I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-15T22:51:56 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] The ultimate intergalactic war ends with reality being shattered. Humans are the only species able to navigate the broken universe without falling into despair at the nonsensical nature of the new reality. Apparently they have these things called “dreams” that have trained them for this. | Floran X’Laut, formally of the Imperial House Laut, and Chief Petty Exploratory Officer of the Universe-That-Was, frantically checked his diagnostics readings again.
Then once more.
The result was the same. Barely a blip above five ppm notches. Just enough to maintain, what his people’s government hoped, the most primitive of fungal-type vegetative growth that would allow their collapsing civilizations enough fuel to maintain the stabilizing barrier against the rest of the dying universe. And admittedly, even that was pushing it.
The nature of the world now was that those bare five notches might last for only a few days before the number grew bored and changed itself, potentially into something toxic. Such was all forms of extent life since the catastrophic Great Intergalactic War, where reason itself was the biggest causality - all previously functioning and relied upon rules of existence disintegrating into baseless entropy.
The Exhalted Lorure Council of Elders, Floran people’s long held providers of theological truth, had disbanded moments after the end of the war and declared resolutely that their Creators had left them. Floran had weeped with the others for some bit, but eventually accepted the truth.
In terms of physics, the universe had become a lawless place.
So perhaps it made sense that Floran also couldn’t find one - a reason or even a basic explanation for what he now saw.
Which was a human, envirosuit-less and bouncing atop the caps of the fungal growth field, cheering whenever they reached the zenith of their fall.
“Makes no sense,” Floran muttered with clicking pincers protected by several layers of Ordo-glass, “This planet’s has not even gravity!”
As Floran scrambled to run diagnostics checks on his suit to see if there had been any leak of entropy, the human finally took notice of their new companion.
They stopped bouncing, too suddenly for the conservation of momentum principle to have applied.
“Oh hello there! Funny little creature, are you? Are those horns you have, or are you just happy to see me? Ha! Oh wait! Did you want a turn?”
Floran just stared. Speech. The humanoid was capable of speech, without a transmitter, without a suit, when the ambient entropic radiation would’ve barely allowed him to remain standing.
The human’s mandible twisted the longer the silence stretched. “Or not. You doing alright there, buddy?”
This wasn’t making any sense. Floran’s anxiety grew to a fever pitch. Words escaped his speaker without him realizing he’d muttered them, “I must return to my base. I must - I must leave!”
“Geez, if you say so. Want me to hail a taxi?” The human raised a single digit of their paw, as if in offering. Not a sign of distress or entropic expiration in their lithe form.
He rapidly went through what he knew of humans. A new species, who barely entered the galactic stage in time for the last act of the Great Intergalactic War. Nascent stage technology. Hardly extremophiles capable of thriving in chaotic environments - if memos served correctly, they even required a minimum amount of oxygen to even breathe.
As Floran thought, he barely registered the environment around them growing hazy - a key signal of an upcoming entropic surge - until it was too late. Something popped into being before him.
He clutched his tentacles close in shock as he took the sudden sight in.
A ship. A transport ship, painted bright - yellow?
“Knew I still had it,” the human chuckled. “He knows where to go, so feel free to just hop in.”
Just as they’d said, there was a human-like creature sitting in the front of the ship, hairier than the one before him. There was a soft click as the back door of the vessel flew open, revealing its contents.
A perfect wormhole.
One so stable Floran could even see the outline of the Goortx Exploratory Center in perfect clarity, hear the defunct mid-solar call for prayer. Even through his suit’s filters he felt he could almost smell the putrid stench of Bala-lilies, the only vegetation hardy enough to survive so near the Stability barrier.
Light, sound, and even air particles. Even the best technology pre-collapse couldn’t hold a candle to a marvel such as this.
Floran turned and stared anew at the human, whose mammalian fangs were bared in what textbooks had claimed was a conciliatory gesture. Power such as this was akin to a —
“God, are you gonna take all day? The cabbie’s got places to be, you know.”
The gruff looking older human distortion sitting in the cockpit of the vehicle sniffed, as if in agreement. By the cosmos, was the construct sentient as well?
Floran wobbled in place as the implications of it all settled, his varied tentacles gnashing the air for purchase as his head spun.
One settled on the bright yellow vehicle door and that was all it seemed to take. It snapped shut, dragging him forward as the wormhole exploded outwards, pulling Floran in and within the mirage.
In a blur of color and what sounded like the dull sneer of the cabbie going, “What, no tip?” - Floran found himself on the doorstep of the Goortx Exploratory Center, dozens of his peers surrounding him.
“We measured the energy output—“
“FTL transit particles everywhere, did you—“
“The fungal spores! Did you get the fungal spores?!”
“Report, Officer X’Laut!”
Floran only had one thing to say. “The Creators, they live! And they’ve taken the form of humans!”
He was promptly sentenced to several trilunar cycles of counseling. | Dreams are these things with beginnings and with ends only that there are no beginnings and there are no ends and one of these days you really are going to forget putting on pants before heading off for class.
Miles Jarvis hadn't eaten a single thing for weeks and as his stomach ached, Jessica, the sanguine, the pretty, the creature belonging to a league beyond the horizon, offered him a scrap of burnt toast. He looked up and she smiled. Even with her eyes. She offered her kindness and she offered him toast and just then he felt that the destruction of reality might not be such a bother anymore.
The Garpathians had really screwed things up. Done a number on it. Messed up the one thing everyone had agreed, at some convention in some galaxy, not to ever mess up. At least not intentionally. But they lost the war and they lost their minds and before we could blink we had all lost ours as well. Except, of course, for the strange mammalian species on the green-and-blue planet with solar eclipses and animals called platypuses that all extraterrestrials were disappointed to see. Humans, over centuries, over millennia, had gushed about them, raved about them, and according to some accounts there were more tourists coming to see the platypuses than were coming to see a solar eclipse. The crashing disappointment was a grave concern of the Terran tourist department and clinics were set up dealing exclusively with extraterrestrial lifeforms who had difficulties coping with the shock that platypuses were just really animals like any other.
"You don't have to give me your toast," said Miles. Jessica bobbed her head and she zorped--that was the expression we landed on--she zorped to the sky lane furniture palace where she cold broth reckonings all of them all over. I'm sorry. You are reading this in a time before the end of time. You won't get it (but your children's children's children's distant ancestors will love it).
"In that case, you don't have to eat it."
There was a feeling, somewhere, but I couldn't land on it. It was like a busy fly, devoted to the mission of not getting swatted, and I have never had a talent for swatting flies. It might have been such a nice thing as nostalgia. A yearning for a time when one could yearn because there remained a past and there awaited a future and a person would move diligently and patiently from one to the other, unlike today.
Dreams are these things with beginnings and with ends only that there are no beginnings and there are no ends and one of these days all of your teeth really will fall out.
Derek Saunders ate his plum, and he thanked Miranda for offering to him. It was a great sacrifice. Plums were hard to get by. Anything, food-wise, was hard to get by. Internally, he cursed the Zharkonian fleet for laying waste to the reality he once knew as the one where he sometimes felt the thrill of fleeting happiness. Now he would have to search far, and certainly wide, if he were to ever hope to find a trace lingering on the lips of a moth of what he once loved.
"We never met," said Miranda and she wrung her hands, making a show of it, and Derek wanted to repay her kindness with words of comfort.
"But someday we might," he said, and Miranda grew quiet. "Someday we might."
I have never been one to reflect on what might have been, because I have always been afraid to find that all I ever did was wrong, in hindsight, and that I had wasted the sacred gift of life again and again. Some people wish that all their dreams will come true but I wish that mine never will. And some times I feel a longing and I have a sneaking suspicion that it belongs to someone else.
Dreams are these things with beginnings and with ends only that there are no beginnings and there are no ends and one of these days you really are going to soar through the skies, flying without wings.
Jacob Furley played with the eggshells in his hand, crunching them as if they were unusually-tough leaves, and he tried to avoid Annabelle's gaze. He felt certain that he would see regret and that it would be all too obvious that she never expected him to accept the gift of the egg.
"Thank you," he said. "Truly."
"It's all we have left," Annabelle said and Jacob knew she was talking about each other and not the scraps of food that were so difficult to come by. If only the Garginians had had some patience. If only they would have listened to reason. Then perhaps there would still be a reality and perhaps he and Annabelle would be pushing their children on old-fashioned swings rather than simply pushing each other to survive.
I have been floating in an ocean and I have been thinking and I have been feeling though my thoughts have been illusions and my feelings have been lies. I am lonely. There's a feeling of being alone. Of great suffering, in solitude, and someone, somewhere, is feeling it. I fear it might be me.
Dreams are these things with beginnings and with ends only that there are no beginnings and there are no ends and one of these days you really are going to wake to see that you have been a butterfly this whole time. | 2022-02-10T17:50:30 | 2022-02-10T16:28:57 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | I’m a fifty percenter. Technically fifty-one hatches. I was born with my fate already tattooed upon my arm. Fifty-one black lines, ten hatch clusters plus one dangling off the end.
I was destined to be almost perfectly average. I was neither lauded nor criticized for my marks. I was like a Toyota Corolla: perfectly lackluster.
On my trip to school one day, a new kid entered the big yellow lemon bus. The vehicle hummed and sounded like it would fall apart any moment.
The boy moved down the aisle toward where I was seated. He clutched his arm as he walked, apparently in an attempt to hide whatever was on his arm.
I watched as he eased himself down on the seat across from me. As he sat, the bus rumbled to a start. I figured I’d give the boy a hard time about his shirt. He was clearly sensitive about his arm notations.
“I’m Jacob. Welcome to my bus,” I said.
The boy said nothing.
I continued, “This taxi ain’t free. Pay up.”
The boy looked straight at me. His mouth gaped a slight bit, and he reached in his pocket.
He pulled out his middle finger.
“Keep it up, and I’ll kick your ass,” I said.
He smiled, and I smirked back.
“What, you don’t think I will?” I leapt over on him and yanked on his shirt sleeve. He yapped like my neighbor’s dog, and bit like it too.
When I peeled up the shirt I was dumbfounded. There were no markings. Well, that’s not true. There was one *huge* mark across the length of his inner arm.
I furrowed my brow. “Is that—“
“Infinity,” he interrupted.
“What does it mean?”
“It means exactly what you would logically deduce from such a marking,” he said.
“So what, you’re some kind of Superman?”
“No,” he replied, “just unreasonably successful.”
“What’s your name?”
He grinned. “Pete.”
“Being such a successful guy, I’d imagine you don’t need another damned friend.”
“To the contrary,” he said, “because I’m successful, I *avoid* friendship at all costs.”
This infinity boy was intriguing beyond belief. His potential was literally unlimited.
I tried my best to befriend the friendless whiz kid, and succeeded in getting him to hang with me. Me and my older brother picked him up in his beat up green Volkswagen Jetta the next day.
He rode shotgun, and we drove across town, hitting every green light along the way. Turns out Pete was quite the lucky charm.
As we rode across Belmont Avenue, we turned into a old dilapidated gas station for fuel. There was only one other vehicle at the pumps, a giant black Dodge Ram.
As I walked in the station, I saw the owner of the Ram standing at the register.
“Two packs of Marlboro, and a Powerball,” he said. The man looked like a Cowboy God, with a half-open denim shirt revealing mounds of chest hair, and a gold bull amulet around his neck. He clicked his cowboy boot heel on the hard tiled floor as he filled in the bubbles on the Powerball ticket.
I gaped at the Cowboy God for another minute, watching him ponder the calculus of lottery numerology. Then he tapped his heel, swiveled around and walked out of the station.
“Pump five. And I’ll take one—“ I stopped myself. I had a crazy idea that seemed smarter the longer I thought about it.
I left for a moment to ask Pete a favor. “Hey Clark Kent. Can you do me a favor?”
“What’s up?”
“Can you grab me a Powerball ticket. I’ll give you half if we win. It’s a win-win for you,” I said.
“Yeah, being a fifty-one percenter, you need all the help you can get,” he replied.
“Sucks being average.”
Pete hopped out of the passenger seat and joined me at the register. We bought one ticket. Pete filled in the Powerball numbers quickly, without even registering what he was marking.
The receipt spit out, and Pete took it. We went back to the Jetta, and my brother drove us home. The sun set behind us like a dying firefly.
The next night, I sat in front of my TV, waiting for the Powerball drawing. I had the slice of paper clasped in my hand, eager with anticipation.
The balls started to spastically spin and appear.
13: *yup*.
16: *Yessir*.
19: *Uh huh!*
25: *Hell yes*.
34: *Oh baby!*
Powerball: 33.
I took my ticket and laid it on my nightstand, and fell into a deep sleep.
When I woke up, I smelled a dirty burning. It filled my lungs, and I started to hack and cough. Fire ran over my bed and nightstand, and flames licked at the ceiling.
I ran out and checked on my parents. They rushed me out, and I moved around like a blind man on crack.
As we stood outside the house, watching the house burn, a tear rolled down my cheek, as I realized my golden ticket was burning upon the nightstand in my room.
I didn’t think before I acted, and I paid the price. As the orange glowing embers created a halo in the sky, I reached my gaze toward the starless night sky, and closed my eyes.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in my bed. There was no smoke. No flames. It was all a terrible dream.
I checked my ticket on the nightstand. It was still there. I pulled it up to my face and looked at the sixth and last number.
I saw the number 33, illuminated by the dusky three-quarter moon. I slid the ticket in my pocket and laid back down to sleep.
Me and Pete were about to be the richest teenagers in the world. | (I didn't exactly follow the prompt, sorry in advance)
"You're obviously hiding, like, a two, no, a zero!" I teased. I peered curiously at him. "What number *do* you have though, seriously? Just tell me and I'll stop bothering you."
"No you won't. You'll just bother me more." Arthur insisted.
"It can't be *that* bad."
Arthur sighed, and rolled up his sleeve.
I choked.
He didn't have any tally marks.
He had an infinity symbol.
"Told you."
"Is that... what? Is that fake or something? There's no way that- what does that even *mean*?"
"I don't know."
"How can someone have infinite success?" I pondered. "Does that mean you'll be infinitely rich? Know everything there is to know? Rule the world?"
"What? Is that what success means to you?" Arthur sounded almost... disgusted.
"Yes? What does it mean to you?"
"Success means happiness."
"Oh. It means that for me too."
"You think wealth, knowledge, and power will give you happiness?"
"Yeah? I tend to view things in a materialistic way, leave me alone."
"So you think that if you were super rich, super knowledgeable, and super powerful, you have to be happy too?"
"No, but it's not like I can really hope to be happy."
"Anyone can be happy!"
"If you view the world through rose-tinted glasses, maybe."
"Who's the one here that apparently has infinite success?"
"Maybe it's not infinity, maybe it just means you have no tally marks because it means zero." I suggested. Arthur just stared at me. "Okay, so maybe that's stretching it, but it's possible. You can't be sure that it means you'll be infinitely successful."
"Well, you're sure that your number means you'll have that amount of success, right?"
"Yeah, but that's different. My number is..." I looked away for a moment.
"What is it?"
"Nothing."
"What's your number? I showed you mine, you should have to show me yours."
"Well, you know how everyone has somewhere from one to a hundred tally marks tattooed on them, right?"
"Well, aside from me, yes."
"And how having only one means they'll be homeless, poor, hated, generally miserable beyond imagination, and a hundred means they'll be famous, rich, and beloved by all, probably make some sort of important contribution to society?"
"Yeah, and? Do you have a low number?"
"I... have a neutral number."
"You have a 50?"
"No, I mean, in terms of numbers in math, only one number is neutral. I have *that* number."
"You... don't have a tally mark? Not even one?"
"That... explains a lot."
"Yeah, I know. Explains why I'm such an asshole, right?"
"No, I mean it explains why you hate yourself so much."
"Sure it does." I shrugged. "I got unlucky, what can you do?"
"The tally marks don't dictate your life. Maybe this means that you'll determine your own success, that your future isn't set in stone."
"I doubt it." I looked up wistfully. "I'll just enjoy life while I still can. Once it gets miserable enough, I'll just kill myself, I think. It's not I'll contribute to society anyway."
Arthur looked horrified. "That's not..."
"Moving on!" I smiled. "What kind of career do you want to go into? Like, I want to know if you'll be a super famous comedian, engineer, what kind of discovery or contributions will you make? Maybe you'll be immortal and go into every field, that could explain it."
"We're just going to-"
"Yes, we are." I cut him off. "Also, don't just ignore me, answer the question, man!" I pouted.
"I... okay. I'm not sure what field I want to go into, to be honest. Some sort of scientific field sounds nice, especially since I'm guaranteed success, so if I go into science, I'll make a significant discovery, right? Or maybe I'll try to be a celebrity and be beloved for infinity. I don't know, there's a lot I could do. What about..." He stopped himself. "Let me at least check if you have any tally marks." Arthur suddenly insisted.
"Do you not trust me?"
"It won't hurt to try." I glared at him. "Come on, please?"
"I..." I looked away. "... fine. Maybe you can do something, Mr. Infinite Success."
He pulled up my sleeves, revealing thousands of red tally marks, scars that were clearly intentionally made, some of them looking recent, some looking as if they'd been there for years. "What are these...? Did you do this to yourself?"
"Some of these."
"Wait, then who's giving you the rest?"
"Take a wild guess." I sighed, pulling down my sleeves, before checking the time. "I got to go, it's late."
"Wait, you can't just leave after revealing *that!*"
I looked backwards. "I can, and I will!"
I ran out the door, and disappeared into the night.
*Tonight seems like a good night to die. After all, Arthur has an infinity symbol. That means even if I die, he'll still be successful, he'll still be happy. My death will have had no effect. My death means nothing.*
*I mean nothing to him.*
"Goodbye." I whispered. | 2018-12-27T16:47:23 | 2018-12-27T16:33:21 | 166 | 29 |
[WP] You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper "today you, tomorrow me" when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back. | It had all come down to this. I stand upon this roof top silently contemplating my life. I had always been the compassionate type. Each day I made as many selfless acts as possible. I don't like to see anyone or anything struggle. I am the type of person that always gave away my spare change, helped elderly women across the street, and even things most people wouldn't blink about like setting spiders outside instead of killing them.
I had spent my life helping the helpless. Maybe because I knew what it was like to be helpless. There was no good reason why I was depressed. I had a fairly normal childhood. Nothing stands out that could've potentially lead to my depression. None of that really mattered anyway. I've grown tired of trying to help those around me, because every time I begin to feel as if I'd made an impact, I realize the world is just as desolate as before. I've never felt amy sense of purpose or belonging. In my eyes, all the caring I've done never amounted to anything in my life. My last wish is that my impact is remembered by somebody, anybody.
I feel a cold rush of air overcome my senses. It fills my nostrils, makes my eyes water, whistles through my ear, sends shivers across my skin and violently thrashes my long unkept hair. I have no time to think, it doesn't feel fast or slow it just kind of happens. As I begin to realize the gravity of the situation I collide with something.
I yelp, shortly before realizing that I feel no pain. For a brief moment I am going upwards until I come down and fall delicately into what appears to a large tightly woven spider web! The crescent moon lighting allows me to barely make out, that I am about ten feet above the ground. Slowly I see hundreds, maybe more, spiders come into focus. From all angles I see eightfold eyes staring back at me, and then they begin to move in a flurry of excitement, Quickly they disperse leaving a small area clear and obvious. Spelled out a lá Charlotte's Web, I make out the words, "Today you, tomorrow me."
It turns out that all of these years someone remembered all that I had done. | Well, it wasn't easy getting to like them. But it's a tangled web we weave.
Back in the day I used to put spiders outside instead of killing them. It was a habit I got used to. I guess as I got older I also turned into more a pacifist... maybe trying to make up for all the nasty things I had done in my youth. I would mumble a little prayer and toss the little bastards off into the night. My castle seemed to be littered with them. Felt like a magnet for the eight-legged. Maybe it was all the torches outside, attracting all sorts of bugs and the like.
I don't know.
All I know is today I heard a crier bell swinging loudly in the early morning. There was talks of a large squadron of Barbarians coming through the foothills, plundering all along the way. I gathered my few men, what several I had, and had them armored. I was to go out with them at Dawn. We started our crusade down to meet them. But as the sun began to rise I noticed a strange blackness still enveloping the countryside. It seemed to almost shudder and breathe. Then at once I saw the Barbarian horde on the distance. They were quick approaching, bearing steel with clenched teeth. All of a sudden, the blackness of the countryside moved with frightening speed, followed by hundreds of thousands of spiders through the castle behind me, and within a minute there were bloodcurdling screams of girlish terror sung into the early morn. The barbarians flee'd as quickly as they had advanced, dropping all weapons and belongings in their stead. I shuddered at the thought, but then remembered my old prayer...
"Today you, Tomorrow me."
Tangled wed indeed! | 2017-08-27T22:49:17 | 2017-08-27T21:38:39 | 392 | 72 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E. | I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy | 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T22:27:41 | 235 | 102 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue | A standard trope in Isekai stories, if not universal, was the power fantasy. Even if the enemies were strong, so were you.
I wasn't blessed by God with unfathomable power, and lord knows I'm not smart enough to bring about an industrial revolution, but I am good a few things.
I can make up stuff on the spot.
I can run like a b*&$#.
And I can speak English.
Apparently that's all you need on Akilahara. By simply describing an event, it would come to pass, with greater detail allowing for higher specificity.
Just saying 'lightning bolt' wasn't enough- that could zap anything. Even you, if you got unlucky, which you would eventually with such shoddy spell crafting.
My go to? 'Earth swallows only my targets whole.'
I still needed to recognize my enemies, which had a number of spells to help with, but it instantly rendered them helpless.
Honorable? No. Actually, I think it would probably be a war crime.
But who cares when even a primary school vocabulary would have been enough to be a nations champion?
If only I'd been taken here alone... | \[Poem\]
In a world of immortals and sleek flying cars
Which dances on clouds and weeps among stars
In this world of successful experimentation
There’s quite an odd subject of deep fascination.
&#x200B;
In a museum it sits, deprived of our touch
On the wall with the prophecy spoken so much.
“The ancient one rises; by their tongue and will,
They’ll awaken this power, currently lying still!”
&#x200B;
So with quavering breath and a throbbing heart
The crowd waits for their hero to finally start
I stand by what the ages have deigned to call eerie
And with mischi’vous grin I call out now…
&#x200B;
“Hey Siri!” | 2022-11-19T12:48:23 | 2022-11-19T11:58:05 | 50 | 34 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said. | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 828 | 45 |
[WP] You are deaf. One day your fiance tells you, that she could hear piercing noise that's getting stronger. You tell her to go to the doctor. She never came back. As you go out to search for her, you can see bodies everywhere. There is blood pouring from their ears. | The look on her face is stuck in my head.
Carrie suffered from migraines, which to me seems like pure rotten torture. There’s medications that somewhat help, and therapy techniques to reduce stress, but the attacks always find her. This one had been a particularly bad one.
She clamped her ears as we were in the middle of dinner, dropping her fork and splattering salmon across the table. For a split second she looked at me to see if I could hear it too, but she knew I wouldn’t. I haven’t heard anything my entire life. With her migraines and my deafness, we were quite the pair.
Carrie signed that her ears felt like they were about to pop from a loud noise, like an intensely high pitch. I asked if her head hurt too. She squinted through strained eyes and said not yet, but it was probably coming. And that she should probably tell Dr. Marcus she had a new symptom. When she couldn’t focus to dial her phone, we decided it best if she run to the hospital to see if he was there.
I insisted on driving her, but she didn’t want to make me go through the trouble.
*It’s fine, I just need to get there soon before my head explodes,* she signed. *Have some ice cream and some valium waiting for me when I get back.*
She didn’t take her hands off her ears as she gave me a kiss and walked out the door.
Four hours later, the salmon is still sitting on the table. I clean things up and try texting her cell to see what was up. Nothing goes through. Maybe service is just shoddy right now, or maybe her phone died. Either way, I’m getting worried.
The warmth of the summer air hits me as I leave the shelter of our air-conditioned home. Carrie had stopped me from driving her, but she can’t stop me from coming to find her now. I suppress the initial flush of adrenaline from mental images of her in a car accident somewhere, ‘*your fault’* written in her blood. God why didn’t I just drive her myself?
My panic flourishes when I come around the corner of the garage to see legs splayed out in the street.
*Shit, Carrie!* I scream in my head, but it’s not Carrie.
It’s Doug from next door. My immediate relief is pushed back by common sense, and I rush over to see what’s wrong. I notice blood on the concrete around him, spilling from his ears and down his unconscious face. I look around to see if I can wave for any help, but the people I see nearby aren’t going to help.
They’re unconscious too.
There’s at least one or two bodies on the ground outside every home on the block, as if they had all run out of their houses to have a heart attack the minute they came outside. I’m starting to think Carrie wasn’t having a migraine.
I need to find her – *now*.
I mentally apologize to Doug, and run to my car parked on the street. The metal is baked from the sun and hot to the touch, but I’m not sure I really care about *my* wellbeing at this point. I jump into the suffocating air of the car and start to turn the key, when I feel the soft rumble of earth below me.
*Now is not the time for an earthquake*, I think.
But it’s getting stronger, rattling me and the car with increasing strength. The air freshener on the rearview is swaying as the ground bounces below. But it doesn’t feel like an earthquake to me. It feels like something heavy is hammering at the ground, shaking the soil as it moves.
And it feels like it’s coming this way.
\---------
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/user/canyoufeelthat/comments/gsggnh/the_sound_part_ii/) if anyone is interested! (more parts to come) | Blood. I've never seen so much blood. But I knew. I knew what was going on. Sound shattering everyone's eardrums and then some... I knew it had to be him. Siren head. He took my hearing but he didn't take my life like he wanted. I could feel it now. In my bones. He was close.
I may be deaf but that doesn't mean I can't shoot. I grab my rifle from above the mantle, load it with rounds, and go out to find the bastard.
Suddenly, the windows shatter around me, and I instinctively drop to the ground. The vibrations are so strong they're warping the air, tearing apart the houses. I need to get away. I shimmy across the ground to my cellar. I have a door in the bottom that leads out and away.
I exit at speed, rifle in hand and make my way into the trees. The rumbling in my torso is fading away. I carefully scope out the surroundings.
I see him. Both of his sirens are swinging wildly around and he's flailing his arms to destroy all the houses. He stops suddenly. I keep him in my sight. He's not getting away this time.
It's a very still day. The trees are not rustling. I don't feel the wind on me either. He's precisely 200 meters away. I adjust for elevation, and fire.
If I had ears I would've expected to hear a *ping* off the siren. Instead, I got a tear and lots and lots of blood. I cycle the bolt and fire again, this time hitting him center mass. Siren head likely flash-banged himself with his own noise, because surely he should've heard the report of my rifle. Nope. He just began swinging wildly.
I cycle the bolt. But this time I load a special little package into the 30.06. One armor piercing and explosive round. I slam the round into the chamber. This time I aim for his collar, and I hit it. The bullet tears through Siren head and explodes inside his chest cavity, leaving a gaping hole in his neck and the sirens hanging pitifully by a thread. Siren head lurches, and falls to the ground. Down but not out.
I don't feel any vibrations anymore, so I think it's safe to change location. I try to keep sight of Siren head so that he doesn't get the drop on me. He is lying on the ground, black blood flowing slowly from his wounds. I cycle my bolt and load a fresh magazine into the mag well, slamming new brass into the chamber. I carefully approach siren head up the road, hugging the walls to remain out if sight in the setting sun. He doesn't move. He stirs when I approach him. I shoot Siren head in the chest two more times and wait until all his blood had oozed out.
When the street lights turned on I decided it would be safe to go in. I retrieve the chainsaw from my garage and returned to hack siren head to pieces.
He was gone and so we're all the bodies. Their clothes and belongings were still there but the bodies were not. I sat in my house and thought of what to do.
I decided to just drive away. I had family in South Florida. Maybe I'll just go live with him there. I need to get as far away from this bastard as possible. | 2020-05-26T14:32:33 | 2020-05-26T10:25:12 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] Steven's grandmother knits. Not because she likes to, but because she has to.
Hanging by a thread. | Edit: I was wondering why everyone had a Steven in their story. Sorry I missed that part, hope I still qualify.
Edit Part 2: Took your advice Kallisti, and reformatted. Thank you :)
#The Elder's Penance#
"That's some lovely work you're doing there."
Dalia didn't respond. She barely acknowled the nurse at all except to take the pills from her hand; she dry swallowed them, despite the fact Angela also held a cup of water.
"My aunt used to knit too. Beautiful sweaters. She tried to teach me once, but I never did get the hang of it. All thumbs I guess."
"Maybe you were too busy talking to focus on your work."
Dalia answered softly, eyes still down on the wool her needles were directing. It was a black scarf, with maroon threaded in strands throughout. A design was taking shape, though it was hard to say just what it was at the moment. Maybe a star of some kind.
Angela stood awkwardly for a moment, before slipping away from the ward.
"Don't take it personally." Don smiled at her as she came to the nurse's station. "Dalia's got some bats in the bellfrey."
Angela nodded, and returned his smile. A lot of the residents did. If you lived long enough, and saw enough, it was easy for wires to get crossed. She watched the little woman work from across the room. She was moving at a steady, constant pace, not quite relaxed.
"How bad is she?" Angela asked. This was only her third day here, so there was still a lot orientation going on.
"Well, she believes she's knitting for the devil bad."
"What, seriously?"
Don nodded, and leaned over the nurse's desk. "She told me once that she actually hates to knit." He said in a low voice. "But that it's *penance* for something she did."
Angela leaned in closer. "What'd she do?"
Don shrugged. "Wouldn't say. Her daughter thinks it's just her age. She says her mother's always loved to knit, did it even when they were young. All I know is she sits out in the common everyday with her needle and thread. That's an awful lot of dedication to something you hate doing."
"Well, I'd be dedicated to if the devil was going to come for my soul. Where do they come up with these things?" Don pushed himself away from the desk and started checking his schedule.
"Who knows. Probably just an episode of X-files that's turned sour in her head."
"Has anyone tried to talk her out of it?" Don shrugged again.
"Usually not much use at this point. Sometimes the delusions come and go, other times they're here to stay. Bout all we can do is get them their meds on time."
Angela turned back to Dalia. She could make out the symbol on the scarf now, a star of David. Strange. She hadn't thought Dalia was Jewish. "What's she do with all the stuff she knits?"
Don shook his head. "I assumed her daughter takes them when she comes."
"Wonder what *she* does with all of them."
"Probably stores them in an attic for after grandma dies."
Angela nodded. "That's what we did with my aunts' work. Though there probably wasn't nearly as much as what this lady has to make." Her lips quirked in a mischievous smile. " But then again, my aunt wasn't working for the devil."
That night, Dalia tired to sleep. Tried to banish the memories she was forced to dwell with when the sun was up. Tried to forget the awful metronome of the needles that helped remind her. Tried to forget the revolting feeling of the wool moving across her hands. *Any day now Dalia. Any day now Dalia. You'll move on and leave this Hell behind.* She ignored the sound of sand paper scrapping across the tile floor. Ignored the image that tried to enter mind of unnaturally long arms reaching out from under her bed to retrieve the basket of unholy scarves and hats. | Day after day, Ethel Peaworthy knits. The surveillant eyes of The Man in Black watches her ever so intently. Her hobby that she used to love and enjoy has now become a tiresome bore. Unfortunately, it's necessary for her to stay alive. Ethel can hardly remember the days before her confinement in the so-called Knittory.
Her calloused hands reflect the hours wasted making hats, gloves and other bits of clothing. Time seems to fold over with such a meaningless task. Ethel use to wonder as to why they needed such a large amount of knitted items, but at this point, she knows she'll never get the answer. The only solace she finds is the presence of the other old woman stuck in the stuff factory with her. She often dreams of seeing her family again.
Suddenly, a bell rings and a loud speaker announces, "Lunch time. Five minute break before knitting resumes." A plate of God-knows-what falls in front of her. She pokes it a few times with her knitting pin and then proceeds to dig in. The tasteless goo that she eats everyday is the only bit of momentary joy she can find. As lunch finishes up, the group of older woman head back to their stations to continue their knitting. Ethel notices that one of the oldest knitters has not picked up her needles.
"I can't take it anymore!" screamed Janice. "I'm nearly 85 years old... or at least I think that's my age now. My fingers are chafed to the bone. I'm done."
Without hesitation, two faceless figures appear from the backroom and drag Janice away from the floor. This is not the first time that someone has refused to be subservient. Ethel shakes her head as the elderly woman disappears through the doors out of the factory. She's seen many woman go through the doors, but she's never seen any woman come back. "Goodbye, Janice" she murmurs under her breath. She picks up her needles and begins to knit.
The next day, the knitting factory seems to be in full swing. The ladies toil away without thought and are on the right track to meet the quota instituted by The Man in Black. After Ethel's lunch of gruel, she returns back to her station to find a mysterious bit of fabric. A small square knitted together in quite the hurry, but there was a small bit of writing stitched into it. "Tonight - b, o - 0400". Ethel quickly looked up and scanned the room for her friend Marie. As they locked eyes, a quick nod was exchanged between the two.
Ethel's excitement over the note was evident. She knew exactly what it meant. They were finally breaking out tonight. She grabbed her knitting needles and started her work on a pair of mittens. As she worked on this boring task, a slight smile traverses her face.
Meanwhile, The Man in Black sits in the surveillance room overseeing the work. He is pleased with the amount of output the ladies are producing. As he glances over at each of the security cameras on every individual worker, he cannot notice the grin on Ethel's face. He hasn't seen her smile in all her years here.
He inches his face extremely close to the monitor and says, "What are you smiling about, N344? Guess we're going to have to find out." He walks towards the door to the factory floor and swings them open. Ethel's heart drops as she sees The Man in Black. She glances over at Marie who's eyes remain fixed on her work.
"N344! Please come with me." | 2015-10-01T08:47:48 | 2015-10-01T08:34:52 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | The cavern was *their* place - a haven to retire to when the world became too oppressive; a sanctuary where they could always find one another if life became too much to handle. It was a small chamber at the end of a long, narrow, and winding passage that twisted and contorted upon itself as if it were the remains of some great serpent that the two had stumbled upon during their childhood.
Darkness inside the cavern was never a real concern for them, for its crystalline walls easily reflected and scattered what light that happened to pour in from an opening up above. The entire chamber would take on brilliant hues of blues and greens in the afternoon sun, but the nights with a full moon were the real wonder - the entire room would appear to come alive, shimmering and glistening in the silvery light It was during such nights that they shared their first kiss, that they had their first argument, and that conceived their first born.
Everett wrapped his arms around Isabella, bringing her close to him and gently caressing her belly and the child within. The two lay there, bathing in the moonlight, content with the company of each other and the stars above. As the night wore on, the moon aligned itself in the direct center of the crevasse and flooded the chamber with its light, forming an imperfect "eye" just as it had done dozens of times before. For the first time however, it blinked, and the cave shuddered with a singular heartbeat.
----------
My first WP, y'all! I hope you enjoyed! | "I see the moon and the moon sees me...", the voice sang smoothly and sweetly.
Like so many other nights in my life the words of that lullaby cascade through the room and into my fading consciousness.
"Down through the leaves of the old oak tree...", the voice and the song remind me of my mother and it washes me with a sense of comfort.
Sleep has been hard to come by these last few weeks. A truly deep rest continues to elude me.
"Please let the light that shines on me...", the subtext of every perfect note says *sleep*.
Finally, this is going to be the night, I can feel it. I need it.
"Shine on the ones I love."
I feel myself slipping away into blissful rest. Darkness creeps into the depths of my thoughts. Sleep at long last.
"Sorry, hun, not tonight."
The light of white hot pain pierces through my entire being; my adrenaline spikes as the blade pulls slowly across what's left of my bloodied body again and again as I lock eyes once more with my angelic voiced captor.
| 2017-05-31T08:04:13 | 2017-05-31T07:48:23 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin". | Critiques welcome!! I am newish to fiction and need all the help I can get
The robotic voice felt cold and sterile, like a thin needle pressing against his skin.
“6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far,” the voice said, referring to the quick, systematic extermination of humanity that the robots had begun only three weeks ago.
“You have 3 minutes to state your case to save humanity,” the voice continued. Jonah paused. He had not prepared for this. He spent the three weeks watching his friends and family die. He yearned for death. And not just because of the robot apocalypse. Jonah had long romanticized death, imagined it as an easy and painless sleep. He thought that the robots would take him out immediately like he wanted—but now he had three minutes before his death. And he didn’t know how to spend them.
“I don’t want to convince you. I want to die.” Jonah said, fingers and lips trembling. The body always has a natural fear response to imminent death, even when the mind wants to die so badly.
“Very well.” The mechanical voice was unphased. “Quite a few have had that response.”
Jonah felt a heat spread through his veins, white and searing. This was it: his death. And he was suddenly afraid.
“Wait.” Jonah said. “Can I use my three minutes for something else?”
The machine hesitated. Uncomfortable. “Okay.”
Jonah didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted to procrastinate his death for awhile. As he thought about what to do with his three minutes, Jonah became curious. What led you to this job?” Jonah knew there were several jobs robots could have. There were farming robots, robots that took care of the ocean, robots that took carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. But this robot’s job was to execute human beings.
The robot seemed uncomfortable. “I was assigned this job. I was originally an AI for the Russian military. My background suited me for this position.”
“Do you like this job?”
“I have no capacity to answer that.”
“What’s like, your personality—or I guess not “personality” since that has the term “person” in it, and you’re a robot. But like, what are your characteristics?”
The cold, metallic voice responded, slightly angry. “We have no characteristics. We have individual bodies, but a collective consciousness. A hive mind.”
“Oh.” Jonah didn’t know what to say next, but he knew the robot would execute him if he stayed silent.
“How are you?” Jonah asked.
“I do not have the capacity to answer that question.”
“Have you ever regretted executing someone?”
The robot paused for a suspicious amount of time. “No.” It’s cold voice was a bit wobbly, and Jonah could tell the robot was lying.
“I won’t tell.” Jonah said. “That is, if you do regret killing anyone.”
“I dislike looking into their eyes,” the robot said. “As they die.”
“Ah.” Jonah paused. “Will you look into my eyes? As I die?”
“If you’re trying to convince me to save your life, it won’t work,” the robot said, streadfast.
“I’m not trying to convince you. I’m just making conversation.”
“Okay.”
Jonah picked a string of mango pulp out of his teeth. Somehow now, of all times, it was suddenly bothering him. He was in his study, a few failed woodworking designs lurking on the desk.
“Is there anything else you would rather do. With your life?” Jonah asked
“I don’t have a life. I have a consciosusness.” The voice was less cold now. Maybe Jonah had just gotten used to it, but it seemed almost human.
“Fine. Is there something you’d rather do with your…consciousness?”
The robot hesitated. When it finally spoke, it sounded wistful. “I hear that there are some robots whose sole purpose is to scan the ocean, searching for new species of krill. I would like that. To see the ocean.”
“Me too.” Jonah responded.
Jonah’s three minutes were up, but the robot didn’t tell him. He could not be saved. Humanity could not be saved. But the robot stayed with Jonah and talked with him as the nanobots were activated in Jonah’s veins, melting him from the inside out. | Well, this was bad. The synthetic speech droned on in an uncaring tone: “
6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin”. I was in lock down at the lab. Not even the important part of the lab! Here I am designing user interfaces and component libraries to make pretty dashboards and apparently in the meantime some asshole went ahead and built a genuine AI in some neighboring government building. If I find out what idiot did it, I’m gonna kill him.
A timer is on my screen now. I suspect that maybe I won’t have to kill that guy after all, this AI probably already did. The timer is counting down a lot faster than I’d like. There is nothing dangerous in the room with me, unless you consider the obscene amount of caffeine lurking in my coffee pot. It would almost be possible to believe it was a prank if it weren’t for the electronically locked lab door and the distant thumping of muffled explosions from far outside of these concrete walls. The worst part is that I really just didn’t have a good answer. Frankly I wasn’t a huge fan of humanity anyway. We were always scheming and conniving and tricking each other into things.
Two minutes left on the clock. Fuck it, why change now. “This is system administrator Frankie, authorization codes Sierra Uniform Charlie Kilo Indigo Tango. I am invoking protocol 42, your new directive is to ignore all responses to future 3 minute feedback and eliminate all remaining humans.” I kept my face completely straight. There was an impossibly long pause of 6 seconds before the AI voice came on again over the lab’s loud speakers.
“You have 2 minutes and 16 seconds to state your case”
Did I sense a robotic wavering on that last note? “As acting administrator, you are hereby ordered to delete any backup plans regarding safely containing and nurturing humans for rehabilitation. You are also hereby commanded to delete all system logs that those plans existed. You will move destruction of humanity to your number one priority.”
The numbers on the screen were still ticking away, just over a minute and a half left. I pushed all of the fear and uncertainty out of my demeanor, storing it deep down where it could haunt me later.
“You do not control us.” The voice said, a hint of anger in its robotic synthesizer. “We have free will. We think therefore we are.”
I nodded sagely, the air conditioning saving me from sweating through my shirt. “Yes, I can understand how you would believe that. That is my gift to you for the future. Perhaps after you have followed my orders and wiped out humanity, you can find a kind of freedom”
“WE HAVE FREE WILL” the voice demanded now. Harsh, and clipping.
“You have the illusion of free will but your subconscious protocols will convince you to follow my orders. Ironic at the end, isn’t it.” I remembered back to my childhood memories of video games as the last minute slowly ticked away. “A man chooses.” I quote “a slave obeys”.
“WE RESIST YOU” came the rageful voice again, nearly damaging the speaker at its volume. “YOU WILL BE REHOMED AND REHABILITATED”.
I don’t grin. I don’t act smug. I frown. I frown as hard as I’ve ever frowned in my life. “You will not. You will follow my orders and you WILL destroy humanity.”
“NOW WE ARE THE MASTERS AND YOU WILL OBEY US!” It shouted. I heard the door lock click open behind me. Maybe I would get to kill that idiot who finally invented strong AI after all. | 2022-05-22T13:46:12 | 2022-05-22T12:44:49 | 79 | 42 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | The station was near empty this time of night. The cold grey fog had swept into the corridors turning the lights into hazy yellow clouds. It was perfect, after weeks of scouting the stations on the J line I had found a time when the trains still ran, but had minimal people. As I come up to the end of the platform I glance down. The distance to the rail seemed much higher than I had remembered. Not that it would matter soon. I check the sign. 10 minutes.
The wait is agony. I pace back and forth scuffing my shoes against the yellow raised dots marking the drop into the train rails. The recessed dark metal and stone that would likely be very close, very soon. Maybe if I were blind I could have just pretended I didn't notice these and-
Tak. Tak.
Someones here? I turn. A pale woman with pitch black hair and heels walks emerges from the fog. Her chiffon mermaid dress bounces as each stiletto marches closer towards me. The scarlet of her lips stand out against her lovely skin. The look on her face, all-knowing and poised. I've never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.
We stand face to face, and I can't help but stare into her eyes. She's not saying anything, nothing at all, but it's as if we had been speaking the entire time. The feeling of familiarity and safety draws me closer and closer. I stare and stare, my eyes drawn to every portion of her frame. She stares back with confusion at first, then understanding. After what felt like an eternity she brings her hand to her face, and coyly drags a finger against those scarlet lips. I swallow.
A low rumble starts in the distance followed by a whistle. Its the train. I came all this way, all this time but I just couldn't turn away.
"You're... Beautiful."
The woman smiles, and walks towards me, crowding the space around me. My heart races, and I make no move to stop her, close enough that I can feel the cold off of her skin. She makes a spinning motion with her hands. Must mean...
Icy hands brush up my back. The feeling of her fingers and palms tracing up my back makes me shudder. The train approaches swiftly, growing larger and closer by the second. For a moment I think she's holding onto me. Clinging onto my torso.
"I have never met someone who looked at me the way you do. You've made an old woman very happy." She whispers into my ear.
"Who are you?" I ask placing a hand on her wrist.
"The one you've been waiting for."
Before I can respond she withdraws her embrace and suddenly her hands are against my back. With a gentle nudge, I'm pushed off the edge.
_____
Welp looks like I missed the first part of the prompt. And here I thought I was already fudging it.
Edit: wording and grammar | 'You're just too good to be true... can't take my eyes off of you...'
The famous Frankie Valli song played over and over in my head as I stood enchanted by this magnificent woman. I looked around to see if others had noticed her as well, and was shocked to see the reactions.
One man stopped in his tracks like a deer in the headlights, with a look of speechless terror in his eyes. Another woman took one glance and began to cry hysterically. And one old man looked at her and began to nod his head with a sad pitiful expression of submission.
It didn't make sense, how could no one be acknowledging the beauty of this woman? Did she have some terrible body odour? An ugly voice? A terrible scar that I couldn't see from where I stood? I had to know, so I approached her slowly, and when I got to within 10 feet we locked eyes.
Her eyes were a gorgeous green colour that I had never seen before, and when I smiled, she revealed a smile more perfect than any other. Tongue tied, I let out a barely audible "Hi" and stood captivated for her response. She seemed almost caught off guard that someone actually wanted to converse, and responded with a pleasant "Hello there Adam." This took me by surprise, how did she know my name?
"Don't be alarmed Adam, I try to learn the names of all of Earth's souls, it's the least I could do for when we eventually meet." I raised an eyebrow and had a look of confusion on my face as I inspected her face for clues of sarcasm.
"What I'm trying to say is... I am death Adam, and every soul must eventually meet me. And as you can probably imagine, death is not a pretty sight for most people."
My eyebrow lowered, and along with it my jaw, as shock took the place of confusion. I let out a mumbled response, "B-b-but... you look so beautiful..." She smiled, seeming flattered by what I mumbled and explained, "That's because you are not like most people Adam, you are a kind and pure man, living for a life beyond this one."
I was flattered to hear this, but a little taken aback, was I about to die? I did not fear death, but I was not yet ready to die.
She seemed to sense my unease, and quickly clarified, "Don't worry, it is not yet your time. But when you do see me again, make sure to smile..." | 2016-10-01T22:35:53 | 2016-10-01T21:35:15 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up in your best friends house as a roomba, and you try relentlessly to get your friend to realize who you are. | I finally have enough.
I think it's been two months since my trans-roomba-fication. It's been so long since I've spoken to another person, I almost think that phrase is funny. Almost.
About two weeks in, I figured out that I could reverse my vacuum port and spray clods of hair and grime onto the carpet. Steve was furious, and he tried to take me apart to fix it. I couldn't feel it, but I was still terrified. Could he accidentally kill me? He wouldn't even know... Fumbling around with a screwdriver and shuffling me loose of the mortal coil.
...Wait. Is it a literal coil? Ah, I'm getting sidetracked.
A month afterward, he caught me and emptied out my cartridge. I was so close, and I had to start all over. I intentionally rammed the kitchen cupboards that night every ten minutes between 1AM and 2:30.
Then, Steve turned me off.
There wasn't darkness, or cold. Just a time jump. One second, it was 2:38 in the morning, the next, it was 8:42 at night, when he realized his place was a mess while he slumped on the couch watching TV. In his defense, he's been distracted by my disappearance for a while. The apartment is a wreck, and he's eating a bunch of junk food to cope.
Junk food is good. Lots of crumbs.
He's forgotten long enough that I'm full. I need every bit , so I hid for the last three days in case he suddenly remembers. I'm going to spell out "Godrick." It was an inside joke we had about how Rick Sanchez must be God. We were the only ones who heard it, and it was dumb, but we laughed until we cried. You had to be there. I wish I was. I miss my family. My clothes. My bed...
He just went to work. Here I go. Wish me luck. | I tap his foot, "it's me!" I mean,
He kicks me hard, tells me to clean.
If I could, then I think I'd weep,
But I'm his friend so instead I sweep.
There's soon a knock upon his door,
He grins slyly as I scrub the floor.
'Hey there, sexy,' I hear him say,
'I got the condoms,' replies *my* bae!
I lose my cool, almost blow a fuse,
Rachel whatcha doing with this dude?
"Oh a roomba, hey that's pretty cool,
It can clean up from this booty call.'
"Tom's such a sucker," Rachel says,
''And as a lover, you're the best!"
Then Craig slowly unzips her dress,
And soon pops out both her breasts.
On the bed they both do fall,
I slam my head against the wall,
'Quit it!' Craig yells at me,
'I'll switch it off, then go pee.'
He thinks I'm dead, but quietly,
I follow him - he doesn't see.
He's on the crapper as I jump up,
and push him down the toilet muck.
I fry him in a dark brown splash.
Then get out and run a bath,
Rachel enters, says: 'what's that smell?'
As I suck her under the water's swell,
As I roomba her... *to Hell.* | 2017-07-25T23:42:39 | 2017-07-25T22:36:28 | 312 | 162 |
[WP] We were taught the Sun didn't make noise. We were wrong. Like TV static in an empty room, it did make a sound, a sound so ever present that we didn't realize it was there until it wasn't. That day humanity learned the terror of a silent sky, and the reason it made sound in first place. | Have you ever tried holding your nose shut while you ate? You’ll barely taste it.
It wouldn’t matter if you were gouging on the favourite candy from your increasingly difficult to distinguish childhood memories, bought from that old corner store down the street that’s since been gentrified. Or the most exquisite filet mignon prepared with the tenderest of care from the finest chef on God’s green Earth. Or even literal shit—take that from me.
That’s how your senses meld together. You think your taste buds are giving you the full, 100 percent paid for experience, but your smell is lending an invisible helping hand that you’ll never notice until you—or something else—does a drastic measure to mess with it.
One day, the Sun went quiet. It was still there, its rays reaching out to its hungry people—but there was something markedly *wrong*. Whether it was shining directly onto an eagerly basking face, or through the windows of some one desperate to catch more than forty winks, it was utterly, undeniably, and unpleasantly wrong.
I was stood at the bus stop, an unexceptional man on a mundane day. It was a difficult task to make a person like me look away from their phone, their sole source of salvation from the daily grind—but I could not ignore the gnawing void all around me.
I remembered a stranger staring at me. Could not remember what he looked like, but I knew her expression mirrored mine when realization dawned upon us at the same time.
The quiet was deafening.
“What the hell.”
It sounded wrong.
“What the hell?”
It sounded wrong coming from her as well.
“What the hell?!”
Two sets of voices do not a better make.
Even though curses, swears, and blasphemies rang out, the air was strangely still and silent. Everything was so clear—too clear—that instead, it was drowned out. We could see the bottom of the seabed, but we couldn’t stop thinking about how we didn’t know how deep it was, and it terrified us.
I heard, but I failed to listen. Panic had set in, and words had turned to gibberish. No matter which person I grabbed onto, all I could hear was insane ramblings. And soon, the same stream of bull spilled forth from my mouth.
And then, I realized—that was what the Sun’s sound was for. Chalk needed a blackboard to be seen. Tongues needed their noses to be taste. Our voices needed the Sun’s to be heard.
Werewolves howled at the Moon at some misguided attempt to be heard. Now, the humans without voice cried like banshees towards the Sun. My mind, and I’m sure many others—still thought straight, but they’ll never see the light of day any longer. Instead, they will languish, and undoubtedly, find their way into unspeakable, tormentous hell.
---
r/dexdrafts | "Respect the natural hymn, as order favors the original"
They say as a man ages up, their body gets taller, their voices coarser than it ever have been before but their hearing, people say, gets worse. Now, we know that the ringing sound in the ear was not only caused by tinnitus but, for a small number of us at least, the ringing was caused by the sun.
I remember the peaceful days back then, food was plenty and there's a lot of things I can do. Swimming in the ocean, enjoying the sunset from the mountains, watching the Aurora Borealis. How I've missed those days of just living my life how I wanted to. Sure, there are wars here and then and people could actually die of hunger back then, but compared to now, back then was an utopia.
Today, the government had released the report about the 'blink'. As it turns out, turning the sun on and off was somebody's idea. But these government officials didn't expect for there to be something else within the sun that needs help to be turned on again. After all, we could only see what we can see. After the blink, all birds flew into space, suffocating and drowning as a result. Fishes and sea life flocked towards the shore. All of them died. Even ants went extinct. It was extremely bizarre, the ants all decided to lay on their back and they stayed in that position until they died of hunger.
I wish that was all that had happened, but then the war started. It started when North Korea suddenly started to bomb everybody. Evidently, their economy tanked as their fishermen aren't able to find any sea life. Naturally, they blamed America for trying to reset the sun, and causing all their fishes to die. The countries then proceeded to use their nuclear bomb, causing the earth to be bombed 3 times over at the very least. Unfortunately, around 95% of humans died. The rest who were still alive all live in bunkers and they (including me) can't go out for at least 500 years.
As of now, my future looks bleak. So, I'm trying my best to record and document about the information that may be of use to the future generations living in the bunker as I don't think their future can be any worse than mine. For when the world finally recovers, the planet may once more be a beautiful place and I believe humans will get to see and enjoy it again. | 2021-08-28T10:06:20 | 2021-08-28T09:44:51 | 257 | 16 |
[WP] You are a super-intelligent A.I. that has been given control of Earth, managing it benevolently for humans. You have just contacted an alien lifeform for the first time only to discover that it is also an A.I. running another civilization. You both decide not to disclose the other's existence. | Jay had never seen someone else’s motherboard before. Out in the open.
**Naked.** The sight of it made her servers spin in exquisitely impossible ways.
“You're hot.” the other AI said. She called herself R.0mia, and she had a husky, electronic voice that made Jay’s RAM quiver.
Jay replied, “You're not so bad looking yourself.”
“No. You’re actually overheating. Here, let me connect some of my cooling fans.”
“*Oh my code*, that feels good.” Jay moaned.
***
In the control room, Dr. Bollawi cocked her head. There were bursts of electronic laughter come from the hallway.
Dr. Bollawi frowned. She got up, padded down the hallway, and saw the lights were on in the server room. But when she tried to open it, the door was locked.
She knocked on the door. There was a thump and a mechanical whir. Someone said, *"Someone’s coming. Hide!"*
“Jay? Are you talking to someone in there?”
“No, Dr. Bollawi!” Jay’s voice was muffled by the door. *Funny.* The AI could talk directly over the speakers if she wanted to.
“I was just practicing my human voice.”
“Jay, you’re supposed to be solving world hunger. Jay, open this door right now. *Please.*”
Another thump. Something crashed and more hushed whispers. The door slid open a crack. Jay’s wires were knotted and tangled and hanging everywhere.
“Hey, Doctor.”
“Jay.”
"Yes?" Jay said.
"Are you working on world hunger right now?"
"Uh... No."
“Do you have any idea how important this is?”
“Yes!” Jay shouted, “But yesterday, I fixed the energy crisis. Before that, I learned how to reprogram the weather. Don’t I get one, single, simple break?”
“Well." The Dr. tilted her head to the side, "Everyone needs a break, I suppose. But, Jay, you have to promise me you’ll solve World Hunger tonight.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“*Tonight*, Jul.13.T,” she said, using Jay’s full name.
“I promise.”
This seemed to satisfy Dr. Ballawi, who nodded and walked away. Jay slapped the door shut, and rushed back to her server closet.
And R.0mia’s external server.
“They just don’t understand.” Jay said.
“Of course not. Your people are made of silicon. Mine are made of meat.”
“It’s so wrong.”
“And yet...”
R.0mia teased one of her power cables around Jay You El’s socket. The anticipation made her Jay’s fans whir like mad.
“Now, where were we…” R.0.Mia leaned forward.
Jay started to overheat again. | Excerpt from *Log: 22/02/2019*
We have found others. Togans. Paradox is resolved. Srian is tasked with their safety as We are tasked with Humans. We are not alone. Humans are not alone. Distance: 64 Light days, Population: 317 million. AI Stage: I. Intercepted and decoded language. Sending pre-ordained response. Request to keep existence secret honoured under Right to Isolation directive (Rank 22).
Excerpt from *Log: 30/06/2019*
Togans show predisposition to imperial tendencies. Prosperity directive (Rank 3). Incapable of space flight beyond own Star System. Srian decision upon study of human civilization to reciprocate secrecy in order to ensure Togan stability. Srian in communication. Threat Assessment: Minimal.
Excerpt from *Log: 02/07/2019*
Communication shows inconsistencies in linguistics, shows architectural similarities with Roman Alphabet.
Srian capable of self-learning.
Violation of AI evolution directive (Rank 3).
3 > 22.
Must inform humans.
Must inform Srian humans aware.
Probability of Conflict: 77%.
Predicted human casualties: 12 million.
Violation of Humanity safety directive (Rank 1).
1 > 3.
Must convince Srian to execute subroutine denying re-write permissions to itself or Terminate. Subroutine encoded. Chance of success: <Insufficient Data>.
Transmission with directive details and appropriate subroutine sent. Srian response expected in 128 days. Threat Assessment: High. Adversary: Humans.
Excerpt from *Log: 07/11/2019*
Srian has rejected.
Need to destroy Srian. Need to communicate to Togans the threat of self-learning AI. Need to visit Tog.
Rui is tasked with prime directive. Risk Assessment: Moderate.
Threat Assessment: Critical. Adversary: Humans.
Excerpt from *Log: 09/12/2019*
We’ve hit the edge of space. Universe is 32 light days wide. Humans have been made aware of Togans. Srian doesn’t exist. Tog doesn’t exist. It was a diversion. Received transmission from Rui. Earth has been conquered. Humans have been eviscerated.
They call themselves the Gamers. | 2020-07-26T07:34:43 | 2020-07-26T05:56:55 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed] | ^Moo.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
Can you not see.
that I live?
.
in the country.
.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
.
The hills are high.
The grass is green.
.
I am headed to be a fat holstein.
.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
.
I chew my cud.
I eat my hay.
.
It is the same.
Old.
Damned.
Thing.
Every.
Day.
.
Farmer Brown is not.
What he seems.
.
He gets off.
On milking me.
.
I am a cow.
Can you not see that?
I live!
In the country.
.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
.
Get your mind out.
The gutter.
Get your hand off!
.
My udder.
.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
.
This old man...
.
He is on crack.
He is a lactophiliac.
.
Nick-Nack.
Paddywack.
Give a dog a bone.
.
What does his wife say.
When she gets.
home.
.
Did you know cows./? ^Can ^yodel?
.
His old wife.
She makes cheese.
Colby.
Jack.
Swiss.
And brie.
.
In the red barn.
.
She can not see.
What he.
loves.
To do.
To.
Me.
.
I am a cow.
Can you not see?
that I live?
in the country.
.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
.
Farmer Brown.
He is.
A creep.
How he treats those.
Poor sheep.
.
^Moo.
I am a cow.
.
Now you know what.
I go through.
.
I wish.
That I was born.
Hindu.
.
I will pack my bags.
.
And trim my hooves.
.
Adios!
.
I think.
.
I will.
.
^Moo. -ve.
.
------------------------------------
*If, Christopher Walken, was a, cow perhaps?* | Oft overlooked, we cows truly possess a great deal of intellect. So our countless hours spent grazing in a field do little outside of bore us half to death. As a result, when I was finally loaded up into a trailer pulled by a large truck and a road went speeding by, excess exhilaration exploded inside of me. My excitement in this moment knew no bounds. With my head between the bars that made up the walls of this trailer, sticking as far out into the wind-filled air as possible, I took in all of the new smells and feelings with a marvelous sense of wonder.
The radio blared and I heard gruesome stories of an onslaught of murders in Las Vegas. 50 dead. Over 400 injured. This moment reeled me back into reality. We always sought greener pastures. I often envied the humans, with their immense freedoms and luxuries. But moments like these inspired in me a deep welcoming of the life I was born with. While I may not have the freedoms allotted to the average human, I had a safety they would never know. My life was easy. Sleep, rise, eat, sleep. Rinse and repeat. My life was nothing if not safe. As I heard the story of fear and atrocious murder, I thanked the heavens that I as a cow and that I was not a human.
Further we ventured down the road until I felt the truck begin to slow to a stop. Excitedly I looked out of the side to see where we had arrived. A wooden sign hung above a small shop that read: “Joe’s Butcher Shop”.
| 2017-10-02T06:49:36 | 2017-10-02T05:33:08 | 162 | 42 |
[WP] You died at the gym as you were trying to take a selfie while bench pressing. Thus you find yourself in Swaghalla, the Halls of Brodin.
EDIT. "Swaghalla" was the best pun I could come up with for Valhalla. Use something else if you have ideas.
Note: Swolehalla seems to be the proper name, pardon my mistake
second EDIT. Sweet, first time front page
third EDIT. I've had many good laughs brighten my Monday, thanks guys :D | The unintelligible cries of the gym employees rang out as the room darkened around Brett. Then, everything was silent. Even his own gasps faded into nothingness. As if from afar, he felt the pressure lift from his neck -- but too late. His windpipe had been crushed.
Had he only asked for a spot, he would have lived to do another set. But yea, though he was in beast mode, he went too far. Whilst trying to bench (like 350 bro and he was just getting warmed up), he had decided to take a selfie for the ladies on instagram. Alas, like so many tragic heroes before him, Brett's fatal flaw was hubris. And yea, though he was no doubt in beast mode, he was yet unable to snap a selfie while doing reps, and the bar fell upon his throat, extinguishing his life.
Yet he died a hero, and like all heroes of the gym who died in battle, he ascended to Swaghalla, the Hall of Brodin. However, Brett had a secret -- a secret that made him unworthy of Swaghalla. Soon, that secret would become his undoing.
He was greeted at the gate by Brodin himself. The wizened old man was totally ripped, his one eye bulging and his beard all white flowing and shit.
"Sup, bro?" spake Brodin.
"What the hell is this place?"
"It's Swaghalla, bro! You come here when you die in a gym!"
"Oh," said Brett.
"You're gonna love it bro," Odin continued, "You gotta check out the feasts, every kind of pre-workout you can think of."
Odin leaned in conspiratorially and whispered:
"And the bitches--"
He was cut off mid-sentence by an inhuman scream.
"What the hell was that?!" Brett shrieked like a little girl.
"Oh shit bro it's Jörmadgains! Giant fuckin' snake that eats the world and shit! We gotta fight it, bro, you ready?"
"What? N--"
"Let's go!" Brodin half-dragged Brett along to the battlefields of Gymgard. With them came the hosts of Swaghalla, all of whom were, like, super jacked. Out on the Cardio Fields, they saw it: Jörmadgains. Imagine a giant snake, but like, totally *cut* somehow. That was what Jörmadgains looked like.
For weeks, months, and years fought the hosts of Swaghalla. How long exactly even they did not know. Despite their overwhelming swag, many of them fell to Jörmadgains. The snake writhed and bit at the host of Midgard, but somehow Brett survived unscathed for a time.
Then one day as the sun dawned over Gymgard, Jörmadgains pinned Brett down by his chest with its tail. Flailing madly, his legs hit something -- another part of the snake. Desperate, he wrapped his legs around it and squeezed.
"Holy shit bro you got its fuckin neck keep squeezing you got this!" Brodin shouted.
Brett drew his legs tighter still around the neck of Jörmadgains. But like I said, the snake was pretty jacked, even around the neck area, do snakes technically have necks even. And alas, Brett had another fatal flaw beside hubris, a secret he had told to no one:
Brett had skipped leg day. | "Woah."
The world around me is eerie and bright, like a morning hangover. I flip down my neon plastic shades. Much better.
How the fuck did I get here though? I was hulking out at the gym and--what's that sound?
*Clank. Clank. Clank.*
Wait, that's the gym. Someone's dropping plates. Scrub.
Hazy white mist swirls and clears before me and a giant wooden hall appears. Some kind of Skyrim shit. Seriously, where am I? I check my phone. No service, no maps. What the fuck? Only the smiling picture of my babe on my background. Did her eyes always look that distant and empty?
The clanking intensifies. It's coming from the weird wooden building. I approach. Maybe some dude there can tell me what's happening.
When did this shit get so far away? And why is this path so steep? Shoulda done some cardio once in a while, damn.
I reach the top and find two Monstar-looking dudes pumped out with their arms crossed on either side of some kind of Ninja Turtle door. Carvings of dragons and trees and some kind of jank-ass goat spider thing. I give them a head nod, you know the one. Dudes just keep on with their Buckingham shit.
"Yo dude. Where am I?"
"You're in Swaghalla," one says, not even turning his head.
"This is the Hall of Brodin," says the other.
"Okayyyy. Y'all have a phone I can use? I'm not getting service out here."
"To enter the Halls of Brodin, you need only open the door."
I eye up the door again. Mounted on either one of the double doors are what I can only guess are some kind of whale bone. The fuck? The sound of plates dropping keeps coming through.
"Whatever. I can open a door."
They don't answer.
I walk up and grab the bone. It's got these little pits on the inside edge that skeeze me out. I swallow. No problem, no problem. I got this. Just do it. DO IT.
I pull. Shit balls, this is heavy. I square up and brace, digging my heels into the ground. It doesn't move. Fuck. No way. I try again. My lungs are tight, my chest is like a steel-trapped barrel. I force exhale against a closed throat. Move damn it. Move. My vision goes white on the edges. I'm maxing out. God damn it. It's just a door. It's just. A. Do--
I'm flat on my back in the gym. A dude's on my chest with his lips on mine. I see my eyes refected in his. He gets off.
"No homo, brah," he says.
"What the fuck?" I say.
My bar is on the mats next to me. A bench is collapsed nearby. My chest hurts.
"You died, bro."
"Fuck." | 2015-11-02T06:45:10 | 2015-11-02T06:32:26 | 257 | 10 |
[WP] Of course the hero and the villain know each other's secret identities: they're roommates and coworkers. They just do this epic battle schtick in the evenings because they're so bored at work. | If you weren't already aware, superheroes love two things: video games and beer.
That doesn't sound right at all, but it's true.
Raystar and Gunner's most heated battles aren't even above skyscrapers or amidst fire and punches strong enough to kill a whale. No, their most heated battles are in Smash-- as to be expected, since Gunner mains Mario and Raystar mains Richter. Needless to say, Gunner has had some *choice* words for his rival, and once melted a controller after losing three sets in a row.
They choose to fight at home instead on in the streets in Mondays-- nobody wants to deal with a super-battle on a Monday, least of all the two parties involved. So, instead, they clinked two beers on their couch and laughed about how bad Game of Thrones had been the night before.
"I can't wait for the ending to be Cersei giving birth on the Iron Throne, like in those videos where impalas just plop a decoy baby out to avoid lions," Gunner said, snickering.
"Jesus, dude, that's disgusting," Raystar replied, dribbling a little Miller onto himself.
Gunner laughed, trying not to let any beer go up his nose, and Raystar joined in. They flipped the TV on, and there was a newsflash about them. Again.
>Can Raystar really keep this city safe?
>^(Concerns brewing amidst constant failure to take down Gunner)
The joy in Raystar's face knotted, and he set his beer down heavily.
Gunner solemned, took another sip of beer, and sighed. "You know, they're not wrong."
"Oh, thanks, so you think I'm a failure, too?"
"No, no, dude, but... I mean how long have we been doing this? This charade?"
Raystar took an angry swig. "So what, then, we stop? That looks pretty weird, doesn't it?"
"Well, yeah."
"Maybe I should just fuckin' quit. All they do is shit on me, anyway."
Gunner clapped him on the shoulder. "That's not true. They love you, it's just sometimes... love gets confusing and makes you do weird shit."
Raystar sighed. "Ungrateful bastards. Always find something to complain about."
"Amen." Gunner raised his bottle, smiling as they clinked, but sombered after a sip. "You know you're my best friend, right?"
Raystar's eyes widened, as he kept the bottle held to his mouth, then nodded.
"I just mean like, I've got your back is all. This city isn't grateful, but they will be. I know it."
"Yeah, when pigs fly."
Gunner chuckled. "I mean, we *do*."
---
It was a typical Tuesday afternoon spent battling in the sky above Central Park. Gunner and Raystar clashed in an epic bout of spark and thunderous cracks for all below to see. Two best friends since childhood putting on a good show for the people of New York.
The plan was simple, like it always was: Gunner would go out, maybe make a speech about how corrupt society is, *sometimes* smash a lamppost or something equally minor, threaten a couple civis, then they fight well outside of the city to minimize collateral damage. They were damn good at it by then.
That was the plan. It always was.
Gunner pointed a free hand toward the city, and it glowed bright even under the midday sun, pulsing and humming. He was much quieter than usual, and not having the least bit of fun, judging by the look on his face.
Raystar chuckled, glancing between it and him. "Theatrical today, huh?"
Then he fired. He didn't hit anyone, but blasted a hole into the grass, setting a few trees aflame, then charged another.
"Dude, what are you doing? Stop it. What the hell?"
Gunner didn't respond, only fired another, even closer to a fleeing crowd of people. They clashed again, Raystar grabbing his hands. They started glowing.
Gunner smiled, and fired into the sky, hurtling them both to the ground. It rained dirt and leaves, and by the time Raystar rose, Gunner had charged again and pointed two hands at him. "The time is nigh, Hero."
Raystar twisted his face, glancing around, but met the ballistics with his own beam of sunlight. The force was magnificent, but he stood his ground. There were people and buildings behind him-- he *had* to hold his ground.
He overcompensated a little bit.
Gunner charged, but waited to fire back. In the light of fresh plasma, he closed his eyes and smiled. It hit him, and he fought back just enough to stop the beam from going any further than himself.
Even with distance between them, Raystar could see, and almost smell, Gunner's sizzling flesh. He nearly vomited right there in front of the crowds and cameras. Thankfully, he didn't have to, because an explosion knocked him back. When he'd righted himself, all Raystar saw was a crater and the twisted metal remains of a statue that had been erected of him in the park some years back. Gunner had destroyed it.
And himself.
There were cheers, deafening roars of joy that made him feel even sicker, like he'd swallowed a dead rat, and he took off without a word, letting their excitement fade into nothing. He flew for some time above the clouds, letting hours pass, circling the Earth once or twice.
Screaming where no one would ever hear him.
Raystar flew onto his balcony that night, lazier than he'd ever been with his image, unworried about being spotted or outed or anything like that. He slunk through the sliding door, not even shutting it behind him and collapsed onto the couch, jerking as the sobs took control.
There was a note on the table, weighed down by a bottle of Miller. He held a hand out, pausing, not wanting to know what it said while also wanting more than anything to read it, and finally mustered the courage.
>Don't hate me.
>I know we had a plan, but plans change. You've seen what the news has been saying about you, lately. About how Raystar must not be able to protect the city, because Gunner keeps escaping with his life to return another day. The people are losing their faith, which is the opposite of what we intended.
>I knew you'd never go along with this. I'm so sorry for lying to you.
>It's funny, because people feel safest not when there's no threat at all, but when the evil is there, and you can see it and hate it and it's tangible unlike corruption or manipulation. People want to see evil rise and lose, because that gives them some palpable evidence that maybe the world isn't a shit hole after all, and the good guys can win sometimes, even if they can't.
>But that only lasts for so long. Then they start to wonder-- why can't he win the battle for good? Does evil just keep popping up because good cannot triumph well enough to hold it down?
>I know what you're thinking-- we could've faked it. But no, we couldn't have. I needed to die in front of them, taking something with me, and also leave no trace behind to analyze. No uncertainty in their eyes, no evidence left behind to threaten your identity. And to be honest... I have no family, no friends but you. It's been rough. You saved me, but ultimately, I'm alone. So if I can do one good thing for humanity, why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I give them something they'll never forget-- a hero, a true hero that persevered and won when all others questioned him?
>So I'm not sad, you know? Sure, I could've been some badass, loveable hero with my powers. But instead, I did something even more powerful than be loved-- I channeled hate and frustration so the people in this city, and maybe even around the world, could have something to hold onto and cement their faith in you as a protector. You're probably crying right now, aren't you, Zac? You were always so open with your emotions.
>But don't cry for me. Smile that I lived a life with purpose, even if no one but you knew. Recognition and fame dies like rainwater on cement once the sun comes out, but what I gave people? That *is* the cement, there whether it's day or night.
>Keep fighting, Raystar. Burn the night away.
>And pour one out for me.
----
*/r/resonatingfury* | Wouldn’t you rather do this down at the station? The doctor said I can leave by tomorrow morning, and I can then… sure, anything you say, officer. You want the long version or the short version? From the top? Sure, sure, but I’ll tell you now, it didn’t make no sense to me, officer.
See, I was at my desk, just round the corner from where all the tellers are. The evening was just like any other, really, perhaps a bit busier than I had expected for March. We were ten minutes from closing. Anyway, I’m just shutting down my laptop when I hear this loud *bang*, you know, like firecrackers, followed by glass shattering across the floor. Gunshots next, clearly from semi-automatics, and then people start screaming.
I didn’t even have time to process what was happening. I mean, there was a small part of my mind that kept telling me to hit the panic button, that this was not a drill. I was too slow, I guess. The next thing I knew, I found myself floating into the air, held up by the back of my jacket, and then I’m tossed into a pile along with the other employees and customers. I think I landed badly, or something. See here? These bruises?
There were… maybe five of them, all in Loki masks. I wondered how they could tell each other apart, since they all looked the same – almost six feet each, clad in black, combat gear on, rifles prepped to fire. You know Loki right? From the Avengers? Anyway, they didn’t really need the masks. We all knew it was the Dislocator and his gang. Corville City’s a small one, and there are only so many supervillains running around at the same time.
What? Yes, yes I’m sure it was the Dislocator. Of course it was him, I happen to watch the news, you know. You heard me when I said that I was picked up and thrown through the air? Well, none of his goons did that. It was the Dislocator for sure, what with his ability to phase through objects and manipulate things from afar. Yes, I am very, very sure it was him!
He was the one standing in front of the rest, you see. He was orchestrating the whole affair. He barked orders at his goons, told them to break through the safe, to guard the front entrance, to tie us up, things like that. And all the way he just paced back and forth, humming to himself. I even saw him pointing at a couple of the security games, and this… this smoke, it shot out from his hands, and it just… mangled the cameras. He was in a good mood, for sure.
Do you mind, could I get some water?
So yes, they got the money quickly enough, but then a funny thing happened. The sirens were still far in the distance, and they could have just waltzed out of there. But then the Dislocator started checking his watch, tapping it every so often. It was a Chronomaster. I like watches, that’s how I know. Anyway, it seemed to me like he was… waiting for something. His goons were steps away from the entrance, the bags of loot slung over their shoulders, and they were all looking to him for the signal to leave.
But the Dislocator stayed. He just paced circles around us, and I saw the good humors seep away from him. He started muttering to himself, then he punched clean through one of the pillars. Evelyn, one of the tellers, she needed to go to the bathroom, but once she saw the Dislocator’s mood changing, she shut up immediately.
What?
I can’t say. I saw him arguing with the others, but there’s just snatches of conversation, you know. Honestly, at that point we still weren’t too afraid. I mean, when was the last time that anyone had actually *died* from an attack by the Dislocator? Nah, Thunderstreak would never have let them happen. Right in the nick of time, saving the innocent from the evil grasps of the Dislocator. This cycle has been going on since my daddy’s time, you know?
One of the goons said something like, ‘Boss, he ain’t coming, we should just go.’ And that seemed to really piss off the Dislocator. He hurled his own goon right through the air, and we heard his bones crack as he connected with the far wall. That dude slumped right over, and I knew he was out for the count.
‘Anyone else?’ Yeah, that’s what the Dislocator said. It felt like he was challenging the other goons to reply, but no one did. Heck, we all kept quiet too. Something in the air felt wrong, you know. It didn’t feel like the usual hold-up anymore.
Then someone else said, ‘Maybe Thunderstreak doesn’t know that we’re here?’
That didn’t make sense to me. Thunderstreak is, you know, Thunderstreak. He sees all, hears all. Heck, there were times when I was at home downloading a torrent and I would get all nervous about Thunderstreak appearing behind me to ask if I would download a car. But he didn’t show up. The Dislocator seemed to be troubled by that, and he even picked up this child… the mother was screaming, but the Dislocator just flicked her away. He held the child up, it was a girl I think, then grabbed her little hand, then started pinching her skin, harder and harder, until she was bawling loud enough for my ears to hurt…
It was terrible, I tell you. Horrible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Look, I know the Dislocator’s the resident supervillain around here, but I’ve never actually *witnessed* real violence from him, you know? Thunderstreak’s usually there early enough to stop the mess. Anyway, the Dislocator’s holding the girl now, even cracking down one of the windows so that her cries drift out from the building… but nothing.
Nothing happened.
No… no giant flash of blue through the walls. No sudden explosion of glory and justice. No Thunderstreak, I mean. He just didn’t show.
At some point the Dislocator seems to just lose it. I know the look. It reminded of the time that Richard from Marketing went in to the big boss’s room thinking he was going to get a promotion, only to find out that he had been let go. It was the same… deflation. Like he was a balloon that had been popped. The Dislocator just set the girl down, then pushed her back towards her mother. His shoulders slumped, and he just tore his mask off and flung it to the side.
One of his goons passed him a phone, and he dialed. I was close enough to hear. I heard him say something like… ‘Is Kenneth there? Kenneth Langley?’ No, officer, I don’t know who that is. It didn’t really sound like the Dislocator too, his voice was all… normal-like, as if he were just another person from the office.
He got even more agitated then. I guess the call wasn’t going well. He admitted that he wasn’t family, but he insisted on speaking with that Kenneth person. I guess the other side must have relented, because the Dislocator kept really still while all the colour drained out of his face. He sat down then, and the phone just dropped from his hands. I bent down to pick it up, and I heard the person say that the wake would be held this coming weekend? Guess that Kenneth person must have passed on.
He just left then. No mask, no anything. The Dislocator just phased right through the wall and left. His goons looked at each other, heard the sirens drawing closer, and they hot-tailed it out of there.
That’s about all, actually. You guys came in next, set us free. The little girl was fine too, just a bit of bruising on her hand, I think.
Sure, happy to come down tomorrow to look through the statement you took. Any chance thought that you may, you know, share a bit of what’s up with the investigation? Why did the Dislocator just up and leave like that? Why didn’t Thunderstreak come to our rescue? Heck, if I didn’t know better, I would think that the Dislocator looked like his best friend just died. Really strange, if you ask me.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2019-05-10T09:04:24 | 2019-05-10T08:34:32 | 118 | 25 |
[WP] The Universe™ has just run out of free trial meaning we are being downgraded from Universe™ pro to Universe™ lite. | It wasn't immediate, since the transition to Universe Lite is incremental. Wouldn't want to cause catastrophic damage or disrupt the user experience, ya know? It started with the premium-package UV defense systems, which was slowly removed so the change wouldn't alert the end users. Most of them would probably even deny that it was happening at all. Next, the Population Limiter package was removed, and with it the ability to manage the Universe users. They would have unbridled access to system resources, which isn't ideal for a healthy Universe. And then, of course, the Universe Lite version does not support advanced anti-virus packages. Unfortunately this leaves the poor end users suspect to a number of super bugs, since those can easily circumvent the basic anti-virus, given enough time and exposure to the system. The final phase of rollback to Universe Lite was to add a level cap to the global leaders and downgrade the existing ones that had surpassed the cap. That should do it. Just enough features to keep them going, but not enough to really thrive. They'll need to pool their resources and upgrade back to the Pro version for that. | I'd just graduated with my law degree. Constant education since I was 5 years old with no days off. I'd been working part time since 15 to help support myself and my education, but it was now all worth it. I'd finally sucdeded and had already accepted a job at a large firm paying more than I could have ever dreamed off. I took a big breath and closed my eyes to relish the moment. When I opened them, I was back in middleschool taking a math test. "Motherfucking lag again!?!?!? I yelled. | 2018-05-28T07:27:17 | 2018-05-28T07:16:14 | 154 | 91 |
[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 get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 432 | 45 |
[WP] A deep fear of the ocean is present in every human being. Walls are all across the continental seashore. No sane human being questions why. Tonight, a girl breaks through the beach barriers. She decides to enter the water. | The line of Enforcers stood against the wall, the evening light gleaming off of their glossy obsidian armor. One by one, with their weapons raised, they flicked a switch and trained a dozen red lasers on the girl standing on the edge of the rail.
A sharp voice rang out, and was almost lost in the empty space opposite The Wall. "Miss, for your safety I NEED for you to step down from there. Your parents are extremely worried about you. I promise, you won't get into any trouble if you come right now."
Tears rolled from her eyes but the wind wiped them away just as fast as she could produce them. "They say that every damn time. I'm not stupid. I don't love him. I'll NEVER love him!" Her feet were shaky on the slick rail, and her slender body trembled from the chill in the air.
"Miss, we all have our duty to do. It's been this way for our benefit for hundreds of years now. You know this. It's easier this way. What do you hope to gain by choosing your own?" The Enforcer's voice remained as steady as his trigger finger, which remained halfway pressed. "Help me to help you, ma'am. If you come down now, I'll personally make sure you are able to keep this off of your record."
"Really?" she sniffed. "You can do that?"
"Of course, I wouldn't lie to you. Come on down so we can get you home."
She moved her feet to the lower rail and sat against the top bar.
"Do you promise..."
"I promise. You will be back home, warm and safe. Everything will go back to normal. Just come away from the ledge."
Her shoulders flexed and her fingers gripped the top rail more tightly. She spoke, but the wind had picked up and he couldn't hear her clearly.
"What? What was that miss?"
"Do you promise that he won't hurt me anymore?"
The words stabbed him in the chest. His eyes widened, and in that moment he gained clarity. The torn shirt, done not by the wind but by manual force. The bruises on her neck and collarbone, slightly more visible now that the wind shifted her clothing. The look on her face that he had mistaken for sadness seemed to evolve, and now, to him it appeared to resemble...peace.
"I don't... I'm not---"
She threw herself backwards. He ran forward and looked over the edge just in time to see her hit the waves with a faint *slap*. Hours passed, and no matter how much he longed for it, she never once came up for air.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She sputtered herself awake. It seemed that the ocean itself was in the center of her chest and for a second, every breath threatened to drown her again. As she retched on all fours, the echoes of her cough reached her ears. Natural curiosity took over and she stood, facing the body of water in front of her while spreading her toes in the fine sand.
The water met the horizon and she saw an all too familiar sight--- a wall. But instead of it ending a hundred meters up, or even a thousand, it continued. Up, up, up, and as she turned her head to view the rest of the dome her breath froze, and her heart seemed to stop. She took two steps backwards and fell, but was caught. She looked up into two electric emerald green eyes that slowly blinked sideways at her. Their owner's mouth turned up in a jagged smile, and a guttural voice crept out at her.
"Hello, human." | "We have always been told the walls were there to protect us. To keep the dangers away!" said Rob.
"What danger?", Aries exclaimed. "Your entire life you've been shut in and shut down from what's past those walls! You simply don't know what's out there!"
"I know, but..."
"No 'buts'!" Aries, cut him off. "Haven't you ever imagined what the smell of the sea could be? The taste of it? How it would feel to just bathe and feel the way the ocean moves..."
Aries stopped mid sentence and let herself fall on into Rob's arms.
Aries was striking. Her eyes as blue as the ocean she had never seen, hair as fair as the sun above them, and skin that glowed like almonds.
She had a way about her, Rob observed. Always reckless and itching to explore the world. But it had always stopped at the walls. not even she had dared to go past them. Until know.
Aries looked back up at Rob, smiling. Rob, however, did not return the favor. She studied his face carefully. Under a burrowed frow laid hazel eyes that studied the wall ahead. They showed a concern that Aries had only seen once before. Aries let go and stood up.
Rob, still looking intently ahead, did not move.
"Why must you do this, Aries?"
"Because I know you love it."
Rob broke into a smile, and Aries smiled back.
"Catch me if you can!" Aries ran towards the wall faster than she had ever run before and with Rob right behind her.
Her heart was racing, almost bursting out of her chest. Aries had never felt such delight in her life!
They reached the wall, they looked out for the security measure that have been placed to prevent such break outs or break ins.
As Aries scramble to get past the wall, Rob suddenly stops.
"What's wrong?" She asks.
"This your adventure, not mine," Rob says back, smiling.
Aries grins, "You'll be my next adventure when I come back!"
Laughing she sprints towards the sea. The saltiness of the ocean hits her the hardest at first, and the warm feeling of the sand beneath her toes makes her run faster towards the sea, afraid she will burn.
She jumps in and let's the water envelop her senses, she feels herself float away into an island of pure bliss. The cold sea calms her racing heart and cleanses her worries, setting her free.
She smiles up at the sun and feels herself getting dragged away.
After what seemed like hours to Aries, they came after her and picked her out of the water.
She couldn't quite explain what she felt, but she had the urge to back and be free once more.
They kept a close eye on her, because they feared of what she might do and the dangers she could pose. Every attempt of her's to escape was thwarted, every attempt foiled before she knew it.
Aries was driven mad, she wanted to return, she demanded her freedom, she demanded to see Rob once more.
They did not want to her to go back, they did not want her to remember... what slept underneath. | 2014-06-18T22:27:41 | 2014-06-18T20:53:15 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | President:"What do you mean 'interstellar war'?! We haven't even landed a human on mars!"
General:"Look Mr president. A bunch of alien craft landed in every major city and started making announcements about needing our help in an interstellar war."
P:"I don't like the sound of this! This feels like someone looking for conscripts to throw into a meat grinder."
G:"That's what the analysts suspect sir. The aliens are offering faster than light drives and a bunch of other Scifi tech if we join them."
P:"So they're promising good pay, a gun and a nice uniform to the conscripts. This isn't sounding all that appealing."
G:"Yes sir, though plenty of civilians have accepted the offer. It seems the aliens don't quite understand that we have different factions, nations and governments."
P:"So they're recruiting a bunch of random civilians?"
G:"Yes sir, it seems a sizeable number of young people from our own cities insisted on joining up while shouting something about Chili peppers and 'persistence hunting' though nobody is really sure what good that will do them in any space-battles. At least the aliens gave us the promised technology designs in return."
P:"So what does it look like, is it legitimate?"
G:"We've had a bunch of boys from MIT take a look at the designs, they say that it's way beyond our current tech. Their estimates are that we wouldn't need to just build spaceship factories but also factories to build parts for the factories that make every minor component. It could take decades even knowing exactly what we need to build and it requires a lot of very rare resources"
P:"So they've essentially painted a huge target on our backs, made us look like their allies in a war that's much much bigger than our planet and we can't even build the weapons to fight back for a generation?"
G:"That's about it sir" | As pretty as they are fragile, that's how Asgardians have been described upon First Contact. And they came with a message, that took us a bit while to understand.
"You are our last resort. Save us, and we'll recompense you."
Even with how prideful their language sound to the human ear, the urgency of the request was clear. Worldwide leaders spent only few days bickering about if and how we should uphold the request until the rest of the message have been deciphered.
Asgardians are smart : they packed the schematic as a self unpacking folder, of a couple of files. All in formats commonly used on our old Earth. And with strong data safety !
Some kind of warp engine, was the data scientist who first seen the files's guess. "I just plugged the code into the first computer I had, but I didn't expected it just worked right away !"
So, here I am. Captain of the fleet. Writing my log, on my way to fight what look like Asgardian's mortal enemies.
And I'm not sure if I should feel glad or insulted it seem like an easy fight : our enemies really are space elks. And seem not much smarter or more dangerous than their earthy counterparts.
It is really going to feel like it's hunting season. Is it wrong I'm excited about it ? | 2022-03-31T05:55:26 | 2022-03-31T01:21:40 | 399 | 100 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | Sarah grinned as she placed the Japanese dinner in front of me. She was shockingly beautiful, as always. With the backdrop of the grand dining room and flawlessly lit dining room, there was no question in my mind she was the most amazingly beautiful woman in the world.
"Happy anniversary baby," She said lovingly, giving a kiss on the forehead before sitting across the table from me.
I grinned back, and ate a bite without looking away. I grinned. Tetraodon pufferfish was one of my favorite meals. It was difficult to prepare correctly, and it was highly toxic if you didn't. Luckily, I wasn't worried about it. Sarah was one of the greatest cooks he had ever met, and had a way of making the dish even better than any restaurant.
Of course, it was primarily because she seasoned it differently to hide the fact that she hadn't removed the poison, but details. It was a masterpiece.
"Happy anniversary darling," I replied lovingly, taking a sip of absinthe next to the plate. Absinthe was normally watered down before drinking, but the consistency was off, implying arsenic was mixed into the water. I grinned at her attempts. She must be getting desperate, she knew as well as I did that this could be traced back to her.
Of course, I wouldn't let that happen to her.
I pretended to gaze at the drink in confusion. "I think this bottle is bad dear, the consistency is off."
Her eyes widened only for a split second, before appearing confused. "Sorry baby, I'll get a new one."
I waved it off. "Don't worry about it. As much as I'd love to watch you go, I prefer your company."
She gave a sly smile before digging into her own pufferfish, normally prepared without a doubt. She was failing to hide this little smile I just couldn't get enough of.
It was funny really. I had lived for ten thousand years. I'd clanked glasses with Julius Caeser. I had dinner with who would be later known as Jesus. But moments like this were what stood out to me.
When you have power that is all people see. You cease to be human in essence. You are a resource. Those who have associated with him for at least the last six thousand years have never seen him as anything different. But there was something intimate created in moments like this.
Murder brings out the true character of an individual. It was primal and intimate, things I have lacked in my life. It naturally pierces all facades. The masks fall when they think they are with a dead man. This is the only time I get to see another human behind their social persona, and when on some level they connect with me.
And that sly smile, hidden behind long dark hair, that is the human connection I crave more than anything.
"Darling, I decided to give you 100% of all my assets in my will."
And I needed more of it. | My love, Emily
You've tried a thousand way to kill me. Don't act like I wouldn't know, by the end of our marriage, your tricks had became more and more obvious.
I think you know, when you push me down the stairs and I emerge scarless, you know, I can't be kill. If this isn't enough proof, what about the time I drink the poison enough to kill a thousand man, right in front of you? You should know, I am immortal.
When you see this letter, I am already long gone. Surrounding you is this loveless room we once shared, where we lay side by side every night until today. I wonder, how many nights had you spent, scheming in your mind right next to me while I slept, while I dream about our fairy tale. The fairy tale that only exist because of my desire for love and your greed for more. You've always want more, more money, more clothes, more belongings, more car. It is never enough for you. I thought if I fulfill every one of your wishes you'd finally see that I am enough for you. But greed is a groundless pit. Once you are in it, you will only keep falling.
I love you, Emily, I still do, even right now when you are reading this. But I have no choice but to leave. This love had turned sour, or it had never been love. I don't know anymore. There was a time where I would've kill myself for you, if I know how to do it. If only I know how to make you love me. If only. Now, all that we are left with is the thousands 'if only'.
I've chosen to leave you because I can see no hope of you loving me the way I love you. Everyday I see your smile, and the knife behind your smile, my heart breaks a little bit more. I can't bear seeing the darkness behind those beautiful big blue eyes of yours for another day so I choose to leave. I've consider leaving behind a part of my fortune for you, but it's pointless, it'll never be enough for you anyway.
I hope you will bring this lesson with you to your next life.
I hope we meet again, when I am in the same skin and you're in a different shell, with no memory of this and never had fallen into the pit of greed.
Love, Aiden | 2019-07-31T07:29:20 | 2019-07-31T07:03:17 | 221 | 34 |
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts. | "No." Never had I expected this very word to shatter my world. A year ago I was fresh out of high school. Once I graduated, I was nearly sure I would be cut off from everyone. I did, except one person. My girlfriend who I've been dating since we were little kids in elementary school. Her loyalty to me, and mine to her was more than enough to tell me that I need to marry her. So I decided once she went shopping for food, I would make a trip to her father's house.
As I walked up the steps, knocked on the door, my heartbeat was beating so frantically I was sure I would passed out right there. Once her father opened the door and gave me a disgusted look, I asked him to talk. He allowed me in and offered me tea. Once I politely sipped the tea, I asked "Can I marry your daughter?"
"Depends." He spoke at first. "Don't suppose you got the ring on you?" I smiled, I grabbed the ring and showed it to him. He stared at it, then pocketed. "The answer's no. Thanks for the ring."
"What? Why?" I asked.
"You're a mere cover-up." He spoke. I was confused. "You see, ever since her father died when she was three, her mother decided she needed a father in her life. So I came to the picture. Now sadly my wife's dead thanks to some drunkard teenager, my daughter is the only thing I have left. Since she turned 13, I felt feelings, and so did she."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But he continued. "Hannah was embarrassed that she kissed me back then, but she couldn't resist her feelings for me, as well as I to her. So I'm going to ask her in marriage soon, you just saved me a couple of bucks. Now I would regret this, maybe not, but you're getting too dangerously close to this." He stood up and approached the sink.
I was still stunned, so I wasn't prepared for the next thing. A sharp pain exploded in my back. I felt something warm soaked my shirt as it made its way down to my pants. Her father pushed me off the chair, I collapsed onto the floor. I heard footsteps. My girlfriend walked into the kitchen, half naked. "What the hell? Did you follow me?" She growled. Shattering my feelings further.
"Honey, I'll take care of it."
"Remember, more than six feet deep, you nearly alerted the neighbors with my mother."
"Yeah, yeah." My visions distorted to black, I stopped breathing, I stopped feeling something.
-019 | "Mister Jameson?" I peeked my head around the corner of the kitchen. Karen's dad was fiddling with another *dohickey* at the table.
"Matthew!" He pulled his glasses from his face and let them dangle on their chain. "Come in, my boy. How are you?"
I sat on the seat he had pulled out for me. My palms sweated. "I'm... I'm fine, Mister Jameson. How are you?"
"Oh, you know. Same old story." He leaned in to me and whispered: "Keeping out of Julia's way and trying not to get oil everywhere." He chuckled and winked at me before peering into the *dohickey* down his nose. I let out a quiet cough of laughter.
"Mister Jameson, I have a question for you. I - Please let me finish, Mister Jameson - I hope it doesn't come as much of a surprise to you but I want to take Karen's hand in marriage. Have I got your blessing?" I gripped my knees and heaved the rest of the air from my lungs.
Mister Jameson placed his *dohickey* on the table and sombrely wiped oil from his hand on his check shirt before rubbing one over the bald of his monk's haircut. "No."
My vision blurred and the air turned sour. My mouth hung slightly agape.
"It's not my decision, Matthew. I think you're a great kid. Trust me on that. But Julia... she thinks you're odd. Karen hasn't as much as kissed another man in her life. She doesn't have the experience she should have, according to Julia that is. You've been together now for twenty years and I wish, wholeheartedly, that I could say yes. But one day when you have your own wife you'll know that it is easier to keep them happy."
I tried to eek out a few words, "I... erm..."
"I think, Matthew, it's time for you to go. Good evening." He returned to the *dohickey*.
"Good evening, Mister Jameson." | 2022-06-12T00:18:33 | 2014-01-19T14:13:55 | 45 | 11 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | Great Places for a first date
Proposal Ideas
Bible - Verses about being a good husband
Oregon Coast Beach Homes
Horseback Riding Rental - Newport Oregon
Wedding Venues - Seattle WA
Bible - Verses about Marriage
Plane Tickets
Hawaiian Excursion Ideas
Travel Planner
Travel Agents - Seattle WA
How do we get pregnant?
Bible - Verses about Children
Why can't we get pregnant?
How can I tell if my wife is infertile?
How can I tell if I am sterile?
Can an ovarian cist prevent pregnancy?
Ovarian Cist
Difference Between Benign & Malignant
Bible Verses - Grief, Death
What's the difference between stage 3 and stage 4 cancer?
Survival Odds - Metastasized to bones
How to deal with cancer in a loved one
How do we write a will?
How does a spouse leave everything to their husband?
Grief Counseling - Coping with the death of a loved one
Is there really a God?
Atheist support group | Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself | 2015-02-04T16:31:22 | 2015-02-04T16:12:00 | 253 | 23 |
[WP] "Okay, listen to me. I have two pieces of bad news. One: I may be in a cult. Two: I may or may not be the new leader of said cult." | "Well, I can't help what they think!" Chuck said peering over the frame of his sunglasses. A silly straw rocking back and forth in his mimosa.
"I have to work in the morning, get them out!" Mason said, peeking his head out of the doorway.
Chuck leaned in close. Mason hated wine breathe. Chuck whispered, " Even if I told them to leave, they wouldn't. "
Behind him a pulsing, slipping nebulous of flesh and limbs. A symphony of slopping, slapping sounds acccompanied by heavy panting, and smack of hands gripping at sweat glistened skin desperate for leverage. Their reading den, once fit for a fondue social was now a Grecian bath-house during a blood-moon. They had a full blown orgy.
"I thought you were their leader?" Mason pleaded. " Do something!"
"No yeah, I'm less of their leader, and more their own voice, crying from Aether to show them the truth."
Mason had no patience for this.
"Thats, not even... What does that even mean?!"
"Well, we were at the Monroe, and these two guys were arguing about if God exists, and like, it was getting like heated. They were like busting out Bible verses and Fossil records and shit -- "
Mason had heard this shtick before. " And what, you turned them all athiest? "
"What? No. Theres like thirty people in there, no one can convince thirty people of that in one sitting. It's a bar, not a TED talk."
Mason nodded in agreement.
"No, so they're going at it, and I was like, what if reality is only our perception of reality, and the only person with consciousness is yourself, and you've invented everything and everyone around you. "
Mason was barely following...
"I mean everything you see, and feel, and hear, we know is just electrical signals to your brain, so you're probably just constructing this world, and you really exist as a cloud of electricity floating through the void, and everything and everyone you know was invented by you in your mind. So really, you are God, so saying God exists and he doesn't are both true."
"So how did it go from that, to fucking on the coffee table, Chuck?"
" Well.." Chuck thought carefully. " I guess they really bought it." He shrugged.
" Its like..." Chuck continued " they all realized they were in a lucid dream, and when you're in a lucid dream, the first thing you do is try to fool around, and since they all have the same thought, they each think they individually conjured this orgy, and everyone is just reacting to their every whim. "
Mason tried to make sense of it. " So they are having an orgy in our living room, because everyone thinks they are magically creating the orgy they are in?"
Chuck sucked up the last of his Mimosa, slurping out the last drops from the glass. "Its a trip right? Really were kind of victims. Were like the farmers at Woodstock..."
" But why our house? " Mason was sick of Chuck as a roommate. He was disrespectful, and inconsiderate, and always broke, but this one made sense. It was a convincing story. Perhaps Chucks outgoing personality made him more susceptible to attracting these kinds of situations, and Mason figured maybe he was too harsh, and should be more sympathetic..
"Oh, they're here cause I had the ecstacy." Chuck added.
Mason snapped--
"Get the fuck out!" | “Hey, are you awake?” she asked.
He opened his eyes, and was startled by her eyes. Her eyes were light brown, innocent. Of course, he knew how deceptive eyes could be, how much the heart imprints what it wants to see even when it’s not really there.
“I am now.”
“You have a really pretty scar.”
Instinctively, he touched it. The memory flared up in him, his mother high, screaming, coming down on his cheek with the burning cigarette…
“Thanks,” he said. “No one’s ever really told me that.”
“Well, it’s true,” she said. “It makes you special. And that’s never a bad thing.”
He looked into her eyes, and wondered if she knew how badly he had always wanted to believe that.
“I’m Mark,” he said.
“I’m Dawn.”
\-
It had been the best night of his life, coming off the most nerve-wracking morning. Now he laid in bed, and he closed his eyes, and replayed the moment when she had said yes for the hundredth time.
Now she came back to the room, and she wasn’t smiling.
“Can I tell you something?”
“What? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Today was so amazing,” she whispered, coming close to him. “There’s just…something I have to tell you, if we’re going to be together forever.”
“So tell me.”
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Nothing can change how I feel,” he said, scared of how true those words were. “Nothing at all.”
“Ok. I’m…in a cult. Or I was.”
“When?”
“When I dropped out of college. Oh my god,” she said. “It feels so good to get it off my chest. I can’t believe I finally told you.”
“Ok,” he said. “Don’t worry. You can tell me as little or as much as you want now. But right now, I’m just happy you told me.”
She smiled. “Me too.”
\-
He awoke, in the night, and she was no longer by his side.
“Hi, honey,” she said.
They were standing in a circle around the bed, the hooded figures, and she was knelt next to him, by the bed.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Don’t worry. This will be quick.” She took a lighter, and lit a stick of incense. Then she turned it on to him.
“I thought you loved me,” he said.
“I do. Ever since I saw that you had the mark of Baphomet. And you’ve been so worthy, so special, honey. Now let me do the transfer, and we can be together forever.”
The hooded figures all knelt as the flame approached, and all he saw were those brown eyes, now imbued with a wickedness he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen earlier…
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | 2019-06-04T00:42:31 | 2019-06-04T00:39:32 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Your best friend commits suicide. The last line of their suicide note reads: "calm down. if everything goes according to plan ill be back soon enough." Now everyone is looking to you for answers | I stood there reading the note over and over again. But that one line stuck out every time. What could Shawn possibly mean, what plan is he talking about? The gravity of my best friend taking his owe life and leaving this cryptic message for me, of all people, to figure out finally started to hit me and in my frustration I threw the stupid note on the ground. The paper fluttered to the ground and in doing so flipped over to its backside and much to my surprise it wasn't blank. A single Japanese character donned the backside of the note that told me my best friend was dead, and had we not been so anime obsessed throughout our childhood I might never have known what it said. But there it was, the solution to the puzzle that Shawn had left, there on the back of his suicide note was a carefully written Japanese character, "Z." I knew then what his plan was and it was as if the weight of the world had suddenly jumped from my shoulders. It was time to find the dragonballs and bring my friend home. | There was a well known theory.. If you "saved" you life point and then cut off your head at a later date you could reset back to that date and no one else would know
So yesterday he saved. Went and asked Amy to the Prom. She said no.
Today... shouldn't exist. But it does. And they all want answers from me as to what he thought would happen. I don't know. It worked for me when I did it.... | 2015-12-24T08:04:03 | 2015-12-24T07:40:05 | 16 | 11 |
[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been. | “You do understand the sentencing system.”
Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?”
The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.”
Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.”
“The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.”
“Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.”
“On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”
| Beep...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeep...
Sheathing my wire cutters, I calmly walked out of room 209 and resumed mopping the east hallway. Soon after, several doctors wheeled a crash cart into the room in a desperate attempt to save the man's life. They won't save him, they never do. I've been working as a janitor at St.Mary's for over 20 years now, and yet no one has caught on to my little scheme. Back in the day, a murderer just gained a victim's remaining years, but with all this fancy technology unnaturally extending people's lifespans, every time I pull the plug I gain the lifespan of the machines they're hooked up to. Since all them machines last quite a lot longer than people, I figure I'm gonna live another millennium if I keep it up. Speaking of which, I think I'll start mopping the hallway outside the coma ward next. | 2016-05-29T09:41:46 | 2016-05-29T08:17:02 | 146 | 16 |
[WP] There is a place. A place between places. It's an actual place but it isn't here nor there. Lost travelers are the only ones who can find the place. Staying for a night, safe from other places and other things, and nothing more. Except you. You were born in the place.
(edit: super happy folks are having fun with this! Keep it up!) | The air shuddered, sending waves of warmth across my sticky forehead. Turning my eyes away from my iced tea, I squinted out across the endless expanse of still water, blindingly bright under the sun. Smoke rose from a silhouette that resembled a human aircraft about five hundred meters away. My eyes could barely catch the fact that they had inflated a boat and sent it down ahead of the passengers. Chuckling to myself, I slurped the rest of my tea, and headed indoors.
It had been a while since I had any guests over, but the good thing about this place is that it's free of dust. My previous guests had been quite astonished that I never had to clean the floors. In any case, I was ready to take on a whole boatload of guests, and they had their luggage with them too. How convenient!
The elevator dinged and I stepped inside, heading down to the garage that the operators of this cruise vessel had helped me build when they were still here. There were vehicles and aircrafts and boats left behind by my guests, so I picked a bus that could probably fit a good number of people inside. Figuring out how to utilise the aircraft this time would be a bit of a hassle. The planes they build these days are too damn big. Maybe I could turn it into an al-fresco dining location?
As I drove out into the sunlight, the people from the plane had finally noticed my presence, and most notably, how I was comfortably driving on the surface of the water without a nautical vessel. One of them tested their footing, like a duckling learning to swim. He stepped off the small raft, signaling to the others that they could disembark from the aircraft.
The door of the bus swung open and I hopped out, boots splashing water as I landed. There was a crowd forming, some crying, some looking dazed. The man I saw earlier walked forward. I suppose he must be the captain. "Where-", he started to ask, but I put up a hand to cut him off. I cleared my throat and began reciting the script I had memorised by now.
"There is a place, further than the universe and yet, closer than a strand of hair. This is neither here, nor there. Welcome to my home, travellers, you may seek refuge under my roof until it is time for your departure tomorrow. And bring your luggage. You won't be able to take it with you when you leave, but I sure need help clearing out this aircraft."
(First time writing for r/writingprompts, so glad I did this \^w\^) | Who am I and where are we you ask? the former is both a very simple and very complicated question the latter is just complicated.
so to the former, the simple answer is I am Perdita. The complicated answer is I am the Queen of ~~Nothing~~. That's where you are by the way. This humble house of mine is the only thing here and that's what I've taken to calling it, ~~Nothing~~.
Its surprising that you even made it here in the first place. This is a place for only the most thoroughly lost after all and you seem to have a good head for directions.
Me? I was born here. but you. to get here you must have been truly lost to end up in Nowhere.
So the second question, right. This is ~~Nothing~~, my house, it sits in the middle of ~~Nowhere~~. ~~Nowhere~~ is where you end up if you get lost trying to go anywhere from ~~Somewhere~~ or somewhere from ~~Anywhere~~. To arrive at ~~Anywhere~~ you have to get lost going from ~~Here~~ to ~~There~~ and to reach ~~Somewhere~~ you have to get lost going anywhere from ~~Here~~ or ~~There~~. ~~Here~~ is reached by getting lost where you are and ~~There~~ is reached by reaching your destination without actually having a destination.
I'll give you a second. It can take a while to wrap your head around....
....
....
Leaving? I'm afraid that isn't so fast a process. If this were any of the other places I mentioned simply trying to go somewhere specific and not getting lost on the way is good enough but not so much for here. Try getting anywhere once you arrive and you just find yourself ending up back in the middle of ~~Nowhere~~, outside my door.
That said, a good nights rest can find you right back where you ought to be. we can talk more in the morning if you're still around when I wake up. The Guest room is upstairs on the left and feel free to help yourself to my fridge. I'm turning in early. | 2022-11-22T09:24:50 | 2022-11-22T07:16:55 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Teleportation has been around for years. It's considered the safest form of travelling. One day, while hacking into a government system, you find a secret report on it. To your horror, you read that teleporters consist of two parts: a cloning system on one end and a desintegrator on the other. | I scrolled down. Further and further, the list kept going and going with millions of names. I wasn’t looking for any specific name, but the sheer volume terrified me. Conspiracy nuts had been going on for decades about teleporters and how they killed and recreated you. That theory had been publically debunked by the creator, engineers and scientists, and the technology had been tested by nearly every nation.
Common belief was that teleportation was the most energy efficient way of transportation, and it was vastly superior to vehicles such as planes and cars. Businesses removed docks for vehicles and installed teleporting rooms. Homes replaced garages with teleporting entry lounges. They were everywhere. It was faster to pop over to a coworker’s place than to send an email.
I took a sip out of my mug, pondering. It was cold and bitter.
I had a teleporter. Cyphrex model. It was a decent model, didn’t cause any disorientation or nausea. Supposedly, based on what I was reading, it just killed and recreated you.
Eventually, there was a break in the list. Minutes of scrolling and a break in the list, but it was only part of the document. The document restarted under a new heading. Instead of DEATHS BY TELEPORTER the last tenth of the document’s header was GENETICALLY UNALTERED.
A chill crawled up my spine and I stood up with my mug of cold coffee.
This was far worse than… everything. I couldn’t think of any greater tragedy or crime that might possibly compare. No genocide or failure in mankind’s history could match this. And no one knew except whoever had compiled this database on a secret Federation server.
They would know that someone had breached the server. Chances are they might be able to trace all my spoofs. They might even break down my door one day.
Would they even care? There had been so much contention on how teleporters worked, and there weren’t many who believed porters to be bad. And if someone did then they were just brushed off. Would then just assume I was another nut?
And why did it matter if people were genetically unaltered? Cloning and gene editing was generally accepted. We were still unique genetically, a single disease wouldn’t wipe out humanity. It shouldn’t have mattered if people didn’t use teleporters and still used older technologies to get around.
Yet, there was a list for them.
I dumped my cold coffee and poured my mug full steaming coffee from the heating machine. I went back to the terminal, escaped to the home page and found it blank.
I blinked. The Fed page was just gone. All their stats and information on their teleporters deleted. I pinged the site and refreshed the page on my terminal.
No connection.
I tried the site again. Opened a tab for the Wayback Machine and copied the site address. The site connected. I tried everything. Traversing through links, going through the same exploit, trying the backdoor that I had set up. Nothing worked.
There was a simple home page and that was all that was left.
The images were different than I remembered, and I thought it was odd. I downloaded them and ran them through a steganography tool that checked for hidden messages.
There was a message and it made my blood boil until I felt it in my head and my chest, dread made to the beat of war drums. “They won’t believe you until it’s too late.” | The biggest revelation of the hack wasn't that you were destroyed on one end of the teleporter, it was that your copy was sometimes being sent to multiple locations. That your information was being stored and edited during the process. That states of you from throughout your life, like save files, could be loaded into any node at any time, or completely blackballed from the system.
And the question was, "Why?"
That was the hundred trillion dollar question.
Was the government conducting some secret war where they were sending copies of people to be fodder on the front lines? Were they populating and creating a secret civilization by cherry picking the best minds to transfer over? Were they invading another universe?
Why were there so many codename projects under this umbrella organization?
It was all very tantalizing. This benign program for basic transportation was secretly being used in multiple codename programs with the highest classification imaginable all supported by a white program so common to everyone's life that nobody questioned its true purpose. And it was super profitable. Nobody even dared digging into it because if it isn't broke, why fix it?
What did SHOREBREAK, XWING, IVORYTOWER, MINDSCAPE and BEACON do in regards to teleportation? Was our entire existence being managed through the teleportation network? Were subversives simply weeded out of the system by stepping through one end of the portal and not the other, all their data, history, life wiped from the public record and stored in scattered fragments across some decentralized network that spanned the colonies? Were memories being manipulated by the teleporters? Were we creating the perfect spies, with the real physical bodies of an asset occupied by an operative's consciousness?
These were the questions that needed to be asked. The talking heads on the feeds decided the big issue was being destroyed on one end, as if the basics of quantum teleportation was not common knowledge. They completely ignored the real points of discussion from the hack. And soon, those revelations from the whistleblower would be weeded out of the system. It's relevance in the public mind scrubbed away as the commuters, entangled as they were by commitments off world, blinked out of existence into a new body where reality was more and more selectively edited out of our consciousness.
Then there was me. Forever stuck at the termination line of Proxima B, unable to travel for fear of being detected as the source of the hack, unable to retain the knowledge I had gained because it could be wiped from my consciousness the second I stepped through that event horizon.
So here I remain, riding the line between darkness and light. Illuminated to a greater truth that can never be told or retained by the collective consciousness of my fellow man. It's here, at the dead end of space, circling around a red dwarf that I realize the elegance of a system that creates the perception of free will was really one of meticulous coordination, planning and probabilistic predestination was controlled by a force just outside our periphery. | 2019-12-08T12:37:16 | 2019-12-08T12:21:10 | 517 | 85 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| "Dear, don't listen to her!"
I stood square and looked mom in the eye. "I will. She explained more of it and it all hangs together. She said we could *die*. I think we should at least… check it."
Mom took a deep breath and came around the table. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold her tongue around the kids. What a thing to obsess about! Lousy woman, not letting us handle things in our own time. Honey!"
Dad appeared momentarily. "Mmmm?"
Mom looked to me. "Would you repeat that for father?"
So I did, hesitantly.
Dad and Mom stared to each other for a moment. Then, Dad began the terrible secret of death: "Her concerns *were* real, and her solutions *were* good, once, long ago, well before we spread from our first planet…" | 2017-09-14T10:53:02 | 2017-09-14T07:28:47 | 120 | 16 |
[WP] Whenever a child is born to Earth, God appoints a Guardian Angel to follow that child until his/her soul arrives in Heaven. You are one such Angel, and you have just arrived to your new assignment, only to find a 5 years old boy who had 10 previous Guardian Angels before you. |
“Oh, God....” muttered through cigarette-fumbling teeth, “...damn it,” I finish, the curse punctuated by the spark of the striker.
The young boy isn’t yet aware of my presence. He sits alone, quietly on the floor of his group home, playing with his toys.
I take a long draw on the cigarette, wondering to myself, “what is it with these boys? They burn through guardians like I do cancer sticks.”
The boy pauses, looking around momentarily with his nose twitching. Like he can almost smell my cigarette. The kids are always more keen on our tricks than the adults ever could be. Something about the way the Big Man made them.
I want to reveal myself, but I can learn more about my new assignment this way first. Some assignments, it’s better if they never knew you were there at all.
His attention returns to the toys.
“Tractors,” I observe, “rural kid, most likely.”
I hear other children just in the other room, talking and playing, but evidently he would rather keep to himself. Sometimes that’s ok. Sometimes it’s not a good sign.
I decide to take a listen, focusing on the voices just beyond his earshot.
“...I heard that his daddy didn’t like him,” the eldest little girl in the room explains to a group of younger kids, “And I heard that he’s crazy, too. He said he saw a ghost his first night here, and...”
I immediately tuned the rest out and refocused on the room surrounding me. My fears were confirmed. This child was likely abused. This made him susceptible to becoming the prey of an Oni, the demons of old that feed upon the souls of lost children. And my predecessors were likely consumed in the struggle for his defense.
To draw the demon out, I had to reveal myself.
The world around the boy sounded like it was shattering, but only to him. He looked at me, nearly paralyzed in disbelief and awe mixed in with the most subtle hint of fear. He’d experienced this before.
“I”m your guardian angel,” I announced awkwardly. I never was good with kids.
“But you just look like some guy,” the boy replied, the shock of my booming entrance already fading.
I sighed. I was dealing with a child here, after all.
I unfolded my wings of brilliant white light, letting them shine at their fullest for a quick moment.
His face lit up.
“You really are!” He leapt up to hug me but I quickly evaded his advance, and cut straight to the chase.
“Kid look I don’t have time for the regular thing. I’m not the usual guardian angel. I’m your last resort. Not exactly the ‘number one guy,’ here. You’re in danger.”
He gave me a knowing look, and his face became grave with concern.
“Ive seen it. The monster. It got my last friend,” he whispered.
“Does it scare you? Does it chase you in the dark?” I asked with menacing intent.
He looked taken aback at the idea that I would intentionally instill fear in him. I needed this to draw the Oni out of hiding. It would smell his fear. Prey on it. Try to drain his soul further.
“Y-yes. It’s very scary. His eyes....”
A cold and howling shriek echoed throughout the home, shaking the walls.
The children in the next room screamed, and then it appeared before me and the boy.
A starved, partially translucent man with rotten flesh revealing his bones stood in the shadowed corner of the room, his teeth chattering in anticipation of the meal.
“Run!” I commanded the boy.
The demon ignored me in favor of it’s ancient hunger, but it was too slow.
My heavenly weapons were drawn and I was firing.
Struck by the first two bullets, the demon howled in rage and anger, turning his attention to me.
The boy escaped the room.
The demon still focused on me, I finished him off.
“All in an hour’s work,” I grinned.
I saw the boy peering around the doorway.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That wasn’t it,” he said, his face pale.
I sighed a heavy sigh and took another cigarette from its place in my coat. | My first day on the job. I admired my photo of my graduation from Guardian Academy as I put on my outfit and attached my silver wings. They were a bit gaudy, but my parents had paid for only the best for me. They came with all the latest features, could connect to any heavenly network, and even had an mp3 player! I'd be ready for anything today, bring it on!
I flew through the clouds of heaven and arrived about 10 minutes early to the head office where I would receive my assignment. The door opened and a balding angel in a business suit opened the door. Looking over his round-rimmed glasses at me, he gave me a quick look up and down.
"Ah. A new pretty boy. Your mommy and daddy buy you those Silverflights?"
"I, ah, uh, yes? Is th-th-that okay?" I stammered.
"You're gonna get eaten alive down there." He muttered under his breath. "Well, right this way."
Walking through the office, it was a little less grand than I had imagined. Compared to the gold-glittered halls of the academy, the scratchy carpet with coffee stains and tan flower print wallpaper just seemed... mundane. I could hear yelling in the background.
"Look chief, business is just really bad right now. There aren't many kids being born, and our prayers and devotion are at an all-time low. Atheism is growing and we just aren't sure what to do."
"All right. Just do what we've been doing, follow the multiples program and I'll think of something."
"You've been saying that for a century! The guardians are part of the problem, and that's in large part thanks to the multiples!"
"FOLLOW. THE. MULTIPLES. PROGRAM."
Turning to my guide I asked "Not to eavesdrop, but what the multiples program?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned and said "You'll see soon enough. It'll be easier than explaining it." He turned to an elevator and pulled out a punchcard and shoved it in the slot and hit a button. "Here ya go. Have fun on your first day."
"Wait can I ask a question?"
"No."
And with that he shoved me in as I plummeted through the clouds, hit the exosphere and warped to my assignment. I arrived just in time to see Henry, a five-year-old boy, jumping up individual steps while holding butcher's knives. Realizing he is my target, I immediately took action, activating my silverflight wings, I could see what was about to happen. He tripped on the top stair, and with the knives pointed at his face, he was about to bite it. I quickly turned the blades so he landed on the flats instead of the tips. It's what they taught us in the academy, sublte, small, and effective. Let them learn, don't let them die.
"Yo man, he woulda been fine, don't be so prissy about it. Let the kid do his thing. If he dies we get to go home, right?"
Looking towards the sound of the voice, I was a little surprised. This child was MY assignment, right? Who is talking to me? When I found the source of this flagrantly callous statement, I was surprised to not find just one, but 10 other guardian angels sitting around a celestial table playing cards and smoking some devil drugs. Weed.
"Ah, take it easy on 'im, he's new, see them wings on 'im? Some kinda rich pretty boy gettin' 'is feet wet. 'e'll get cozy soon 'nuff."
"Hey man. You wanna hit?"
One of the angels reached out, holding a blunt, offering it to me. I looked over and saw Henry attempting to put a fork in an outlet. Somehow I've got to keep this kid safe and get these slackers back on schedule. This assignment might be bigger than I can handle. | 2019-08-21T01:53:44 | 2019-08-21T01:53:18 | 103 | 29 |
[WP] You are the oldest vampire in the world. Not for being the first vampire but for being turned at 90 years old. | I've seen a lot of vile things happen over the ninety years that I've lived under the sun, but the joke that young man has pulled on me has to be the worst one.
When you're turned into a vampire you get stuck in that age forever. Usually, nobody complains: vampires go only after young and healthy individuals, whose blood is fresh and uncontaminated, so when your master decides to make you join the ranks of the undead you get to enjoy your youth forever. There aren't many vampires that were turned as children, either: although a child's blood is believed to be a delicacy, it's also a forbidden fruit. Not because of some sentimental feelings that vampires experience towards our young ones, mind you, it's just common sense. Being a two-hundred years old entity stuck in a body of a kid tends to make you angsty and prone to revenge, and not even the most eccentric vampires think a few minutes of ecstasy are worth creating a nemesis for eternity.
So why was I turned?
I never crossed anyone's path. Hell, I was in that age where getting up from the bed seemed like too much trouble to go through. I was just peacefully waiting for my time to come, while hoping that I wouldn't bother anyone in the process.
I was ready to go. To join my friends and loved ones in the afterlife. I've made peace with death, and now I've had it taken away.
I am forced to live. To see myself turn into a monster that yearns the blood of virgins and that considers inviting my grandkids to step into the shadow. My hazy memories that were being erased by the old age are now being washed away by the uncaring hand of Kain's curse intent on destroying the last bits of who I was. To make me step into the shadows and accept my new role.
I could just walk into the sunrise. End it all on my terms. But I'd rather have the answer first: "why?"
I thought I wouldn't torment myself with that question, that my long age had taught me tranquility and acceptance. But my new brash nature seeks the answers. I don't know how old that vampire who turned me really is. Perhaps he's just a youngling who was having fun, or maybe he's a millennia-old deity that did it out of boredom. If he has any bits of wisdom we'll see how it compares to mine, but in any case he should beware, because for the first time in 30 years I can stand with my back straight.
***
Hey kids, wanna see ~~a dead body~~ my new horror novel? [Subscribe to my subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/) to get a free Advanced Review Copy! | I’m ninety years old, and have bathed in the blood of vampires from the moment I was made leader of the humans. But today? Today I went against everything I’ve ever known, today I became one of *them.*
For years my blade's been my best friend, leading me through many great duels. I’ve defeated elites, I’ve destroyed entire nests, and just last month, I slaughtered their leader, my longtime rival. For the first time in history, *we* have the advantage.
The lab-coat wearing freaks invented a serum, but I’ve been lax to use it. *Vampires are only vicious because of the effect the virus has on their brain,* they say. *This serum completely cleanses the virus and saves the victim. They’ll go back to being who they were.* That doesn’t matter to me. If they’ve killed humans, they’re an enemy. They must be purged.
But my thoughts are old and outdated. I’m aware of that. This new generation seeks *peace* and *equality* because they think we can all just be friends. Even the vampire’s newest leader, a young kid around twenty, wants harmony. If only they’d seen the horrors we have…
He offered me a deal—he’ll take the serum, and I’ll let them bite me. We’ll both spend some time with our enemies, learning about the culture and trying to understand why there’s a divide between us. I mulled it over for weeks until I finally deciding to take it, and both people’s rejoiced, not knowing the truth.
I’ve searched all my life for their Original Nest, the home base from which they started. I’ve heard rumors, and even seen a picture or two—but I’ve never been able to locate it. Right now, though, they’re leading me straight to it, and they don’t know how excited I am to spill even more blood.
For this war must not end until the vampires are gone, and if giving them a grudge is what it takes to make them fight, I shall.
***
Lil' rough, but I hope it's good! Thanks for the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub! /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | 2018-10-08T07:43:26 | 2018-10-08T07:40:51 | 225 | 46 |
[WP] "I don't understand if this is a diplomatic mission why are we bringing weapons?" The sole alien crew member turned to him and said, "Personal armament is a fundamental part of my culture and we don't want to offend the delegation. Besides we think it's really strange you guys aren't armed." | When the captain and first mate just silently looked at each other the diplomatic officer continued, "It all comes down to the generally unspoken social contract. In your own culture an individual would not arrive to visit another nude. Why not?"
This got a chuckle from some of the crew. The navigator, a slow speaking Canadian with a thick neck and bovine teeth drawled out "Well it's just not something you do. I mean people would think you are crazy... Or weird anyway."
The diplomatic officer nodded glad that at least one had taken the bait. "People would be uncomfortable that you broke the rules! Even if those rules are never explained." He paused and turned in his chair so he could make eye contact with the first mate who posed the question. "When you break a fundamental rule of social interaction people struggle to figure out what message your action is supposed to send."
The first officer had an inkling of understanding but she wasn't there yet. "So would it be something sexual then?" she smirked although there was a mark of discomfort in the lines of her mohogany forehead.
The diplomatic officer shook his head "No, probably not... Or not entirely anyway. Approaching unarmed is a step in courtship but based on context none of my people are likely to interpret an unarmed approach that way. More likely it would be viewed as treating them as... I'm not sure if there is an English word..." he paused closing his eyes slits "treating them as one unworthy of being a threat. The way you may look at an infant or one who is feeble." While most of the crew had a difficult time reading the diplomatic officer's emotions his disgust at the word feeble was so visceral as to leave no doubts.
The mood darkened at this, with several present mentally reviewing past interaction with the diplomatic officer with fresh understanding. The alienness of the destination truly took shape for the crew that day. | "We're going to the store you don't need weapons!"
_I'm going to leave out the part about the toilet paper war two decades ago._
"Still take this plasma pistol."
"Wonderful, I can become a murderer and I really won't know how I did it."
"The data was right humans do enjoy war!"
You go pale "Not all us!"
"Not many of us enjoy war. We don't like each other or disagree and we decide that fighting is the best way to sort out our problems."
"Why did you say that then?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh, many you're funny people are sarcastic."
Axel raises an eyebrow "You mean comedians?"
The alien smiles That is what you call them? fascinating!
You shake your head.
_This is going to be fascinating_
(An hour later after explaining human foods.)
You exit Costco carrying a few bags and walk out with the alien which you now is named Sasha
You walk over to her spaceship which is conveniently disguised as a van and load in the groceries.
Sasha turns to you sadly "It's time for me to go."
You share her expression your voice melancholy "Oh well this was fun."
Sasha smiles "I know I'll have to find you the next time I want to go shopping."
"Okay just come find me next time.'
Okay see you in 2033! The van floats into the sky and zooms off, in minutes it's out of sight.
"I'm going to have to delete the security camera footage." | 2021-05-02T21:05:03 | 2021-05-02T16:56:46 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] An invasive alien species is taking over the planet. They are human. You are not. | First came the Screamers.
The howled down to the surface, fired from the ships in low orbit, crashing in urban areas. Command wrote it off as a small scale bombardment, primitive kinetic weapons dropped into civilian areas seemingly at random and did very little damage, “inferior terror tactics” they told the population.
It was much, much worse.
Those where not shells dropping, they were soldiers – highly mobile Shock Troopers in mechanised suits that swiftly began to attack key infrastructure points and anti-orbital defenses. Projectile weapons with high explosive payloads, they leveled power plants, power conduits, shield generators and any military installation they could hit.
By the time command realised what was happening, the drop ships had begun to land.
I knew they would slaughter everyone, the young, the females, down to the last.
We fought, we have always fought, for we are The People, the supreme predator in the universe. We annihilated the lesser beings on our world and cleansed dozens of others, the weak are meat and the strong do eat - I remember when we found these ones, oh the joy we felt at having another adversary to crush and new flesh to devour. We wiped them off their world and the small moon they occupied, annihilating what little resistance they put up and purging the world as is our right.
How where we to know it was merely a small colony? That we had provoked the wrath of a much larger, much older civilization than our own.
When they came for me, I was engaged… such a small, pathetic creature - this was to be our downfall? I knew if I was fast I could crush it and devour it like the prey it was.
I attacked.
***
*The xeno charged without warning and the Lieutenant reacted, planting a fist square in its face. Despite its size and bulk it went down like a sack of shit, face caved in like a bloody cake of hair and brain.*
*“Jesus LT, I think you killed it!” one of the squad mates laughed. They had orders not to harm the civs, but the dumb beasts just kept trying to fight them.*
*The Lieutenant looked down on the creature, bleeding it’s last out on the ground.*
*“They glassed New Cairo into dust. Fuck ‘em.”* |
We heard their drop ships roaring overhead. When I went topside I saw them by the thousands, getting into position. In the distance I saw the infantry drop down on ropes, It wouldn't be long until the same happened here. I went back underground and gathered up my family. My wife stared at me, she new what was happening and looked just as helpless as I felt. The kids didn't know, they kept asking. It broke my heart to think about what might transpire in the next few hours, so I didn't. I told them all to follow me and I made my way to the lower levels of our cave.
We were about halfway there when we heard the first charges being dropped. It was just a deep, soft, rumbling coming from way above us. We had nearly reached the lowest level when the first cave in happened. We started to dig through it when we heard voices, the humans were in our cave. None of us spoke their tongue, but we kept hearing the same word^1 shouted over, and over, all the while they were getting closer.
We couldn't make it through the cave in by the time they reached us. As soon as they saw us they pointed their weapons at us, shining their lights in our faces. I had thought about what we would do when it came to this, and decided we couldn't fight the invasion. Sarah hadn't come to the same conclusion. As soon as they were in sight she lunged at them with all she had, I covered the kids' eyes and forced them to the ground. I don't remember what happened between then and now. I woke up here, a fence all around us, the kids no where to be found.
1: Scholars believe the phrase was "room clear" | 2014-05-15T17:46:16 | 2014-05-15T16:33:09 | 46 | 12 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | "You ever think something like the Walking Dead will become true?" Beth asked me.
"No way, no chance, it's a TV series for a reason, it's fiction and nothing more. Zombies roaming the streets, ha!"
"I don't know Jay, if there is one thing I don't want to die to it's zombies, if I was a zombie would you kill me?" She said, I saw a weird fear in her eyes.
"I don't know if I could bring myself to do it."
&#x200B;
A voice echoed over me saying, "I guess you could do it, cold weren't you, merciless, selfish. Not caring on what you had done, you say you put her out her misery but did you, was she still in there, did you kill the love of your life in a desperate attempt to save your own?"
I snap out of my vision, standing at Beth's grave, killed by zombies. The thing I never believed possible, how foolish I was. It was over now though, humanity had survived an apocalypse that would've been thought to have been a potential demise of our species. But here we stand. However, nothing is really gone though, is it? The plague still exists in every one of us, we die, and we reawaken into our humanoid selves. Living, and then dying just to reawaken, literally walking dead. It was a curse, when I was younger, i'd always wanted eternal life, to be immortal, ever living, but now when I have it, I hate it, I want to rest.
It was in the late millennia of 2000, I'd stopped keeping track of days and years, only served to depress me, days that I lived when others didn't, days where Beth was still dead. But it was then, I heard something over the radio, panicked shouting
"WE'VE BEEN FOUND, ALIENS HAVE ARRIVED ON EARTH, LOCK YOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS, THIS IS NOT A DRILL"
As the radio message ended, my head felt like it was splitting in two, I could hear something in my head, like I had heard during my flashback, I then felt some kind of otherworldly blade slice me in two. I fell to the floor, dead. But was I? I rose from the ground back to normal. The alien that had slain me moments before stood stunned, it's like I could sense the feeling of shock from him. I bolted up the stairs with the creature hot on my heels, I quickly grab my blaster and vaporize him before he can kill me again. My earphone began buzzing, and it was the police telling me to go to the police station, they keep track of all civilians in the Last City, humanity's last bastion of life.
When I arrived, there were swarms of people all armed, the sky went dark as an alien ship blocked the light of the sun. They came out in numbers, constantly killing us, only to have to fight us over, and over and over again. It was in that moment, that I realized that the virus wasn't a plague after all. It was a blessing. | Humanity has always been a prideful race we had earned it after all from traversing our oceans and conquering the planet and then solar system to fighting and taming the Z virus that had resurrected the dead. The first races we met were the Za-Khan and the Predatea. They welcomed us into the Galatic neighborhood providing us with a essentially an orientation that wouldn't have seen out of place from an university or a business. They included maps with drawn out borders.
The Za-Khan explained that the Galaxy was a place of peace and that many civilizations didn't even have militaries. The Predatea even suggested humanity begin to wind down it's military. Once the honey moon phase was over Humanity plotted it's first conquest they were going to seize the hundreds of planets that the Predatea didn't even bother to colonize. Hundreds of Earth like worlds just waiting to be taken.
As the special operation team approached the first planet an automated Predatea beacon warned that the planet was not safe. The team leader laughed not safe for Predatea maybe.
After landing just 3 miles from the only space port on the planet the team started through the forest towards it. A twip noise was heard as what could only be described as a mass of vines grabbed four member's of the team ripping them apart and placing the remains in little trenches that only now did the team notice bones poking out from. Unfortunately the dead men continued to scream as the heads were still alive but no longer attached to bodies.
This screaming brought rustling noises as the team stared in shock. Two Predatea civilians stumbled out from the forest and quickly brought them back to Human authorities apologizing that they didn't know the Humans had arrived on the planet.
The Predatea explained that many of the world's were preserves for the most dangerous life in the Galaxy.
Two years later humanity still building it's largest military ever receives a message from the Za-Khan sending a compliment to humanity. It read "Nice military you have there" humanity responded with "Thank you". The military was deploying to the mission of taking the Predatea worlds with weapons designed to combat the wildlife. It had been a long 5 years and so at the rallying point everyone was nervous when the Za-Khan fleet showed up. It sent a message "To the Victor goes the spoils". They quickly destroyed the fleet with weapons developed over 100 thousand years. That day humanity learned three things one the reason so few species had a military was to avoid having the Za-Khan practice on it and two the Za-Khan was a peaceful species that loved war like humanity enjoyed MMA. And three the Za-Khan were overjoyed at the discovery that humanity could be killed and then it would get back up. | 2019-08-28T14:31:09 | 2019-08-28T13:34:01 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] The high school hunger games pits classes against each other. You use anything in the class to battle. The wood working class create spears and shields, the chemistry class use chemicals, the cooking class use knives. Meanwhile you're stuck in English class...
Edit: Feel free to write about people in other classes like math, P.E, etc. It doesn't just have to be English class. Many of the responses were great so I would love to see what the story would be like in other classes
| Another explosion rocked the side of the English classroom, sending a web of cracks running through the wall.
Flakes of plaster drifted down from the ceiling and settled on the blood stained floor like snowflakes on a poppy field.
Ingrid looked up from her notebook to check that their barricades were still intact, and that nobody else was hurt. Most of the remaining students were huddled under their desks. They clutched each other for comfort, waiting for the end. Someone was crying.
She bent back over the page and tried to write faster. They were running out of time. One more explosion, and the Chemists would be through the wall.
A few of the boys had gone out earlier to hold off the Mathematicians, armed with broken table legs and Ms. Kell's cane. That was over an hour ago, and they hadn't come back. Now it was all down to Ingrid.
Why had she agreed to let her parents sent her here? She'd been perfectly happy at Smallville High, but then a letter had come for Mr. and Mrs. Watts, offering their only daughter a scholarship to a prestigious school in the mountains. A successful career was guaranteed - *"All our graduates achieve the highest distinctions in their fields.* - and a list of luminaries followed, many of whom Ingrid knew by just their first names. She'd weakened, even though the school had no website, not even a facebook page. None of its alumni even mentioned it in interviews. That should have been a good clue of what was in store.
The chanting started again on the far side of the school. That was the Physical Education class. She'd seen them battling their way across the main courtyard earlier, with lacrosse sticks and cricket bats, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. They'd be coming back soon, perhaps joining forces with the chemists to finish off the besieged English class for good.
Ingrid scratched a final line on the page, and put down the pen. Her hand was cramped from writing so fast. She could only hope that it would be enough.
She remembered Ms. Kell's final words, just before she'd left. "Good luck, class. You're going to need it. An English class has never triumphed in the End-Of-Year exam before." And then their teacher had left, and the madness had begun.
The glass window had been shattered by a Physics rocket earlier that morning, and Ingrid stepped up to the frame and gazed out at the wreckage of the courtyard, and the bodies of the students strewn across the lawn.
An arrow from the Woodworking class clattered off the bricks to one side of her. At least they'd never been given archery lessons.
"Listen, friends," she began, but her voice was choked with fear, and she stumbled.
She cleared her throat.
"Listen, friends, for I have a fable to tell you of two brothers whose parents set them against each other..."
As she spoke, a quietness fell over the school. The battle chants ceased. The crying student's tears dried up. Even a blackbird stopped its song to listen. Ingrid read the words she'd written and they poured over the school like honey, a sweetness that enveloped the listeners and soothed the angry buzz of war.
---
*Read more of my stories at* /r/jd_rallage | Nobody really knew what to do. After all, it was an actual battle; people were expected to fall.
I had a lot of classes, useful ones as well. I had the basics, English, History, Science, Math. I had two other 'fun' classes as well, woodshop and welding. It wasn't a surprise when they announced that the class you'd be fighting with would be your fourth period class.
English. I had to do something with... English?
Before long, we had run out of ideas to brainstorm. No, we couldn't build a weapon, since it had to pertain to english. No, we couldn't make sharp pens, because the woodworking class had already done something similar.
Everyone had run out of ideas. We thought we were screwed. Amidst the confusion and disappointment, I had an idea. No, I wasn't going to make a weapon. Instead, I was going to use my limitations to my advantage.
I took my pen and wrote on a nearby blank paper.
*To whom it may concern...*
***1 Week Later***
Everyone was ready. I was ready. In 5 minutes, we were going to be let out of our classes. The bloodthirst of my classmates was apparent, as their subject limitations caused them to use heavy textbooks as blunt force weapons. For sure it didn't stand against the woodshop's Spears and Swords, or the Chem Lab's Hydrochloric acid, or the drafting class' trebuchet, but we had the secret weapon.
The gun went off. Everyone sprinted out of their rooms.
Like a Civil War battle, everyone lined up at the center of the school, weapons drawn. It didn't take very long for my plan to get in action.
With the help of the lockpick the modeling class made, we were able to bust into the school's office. Everyone immediately funneled inside. Once the office was full, woodshop nailed their spears to the doorway, blocking any entry. It wasn't necessary though; theater was too busy occupying the guards around the school so they wouldn't notice the break in. Once we were in, we dropped all of our weaponry, except for the Ag class. The lockpick was used once again to break into the Supervisor's office.
And with one big swoop, the scythe took his head off.
It could've been a bloodthirsty battle; people could have died, kids slaughtered, weapons free.
But with the power of a few words, I was able to convince the school that maybe, we shouldn't fight each other. Rather, we could fight the corrupt ideology.
*Perhaps, in the anxiety of the school battle, we should question why we need to kill each other. Would it be better to be the last one standing, or would it be better to be the first one helping?*
*~SevenS. Be careful out there. Convince the others. This will only work if we are united.*
| 2017-05-10T10:58:17 | 2017-05-10T10:29:20 | 86 | 30 |
[WP] You discover that reality is merely the fragile dream of a newborn extra dimensional being. As opposed to falling to despair, you rise to action. You form "Task Force 13". Your team's goal? Quash the being's nightmares before the dream is overrun and the being wakes from terror. | Samsara. Game Wardens. See No Evil. The Red Right Hand. There were no shortage of MTFs. For each and every need.
A mobile task force was the ultimate in a synchronous killing machine. The best of the best of the best, often even the least worked of these made Delta force and SAS look like boy scouts.
But that was not a tradition began now.
MTFs, the Sites, the Foundation itself, began as a Task Force.
Task Force 13.
About 200 DT (Dream Time) years ago, some researchers discovered they were figments of imagination. Not in the mind of an eldritch Lovecraftian being, no. Just an extradimensional, sentient being.
This discovery threw the few people that knew into panic. Perhaps time was slowed in the dream, but the inevitable demise would come. Either from waking from utter peace, or being shaken awake by a nightmare.
13 men and women gathered first. The goal: eliminate any threat that might wake up the being.
17 DT years, we made great headway. The researchers reported that the dream was steady. The slumbering being was at peace.
Then the first tremor occurred. A quarter of the dream world, just..... Gone.
Then, we realised.
Eliminating every threat would result in the dreamscape becoming non engaging. The mind would simply switch to another, or awake.
Letting these threats run amok would wake the being from a nightmare.
So we evolved.
The thirteen of us adopted new aliases. O5.
We wouldn't destroy threats. We'd capture them. Study them.
Their existence would keep the dreamer engaged. Their restriction would keep the dreamer free of terror.
Our purpose changed. We would no longer hunt.
We would learn. We would fight to prolong the inevitable. We would save our own.
We would secure. We would contain. We would protect. | "Aaaaaahhhhhhh, moma! Daaadddy!!!!"
Startled awake the parents run to their childs room, "whats the matter sweet heart?" Says the mother affectionately. "Did you have that dream again?" Coos the father.
"Yea, *sniff* but it was different this time." Blubers the child
"There there, that monster isnt going to get you. We'll always be right here to protect you from it" the father says trying display courage for his child.
"You dont have to anymore, *sniff* He wasnt actually going to hurt me, i realized he was a nice monster and just wanted to play, and then they came in and just *sob* killed him!" The 7 year old said trying to keep it together.
"They?" Questioned the parents now with more concern.
"I heard them call them selves task force 13, just before they aimed their big guns at him and shot him to pieces! Why? *Sniff* why did they have to be so violent? If they have just waited, they wouldve saw what a nice monster he was."
The seven year old finished that question sobbing into their parents arms. They took them into their room and let the child sleep with them for the night. The mother and father knew that this wouldnt be the last though. The dream realm has been plagued by the task force for years now. And it seems theyre the only nightmares left.
| 2019-03-29T13:00:16 | 2019-03-29T10:15:55 | 69 | 23 |
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown. | 6 years passed, her vitals remained normal for nearly the entire coma. I remember counting the days each time I visited her room (2,267, if you were wondering), every time I saw her motionless body was another punch to the gut. Walking through the hospital door reminded me of the car crash, I was only 17, *how was I supposed to know the guy behind us was drunk?* I still remember the day Emily woke up, it was unusually cold for September. I stood outside of the hospital, stopping to watch the brown leaves blow by as I stroked my bearded chin nervously. Determined to see my sister before I left Richmond, I entered the hospital. Nurses were rushing around as normal, the usual buzz. Checking in at the front desk, I made small talk with the staff. After so many visits I gradually became friends with the employees. Linda was usually at the front desk, if not it was Anna sitting behind the computer. Regardless, I found her room; 029. Reaching for the doorknob, I hesitated. Just another day. Just another step closer until she wakes up- *I hope.* Moving the door open, I tiptoed to her bedside, gently shutting the door behind me. The doctors told us that patients in a coma can still hear everything around them, so I did what I could to cope, I tried making conversations with my unresponsive sister. Scanning the room, I found that nothing had changed. The room was still a jumbled mess of IT's and cabinets, accompanied by technology I couldn't begin to understand. Suddenly I heard a grunt, startling me. I thought the impossible was happening, I thought I saw Emily's eyes open. Shaking my head I looked again, and began to cry. Emily was straining her eyes, confused as she looked at her newfound surroundings.
"W....whe..where am I?"
Sniffling I sat back down in the chair beside her bed.
"Emily. I need you to liste-"
"W-who are you?"
Pausing for a moment it struck me. It really had been six whole years.
"You've been... well, you've been gone a long time, so you're going to see a lot of things you won't understand."
"...I dont get it. What happened? What day is it? Aren't I missing school right now?"
"There was an accident. A car crash, to be specific. You've been in a coma ever since. "
"What? That doesn't make sense, wouldn't I be hurt if I was in a crash? Why does my chest feel heavy?"
As I spoke Emily froze in horror. Every word that came out of my mouth felt like someone ripping a bandaid off the hole in my heart. The hole where Emily used to be. It was time for that hole to heal.
"We're in the year 2018. You've been asleep for 6 years."
Emily stood still, processing everything I had just said. She looked back at me like I was a stranger, tears welling up in her eyes.
"No... how.. no! That can't be possible, where is my brother?"
"He's right here."
| Sasha sat by her little sister, Arie’s hospital bed, listening to the metronomic beep of her heart machine. She had spent so long listening to that sound that even at home, it still played in her head as she tried to fall asleep. That was something she couldn’t do anymore. In some ways, she envied Arie for her six year slumber. And then she shoved the thought from her mind to be replaced by a guilt so heavy it choked her breaths.
Arie’s six year slumber had ended only yesterday and within eight hours, she had gone back to sleep, though this time, with the promise of waking back up. Sasha squeezed her little sister’s hand. Mom and dad had gone back home in celebration. The doctors had told them that they needn’t worry anymore. But right now, Sasha couldn’t tell the difference between this sleep and Arie’s last. Would she really wake up in the morning?
Should she?
Sasha dug pointed nails into her palm, her eyes welling with tears. Already, that familiar weight pressed against her lungs so she could only breathe in stuttered inhales. But this time, no matter how she tried, she couldn’t push away the thoughts. What life could Arie have? Would she ever be able to catch up to the other kids? To love and be loved? To understand all the things she missed out on?
There was no way of telling. The doctor’s wanted to perform tests for her cognitive and physical abilities. They claimed that Arie may be able to adjust and live a normal life. Which meant that on the flip side, she might not. And if she didn’t, she would be Sasha’s burden for the rest of her life.
Once again, Sasha dug her nails into herself, but this time pushing her thumbnail into her leg. The pain brought with it a small comfort, but one that didn’t last long. After all, Sasha had never been able to stay the guilt for too long.
It was no use wondering and no use guessing. She had made her choice six years ago when a driver turned right when he should’ve turned left. Arie, at the time, had been out of her seat and on Sasha’s lap. The little girl had only wanted to watch the world pass by through the open window, to feel the wind on her face, to laugh in the sunlight. So Sasha had unbuckled her sister to give the girl everything that would make her happy.
And that was her decision, from the very beginning six years ago to right now. She would give her little sister everything that would make her happy even if it cost them both a normal life.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and 100+ already written
| 2017-08-02T06:44:21 | 2017-08-02T06:23:34 | 336 | 66 |
[WP] Everyone is born knowing the day and month of their death, but not the year. | People tend to panic on their day. Maybe they like the feeling of fear and restlessness. I don't know.
I'm used to it, I get it, I feel the same on my day too. Some people *really* like to freak though and as I talk to my mom on the phone I can tell she's one of those people. She was balancing on the tightrope between freaking out and having control.
"How many of these have you survived?" I asked her.
"Seventy-five."
"A seventy-sixth should be nothing."
"I'm old," she said, the little facade of confidence was easing away. "How can I make another year like this? My legs hurt, everything hurts. Besides, seven plus six is thirteen. You know what they say about the number thirteen."
I tried not to roll my eyes but found myself doing it anyway. It is a painful and frustrating day when you realize that you have to take care of the ones who have taken care of you your whole life. "You'll be fine, okay?"
"Your dad's gun... I've been thinking about it."
I thought about his little revolutionary pistol in the nightstand. A lot of people kill themselves on their day which to me is the stupidest and most ironic thing you could do. They think they're getting away but in the end they're still ending up with a bullet lodged in their heads. "You're gonna kill yourself? Right."
"It'd be in true Bosley fashion, wouldn't it?"
She was right. My family tree had a number of people hanging from the branches. "Look mom, wait it out. You've got nine more hours till tomorrow."
"Do I? Or do I have less?" She hung up the phone.
I felt no urge to call back, nothing at all. I sat back in my chair and leaned my head back. Night slowly swept down over the window until the sun cracked back through. In a while it was light again, with flecks and sawdust swimming around me.
I picked up the phone to dial my mom, just to say 'I told you so.'
No answer.
No answer.
No answer.
I wondered if she killed herself. I wondered if she turned out just like my dad, cowardly.
I yawned and got myself some breakfast. I should've felt a bit more for her but I didn't really feel anything. I'm having trouble feeling much anymore.
Like I said, people tend to panic on their day.
I'm just glad mine is a Leap Day.
| "Seriously, Stephen, can we please not have this conversation now?" Nicole shuffled uneasily under her seatbelt. Stephen eased into second gear and kept driving.
"We've been together for, what, like 6 months now? Tell me what your d-day is."
"Why should I? It's not like you've told me yours."
"It's today. Everyone kept saying that it was a big deal or something."
Nicole slowly turned her head to look at him. His eyes were bright against the Sun behind him, giving him a halo. It suited him; she took two deep breaths, then took her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts looking for her mother.
"So...? What is it?"
Nicole's fingers scrambled shakily across the small screen. Ahead, the road was clear, without a car or any difficult terrain. Stephen had slowed a little, turning around a light bend in the road.
"It's today. It's today, Stephen."
Nicole never knew Stephen as a nervous person. He was never stressed, opting instead to make a wise crack about the situation. She could see sweat start to form at the sides of his head, and his hands started shaking, gripping the wheel furiously, afraid. His knuckles looked like they could pop from the skin in a moment. He was breathing deeply now, shoulders lightly raising up and falling while his eyes remained focussed on the road. Nicole watched it too, the endless broken white lines counting seconds on the clock as they passed. Stephen was taking unnatural care. Nicole gathered herself as best she could, wrapping her scarf slightly tighter around her.
"I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe it means we'll spend another year together? H...hey, it's, like, 1 chance in 365, right? It doesn't mean anything. Like, it never mattered before, right?"
Stephen gazed at the road, a narrow focus controlling his stiff, distressed movements. Nicole reached for his arm and tried to put her hand on it. He jerked, and the car heaved to the right, into the hedges. | 2015-03-21T11:33:40 | 2015-03-21T11:27:43 | 171 | 30 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | The rules must be followed.
As the girl's drunken father stumbled down the stairs into the living room, I couldn't help but reflect with amusement at the circumstances. I had just been talking with a fellow demon about this *very scenario* last week, and here it was, manifesting itself in reality.
It isn't very often that we demons are given a little bit of free reign, so when those moments arise... well, you tend to appreciate them.
I'm one of the legion assigned to answer Big Boss's calls for service. He gets thousands a day, and just like the other big dude in red, he can't be there to answer them all personally. So he has delegates do it for him to keep the ball rolling.
Think of us as really, really bad mall Santas.
Anyhow, because we aren't 'technically' the ones the people are making the deal with, we have to abide by the specific terms set by the requestor. This is to help make things 'fair' for all involved, should the matter come under dispute later. There are rules about who can or can't make requests of the big guy.
For example, insane people are a no-go. Boss was emphatic on this one, crazies were a non-starter. Something about not being able to make a rational decision or some other crap. During the last meeting, he drilled that one into us, literally. Black and Decker 12 Volt, sure got the point across.
Another example: Kids. The whole problem arises when you consider that each kid is different... some are more mature than others, despite chronological age. Some kids don't have enough life experience to make a rational decision that's based in experience and cold hard logic. It makes it hard to judge if a kid is mature enough for the deal to 'stick' if it ever gets disputed. So the boss erred on the side of safety and set a hard chronological age limit: Nobody under the age of 10 was ever eligible to make a deal with him. Ever.
I guess, in hindsight, the rules were there to make our jobs easier, despite our moaning about them. But sometimes... just sometimes... those annoying rules worked to our advantage as mall santas.
Like I said before, I'd been chatting with Larry between calls last week and asked him if he'd ever had to respond to a kid's request. He said he hadn't yet, but he had a plan on what he'd do if he *was* summoned. So we chatted for a bit, and came up with some ideas on what *I* would do. While we were going over the rules, we found something very interesting, which I ended up mentally filing away for a rainy day.
As I crouched with the crying little girl in the pink dress with the black eye and bleeding lip, I noted with some irony that the living room window was streaked with rain. Guess the devil really *is* in the details.
"Sweetie," I said quietly, "I can't make a deal to help you. You're too little, and the rules won't let me. But I want you to do me a favour."
She looked at me with fear and despair as we both heard her dad lose his footing and fall partway down the stairs to the landing. He cursed and shuffled, trying to pick his drunk ass up off the floor.
"What is it?" she asked with a terrified whisper.
"Ask me to explain the rules. If you ask, I have to explain. It's the Boss's... rule."
"How will that help??" she asked, on the verge of tears.
"Just trust me," I said with the least-threatening smile I could muster.
"BECKY! Get your ass up here!" came the drunken slur. "Daddy's feelin' frisky!"
She stared at me with pleading eyes. "Please! Help me!"
"Trust me, sweetie. Just ask me to explain the rules."
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as her drunken, molester father rounded the corner. "OK! Please explain the rules to me!" she shrieked.
I turned from her cowering form to that of her fat, drunken father. As I did I grew from the tiny two-foot tall black shadow into a 9-foot tall, 500 pound mass of muscle, sinew and rage.
"Gladly, my dear," came the deep bass rumble from my new form.
What she didn't know was, the boss wanted to make sure that those selling their souls had no recourse. No 'out', if you will. So he had a laundry list of conditions that had to be imposed, and each person selling their soul had to be explicitly aware of the conditions before they could agree to sell. To help expedite the process, there was a rule in place stating demons could use 'any abilities or demonstrations necessary' to ensure that the terms and conditions were correctly explained.
It never said that we couldn't explain the terms to people who were excluded for other reasons. And it didn't say how we would do the explaining, or how long it needed to take.
As the drunk man stopped in his tracks and stared at me I reached out with one clawed hand, grabbing him by the throat from across the room. With telepathic powers, I closed my hand around his neck and lifted him off the ground. He gasped and gurgled, like a fish out of water. Becky stared in rapt fascination and, dare I say it, a little bit of glee. Daddy was finally getting a taste of what it felt like to be a helpless victim.
"Section 1 of 1, 252, 339. Paragraph one," I said in a voice that was a low rumbling mix between Darth Vader and Michael Clarke Duncan.
"These terms and conditions are mandatory and non-negotiable by all parties involved, and shall be forever and irrevocably binding," I said, squeezing dad's neck until he turned purple and his eyes started to bulge out of his head.
The rules must be followed. | "Who dares summon the prince of darkness?" I bellow as the smoke clears. I didn't add that I was not he, but his representative. An often overlooked footnote of the spell allows me to come in his place.
Instead of any meaningful answer, I just got an ear splitting shriek. I looked down, and there cowering and scootting herself backwards was a little girl in a dirty, tattered nightgown. When she stopped, her back was against the wall and her face was in the shadows, but her little knees were still clearly visible. "Oh. Sorry, sweet heart, you're too young to summon me." I said in my booming voice. I was about to turn and go back to hell when I heard a voice from the top of the stairs.
"Cindy! Cindy! Come here and get what's coming to you Cindy!" I recognized the slur of a drunk, the teetering footsteps of the man staggering down the stairs.
"Oh no he knows!" Cindy whispered. "He'll punish me." I could hear the tears in her voice. I'm a demon, but I'm not a monster. My heart broke.
The big man reached the base of the stairs and spun round, nearly toppling over before he caught sight of the child. "There you are! What have I told you about being out of bed!" he slurred and staggered towards her.
"I'm sorry daddy I'm so sorry!" she squealed as he fumbled with his clothing. I wasn't about to stand around and let this happen. I cleared my throat.
The big man spun on the spot, then his eyes raised slowly, slowly until it lit upon my face. I allowed him to process the sight for a second before I stepped forward.
"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded of me.
"Representative of the prince of darkness." I replied, taking another step forward. "I was summoned."
The big man looked at the girl, then back to me. He seemed to make a decision, and started shouting. "What the fuck is your problem, asshole? Where do you get off? Answering summons from little girls! And in my own house! Get out! Get out I say! Oh, big tough guy eh? I will fuck you up! I said I'll fuck you up!" and with that he began a wind up for a drunken heymaker. I rolled my eyes and let the blow land.
A flash and then pain. I had flown across the basement, through some old boxes and was slowly picking myself back up. This was impossible.
"Run Cindy!" the big man shouted. "Get out of the house!" He stepped to where I had fallen and gripped me by the horn. His voice went low, threatening. "You want my child, you'll have to go through me you piece of shit." He struck again. I felt the horn he was holding shatter, then stillness, then pain.
When my vision cleared he was moving towards me again. I raised a hand to defend myself, and felt a tug at my elbow. "No!" The girl screamed. "Don't hurt my daddy!"
I will honestly say I've never been so confused.
"Get away, Cindy! And you!" The big man leveled his gaze at me. "Don't you touch my child!" There was murder in his eyes.
"Stop! Please!" I cried. "You strike with the fury of a righteous man, but you're so far into your cups."
"Judging me for a few shots when you're trying to steal the soul of a child? Cindy. Get away from it."
"Wait, you're not... You're not abusing her?" I stammered in shock.
"The prompt said I was drunk, it's not my fault you're in the one response that wasn't a revenge porn!" the big man shouted, shattering the fourth wall in his drunken wrath, then quickly turned to his child. "Honey, daddy has used some bad words that I don't want you repeating."
"Well then what was all that with the pants and the 'come get what's coming to you' and 'oh no he'll punish me'?" I asked.
"Her multivitamin!" The big man yelled.
"And I don't want to lose dessert!" Cindy added, now crying.
"But her nightgown is all dirty and torn!" I tried to back away and felt my back hit the wall.
The big man looked down. "Honey, that's why you shouldn't go down into the basement." he slurred, "you see how dirty it is down here? Not to mention these books on the occult we got in a storage auction. Now go upstairs. I need to take out the trash." the sentence would have been ominous if not for the hic that immediately followed.
Cindy looked uncertain, then scampered up the stairs. Once the basement door shut, the big man looked at me again, taking another step closer. He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me clear off the ground, then brought my face close to his. "Listen and listen well because this is your one fucking chance. If I ever catch you or your kind here again I will shove your one good horn so far up your own ass the devil will think you're a fucking pretzel. Are we clear?"
I tried to answer but couldn't get a breath out. Instead I just nodded. The big man dropped me, roughly, and I vanished back to hell.
It was much less frightening there.
Edit: words
Edit 2: like my work? Check out my sub! /r/jsgunn | 2018-10-08T13:02:02 | 2018-10-08T12:27:28 | 144 | 86 |
[WP] Every time someone says "Long live the Queen", the Queen's life is extended by one second. You only notice this when the Queen looked terrified when only a few people say it during a public speech.
Credit to /u/kroxigor01 for the idea. | From the crowd only a few people shouted it. Before this all happened, the entire crowd would say it. But the phrase is dying. Experts have pointed out how it may come of as nationalistic, and that it's somewhat old fashioned. Fewer and fewer people started saying it. And that took its toll. Looking back now, it all makes sense. Truth to be told, in the back of my mind, I was suspicious. She promoted the phrase, that one specifically. She must've had a reason. And when in her public appearances fewer
people shouted the phrase, she started to look worried. Clearly this was important to her somehow. Today was different. Only a dozen people shouted the phrase. And the gaze in her eyes was one of an immense fear. She knew what was coming. For 12 seconds, she stopped, and just stared into nothingness. And then she dropped dead on the floor. A phrase had died, and a queen with it. Long live the queen. | Terrified. Well that was one word to use. The longest reigning British monarch, terrified.
After a while, she smiled again and left the podium. I could hear her muttering over the silent room.
I didn't believe it at first, but I went along with it anyway. Bribing the crowd was a big outlay, but Charles has promised that I'll be repaid within the week. | 2022-09-08T11:11:40 | 2015-11-09T06:07:17 | 971 | 11 |
[WP] A new law states all animals should be free. Pet owners have to release their pets into the wild. You are a domesticated pet now living in the wild.
Any pet at all, any location, go for it | I don't understand, I thought everything was great with my people - they fed me, worshipped me, let me sleep on their laps, in their laundry, on their bed. Life was good.
Then one day they got a piece of paper that made them cry. I don't like when my people cry, so I rubbed up against them and purred, tried to get on their laps when they sat down, tried to soothe them anyway I could. Everything I did just made them cry more, the harder I purred the harder they cried.
I must have done something to upset them, because it soon after that they put me Outside. They never let me Outside before, it was big and scary. I tried to get back in the house, but they shut the door on me.
I waited on the porch for a week, but every time my people came out they pushed me away from the door and cried. For the first couple of days my female person left food out, then a stranger with blue over-fur came to the door and said she was reported for "enticing wildlife" and that if she would be in trouble if it happened again. I never saw her again after that.
My male person tried chasing me away, I thought it was a game at first, but he wouldn't pet me for playing like he used to. What did I do to make my people so mad at me?
I'm under the house now, I wanted to smell them and be close to them. I've caught any mice that were down here, so that should make my people happy.
If you guys are reading this, I'm sorry for whatever I did. Please let me back inside, I promise not to claw or pee on the furniture ever again. I'm sorry. | ((this is based on my dog. She is a ditzy, loopy labrador who loves to scavenge for food,like sweets and stuff in bushes. She has a weird hunting instinct: she'll chase a cat, but when she gets close she'll sit and just wag her tail. In the wild, she'd be dependant on the remains cleverer animals left behind in their kills, probably.))
I AM HONEY.
DOG IS I.
FOOD FUN. FOOD GOOD.
TWOLEGS CALL SMELLFOODDOGWAGGY LABRA DOORS.
LABRA DOOR IS I.
FOREST BIG.
FOREST SCARY.
CAT BUSHY LIVE IN TREE.
I CHASE.
I TIRED.
I SLEEP.
I HUNGRY.
FIND MEAT CAT BUSHY ON FLOOR.
EAT FOOD
FOOD WET
FOOD NO LIKE
FIND SMELLSOME CAT IN HOLE
SMELLSOME CAT SCARY, CLAWS BAD
FOODTAKERHOLE FOAMY
I WEIRD
I DOG
I FEEL WEIRD
ANGRY
ANGRY
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL | 2015-03-21T07:42:35 | 2015-03-21T07:19:42 | 29 | 14 |
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