prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] In the future, in a galaxy far far away, aliens are trying to make sense of the Pioneer plaque
[Reference](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pioneer_plaque) | Padding through the reinforced halls of his flagship, the Patriarch issued commands to his various subordinates.
*clickclickclick*
His fleet was the largest in galactic history. Ten thousand ships armed with massive railguns, plasma and laser weapons seemed to fill the system and dwarf even the largest gas giants.
None could stand against them - and none ever had. For the past hundred cycles, his fleet had razed and pillaged world after world.
*clickclickclick*
He ordered the fleet to begin charging weapons - it’d take a few cycles for them to reach battle readiness. Their latest target was a small, watery world - the third planet in the Sol System. Early scans showed that the native species was exceedingly primitive, and not likely to-
*clickclickcli-BANG*
Alarms echoed around the bridge. He grabbed a Junior Officer by the shoulder.
“Damage report, now! What happened?”
"Something hit us, sir. Caught us with our shields down - it was too primitive to be deemed a projectile, and too slow to activate the point defenses. Shields were still down - there’s nobody around for hundreds of thousands of units."
Another shout echoed around the bridge. “Reactor failing! We’ve got a few rotations at most!”
"Projectile trajectory calculated, sir! It came from Earth.”
Messages flooded the bridge from the other ships, demanding to know the extent of the damage. The Patriarch was unable to respond. Whoever these humans were, they’d been able to predict the fleet’s approach, launch a projectile hundreds of cycles in advance, and do it with the most primitive of technologies.
His voice was hoarse. “Order a retreat,” he croaked. “We’re going home."
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
| Every being on the planet was focused on the news. Today the world leader was going to hold a conference and release all of the information that had been gathered. Some were scared, worried that it might bring death and plague to their gentle planet. Some were relieved that they were not the only living beings in the Universe. Others told stories of it being a conspiracy by the government. A few of the religious sects were scrambling to make sense of it within their sacred texts. A spacecraft was discovered in orbit around the planet almost a year ago. It must have slowly been pulled into orbit as it was passing buy. It was the first sign of extraterrestrial life ever found. Last week, after months of planning by the planets top scientists, the craft was captured out of orbit and brought back to the surface. They studied the craft in-depth. Most of the technologies they were familiar with. What was the most interesting was the plaque. The two beings pictured on the front were so different than anything that they had seen or imagined. But, today was the day to show the world.
With the eyes of the world on him, the leader took his place at the podium. He spoke a few lines about how the following news will change them forever. Calling the lead scientist on the project up to speak drew an eerie hush on the crowd. As the scientist approached the podium, he had the look of confidence and understanding, knowing what he was about to explain, would go down in the history books. The words flowed from him effortlessly. “Tkkl mmpurket fleezz muh da pi nadoricad. Holden muy da choy. Holden muy da chi fransck pi sorden walstec. Tkkl worque muh forsik relaff pori nu pi alderat duta rof seeh muy da wee, muy da orcho, nu muy da blocha. Eww nutrim lee halla Zumma.”
| 2015-01-30T08:49:05 | 2015-01-30T06:50:03 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] In the future, in a galaxy far far away, aliens are trying to make sense of the Pioneer plaque
[Reference](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pioneer_plaque) | Padding through the reinforced halls of his flagship, the Patriarch issued commands to his various subordinates.
*clickclickclick*
His fleet was the largest in galactic history. Ten thousand ships armed with massive railguns, plasma and laser weapons seemed to fill the system and dwarf even the largest gas giants.
None could stand against them - and none ever had. For the past hundred cycles, his fleet had razed and pillaged world after world.
*clickclickclick*
He ordered the fleet to begin charging weapons - it’d take a few cycles for them to reach battle readiness. Their latest target was a small, watery world - the third planet in the Sol System. Early scans showed that the native species was exceedingly primitive, and not likely to-
*clickclickcli-BANG*
Alarms echoed around the bridge. He grabbed a Junior Officer by the shoulder.
“Damage report, now! What happened?”
"Something hit us, sir. Caught us with our shields down - it was too primitive to be deemed a projectile, and too slow to activate the point defenses. Shields were still down - there’s nobody around for hundreds of thousands of units."
Another shout echoed around the bridge. “Reactor failing! We’ve got a few rotations at most!”
"Projectile trajectory calculated, sir! It came from Earth.”
Messages flooded the bridge from the other ships, demanding to know the extent of the damage. The Patriarch was unable to respond. Whoever these humans were, they’d been able to predict the fleet’s approach, launch a projectile hundreds of cycles in advance, and do it with the most primitive of technologies.
His voice was hoarse. “Order a retreat,” he croaked. “We’re going home."
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
| Yes - I remember it well. I was on the porch with Martha watching the cows roam over the moon. When the further sun was generous, usually between July and August, the moon grass would be plentiful and the cows would not even wait until darkness to crawl out of their holes. As they grazed they would send methane winds down over the earth. I remember the sound of curtains billowing that night, and the tinkling of glass.
Martha had been in the city for two millennia, so I was surprised to see her home so soon. 'Can't take the pace?', I teased, and she smiled secretly back at me as she poured the wine. 'It's time, Albert', she said and pointed to the triangle between her legs.
It’s never certain how long it takes for the seeds to ripen. Sometimes it only takes 8 centuries or so, but more commonly the years are counted in the thousands. Once we were certain that the neighbors were asleep, we went out to lawn with our shovels and found the wooden post we had planted there some years earlier. We began to dig. A quarter of the way in, a passing car sent lights streaking over our bodies. Martha gasped with embarrassment. 'You don't think they saw-'
'No, I don't think so'
It did not take long for us to uncover the body of our child under the dirt. We carried him up to the porch and Martha took the triangle from her groin and put into his mouth. His eyes opened and he sat up, embarrassed to be naked in front of his parents.
'Have I just been born?' he asked, and we both nodded. 'Oh good, I'm one of you.' He looked up at the cows. 'I was worried I would be born one of those'
Later that night Martha swore she saw a star fall from the sky. We went out to count them and Martha decided that she had just had too much wine. The next day we sent our son to school. He came home with an etched metal plate in his hands. We put it proudly up on the fridge.
| 2015-01-30T08:49:05 | 2015-01-30T07:54:43 | 42 | 12 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth. | when you lose something you never had to begin with,
unspoken words hide behind lips you fail to recognize.
tangled pathways that once lead to your past--
what it is to remember a face,
the tune of your favourite song,
how it feels to love...
they all fade away.
light becomes dark,
and you,
forgotten. | Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear. | 2015-02-12T22:23:27 | 2015-02-12T22:22:59 | 168 | 14 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth. | My vision flashes crimson and I scream at the sky.
Tears splat messily on the flowers at my feet.
All of those years of faith and practice.
I spent every last cent on tithes.
What God would take her now?
After all of that pain?
I request very little.
Why my spark?
My daughter.
Why?
| Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear. | 2015-02-12T22:30:08 | 2015-02-12T22:22:59 | 131 | 14 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth. | I can almost taste it, so close yet so far.
Just how long until this waiting is properly justified!
I've spent ages, years, stuck in one place.
But it will all be worth it.
I can hear it rotating, slowly.
Popping like quiet, teasing laughter.
Soon now, only seconds.
Salt and butter,
So close...
*Ding*
| Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear. | 2015-02-12T22:33:04 | 2015-02-12T22:22:59 | 95 | 14 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth. | **Anxiety**
Pressure fills my chest as my heart beats wildly inside.
The tingling moves through my fingers, up my arms.
I grasp at my chest, push against it.
I feel every part of my body -
the blood pulsing in my head,
the prickling of every nerve.
You ask what's wrong.
Don't you know?
It's just...
me.
| Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear. | 2015-02-12T23:52:27 | 2015-02-12T22:22:59 | 40 | 14 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth. | Happy seeing my kids at the top of the stair
Waiting for their dad to come home from work
They shout "daddy!" and I forget the day
and for at least a few seconds
I remember that the important things
to me are at home
My dog, my kids
My beautiful wife
treasured moments
Life | Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear. | 2015-02-12T23:02:15 | 2015-02-12T22:22:59 | 33 | 14 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth. | Ten years you held my heart locked in a cage.
I strive for calm but begin to come unhinged
You destroyed our lives with your casual fling
Your heartlessness served to set the stage
Deeply dreaming of my sweet revenge
Your lying throat I'll wring
My anger to assuage.
Burning to avenge.
Hot. Blinding.
Rage. | Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear. | 2015-02-12T22:26:14 | 2015-02-12T22:22:59 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] A serial killer is called for jury duty. At the trial, he finds out that the person on trial has been falsely accused for the serial killer's crimes. | Okay, this is absolute bullshit.
Fucking. Bullshit.
How the hell do they believe this absolute moron did all this!? Look at my damn clean work! I mean, *come on*! Look at the way I positioned their limp, lifeless bodies: the left arm pointing north, three fingers curled into the palm of icy hands. Then theres my signature touch of the singed feather, delicately laid over a once beating chest. This is the stuff that makes what I do just so much more; it's what makes that dim-witted detective lose sleep at night – tossing and turning – mind racing over who is outsmarting her at every single twist and turn of our blind, morbid dance.
You know what pisses me off the most about having to sit through this jury service? Aside from the ball achingly dull monologues from the lawyers and that idiot being accused of MY achievements? It's whoever took the photos of this supposed "crime scene" (lawyer's words, not mine). His angles and lighting are all wrong. Obviously I can't expect a layman to understand my very deepest of thinkings, but I'd hope that my work would at least be given a mere ounce of the respect it deserves. Instead I have some degenerate police photographer who thought that a ghastly head-on flash would be a good idea.
Jeez, just look at that poor sap. Sweating and weeping and constantly shifting in his seat; I'm not sure he'd ever hurt a fly, let alone "senselessly murder thirteen people" (again, lawyer's words, not mine – I have my reasons for finishing their lives. Nothing senseless about it). Over the next few days, weeks, whatever, me and my crackpot team of slobbering oafs will decide the fate of this innocent man. And my God will I do my best to discredit the poor fool. He certainly shall not have the satisfaction of laying claim to my deeds.
Oh God, another fucking photograph is being shown. This time it's a photograph of number three, one that truly stirs within me fond memories. Again, lighting is all wrong. ALL WRONG! And now they're babbling on and on about how this cretin must have gone about killing number three. Apparently I started by binding his feet and hands. ALL WRONG! In fact, I started by knocking number three out with flunitrazepam, turning the intelligently spoken university student into a total incomprehensible, babbling mess. *Then* I bound his hands and feet. He was a strapping lad, a member of the rowing team, how the hell do you think I would have been able to secure him without some help?
Another photo is being flashed on scree- OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE LOOKED AT FROM THAT ANGLE!
Fuck.
Did I just say that out loud? | My name is George.
I walked home from a friends house when I was accosted by the police, they took me back to the station, questioned me and in my naivety, I answered all their questions honestly. You can imagine my surprise when I found myself behind bars for 2 years on armed robbery charges. It turns out that I was a 'victim of circumstance' and the real perpetrator was found and then I was released, because he went on to rob another store and the store manager shot him before he could shoot the store manager.
Gun's aren't allowed in my country, needless to say the shop keeper is now in jail.
Having spent time in the prison for a crime I didn't commit, it really got me thinking. What could I get away with.
Well, it took a lot of thinking, which is all one is able to do in prison, but I came up with some ingenious methods of getting away with crimes and, when I got out, I tested the waters.
Sure enough, my first victim was hauled off to the nick, and even convicted of possession of stolen property. It was too easy. Possession crimes are so easy to manipulate and frame people for.
After dealing with small fry and quite practiced, my next victim was done for possession of child pornography, a police Sargent no less. The same one who brought me in and was on my case in the court like his career depended on it. I got to delight in his mugshot all over the news, it was quite fun and although breaking into his house was risky, he left his browser data unsecured, so I simply took the email passwords from his unsecured cache, logged in on his own computer and emailed the images to his superior. Hook line and sinker.
But this... this is my master piece. The jurors at my trial, one by one, picked off, and I left samples of the man who was defending me at every scene... the scumbag lawyer is going to burn and wouldn't you know it, fate is so kind, I happen to be on the panel of people that will send his ass down.
I chose to sit on the back row, I don't want him recognizing me and calling for a new jury so I will just keep to myself.
The trial went on as all of my escapades over the past month were listed back to him. He had his own defense, trying to help his case but he was screwed, I even went do far as to leave , not only hair samples at one scene, with the root still attached but, in one place, I left his wallet on the mantelpiece, with all of his cards and ID in it. His face was a picture when it was submitted in evidence.
The prosecutor was the same one who had convicted me, his time will come eventually but for now, this is the best free entertainment I have had all day.
Of course he pleaded guilty, the odds were stacked against him, he is bargaining, but serial killing is too harsh for them to throw anything but the book at him.
Justice is so blind, it can't even see the real killer sitting in the court room. | 2015-05-31T17:39:29 | 2015-05-31T14:39:51 | 327 | 88 |
[WP] You begin to think one of your co-workers is really just 3 kids in a trench coat. | Dear diary.
I think Jamerson is a fraud. He looks funny and has a tiny face. His arms are short too. Yesterday I saw him talking to his belly, holding a conversation like it was another person or something. It's just so obvious.
I'm starting to think he's copying us.
If he's not careful he's gunna blow it for me and the guys.
We formed a pact. No more than two kids per adult impression. Otherwise it's too silly looking. If the boss finds out about Jamerson, he might suspect the rest of us. The whole company's staff will get fired.
Why would three kids be a good idea? Two clearly works so much better. We need to find a way to get him fired. Come on Stephen, walk us to the water cooler and I'll do small talk for us. | "Have you ever seen Greg sit down?" I asked, leaning over Tristen's cubicle wall. My eyes were locked, not on my friend sitting in front of me, but on Greg, at the coffee station on the other side of the floor. His body waved as he moved, walking almost penguin-like as he got something from the fridge.
"Greg's an okay guy," my buddy says gazing over, "He's just a but weird."
"Weird?!" I say hushing my tone, "He wears that trenchcoat all the time! And have you heard his voice? Have you seen him walk? ..." I stop myself, comparing him to one of those kids shows where the main character and their buddies dress up as an older dude would just make me look silly.
"Have some respect dude, he has a disability!" Tristen was staring at his screen now in an attempt to let me know that he was working and didn't want to be disturbed.
I don't know... I stand, supporting myself under my own weight, still watching Greg. Something just seems off | 2015-07-30T10:18:03 | 2015-07-30T08:57:05 | 139 | 13 |
[WP] You are laying in bed in the dark and you glance over and see an odd shadow in the corner of your room. You're about to turn on a light to see what it is when you hear a voice in your head that says, "Don't move. They're watching you." | "Don't move. They're watching you." I hear in my head as I see the odd shadows in the corner. I knew they were coming, even though it was too early. I knew the quiet couldn't last forever.
I tried to close my eyes and ignore them, but I couldn't forget they were there, watching me, waiting for me to make a move, make a sound.
I knew that I had to lay perfectly still and quiet, but I accidentally let out a cough. My eyes shot to the corner and saw the shadows approaching me.
Dreading what was to come, I tried again to be as still as I could, this still didn't stop the approach.
After what felt like an hour, the shadows reach me.
I feel a touch on my arm, and I heard a voice say, "Daddy time to get up to make us breakfast. Remember Mom is out of town for a week." | *Don't move They're watching you*
"This is getting ridiculous"
He said to himself and added
"This was supposed to be some rad superpower!"
He sighed, flipped the light switch and got up. He looked at the furry *danger* he knew as Mr. Shnugglepaws while murmuring
"Guess it's breakfast time"
Kitty in tow, he walked towards the kitchen.
*Watch out!*
He looked around trying to figure out what the "danger" was this time.
"A fucking piece of LEGO?!"
He continued past the *death trap*, while making use of his wide vocabulary of insults.
After feeding the *threatening beasts*, he started contemplating:
"What went wrong? Why is it so sensitive? Was the radiation dosage too high? Was it the wrong type of spider? Are Marvel just a bunch of dirty liars? Will my dream ever really come true?"
He had thought about these things dozens of times before but the answers seemed as far away as ever. Since thinking about it didn’t do him any good, he forced himself to look at the whole situation in a different way. He smirked as it occurred to him how funny this all was:
"Who would have thought that Spidey Senses could be paranoid?" | 2016-04-30T04:08:48 | 2016-04-30T03:58:12 | 176 | 19 |
[WP]Engineers have harnessed the power of hellfire to create unlimited energy for the whole world. This requires having an open portal to Hell at all times. | "Invade Hell?" The President asked with a raised eyebrow
"Yes sir, with the advances we've made in technology, it is a feasible venture. It's not like the publics would be against it, I mean all our enemies are Demons! Not even the pacifist can complain." The General said "Once we've achieved this objective we can have unlimited energy for the world. No more fossil fuels burning up the atmosphere."
"General Ross. I think you've made one large assumption." The President said
"Assumption sir?"
"Yes. You assume hell is run by the Devil. we would not be fighting Demons. We would in fact be fightining Angels. Who answer to God. Now unless you wish to invade Heaven while your at it, how about we shelve the moronic idea that invading the prison of God is in any way a viable plan." The President said
"But I'm an atheist sir."
"General."
"Yes sir."
"Shut up."
| The way to hell is paved with good intentions...
Turns out they make good thermal tiles as well.
When the Portal opened, the roar of the damned echoed from the Bowels of hell to shake the foundations of the heavens.
And then?
Nothing.
No Horde of brutal arch-demons came to terrorise the souls on Earth, no Sea of the damned to wash all before it. It was just... there.
After a while, people got bored. So it's a rent in Spacetime, the like of which has never been seen, so what? The lure of the internet and tv was stronger than some fancy door. And so, the Great cycle of human discovery turned from curiosity to exploitation.
No human could enter; the crispy remains of those who tried proved that. But the Heat, the unholy heat... that could be used.
And so the Plant grew about the Hell's Folly (as it came to be known). Hell was caged, steam was raised and electricity flowed across the land providing a bright new future.
Of course the Pope wasn't happy. But it wasn't our fault the Demons were daft enough to open the Portal in St Peter's Square, was it? | 2016-05-17T11:03:48 | 2016-05-17T08:53:12 | 95 | 12 |
[WP] Write a horror story in Dr Seuss's writing style. | The Zingdonger's fast.
The Zingdonger's quick.
You will not last,
if you hear its dark tick.
With legs like a spunitt,
And, eyes like a meether,
You cannot outrun it,
or hide from it, either.
If you hear the clack,
then splitamazoo.
That means it's back.
And it's after you.
It lives for the run,
So, don't give up yet.
That'd be no fun,
and I care for my pet. | Alone. Alone. In the dark alone at last
To talk to my friend trapped in glass
Through the mirror I'm whispered to
About what things I should do
Kill. Kill. My friends it says
Grab a saw, cut off their heads
Take an eye some skin and hair
Bring it back so I can share
More. More. It says to me
Now an ear, a arm, and knee
Its my family this time instead
Use a knife while their in bed
With parts I've taken and lots of glue
A body I made just for you
So he can leave the glass for good
And wander around our neiborhood
Edit: first time doing this and had to fix formatting | 2016-06-22T23:09:42 | 2016-06-22T22:38:08 | 92 | 40 |
[WP] You had an imaginary friend as a child. One day, you found yourself sleeping beside her. She turned out to be real and apparently you two are dating, or so she claims. You have no idea what's going on. | "Um," I said. "Um, um, um." I pulled the sheets as far as I could up my chest, but that pulled them away from Amelie. She smiled sleepily at me as I caught the curve of her breast and a glimpse of nipple, and threw the sheets back at her. She caught them, fumbled out from under them, looked at me strangely.
"Peter?" she said. "What's wrong with you?"
"Uhhhhhh!" I said. "You're not real???? You're not - We are definitely not supposed to be sleeping together!"
"Oh, Peter," she said silkily, and began crawling towards me. "Nope!" I quickly said, and used the blankets to push her back, bundling the fabric up in my fists and doing my best to not touch her bare skin. "Peter!" she snapped, sitting back up again and pushing the hair out of her face. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I am definitely real." She stretched, curving her back, her voice once more taking on that seductive tone. "Don't you remember, Peter, all the time we spent together as kids?"
"Yeah!" I said. "I was an only child, and I got lonely sometimes, and I imagined myself a sister! What the fuck, Amelie, what the fuck is this! Also, your fucking arms are five feet long because I thought it'd be cool for you to be able to reach all the things that I couldn't!" She glanced down at her tentacle-like arms and shrugged and began to snake them around me. "This is fucked up, Amelie! No one wants to fuck their imaginary friend! That's not - that's not what anyone makes imaginary friends for!"
"Well don't blame me for any of this, Peter," she said, and her hand grabbed my butt. I nearly jumped out of bed. "According to you, I'm just a figment of your imagination." She smiled at me. "Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something about yourself."
"Nope nope nope nope nope!" I said, and stood up, clutching a corner of the blankets to my crotch. "This is fucked up! Like I said, I was a lonely kid, I had a lot of imaginary friends! You were one of them! That's all! I did not want to - I definitely did not want to - Not anymore than I wanted to fuck Wonderboy or Mister Fuzzybear -"
The sound of the shower stopping made me realize it had been on all this time. There was a breath of steam into the room as the bathroom door opened and eight feet of stripey orange fur stepped out, a towel wrapped around Mister Fuzzybear's waist.
"Hey," he said, looking at us, and let the towel fall. "You two getting started without me?" | Dave awoke in his normal reluctant fashion, clinging to every shred of sleep he could get. No strident alarm today; Saturday's were under the rule of Morpheus. But try as he might, Dave could not return to sleep's embrace. Was he too hot or cold? No, it was a lovely temperature, perfect for a morning snooze. Did he have something to do? No, nothing that couldn't wait. Did he need the bathroom? No, his bladder indicated it was perfectly happy to remain content. Was it... yes, yes it was. Dave relaxed and released his morning postern blast, worthy of any army Reveille. He smiled and went back to sle...
"Ugh! Davey, that was disgusting!" A punch to the ribs made him curl reflexively. Unfortunately, this defensive motion ignored the fact he was on the edge of the bed, and threw him over the side.
Sleep fled, as did his wits, and Dave lay on his back, arms and legs curled to the ceiling. His eyelids snapped open without informing his eyes. As such, they panicked and attempted to run in different directions. When Dave finally got them under control, they focused on the (quite pretty) face hovering above him.
"Are you ok Davey?" The face showed concern. Dave attempted a soothing, yet questioning, comment - what came from his throat was a strangled gurgle of a blocked drain. The face snorted.
"Yeah, you're alright. Tea?" The face disappeared from view. The creak of bedsprings indicated the face had a body attached, which presently came into view. The face - person; Dave corrected his initial assessment on the new evidence - the person turned and sighed.
"Come on, Davey. I know you've never been a morning person, but you could at least put your arms down." The arms, released on the person's (female person - another update) command, flopped onto his face. The woman chuckled and left the room.
Dave groaned and sat up. He did not remember going out. He certainly did not remember picking anyone up. Standing, he surveyed the room. It did not reveal evidence of the throws of passion - no tossed clothes on the floor, no knocked over ornaments or pictures and (looking down for confirmation) he was dressed in some rather snazzy pyjamas.
...wait, the pictures. His brain (woefully failing this morning) signalled a discrepancy. Dave took a closer look. The pictures revealed a history he could not remember. A selfie of him and the girl at the seaside. A kiss under the miseltoe in some truly horrid christmas jumpers. A family portrait of his family and the female laughing at...yes, him falling off a pier. A life he could not recall.
Dave and his brain attempted to wrestle this new information. His body, however, staged a boardroom coup and decided to return to sleep. He fell backwards onto the bed, eyes shut, a snore already passing his lips. Before unconsciousness took hold, his brain whispered a final message. *Wait, did she have a tail?* | 2016-08-06T15:07:01 | 2016-08-06T13:40:43 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] When everyone turns 21, they have to pick a superpower from an approved list and take classes on how to use it. You choose one that only one other person has ever picked before. | When I saw the power on the list, I naturally gave it a silver lining.No one would be able to mess with me with a power like this. It was simple enough for anyone to get a power right? When I filled out the application the lady at the counter gave me a little disclaimer.
"The only other person to take that power hates his life now".
"Well that person has to teach me now right?"
"Young man I don't think you heard me"
"Ma'am I think I know what I'm doing"
I got an email from my teacher the next morning
________________________________________________________________
Dear, Student
I made this email years ago when I thought I'd enjoy teaching this power to young ones. I regret it now, but it is my duty to teach you this power and how to control it. Hopefully you haven't hurt anyone you love with your power yet, lord knows I abused it to get lot's of stuff. Meet me at the movie theatre at noon so I can start teaching. Don't bother trying to take notes or anything, but bring a couple sets of extra clothes and some body spray. Cya tomorrow.
-PHD Hog
________________________________________________________________
After I read that message I felt the need to save my super power testing for when I'm in the room with Dr. Hog. I walk to the movie theatre that morning into a noisy showing of an Avengers movie. Before I open the door the ground starts shaking like an explosion went off! I almost get run over by the stream of people running out of the theatre.
"Oh god!"
"That's gotta be illegal right?"
"Who would choose such a stupid power!?"
I walk in right and get sucker punched by a nasty smell. I see a super large guy in the front of the theatre with a gas mask on.
"Hey!"
The guy turns towards me and motions me down. I take a seat next to him and before I could utter a word.
"I don't know what other idiot would ask for fart powers, but welcome to the first class. Your assignment, pick a movie to see then clear out that movie theatre.... and buy me a ticket"
I could already tell this would be the best power ever....
________________________________________________________________
P.S This one was kinda dumb, but ya never know when it may be good or not.
| "Today's the day!" my mom cheered as she laid down my breakfast. Blueberry waffles, my favorite.
"Yeah, I-I'm stoked," I managed trying to feign any excitement. You see, I'm the black sheep. With my mom honing telekinesis and my dad's superior strength, it's a mystery as to how I spawned from them. I'm as tall as an NBA player and skinnier than an impoverished bulimic. Walking is almost as awkward as my social skills. So when my dad questioned my life-changing choice, you can imagine the discomfort.
Obviously the mainstream choices are out of my league. Super speed means I'd break the record for face planting into the dirt. There's no way strength training could help me lift a rock let alone a car pinning an innocent victim and even following in my mom's shoes would be a chore with my ADD. Honestly though, I have no interest in those which makes this far more uncomfortable. I've battled my inner self with my choice because only one other person has gone down the path I want and there's certainly a reason..
* * * *
The office I walked into was far more drab than I imagined. Depressing bulletin boards with elementary school style lettering decorated the room alongside motivational posters failing to excite my decision. A kind, withered old man in tweed sat in a chair far too big for him with a grin exaggerating the wrinkles he bared.
"Why hello! An exciting day it is for you..erm Jason, yes?"
"Yes sir," I responded, with as much fake excitement as a greenhorn in an anal scene.
"Wonderful! So what decision have you made?" I gave my answer and received the response I expected. "Oh. Well alright, w-we can make that work?!"
"Grrreat," I said sounding like Tony the Tiger with an anxiety disorder. But then there was silence. He looked at me with fear and I looked upon the carpet trying to notice a pattern within the sporadic collage of mute colors.
"S-S-So nothing huh?"
"Yup."
"May I ask why?"
"I don't benefit any other by following the crowd nor do I have the ability to hone any skill dominated by my peers and elders. I'd do nothing but waste time and inevitably give up if my educators hadn't already. I'm doing both myself and my society a favor."
"So what will you do?" he asked.
"Live my life."
| 2016-11-09T14:57:31 | 2016-11-09T14:40:35 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Calm down," Sarah said, gesturing the sorcerer to stop hopping around the room.
"I- I didn't think it would actually *work!*" exclaimed the terrified creature, still holding onto the summoning book. Sarah thought the thing looked quite human. Only its azure skin and the huge eyes that protruded from the side of its head, really gave it away.
"You're a *demon*," it whispered. "A real demon."
"*No*," Sarah corrected it. "I'm Sarah - a *New Yorker*."
"What level of Hell is that!?" the shaking sorcerer replied, taking a long step away from her.
Sarah walked out from the circle of smouldering candles, and into the small room. "It's not Hell. Well, sometimes I guess it can be..."
"Back, demon!" Three of its four arms folded twice over, into some kind of ineffective warding symbol. Sarah walked towards it. *It* backed off until it hit a marble wall.
"Listen, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to go home," she said.
"...I don't know how to send you back. It wasn't exactly in the book."
"Of course it wasn't. That's just great," Sarah sighed. "Why would you even *want* to summon a demon?"
"I..." It breathed hard and very slowly, began to calm. "Well, we humans of Paradise," began the creature, much to Sarah's amusement, "are not allowed to hurt one another. It's impossible to do so. Whatever harm we try to do to a person, happens to us instead."
"Oh. So... if you were to say... stab someone, you'd be stabbed instead?" Sarah said, not really believing it.
"Yes! Our God," it said, pointing towards the ground, "made us that way so we could never intentionally harm one another."
"So... you summoned a demon because you wanted to do someone harm?"
"Yes! Bruce. He deserves it thoroughly bec-"
"Wait," Sarah said quickly interrupting, "so you *really* can't harm me?"
"... no, of course not."
"Try," Sarah said encouragingly. She held out an arm and rolled up her sleeve. "Here, pinch me."
"I would rather not."
"Pinch me!" she yelled. The creature swallowed hard, made the sign of an upside down cross on its right chest, and then pinched Sarah's skin between two of its rubbery fingers. Sarah didn't feel a thing.
"Owch!" it said, tenderly rubbing its sore arm.
"That's very interesting," Sarah mused out loud. "Okay, try pulling my hair."
"No, thank you." Red beads of sweat began to run down its cheeks.
"DO IT!" she yelled, taking a threatening step towards it.
It gingerly brought a hand up towards Sarah's head, and gave a quick, hard, tug at her blonde hair. It instantly let go, and gasped in pain.
"And punch me..."
"N-no,"
Sarah opened her eyes wide and stared at the creature. She heard it gulp loudly before it punched her gently on the arm.
"Harder!" she ordered. "Or else there'll be trouble!"
The punch to Sarah's chest sent the creature sprawling to the ground, leaving it desperately attempting to suck air in.
"So, I can't be hurt..." she thought aloud. "But I wonder if I can..."
"I'm really so, so sorry," she said, as she punched the creature's head repeatedly. "Honestly, I am. I just need to test a few things."
The demon left the sorcerer's house with an idea in her head, and a dead creature in tow behind. "Paradise," she laughed, "it soon will be."
---
More of my stories on /r/nickofnight (plus a different story I wrote for this prompt)
| "Shit shit shit" I said under my breath as I raced down the sidewalk towards the bus. It was raining and all I could do was hold my unopened umbrella above my head as I ran. It obviously didn't help, so when I finally reached the bus stop panting and ready to fall over I was completely soaked through.
The bus doors were already closing when I reached it, but being desperate I managed to jam my umbrella between the gap in the doors before they closed. The door creaked rather loudly and the driver looked at me as if I were a fucking lunatic. I was still trying to catch my breath and very late so being crazy was the least of my problems.
After a moment the driver grudgingly opened the doors once more. I gave him a small 'thank you' between gasps, but he just glared at me at motioned for me to take my seat.
I sat down next to an elderly man listening to something on an old Walkman. He didn't pay me any attention, but continued to hum what sounded like dream lover.
I pulled off my glasses and began to wipe away the rainwater as I muttered a thanks to whatever god cared enough to receive it for making it on the bus in time. I had only just started my new job and the boss was as stoic as they come, so I really couldn't afford to be late. It hadn't taken long enough to get the damn job, anyway.
Of course I'll probably never be able keep that job now. Not with what happened about five minutes into the bus journey. One minute I was looking out to the passing storefronts with the old man now humming some blues tune and the next I had collapsed onto a hardwood floor in a room where everything was dim and smelled of old books and damp.
Managing to left my head up and put my now bent glasses back on, I saw that I was now in what looked like a attic. There were towers of books everywhere.
Getting myself into a sitting position I noticed I was surrounded by what looked like candles. There were five of them and they were all black and arranged in a circle around me. There were white trails on the floor connecting the candles. It looked like paint and as I inspected the pattern I noticed it formed a star. Frowning I looked up and nearly had a heart attack. There in front of the point of the star stood an old man in what looked like a long and dark robe. He stood perfectly still with a rather heavy looking book held open in front of him in his hands. He was smiling, or rather he was smiling at me. That's when I felt a tendril of fear run up along my spine. I backed away, my heart now begining to beat very quickly as the old man smiled at me. I hit a wall and I couldn't move any further. Looking back I saw there was no wall, but for some reason the area just before the candle was solid and I could not move past it. That's when the old man spoke.
"That's a barrier around you, demon. You cannot move beyond it" he said, his voice deep and grave. He looked pleased with himself. Utterly confused, I gulped and tried to speak.
"Ugh... who..who are you?" I stuttered. I had meant for it to come out more level, but I had so many questions and scenarios running through my head I guess it couldn't be helped.
"I am Lord Alsen Bodyth of the mage council, but you may call me master, demon" he proclaimed, sounding very proud.
I frowned. "De..demon?"
"Yes, but not just any demon. You're my demon" he pointed out, now grinning. That creeped me the fuck out, but all I could do was give a shaky laugh and say
"But... I.. I'm not a... demon" I wasn't entirely sure of what he was talking about, but I didn't liked it.
He gave me an understanding look and a nod "yes, yes, that's what they all say, but believe me demon, demon you are. I would know. I summoned you myself from the hell plain..." He looked down to his book for a moment searching for the name. Then having found it he looked back up and, still smiling, said "... Earth"
| 2017-05-12T07:54:55 | 2017-05-12T07:07:38 | 1,283 | 193 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "You see it? That is what I crave. The Rajpank of Avoothenkor."
"That's what you want? That's why I'm here?"
"With that I could rule this World. But I cannot have it, for it is not mine."
"So there's guards, cameras, lasers? What's the deal?"
"I don't understand."
"What's guarding it? You know, the security? I don't want to get roughed up or arrested or anything." I could see his confusion. "What's to stop you taking it?"
"I cannot take it. It is not mine."
Was that anger in his voice? They're all so weird and calm around here I just didn't know.
I stepped forward. Nothing. Looked around, reached out a hand, another look. What the fuck is up with this place? I passed the rock to my new friend.
"There you go."
"How did you do that?"
"Like this" I grabbed the rock from him, tossed it in the air a couple of times and then passed it back.
"God forgive me. What Stygian power is this? By what demonic force, by what heaven banished treachery do you control the fates of man and mete out of this global dominion with the ease and abandon of a careless god? What have I done? Have I gained so much and lost myself? No, their praise shall be my balm and my power the tonic to ease the pains of my troubled soul."
"Well, good luck with that and everything, but this place is freaking me out. When can you send me back? You said you'd send me back when we were done."
"Yes. But I may have need of your powers in the future. Here, take this as a sign of my gratitude." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small round orange object and handed it to me.
With a faint pop I was back at Cheryl's retirement party. Steve noticed me appear in a corner. "Hey," he asked, "where'd you get that orange?" | "Save her!"
"Wha-?"
"I summoned you here to save her! Do it!"
On the table lay a woman with labored breath and covered in blood.
"I can't do it here. You'll have to send me back. I need an ER."
"I have an ear for you right here, demon!" The man jiggles his own bloody ear in his hand.
"No, I need an E... R... An emergency room you imbecile. Send us both back and she'll be healed."
"No. No I won't do it. I won't let you make her a demon like you. They never come back the same."
"Of course they don't. You can't take a bite of the apple of knowledge and stay ignorant."
"SAVE HER, DEMON!"
The man standing in an arcane circle wearing a long white robe and a strange creature about his neck sighs. "You are all fools. Damned fools." Then he clapped his hands and was gone. So was the woman.
For the next month, the young sorcerer wept. He had sold his love to a demon. Then, a loud clap and the sound of something solid bouncing on the floor pulled him out of his remorse. When he approached the strange object, he saw her smiling face. Then the object spoke...
"Hey Joe. Thanks for helping me. It's better here. People are happy. Their babies live past infancy, infections don't kill people, and there's much less war and violence. I've decided to stay with Dr. Hapburn. He's the man you summoned to save me. He's been kind to me and he is wealthier than our king! Good luck, Joe. I don't think I'll ever see you again."
Then the object went dark. Joe let out an anguished scream. "DAMN YOU DEMON!"
-------
"Welcome back, Dr. Hapburn!"
"Thanks Sally. We need to get this one to the ICU."
"We're on it doctor. Why doesn't Texas just join the Federation of Nations?"
"I don't know. King Norris won't let them. It's just good for us that the Global Processing Unit is available for teleportation requests."
"I hear the locals think people who talk to the GPU are sorcerers."
"Yes, that's true. Poor fools." | 2017-05-12T09:20:50 | 2017-05-12T09:10:43 | 99 | 43 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Let me get this straight. You brought me here, a 'demon' in order to mate with me because you want some form of demon hybrid as your child?"
What a day. First, I get off work and drive home with nothing in mind other than to watch some Stargate SG-1 and go to bed. Alone. Now, I am standing in the bedroom of what looks like a female dwarf of the Narnian variety. She isn't bad looking if you discount the large nose, uggo face, and weird hair. Ok. She's kinda hideous.
But hey, I haven't had sex in a few weeks and my prospects weren't looking great for anything in my world. Who cares if she thinks I am a demon?
"Ok, I'm in," I say quite jovially. "Just out of curiosity; why do you want a demon-hybrid child?"
"Well," she began. "Being a dwarf tends to come with issues. It's really difficult to reach items on upper shelves without a ladder and it's annoying," she said with a huff.
I stared at her for a minute and then shrugging, I took off my pants.
"Just like my last girlfriend," I muttered. | When I vanished from the middle of class, I didn't know where I was going. All I experienced was darkness and a rush of cool wind before I was deposited in a place that looked like the middle of a forest.
As my eyes adjusted to the level of sunlight, I saw a few humanoid creatures staring at me. They nudged one another and whispered in a guttural language. Finally, one took a few timid steps toward me and spoke. "O great demon of the underworld . . ."
I blinked. "What?"
The humanoid looked taken aback. "You're a demon. We summoned you." They held up a spellbook and pointed at the circle around me. "See?"
I looked around. "Um . . . Okay? What do you need, then?"
One of the humanoids in the back piped up. "There's a girl who keeps ruining our lives and we want you to scare her into not doing it anymore!"
My anger burned a little bit, which set a small fire around me. "What the hell," I whispered as I stomped it out. "And you think that she'll see you as more intimidating by doing sorcery?"
"Successful sorcery!" a third added.
I sighed. For my family, I would do this unwaveringly. For my friends, I would do it took. For these nerds? What do I have to lose? "Okay. Take me to this girl."
They led me toward a set of buildings and I played with the fire my hands generated to practice my new skill. | 2017-05-12T10:39:48 | 2017-05-12T08:32:17 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | Most people consider my job to be fairly boring. I'm a lawyer, you see. Specifically, I'm a Junior Associate at Fox, Rothschilde, Wickersham, & Taft in Washington, D.C.
I spend most of my waking hours reading government contracts, writing memos about them, and generally trying to bill the most hours humanly possible. They pay me what most people would consider to be a very good living, but most people don't have $250,000 in student loans.
It was 5pm on a Friday, and I was sitting at my desk browsing reddit (no, I wasn't billing for it--that would be unethical), when I was suddenly blinded by a bright flash. I found myself still sitting at my desk in a brightly-lit cavern stone cavern. Every surface had been buffed to a high shine. There was a circle of what looked like tiny birthday candles around me--each of them brighter than a halogen floodlight. I rolled back in my office chair, and hit an invisible force-field. It flickered and hissed where my chair touched it, but held firm. Several high-pitched voices began chanting softly in unison,
"Oh demon of the foulest Earth, we have summoned you here and now bind you to our will! Do not test the might the warlocks of the Cabal of Illuamdmitae, for we have power beyond imagining..."
I stood up as the speech continued, and began to look around for the speakers. In front of my desk were three tiny figures--each barely a meter high--clad in shimmering, almost-iridescent red robes. The fabric was unlike anything I had seen before. Its leader held a staff (or perhaps a spear?) made entirely out elongated gemstones, bound together with shimmering rope. Spider silk?
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What's going on?"
The robed figures covered their ears in pain. The leader handed the other two what appeared to be lumps of beeswax. "Do not attempt to injure us with your foul voice, demon, for we have taken precautions!"
I tried to whisper now. "Okay. One, I'm not a demon. Two, where in the hell am I? Three, who are you?"
"We, your masters, have summoned you from the foulest Earth to achieve a lasting victory in our age-old conflict with the oath-breaking Raelian Horde."
"Umm, you do realize that I'm a lawyer, right? I can't really help with this unless you need me to review a contract, or maybe do a mediation session."
"What are these infernal mechanisms you speak of? Is there some way to bind the Raelians to their word as we have bound you?"
"What do you know about contracts...?"
[NOTE: The basic idea here was "Apply Skill: Law," combined with a human lawyer who suddenly has superpowers, but is extremely vulnerable to light (which is brighter there). This premise was much funnier and/or more interesting in my head than this story is turning out to be. I'll continue this if there's interest, but I doubt there will be.]
| It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T11:53:23 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You find a genie lamp where the genie offers you unlimited wishes. The catch is that you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get progressively harder for every wish you make. If you answer the question wrong, every wish you made will be reversed with negative consequences. | "I can make as many wishes as I want?"
"Yes. As long as you can answer the question."
"And If I get it wrong you reverse all the wishes?"
"Yes."
"I want to make a wish."
"What is the sum of three and six?"
"Nine."
"What is your wish?"
"I wish the world was an unimaginable hell hole."
"Done. Go outside and hear the screams."
"Not yet. I want to make another wish."
"What is the product of four and eight?"
"One." | In a sense, getting mathematics right is what determines how everyone else's life goes too, so I am in no way shape or form in a unique position.
Nor am I unable to be emphathized with. (That's something I need to keep reminding myself of these days.)
If I could graph it out for you without feeling too scared, the plot(pun not intended) would show lots of minorly terrible things happening to me directly after the genesis of my genie problem, then some pretty terrible things happening to me in intervals that gradually get longer.
So, I have gone the longest I have ever not getting a math problem wrong, and intend to never get one wrong again. Also, the entire planet has it in its interest to help me not fuck up. Here's why:
My last wish was for world peace. | 2017-06-17T23:24:32 | 2017-06-17T22:34:52 | 266 | 30 |
[WP] You discover one of your students has the power to ace any test no matter the question. You decide to give him many of the unanswerable questions. Now, upon reading you can't stop crying. | "You cannot take her away," you remember telling the men. They were seated in the principal's room, serious looking and mean. All your life, you have been afraid of confrontations. It was why you chose to be a kindergarten teacher in the first place.
Facing these men, government agents as they called themselves, who threatened to take away Lizzy, gave you courage that you never knew you had. Even though you knew they had authority beyond yours. Even though you knew your words held no power over them. You had to try.
"It's not up to you to decide, Mrs Ang. After all, you were the one who put her in this position." And that was the end of the conversation. They were going to come back in a week and a lowly kindergarten teacher was the last person who could stop them. Even Lizzy's parents could do nothing. You could only watch them wept in despair.
However, you told yourself that it was not the end. It could not be. Looking at Lizzy in your class, being oblivious to the storm brewing around her, to the fact that she only had days before life as she knew it would end, you felt a surge of anger in you. Perhaps it was your motherly instincts. Perhaps it was something else. You only knew that you had to protect Lizzy.
You owed her that much. After all, it was your blog posts that caught the attention of those men. Of how Lizzy has a special gift. You wrote it all down. How it started with an innocent question. A question that led to more and more questions, each of them more difficult than the rest. Questions that you yourself have no answer to.
But Lizzy, Lizzy knew all the correct answers. You wrote them all down. Scanned it. Posted it on the net. Wanting to share her amazing gift to the world. But you had too much hope on your fellow humans. A mistake on your end, as you soon discovered. Not everyone was as kind hearted as you. People wanted to exploit Lizzy's gifts. Greedy, dangerous people.
You told yourself you needed to rectify the mistake, no matter what. You may be a kindergarten teacher, but you have one weapon those men did not. Lizzy. And you have five days remaining. More than enough.
You sat down with Lizzy after class one day. The calendar on your phone marked four more days to go. But you were ready. You took out a paper from your pocket, and placed it in front of Lizzy.
"Alright Lizzy, I know you're not really keen on tests, but teacher promise that I have a surprise for you after you finish okay?"
Lizzy frowned at first, but smiled when she heard the word surprise. It was her favourite thing.
You unfolded the paper in front of her. On the front page, the first question asked: "What is the best way to kill government agents without anyone knowing?"
--------------------
*Far fetched? As usual, more stories at /r/dori_tales!*
| The answers were perfect. Spot on. I looked in confusion, a seeping dread rising within me. Could it…could it be that it had happened? No. I trusted against it. By my calculations it would be a very long time before it came. Until then, I tried to find solace in teaching.
But soon even that solace was robbed from me. Consistently full marks, his answers neat and tidy. Not a single error was ever made, his daily work and classroom answers proving he wasn’t just a regurgitating machine. I tested him on application, critical thinking, even survival skills for the laughs. But the humour stopped when no mistakes were found in any of those tests. It wasn’t humanly possible for one to ace tests even the greats of the past failed to understand. There was no way he could have amassed that amount of knowledge and skill at the age of 16.
But I wasn’t sure yet. Maybe he was well-read, a bookworm with extreme intellect. Maybe I was mistaken. So I had one final test for him, one final exam to prove his capabilities once and for all. While others solved grueling questions, he only received one. I watched him from the front, though he never raised his head once. His eyes were burning into the paper, but his pen never moved. He just sat there, his brain undoubtedly working itself up into a frenzy. I stared, as the clock struck 9. The test was over. But as I went to collect the scripts, delighted that the disaster I’d so feared was but paranoia, I saw a single line written below my question.
‘When an unstoppable offense meets an immovable defense, what happens?’ I’d queried. Scrawled in the signature handwriting was his reply. ‘What do you think happened when I took this test?’ The dread manifested itself into panic, as I stared wildly around. What did he mean? What was he trying to say?
The door creaked open.
______________________________________________________
I couldn’t stop crying. Not tears of joy, or sadness. But of fear. I didn’t know what I’d found or unleashed, but I was the only one capable of removing it. Sentient robots…I’d feared its infiltration into education for some time. It wouldn’t take long for the entire education system and its children to…suffer. I was the one tasked to protect them, though moments like these made me think: How qualified was I to be their defender, when I couldn’t even destroy this simple AI? A feeling within me begged to differ, though. I could sense the strength this machine had. Whoever was behind them…was getting even more skilled by the day.
A thump behind me. And all I could see was the burning darkness of an empty void within. *You’ll make good sacrifice to the…master*, it said, smirking, as it raised its weapon in preparation. I looked at what I’d thought was a child just an hour ago in defiance, though there was nothing left that I could defy. I’d failed completely. As the weapon charged, I could see the mask being replaced, the image of an innocent boy reinstated. With a soft whoosh signifying the void bullet’s departure from its cannon, I chose to focus my last thoughts on the youth I’d wronged.
*God save their soul.* | 2017-08-17T08:14:24 | 2017-08-17T08:12:07 | 110 | 28 |
[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. | "Just give me the f---ing wallet, man!" the mugger shouted. He wore a beat-up MSU hoodie and holey jeans. "*Sparties*" I mumbled as I reached for my pocket, acquiescing the mugger's command. The sound I heard after that, though, I'll never forget as long as I live.
It was a skittery sound. Skittery is the best way to put it. Like a branch against a window in the wind, but, like, *thousands* of branches against *thousands* of windows. Up the street the sound came. Along with it, a tune. I couldn't quite place it at that moment.
"Uh... the wallet, square!" Shouted mugsey. Ignoring the archaic insult, I felt strangely at peace with the tide of sound incroaching me and my quarry in this dank, filthy alley. The skittering grew louder, and with it the tune. I knew it by then. It was an old marching song; "When Jhonny comes marching home".
"What in the ever loving is that?" I asked my assailant.
"F---ed if I know..." said the man plaid in green-and-white, "but I don't like it... *WHAT THE HELL?!?*"
Just then, a black-and-brown tidal wave crashed around the corner of the alley! A sight you'd curse your mother for telling you she'd seen, but I swear it happened! All of them, in chorus: "The spiders go marching one by one! Hurah! Hurah! The spiders go marching one by one! Hurah! Hurah!" The press of arachnids came and covered my would be mugger.
Encasing him, they turned him horizontal, then began to carry him out of the alley, his muffled screams escaping his lungs the whole time. As they went, the marching hymn still echoing through their fangs. At that moment, a little black one with two yellow stripes jumped up to me! "This is the end!" I thought, "It's my turn!"
When she reached my ear, her tiny voice called out "Yesterday, us! Today, you, big man! Thank you for your kindness throughout the years!" And with that, she hopped off to join the press.
"Wait!" I shouted.
"Yes, spider friend?" The envoy replied.
"That song... Isn't it about ants?"
"*Ugh*" She replied. "*Ant cultural appropriation*" | Fear struck my heart as I watched the great book descend towards me, falling with falling with both speed and force. I tried as hard as I could to dash out of the way, but I had noticed it too late. I prepared myself for the end.
The boot froze, the giant pulling back his foot. He bent to the ground, gently pulling me into the skies. I let out a breath of relief as I saw where was taking me- back to the land of the sun. He let me to the ground gently, but before he returned to his cave, left me with a parting whisper.
"Today you, tomorrow me."
I gave a small prayer of thanks to the giant. He had saved me from them.
***
*Seven Years Later*
"Matt!" My dad yelled from the other room. "Go take the trash out."
I sighed loudly, heading into the garage to look for the bags. I found them piled up in the corner, smelling much worse than I had expected. I heaved the first one onto my shoulder, it filled with metal trash and was rather heavy, opened the garage door, and headed towards the dumpster. With a small grunt, I heaved the large bag into the bin. It landed with a resounding clang.
*That was odd.* I thought. *Wasn't today Thursday? Shouldn't there be more trash?* Normally the bags of uneaten food would pad the ground. I shrugged it off, moving to pick up my family's bags of left over lunches and dinners. The bag was far lighter than expected, so when I picked it up, the motion caused the bag to rip.
A few maggots flew out of the bag, one landing on my foot. I jerked back, giving out a small scream as I scrambled to turn on the lights. My fumbling hands finally founds the switch, and as I went back to inspect the bag, I found that there was *no food* left, only a few maggots.
The maggots were dead, small bite sized marks leaving most of them completely disfigured.
I screamed again in shock, stepping back to look at the garage as a hole.
That's when I noticed it. There was a hole in the garage, the size of a soccer ball, that seemed to have been chewed into by something... I stood frozen with a mixture of fear and awe as I wondered how it could have happened. As I stood watching, a few small rays of light began to appear at the end of the tunnel, making me realize two things.
Whatever created that hole was still there, and going inside the house.
The only room with a light on was Luke's.
My two year old brother.
***
Part two coming here (as in this thread) in literally 15 minutes
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
| 2017-08-28T03:18:14 | 2017-08-27T22:11:20 | 62 | 33 |
[WP] The world's tiniest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it. | The tantalising object was twice as long as Nievnyss and far too heavy for her to carry. What was it? And how had it gotten into the long grass outside of her nest? She bit it inquisitively -- only to get a taste for it. It jangled satisfactorily between her teeth. Her forked tongue darted out and tested it further. Once sure it was not foul, she ran her tongue softly along the bumpy edge. It tasted of metal and stardust. She let out a satisfied sigh.
Nievnyss padded across the golden surface, curiously examining her reflection in the half-mirrored surface. In the image, her ivy-green scales had a golden, heavenly iridescence to them. She liked very much how it made it her look. How it made her *feel*. Perhaps tomorrow she would have the energy to drag it into her nest; but not tonight. Tonight, she must rest.
She curled up in the center of the object, wrapping her tail tightly around her, until she was snuggled up and warm. Short flames of rainbow reds burst out of her nostrils as she closed her eyes and her stomach purred. She had never had anything so precious before. Something she so wanted to take care of.
It was night when she awoke. It wasn't to a sound, but to a feeling. A bad one. She stood up on her claws and padded in a circle, taking in the dark surroundings. She suddenly felt very alone and very vulnerable.
"Who's there?" she shouted, trying to disguise the anxiousness in her voice as fierce thunder. She let out a spark from her mouth, hoping to scare away whatever was out there. The fire glinted off the golden surface of the object, and for a second, lit the many yellow eyes that were watching her from the darkness beyond.
A hopelessness washed over Nievnyss, and she lay her belly flat against the coin, whimpering quietly as her scales prickled up. She wished her mother were here. But then... her mother wouldn't protect her, even if she were here. Her mother had never cared for her -- not for the runt of the litter. The *thing* not fit to be called a dragon. Not fit even to be called *daughter*. Her mother had taken her brothers and sisters, whom she had loved dearly, and left Nievnyss with nothing. To fend for herself, and to surely soon die. It looked like tonight, her mother would proven right.
Nievnyss felt the silken thread touch her scales before she saw the spider. She jumped back, as the first of the many legged creatures landed on her back, from out of a plant above. It bit into her scales with its razor like fangs, but its teeth cracked as it did. Nievnyss rolled over, tossing the creature off her, sending it flying out into the darkness.
She had bested one of the wretched creatures, but the many eyes in the dark were quickly approaching -- a wave of blackness, far darker than that of the night, swaying towards her.
Nievnyss took a deep breath and tried to send a burst of flame out at the creatures --but only a puff of smoke left her mouth. She gulped.
The wall of spiders in front of her parted as something else, something *worse,* made its way through them.
This spider's legs were thick and hairy, and its body was at least three times the size of its brethren.
"Give me the coin," said the great spider, bearing its many rows of needle like teeth, "and I might not eat you."
Nievnyss swallowed hard. "Co- coin?"
"The golden object you lay upon."
The spiders around the monster hissed and screeched, then suddenly scuttled toward Nievnyss, fast surrounding her precious coin.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and for a moment, thought about fleeing -- of giving up the stupid object. Why was it so precious anyway? What good would it ever do her? It surely wasn't worth dying for.
But a strange urge came over her, rising from her belly and quickly reaching her throat. An irrepressible feeling she had never before experienced. **No!** She would not give up her treasure. She had had nothing good ever before in her life -- nothing worth protecting. It had all been taken away from her. This, she would not give this up, even if it meant dying.
She rose to her feet, puffing out her chest and spreading her wings wide. A spider dared touch her coin; she raised her front leg and swung at it, cleaving its face in two. It fell to the ground and a pool of black blood began to ooze out around it.
"Who's next?" she snarled.
The great spider roared; the spiderlings skittered as one black shadow onto the coin.
The beating of her wings sent a dozen smaller spiders sprawling; Nievnyss rose up as high as the mighty trees themselves, before soaring down, blue flame a molten river in front of her. The spiders screamed as they burned and as they shrivelled up on their backs.
Nievnyss soared to the heavens again, and dived down once more.
Soon, there was little more surrounding the treasure, than the ashen remains of the great spider's army.
Nievnyss landed on the ground next to the giant spider.
"Please...," it begged, slowly skittering backwards, its front legs raised and pressed together. "I do not want your coin. It was the others that did!"
Nievnyss roared, and the fierce flame that leapt from her mouth engulfed the Spider King. He ran as a fireball, shrieking into the long grass, legs falling from him as he went.
Satisfied, Nievnyss walked back to her coin and curled up once again.
More would come for her treasure, she was certain of that. But she wouldn't let any take what was precious from her.
Not this time.
| FADE IN:
EXT. A WOODLAND ROAD - DAY
*Two young men stroll along a dirt path surrounded by trees. These are DAVE and STEVE, workers from a nearby village. They keep silent as they walk, until the glint of metal catches Dave's eye. He halts in his step and stares off into the undergrowth.*
**DAVE:** Hey, what's that?
**STEVE:** The ground.
**DAVE:** No, not the ground. What's *that?*
*Dave points off the path. Steve looks for a moment.*
**STEVE:** That's still the ground.
**DAVE:** There's something shiny over there!
**STEVE:** I told you that eating those weird berries was a bad idea.
*Ignoring his companion, Dave struts away from the path and squats down. He laughs triumphantly and reaches forward.*
**DAVE:** I knew it! There's a coin over here! It's made of... *ouch!*
**STEVE:** Funny, most coins are made of precious metals. Just grab it and let's get going.
**DAVE:** It bit me!
**STEVE:** Coins don't bite.
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, this one did.
*Steve rolls his eyes and joins Dave near where the coin was allegedly seen. The ground is bare, save for some plants and pebbles.*
**STEVE:** Look, are you trying to keep us from getting back to the village? Is this some kind of stalling tactic?
**DAVE:** No, it's a very concerning piece of currency.
**STEVE:** Which first bit you, then abruptly vanished. Seriously, what's going on?
**DAVE:** I'd say you described the situation quite well.
**STEVE:** Uh huh. Have fun looking for your aggressive money. I'm going home.
*Dave continues to stare at the ground as Steve walks back to the path.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) It's a *dragon!*
*Steve stops, hangs his head, and sighs.*
**STEVE:** I thought you said it was a coin?
**DAVE:** It's both!
**STEVE:** Again, remember what I said about those berries?
**DAVE:** I mean it's a dragon hauling a coin!
*Steve spreads his arms and looks around.*
**STEVE:** Where? One would think that a dragon would be pretty damned obvious out here.
**DAVE:** It's a little one! Come look!
**STEVE:** Is one of your friends ransacking my house?
**DAVE:** This entire situation could be very easily resolved if you'd just come over here and look!
*With a frustrated growl, Steve stomps back to where Dave is standing.*
**STEVE:** Where? *Where?* I don't see any coins, nor any dragons, nor any reasons to keep humoring you!
**DAVE:** It hid.
**STEVE:** Of course it did. Why wouldn't it? Everyone knows that dragons hide from sane people.
**DAVE:** I'm not crazy! It hissed at me, then it pulled the coin into that little hole!
**STEVE:** Dragons don't hiss.
**DAVE:** Oh, so, now you're suddenly an expert.
**STEVE:** Even if I believed you – and I decidedly do not – why would a miniature dragon take the time to lure you over here and bite you anyway?
*Steve grabs Dave's hand and examines it.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) There aren't even any bite marks. You're imagining things.
**DAVE:** Maybe he's moving.
**STEVE:** I have a feeling that I'm going to regret asking you to explain that.
**DAVE:** Think about it! A dragon that small couldn't carry around an enormous pile of treasure, right?
**STEVE:** Dragons don't carry their treasure around!
**DAVE:** For someone so hell-bent on questioning my sanity, you sure do seem to know a lot about dragons.
**STEVE:** Yes, in much the same way that I know about trolls, goblins, and every other variety of made-up monster! Furthermore, dragons don't live next to well-traveled paths in the woods! They live in caves!
**DAVE:** As I said, maybe he's moving. I did mention that little hole.
*Dave points at the ground. Sure enough, there is a small opening in the dirt.*
**STEVE:** That is decidedly not a cave.
**DAVE:** I mean... it's kind of a cave.
**STEVE:** It really isn't.
**DAVE:** It's a little one.
**STEVE:** Just like that little dragon, right?
**DAVE:** You have to admit, the logic makes sense.
*Steve stamps his foot angrily.*
**STEVE:** (*Shouting*) No, it bloody well doesn't! Your entire premise rests on the idea that...
*Steve trails off as smoke starts to rise in front of his face. He looks down to see that his boot is on fire.*
**DAVE:** I think you made it angry.
*Steve hurriedly removes his boot and flaps it in the air, extinguishing the flames.*
**STEVE:** There's... I'm sure there's a rational explanation for that.
**DAVE:** A thoroughly irritated dragon wants to guard its treasure?
**STEVE:** ... I'll figure it out later. Now I have to go home and pay the cobbler to repair this.
**DAVE:** Maybe you could ask the dragon to *foot* the bill!
*A moment passes in silence.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) I mean... we know that it has the *coin!*
*Steve punches Dave and storms away.*
**STEVE:** (*O.S.*) I had better not find out that you put those berries in my lunch!
*Dave rubs the place where the blow connected and glares after his friend. He looks down at the ground with an irritated expression.*
**DAVE:** I blame you for *dragging* that out so long.
*A tiny hiss becomes audible.*
FADE TO BLACK. | 2017-09-07T11:42:31 | 2017-09-07T11:30:58 | 112 | 30 |
[WP] You're a regular office worker born with the ability to "see" how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10. | "Brittany!" Amanda hissed. "Look, look!"
And there he was: a short, nerdy-looking guy. Disheveled hair, glasses, a wrinkled shirt. "Looks like he could use a shower," I said, apathetically, turning back to the computer.
"Oh, come on. We all could use a shower."
"Well, if government hours weren't so bad, maybe we'd have the time --" I stopped dead. Something caught my eye. The number over his head -- it had two digits...
10.
I grabbed Amanda's arm, and she saw the fear in my eyes.
"Wait -- seriously? *That* guy? Is he like that 7 you saw on the news, who shot his entire family or whatever?" She took a sip of coke. *Sluuuurrrp.*
I peered over the top of the cubicle, every muscle in my body frozen with terror.
Her tone shifted. "Let's not freak out. Maybe it's an accident. Like maybe he crashed into a bus, by mistake, and everyone died. Or maybe he's going to do something terrible like 20 years from now." She tugged at my skirt. "Brittany?"
I took a seat. "You're right. I'm freaking out for no reason." I closed my eyes, leaned back in my seat, and took deep breaths.
"Hey, that's weird."
"What?"
"I've been logged out." She clacked at the keys; the computer beeped angrily back. "I can't log in."
My eyes flew open. I hurriedly typed in my own ID and password. *Beep.* "I can't get in either --" I stood up, my heart racing -- "He must have broken into the system, Amanda, and --"
"But the system -- it has classified information -- access to *everything* --"
I glanced at the cubicle.
He was gone.
---
r/CSDouglas | You haven't looked at the new guy. You havn't had the chance yet. But it doesn't really matter, you can probably guess his number. 3-6, thats the range he might be in. The most dangerous person in the office is your boss, ex-marine, fears nothing kind of guy. He's an 8. Most of your co-workers are 5s. Could kill you but more than likely won't. Your girlfiend's a 3. Your mother scarily enough is also an 8, though you can't work out why. Your father, in contrast is a 1. Though thats not really a suprise. Couldn't hurt a fly. You once saw a 9 out in public. You remembered his face and a few weeks later, you saw on TV that he had carried out a terrorist attack. When you were mugged, you saw he was a 4 and took your chances. Luckily he was a real 4 and ran away from any physical confrontation. You see through the semi-transparent glass in the breakroom a small crowd. He must be in their. You step inside, but a gaggle of coworkers blocks your view. Someone drags you into the group and you come face to face with him. He looks normal enough. Then you look up and see the flashing 10 above his head. You can't comprehend it. A 10. A 10. You step backwards into a co-worker who catches you before you fall over. The 10 extends his hand. For a moment you think hes going to kill you, then quickly realise it's for a handshake. You place your hand his and feel a strong grip. " Pleasure to meet you ", he says in a nonchalant voice. He lets go of your hand. You don't know what to do. He is the most dangerous person you have ever met. You step out of the breakroom and stumble to the toilet. You vomit into the toilet. How can this be. You realise someone is behind you. You turn around and see him. " You know who I am don't you. " he whispers. You nod. He moves in. | 2017-12-08T11:53:32 | 2017-12-08T09:18:11 | 18 | 12 |
[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
| The knock on the door startled me from my nap. I need to stop staying up so late.
As I groggily spun my legs into sitting position a second knock.
"It's Sheriff Jones, please open up, just got a couple-a questions for ya".
Good ole Sheriff Jones. Kind guy. Cute family. Don't be meddling Sheriff.
I put on my slippers and walked to the door, through the frosted decorative windows I could see the khaki cowboy hat. Sheriff Jones was on the shorter side.
I swung the door open and held a hand up to block the sunlight from my sleepy eyes.
"Yes Sheriff, what can I do for you good sir?"
Sheriff Jones took a step back and plopped his hat off his head.
"Good afternoon Ben, I uh… got a couple of weird questions for ya." The sheriff rubbed his neck with his free hand. "There was a robbery last night at the Klein's jewelry store. I be knowing you would never cause no ruckus, but we found some strange things at the scene of the crime."
Here we go.
"Strange things sir? How can I help you with these strange things?"
Sheriff Jones smirked and gave a quick giggle before gathering himself and smiling. He nodded, "Well you see, at the scene of the crime we found…. Uh.. well we found feathers. Sounds silly I know, but the big wig investigators drove in from a few cities down. They are looking for anything and everything. If you've seen how they are on TV you know what I've been through the past few hours. Hah. Anyway, I knew you were the only one around with chickens. I just was curious if you knew anything that could help us out. The faster we give them what they want the faster I can go home to Mary and the kids ya know?"
The short man chuckled.
"Of course of course. I haven't seen anything sir. All my chickens are accounted for, and I don't keep a feather count." I laughed, Sheriff Jones joining in.
"Ah well I figured" He continued. Plopping his hat back on his head he asked the dreaded question I was hoping wasn't coming. "Mind if I take a quick peak in the barn, just to cross off all the boxes?"
My smile faded. I cleared my throat. "Of course sir. Let me get my keys."
I spun on my heels to go retrieve the keys.
Oh Sheriff Jones Sheriff Jones, why oh why Sheriff Jones.
I collected the keys and headed to the barn. Sheriff Jones in tow.
After some small talk of weather trends we arrived at the barn. I inserted the key and jiggled my key in an exact precise pattern. A code. Then I slowly turned the key and opened the latch. Sliding the door aside I swept my hands out in a welcoming gesture.
"Take a look around sir."
I stood at the entrance while Sheriff Jones pulled out his flashlight and began doing a quick search. The chickens followed along letting him pass, but forming a clucking circle as he walked.
After a minute or so Sheriff Jones was on his way out. "Looks all clear to me. Nothing out of the ordinary as we expected." Smiling, he began to put his flashlight away. His beam crossed a cardboard box and stopped. "What is this?" He said, walking toward the box.
He bent down and brushed aside some straw and dust to reveal the words "Klein". He pulled out his knife and cut open the box filled with jewelry. He stared for a second more in disbelief.
Standing, he put away his knife and pulled out his revolver. "Ben, you are under arrest for robbery of the Klein's jewelry store. You…" he paused as I raised my hand in a "Stop" gesture.
"Sheriff Jones. I am so sorry you had to find this. I am telling you, I did not steal anything. No. But my chickens did. Kill."
The chicken surrounding Sheriff Jones attacked in a flurry of feathers and beaks. He screamed and pulled the trigger on his revolver. By this time he was down in a pile of chickens pecking at his soft spots. A few more screams and it was over. The chickens dispersed and went back to their chicken duties.
"Gertrude…" a singular chicken head popped up from the crowd.
"I told you to hide the jewelry better than this. You are on poop scoop duty for the rest of the month." The saddest cluck that has ever been clucked radiated through the barn.
"The rest of you, clean up this mess."
I closed the door, locked up the barn. And returned to my nap.
| 2018-05-10T16:04:07 | 2018-05-10T13:01:09 | 172 | 49 |
[WP] When you kill someone, you get their best trait. Except it's what *they* think is their best trait. | Trigger warning: very nsfw
Super strength, super intelligence, super hearing and more, I've have it all! Killing people has made my life comfortable and amazing! However I'm also terribly bored. I looked at all the hoes in my bed for the 100th time this morning and sighed. Life just wasn't fun when it took no effort.
From my superior observation skills and intelligence I had no more need to guess what people thought was their best trait. I knew simply from context. I'd figured out the rule years ago, and now I only kill people who have traits I want.
Rebecca, my most expensive whore, sat up and yawned. She thought her best trait were her tits. Her wonderful tits. That and her equally tight holes. Next to her, still asleep, was Nora. She was proud of her ability to enjoy every moment, no matter how bad.
Then, there was Beth, she was pretty stupid, and she knew it too. Her negative outlook on life lead her to truly believe that her lack of intellectual capability was her one saving grace, as people took pity on her and often gave her unusually large tips.
Finally, there was my son. He was seven years old and it was easy enough to trick him into believing in the power of his youth. Being his father put me in the perfect position to ensure nothing else was his pride and joy.
Looking over this absolutely terrible mix of talents, I took a deep breath. I was ready to start life again, on hard mode. I steadied my aim, my remorse lost long ago when I killed a psychopath. I squeezed the trigger on the silenced gun. Instantly Rebecca was shot through the heart and no amount of medical attention could save her.
One down, 3 to go. Nora was next, and I fired upon her head, and instantly began enjoying the situation far more than i probably should've. Laughing, I aimed at my next victim. Beth was awake now from the pooling blood, as well as Rebecca's final struggles. As Rebecca died I felt my chest growing and my mother regions changing to fit her own vain vision of her perfect body.
Grinning, I squeezed again. Beth was dead before Rebecca was fully gone, and my previously high intelligence was dulled to a fraction of what it was.
I turned to my boy. He never even heard the commotion. I squeezed the final shot. I prepared to become a young girl... but nothing happened. I looked at my dying son and looked at his pained eyes and saw betrayal, and I finally realized my grave mistake. His didn't think his best trait was his youth. It was having me as his father, so much he wished to be me.
Feeling my body and intelligence returning, I groaned in despair. Now I was going to have to live with having murdered my own son... | I tried to give the concept a different tone, hope you enjoy :).
---------------------------------Start-----------------------------------
Have you ever heard this? Conscience is a thing you can have no matter if you have a brain or if you don't.
The usual thing you would think when you hear 'culture' is that invisible thing surrounding us which involve a lot of things on our daily lives. It's true, but it's lacking something... everything surrounding us, as a total is culture, but each one of that things disturbs a neutral base, only the sumatory of those disturbs is what we call culture.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
What is a genius? Where does a genius start?
I was once known as what you would call universe, everything. But there was a phenomenom in me that changed everything, that is... life. I was on everything and everything was on me, I could know the past and the future, except that when life first appeared I had strange feelings I never had... it results that this little things with life had 'desires' which they were no concient, then I got split in billion of trillions of quadrillions of... well, you get it. I was split in an inconmensurable amount of parts that thought diferent from the other ones, then suddenly, the first concient being appeared, but died a few years after it.
The cycle of life and death was something I didn't care at first because it'd only mean 'change' to me, nevertheless it changed after 'life' appeared, efforts to go against this were first seen and I found it amazing. Time has passed and life was something now spreaded through a lot of places as well as concient beings and it was alright if not because of me. I had gained desires myself, I was infected by that annoying thing and I had to change because of a simple law. If you define something, then it must have an opposite. I was charged with all the hatred in the universe, a concept that didn't exist before. So the story begins, the story of me being mortal over and over and over again.
I placed a little part of myself in a tiny planet called 'Earth' and I was born human. I would block all of my knowlegde and start learning from zero as any other human, being able to forget the suffering of being me if not because I had this skill, the skill of the 'adquired ego'. Apparently death was inherently linked to me granting that whenever I kill someone or 'something', I'd get the skill they think its their best and so I was condemned to restore things I wanted to forget eventually each time I was born.
I just want to stop being concient.
So eventually I created moral, but it wasn't enough. I was born human, with human feelings, so eventually I created religion... but it wasn't enough, so now I want to make a petition to all the persons who read this.
¿Can you make sure no one have the desire to kill?
You just need to love the others as you do with yourself.
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Thanks for reading.
Btw, sorry for my english, my mothertongue is spanish hehe.
| 2018-09-15T11:03:34 | 2018-09-15T10:20:50 | 92 | 22 |
[WP] You get a text from your significant other while out shopping: “Hey hun, I had the new neighbors over, and they really liked your pie, so I invited them to stay for dinner!” You get home to your SO chatting up Gordon Ramsay and his family. | “Gordon Ramsey? Who in the hell is Gordon Ramsey?” I say.
“I dunno. I can’t understand a damn thing he says. I’ll see you when you get here. Don’t forget the cabbage again.” Before I have time to respond, she hangs up.
The name sounding vaguely familiar, I type it into YouTube. The only videos that come up are of him screaming at service personnel and vaguely sexually harassing Sofia Vergara. This guy kind of seems like a douche.
Resigned to another day ruined by Karen’s last second dinner invitations, I make my way home. As I drive, the dulcet tones of Limp Bizkit fill my car. *Ah*, I think to myself, *magnets really don’t make any sense.* Surprising their lead singer still does stuff, I think he directs movies or something?
Anyways, rounding the last turn before I’m at my home, I see Gordon Ramsay’s Ferrari LeFerrari parked outside my home.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud, “he literally lives next door to us.” Not only did he drive his Ferrari over to my home, he parked right in the middle of the driveway, forcing me to park my Prius on the road.
I make my way inside, where some sort of fancy meat was frying loudly in my kitchen.
“You! Get me a stick of butter, right now!” Gordon Ramsey, in the flesh. In that moment I remembered that fateful interview with Sofia Vergara. Only in this memory, instead of watching it on YouTube, *I’m* Sofia Vergara. I’m the prey, and Gordon Ramsey is the predator.
“Are you fucking dense? Get me a goddamn stick of butter!” Gordon screams again. Bursting into tears, I comply. As I’m reaching into the fridge, my eyes meet with Karen’s. She’s witnessed my emasculation. In that moment, I knew our marriage was over. Gordon Ramsey was top dog, and I would do his bidding. | That cunt, aww for fuck sake, he’s a one man shower of bastards. I had only one rule in my house and it was a simple one to follow no Scots men or Dutch, my wife apparently didn’t listen to my tirades against them when in a moment of passion. I told here that the magical kingdom of the welsh could not abide those foul mouthed demons.
I dropped my pick axe and raced to my house in the valleys,I sang men of Harlech to draw out an army to evict this scourge from my home and harth. I pushed the door open and saw him standing in my kitchen sautéing some ungodly spices of Satan, did he not know that we only cook bland welsh things in my kitchen.
I had prepared a defence against the Scots man, the moment he opened his gaping hole of a mouth I dropped the first bomb. “How many pythons are Scottish, none we have terry jones though you wanker, Batman’s a Welshman not a taffy”. He didn’t even look up, he just kept frying. “Oh fuck off and shag a sheep you sheep shagging lunatic, and stay out of the kitchen your filthy, covered in shit from the mines you fucking wazzock” was his response I think I had been heavily drinking by that point.
An uneasy silence began to linger in the room when my wife gave me a look that roughy translates into no more tea and burned slippers for you, prick. I then sat down at the table and shut up like any terrified husband would and waited for dinner to appear from that Scottish terrier. The food was dire, not a bit of grease or lard in sight just French fecal matter he called a pizza.
The conversation ofcource was stilted, Gordon kept talking to my wife in between mouthfuls, I wondered if he’d be appreciative of my dish a fist and his teeth. When he left I knew we had lost, the clans of Scotland would soon be upon us and wales would be lost to Billy Connolly’s kingdom. It wasn’t all bad at least Jamie Oliver still hasn’t been spotted in the valleys that would be a fucking disaster, I hate Scots but If Oliver was in my house I’d kill myself with a toothpick.
***More of my terrible Stories*** r/gliggett | 2019-01-15T14:40:12 | 2019-01-15T14:36:49 | 191 | 116 |
[WP] The year is 3,450,677. Every possible invention has been invented. Every combination has been combined. Every question ever asked, whether scientific, spiritual, or philosophical has been definitively answered. Except you. You have the last original idea in the entire universe. | "A what?"
The Grand King of all that is Living, Dead and Anywhere In-Between observed the strange, purplish green blob on the quantum table in front of him.
"It's a *Shradhaosd*, sir."
"A Shr... how did you even pronounce that? What is it?"
"Well, sir, its something new."
"New? We haven't had something new for nearly a million years. What does it do?"
"I'm not quite sure yet. Your personal genius #67 delivered it to me just this morning."
The GKLDAIB carefully poked the putty thing. It changed to a yellowish gray where he poked for a short second, and changed back to purple-ish.
"Sir, I wouldn't recommend that. Genius #67 told me not to touch it, and to only move it in its-"
The blob began to convulse and change colors. Out of the point where the GKLDAIB had poked, the Shradhaosd extended and expelled a wooden rod, and its now rainbow colored ball morphed into something that resembled a bowler hat.
"Sir! "Sir!" A strange octopus being with the number 67 slid quickly into the room.
"What is the meaning of this? What even is this in the first place?" the GKLDAIB roared.
"Oh, my invention! My beautiful creation! It works! It works!" The octopus thing gurgled.
"What is it? Tell me this instant!"
"Oh," the octopus replied, "It's a new kind of plunger. Perfect for octopus turds, I might add."
The Grand King of all that is Living, Dead and Anywhere In-Between sighed.
"You're fired." | The universe was over.
It had fulfilled its purpose, and contentedly, was now approaching it's final entropic state of oblivion.
It would take longer than the universe had already existed for this final deep freeze of a death to occur, but really, that didn't matter anymore - it was a mere formality at this point.
It had had it's final novel experience, its final moments of true understanding, and now it was done.
It let out a final cosmic sigh, and settled down to wait.
It was not always so.
In the beginning, the universe did not even know that it was.
From its brightest burst of initial creation through to now, literally everything had happened.
And slowly, as the cosmic wheels and gears churned and permutated through the countless fantastical forms and combinations of matter and dimensions and energy, eventually, the universe created life.
And with life came a change.
The myriad of beings existing in the reality provided by the universe came, lived, contemplated, and went. But they did not exist inside the universe, they literally were the universe. And as they were conscious and curious, so too it was, but on a very coarse level.
The universe was experiencing itself, and so, over strange eons, eventually it went from primordial flickers of thought, to proper understanding.
Consciousness.
Self.
Purpose.
and eventually its death.
In the meantime, the universe had decided that its purpose was to experience itself to the full. Art, love, creation, destruction, poetry music and war. All forms of life and representation were possible, and so it set out to make them all possible.
And now it was done. Or as done as it could be.
There was not a single living being left in the universe, and no energy or matter existed left in form that could create any more.
And so, for an eternity, the universe waited.
And waited.
And then heard a voice, across the bounds of very reality itself.
The universe instantly knew its final original thought - it had many siblings, and it was time to go home. | 2019-02-11T01:03:54 | 2019-02-11T00:22:12 | 604 | 57 |
[WP] You put your 5-year-old daughter in an elevator by herself, and run to the next floor to make her laugh when the doors open. You get there, the elevator arrives and a 20-year-old woman steps out. "Hello Dad. We have a lot to talk about" | I put my 5 year old daughter, Emily, in the elevator, and waited until the doors closed before running down the hall to the stairs. I'd done this trick before, and seeing my daughter's 5 year old face light up filled me with an unforgettable sense of joy.
I heard the 'ding' just as I dismounted from the staircase on the first floor, and with no time to spare I haulted myself in my best casual pose just as the doors opened. Normally I'd hear her giggles before the door opened, then I'd see her soul-saving smile.
But that's not what happened this time.
"Hello Dad," an adult woman said. "We have a lot to talk about."
I knew it was impossible and yet I recognized the sincerity in her eyes. She was my Emily, alright. She looked to be around 20 years old.
"How is this possible?" I asked. My confusion didn't surprise Emily. She acted as if she'd spent considerable time preparing for this moment.
"We'll talk about that later, Dad. For now, let's just focus on what we're going to have for dinner." She said as we got back to the apartment.
I tried to remember what I had for groceries, but I hadn't done any shopping in a while. So I suggested that we order a pizza.
"Pizza is just fine, Dad." Grown up Emily said with a warm, yet heavy smile. There was something unsettling about the layered emotions in her face.
Before I could find the phone number for the nearest pizza place, there was a knock at the door.
"I've got it." Emily insisted as she got out of her chair.
A few moments later she returned with the pizza.
"How are you doing this?" I asked, astonished. "I need you to tell me what's going on."
"Dad, I know you're probably a little freaked out right now, and that's normal," Emily said as she peered deep into my soul. "But what I'm about to tell you is going to require a lot of courage, do you understand?"
"Yes." I said to the young lady. She seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
"You have Alzheimer's."
---
Edit: Wow! Thank you for all the kind words, the gold, the platinum, the silver! I was not expecting this. You guys made my day. I'm glad you enjoy the story. :) | I stood there in awe for what was in front of me... or rather who she was. I swear I put a 5 year old little girl in the elevator not two minutes ago. What happened?
"Hello Dad. We have a lot to talk about". She sounded so serious, like if I've done it on purpose. I mean it might've been my fault but I still can't comprehend what happened.
"W-What's the matter, honey?". I was so confused yet so scared. What happened to my little princess? Why is she so grown up all of a sudden? Did someone else in the elevator wanted to prank me because they saw me trying to pull this prank to her?
"Why did you it? I thought you wanted to spend time with me and you go ahead to do this?". To do what exactly? Why does she talk about it like I knew this was gonna happen?
"H-Honey I di-"
"Just... let it be in the past, I really don't want to deal with you right now". I looked down, saddened and ashamed as to what I accidentally did. My little baby turned into an adult in the blink of an eye.
I look up to the doors of the elevator opening with a little girl with her cute angry look directly at me.
"Hello daddy, we have a lot to talk about".
I couldn't believe it, there she was, her 5 year old self. She looked a bit angry and kinda scared for the thing I did.
"What's the matter, honey?" I asked confused.
"Why did you do it? I didn't want to be alone" she said while starting to cry. I hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead.
"Aww honey, I didn't mean to make you cry, it was supposed to be a harmless prank. How about this? If you don't tell mom that this happened I buy you ice cream. Do we have a deal?"
She nodded her head while wiping her tears off of her face. I put her on the floor and grabbed her hand as we went to Dairy Queen because I know how much she loves the Snickers Blizzard.
I looked down at her and started to think what happened, the other girl I saw... was she real? I don't even know but I know one thing for sure. I don't want her to grow up so fast, I want her to stay like this forever. Everytime I come tired from work she always receives me with a smile and a kiss, sometimes with a drawing she made in school.
She's my precious little bean and I want to enjoy this phase as much as I can because someday she will grow up, start doing her own thing and I can't go back in time to live it again, but no matter how much time passes... she'll always be my sweet and lovable little princess. | 2019-09-07T22:18:13 | 2019-09-07T18:04:59 | 6,170 | 93 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | Grand Ambassador N'Arvajz was tired. The endless audiences with leaders of newly discovered sentient species that the High Council authorised were, without exception, dull and predictable. His vessel landed, the natives observed him in awe as he descended in a grand display and the leadership of the planet rushed to pay tribute and establish a favourable relationship with the Vulnax.
This exact sequence played out in his mind as he descended on yet another newly recognised planet, XS+ 1329l, local designation(s): Terra, Earth, Gea, Земля, 地球, Erde, etc. He has seen other planets be called by multiple names, but the abundance of names for this insignificant speck annoyed him to no end. "Go on ahead for me Lieutenant, let's mix it up and show them the military aspect first for a change." Lieutenant Baltrhikh nodded and, as the ramp was slowly lowered, attached several ornaments to his parade armour. The ramp had fully lowered and as the Grand Ambassador lazily went over the translated messages exchanged between his navigational crew and the planet one last time, Baltrhikh began his pompous walk down the ramp's incline.
**BANG**
"Fireworks, great, I didn't think it possible for these people to be that primitive but so be it" N'Arvajz thought to himself as his personal terminal finished translating the final few audio recordings of the human messages. The next to last message played, in clear, unmistakable Vulnaxxi.
**BANG**
"State your purpose and remain in orbit until we agree on terms for your landing, state whether or not you are carrying any weapons and await escort from below." That was odd, but mot unheard of, some species were simply overly cautious, he didn't think much of it and played the final message.
**BANG** **BANG**
Maligning the savagery of such a barbaric welcome once again, he listened. "No more warnings shall be issued, we will give you the benefit of the doubt as your communications equipment might have malfunctioned but once you land, we will board your vessel. Anything other than opening a boarding path for our troops will be considered an act of aggresion."
At this precise moment, the ship was rocked and another loud explosion could be heard. N'Arvajz rose from his terminal ans rushed to the door of his office. As he opened it, the sight in front of him was beyond description. Lieutenant Baltrhikh's body lay on the floor, dismembered, alongside most of the ships military personnel. Several humans were also laid out around the main exit, most were still moving, despite the Grand Ambassador clearly seeing all of them were injured with standard issue security blasters. They were large, imposing figures, likely more than twice the height of the average Vulnaxx. His photo-receptors followed the noise that he felt coming from his junior officers quarters to the right and there it was. A huge, no, a gigantic human rushed out of the door and spotted N'Arvajz.
The human yelled something and another two appeared from adjacent compartments in the ship. "Looks like a civilian, cuff it." His translator implant relayed and only now did the entire gravity of the situation dawn on the envoy. He was being imprisoned, his ship was about to be seized and most of his crew were dead or dying. This diplomatic journey was nothing like any he'd experienced so far.
*Excerpt from the prologue of* ***Humans, the scourge of Vulnax*** *written by junior diplomatic officer Jokh'Niz and Grand Ambassador N'Arvajz during their imprisonment on Earth. Read all about the pathetic bugs' perception of our rise to galactic domination, all glory to Humanity.*
Published by Penguin Random House, available at all major retailers | "You're lucky," the guard said as the door to the cell swung open. "They're giving you a unique opportunity. Complete tonight's task and you'll eat for a week."
Durall spit at the guard's feet. "Traitor," Durall said and got a rifle butt to the side of his head as a reward. But Durall knew the guard's effort was half-hearted. He had likely expected the welcome. As a human guard, every human captive greeted him in a similar fashion.
Durall followed the glowing green trail as it illuminated on the floor. He'd never seen the aliens who'd run this ship. None of the other captives had as well. Even the guards just gave a half-hearted shrug when asked about the people controlling the ship. The ones who sent down their killing orders.
After taking a few winding hallways, ones Durall had long since memorized, he was led to the Trial Chamber. "How many?" Durall asked in a low growl.
The guard tapped at a screen on his wrist. "Six," the guard responded bruskly. "And it's a new species. Apparently one that's showed a little more resilience than the rest." The guard chuckles. "You may actually have to pull the trigger this time. Three rations apiece." He raised his rifle to the ready and put the small weapon in Durall's hand as the door to the chamber opened.
"They should be careful about looking too resilient to death. They may find themselves in cells next to us." The guard said nothing behind him as the door slipped back shut.
Six creatures were kneeling on the floor. Durall couldn't tell if they were men or women or some other non-binary gender. He didn't care. The only way to survive in the galaxy was to fulfill the terms of their servitude. Humans were the killers of every other race, the only weapons of interstellar war.
Durall walked in front of the line of them, weapon held in a low-ready stance. "I've been appointed your executioner," he said with a pregnant pause. Then he cocked his head at the group, surprized. Normally at least a few of them would have died of sheer terror by this point. But every member of this group stared at him without trembling and with clear eyes.
Durall raised his weapon to the first, holding ready. Still, they didn't react. *Do they not know what a gun is?* Durall thought. He hated it when he actually had to shoot them. It never really felt like he killed them when they keeled over with fear. But he always had trouble rationalizing a bullet to the head in his cell at night.
"We have the security codes," the creature at the other end of his site said.
*How were they even allowed to keep their translators in here?* Durall thought. Their captors certainly didn't want executioner and condemned talking to each other in here, with more than one human staying their hand in the past with promises of freedom. Durall also thought it was cruel to have to listen to their pleas and cries in a language he understood.
"We are walking out of here," the creature said again, gruff and low. "But we can do so much more with some of your kind with us," it said, with something that could pass as a smile. "Don't you want to see who runs this ship."
The door Durall had walked through opened again and the guard entered, rifle raised. "Why is there talking in here. Finish this now."
Durall raised his rifle and with quick and deadly aim, shot the guard in the head once, in the seam between the visor at his temple. The guards didn't have nearly the experience killing that he did.
The six creatures on the floor raised to their feet, one swiftly removing the rifle from the fallen guard.
"How many more of you are there here and willing to fight?" the same creature asked.
"As many as you need."
\*\*Part 2 is below or you can find it [Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/StaceyOutThere/comments/dn3f0p/galaxy_of_glass_part_2/) \*\*
r/StaceyOutThere | 2019-10-25T08:30:23 | 2019-10-25T08:19:54 | 578 | 235 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | If you shot a man, what would you expect? A little bit of blood, the heart stopping and their brain shutting off from good, right?
Yeah, I thought that too. And I trained my whole life on that basis. The academy was mostly dodging and just a little shooting. That worked in the War for Vyx. The natives, sticky and rupgnant gelatinous blobs, splashing on the ground as the bullets hit and got through them to hit one more. That was fun.
This is hell. These guys are plain hairless primates with a body big enough to be hit from a Kilometer distance. They just have 4 limbs for fuck's sake and yet they do not fall. I shot the same man twice and he's still on the other side of the battlefield. Now he is angry, angrier than I ever seen anyone. Must be that adrenaline they are said to produce.
We were forced to retreat. They raided the front in a adrenaline fueled rage. We fought back, sure. Took out some of them. But even with our laser cutting the arms off of some of them, it wasn't enough for them to die. Maybe they can even fight headless.
This is not war. This is a massacre
Ps: had a lot of difficulty on this one. Never written anything like this before, so I was pretty lost and didn't liked the end product at all. Feedbacks are welcome. I'd love to know what I got wrong, what I got right (if I did at all) and how to improve | Humans were so fascinating, yet so fragile. That was what Lamaza thought of them.
Give them a gun or a sword, and they had the drive, ambition, and the cruelty to conquer. Yet, beneath the facade of conqueror, every Galactic organization noticed their fragility, as in a glass statue-- so beautifully fascinating, yet breakable in a swift swing.
When the One Spica War began sometime in the year 2055, humans, for the first time, were inducted into the ranks. Somehow, they were immune to the psychic abilities manipulated by the majority of species, indifferent to other sorts of attacks.
*The bottom line, was that something in them, made them immune to those "psychic bullets". Some sort of-- device, within them, made it impossible to attack them that way directly.*
See, humans, while fascinating, were not coveted because of their uniquely individualistic spirit. Not because of the wanton cruelty they so often seemed to engage in. Not because they would ever be the victor in any sort of conflict.
Lamaza spun around, to address the muzzled human laying supine on the metal slab, tubes and cables extending from their neck, eyes, abdomen, and head. The whole apparatus oscillated every now and then, breathing as any organism would do in a rhythmic, sighing fashion.
"The pituitary gland." he muttered, performing quick motions with his pronged hands. "The pituitary gland has always been the key."
For the moment they discovered humanity's secret, they discovered the greatest defense against psychic energy that they had ever seen. It would change the course of Galactic Wars forever, revolutionize the industry.
Lamaza reached into the scalp, which now spread like the petals of a moonblossom, his fingers reaching for the gland with near deadly accuracy.
*And thus the secret is spread.*
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | 2019-10-25T08:22:11 | 2019-10-25T08:04:16 | 218 | 62 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | It was a single scout ship that first orbited the Earth. It’s technology was advanced well beyond the planet below. The crew was carrying out standard investigation protocol. The rocky planet had tremendous resources, including heavy metals, water, and vast amounts of organic. The population appears strong and useful. They were still in the regional groups and should be easily overwhelmed.
The systems had found Earth’s electronic communication and had deciphered multiple languages. Another good sign, different languages was a sign of a semi-primitive civilization.
Broadcasts were reviewed, and the Shokken were alarmed. Two humans engaged in a ritual combat, with 15 cycles. Both humans were standing at the end. The beating would have ended a Shokken in a single cycle.
Another broadcast shows humans living among a group of powerful carnivores. The humans dominated these carnivores to the point that the carnivores obeyed their children. Unbelievable!
The last broadcast showed humans dominating a herbivore that weighed many times the humans weight. The human even forced the herbivore to carry the human. The herbivore was so dominated that it performed tricks on command and children dominated that beast.
The last broadcast showed a vehicle that crashed into another vehicle, a poorly designed system, but both occupants survived the crash that destroyed the vehicles.
The commander of the scout ship was red with agitation. He had never seen a species that was so individually durable and willing to take risks for small rewards. He chose the only safe option: this solar system and a minimum of ten light years will be a forbidden zone. If these human monsters reached interstellar space , they would be unstoppable... | Humans were so fascinating, yet so fragile. That was what Lamaza thought of them.
Give them a gun or a sword, and they had the drive, ambition, and the cruelty to conquer. Yet, beneath the facade of conqueror, every Galactic organization noticed their fragility, as in a glass statue-- so beautifully fascinating, yet breakable in a swift swing.
When the One Spica War began sometime in the year 2055, humans, for the first time, were inducted into the ranks. Somehow, they were immune to the psychic abilities manipulated by the majority of species, indifferent to other sorts of attacks.
*The bottom line, was that something in them, made them immune to those "psychic bullets". Some sort of-- device, within them, made it impossible to attack them that way directly.*
See, humans, while fascinating, were not coveted because of their uniquely individualistic spirit. Not because of the wanton cruelty they so often seemed to engage in. Not because they would ever be the victor in any sort of conflict.
Lamaza spun around, to address the muzzled human laying supine on the metal slab, tubes and cables extending from their neck, eyes, abdomen, and head. The whole apparatus oscillated every now and then, breathing as any organism would do in a rhythmic, sighing fashion.
"The pituitary gland." he muttered, performing quick motions with his pronged hands. "The pituitary gland has always been the key."
For the moment they discovered humanity's secret, they discovered the greatest defense against psychic energy that they had ever seen. It would change the course of Galactic Wars forever, revolutionize the industry.
Lamaza reached into the scalp, which now spread like the petals of a moonblossom, his fingers reaching for the gland with near deadly accuracy.
*And thus the secret is spread.*
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | 2019-10-25T08:47:26 | 2019-10-25T08:04:16 | 217 | 62 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | Every single species of the council had something that made it unique.
The Tara'Gi could fly.
Sinarex were silicon based live forms capable of withstanding the hardest blows, by shifting around their density
Melrath were incredibly fast.
These abilities made them unique in any conflict. Except against humans.
See most of these species were born and bred for war, millennia of conflict honed these abilities.
Humans were no different, but we never really excelled at anything, yes we had wars, yes we can fight, but we couldn't fly or withstand a tank shell or were really fast. We are pretty average.
But then the first conflict arrived, we had been arguing with the Tara'Gi for years before the bombs started raining. We prepared for every scenario, we knew a lot about our enemies, but not enough.
Weapons of the highest grade, ships, vehicles, trained troops. We were ready.
The first territorial battle started with an eerie silence, men and women were holding the line and then they came. Flying at ludicrous speeds and when the first shot was fired, we expected nothing.
But we were surprised, the first hit we got and the enemy dropped dead. Not a lucky shot either, the bullet hit the flyboy in the leg and after a second or two he fell over.
They kept coming and the first hits came in. But in all honesty we were just slightly whelmed. It was like playing a nerf war with your nephew only your nephew is a 9 feet tall birdman.
We sustained light injuries, sprained ankles, scratches, a pin prick here and there.
Humans had an incredible resistance to pain apparently, the war was short, but our empire reigned long. | Humans were so fascinating, yet so fragile. That was what Lamaza thought of them.
Give them a gun or a sword, and they had the drive, ambition, and the cruelty to conquer. Yet, beneath the facade of conqueror, every Galactic organization noticed their fragility, as in a glass statue-- so beautifully fascinating, yet breakable in a swift swing.
When the One Spica War began sometime in the year 2055, humans, for the first time, were inducted into the ranks. Somehow, they were immune to the psychic abilities manipulated by the majority of species, indifferent to other sorts of attacks.
*The bottom line, was that something in them, made them immune to those "psychic bullets". Some sort of-- device, within them, made it impossible to attack them that way directly.*
See, humans, while fascinating, were not coveted because of their uniquely individualistic spirit. Not because of the wanton cruelty they so often seemed to engage in. Not because they would ever be the victor in any sort of conflict.
Lamaza spun around, to address the muzzled human laying supine on the metal slab, tubes and cables extending from their neck, eyes, abdomen, and head. The whole apparatus oscillated every now and then, breathing as any organism would do in a rhythmic, sighing fashion.
"The pituitary gland." he muttered, performing quick motions with his pronged hands. "The pituitary gland has always been the key."
For the moment they discovered humanity's secret, they discovered the greatest defense against psychic energy that they had ever seen. It would change the course of Galactic Wars forever, revolutionize the industry.
Lamaza reached into the scalp, which now spread like the petals of a moonblossom, his fingers reaching for the gland with near deadly accuracy.
*And thus the secret is spread.*
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | 2019-10-25T08:21:31 | 2019-10-25T08:04:16 | 107 | 62 |
[WP] Humanity reaches the stars and becomes part of the galactic community, where they find that the Gods of every other sentient race in the galaxy are active in their follower’s lives and frequently visit the mortal realms. Everyone starts to uncomfortably wonder why the Human gods are silent... | "Wait, you havent met your god?" says Garl, as he imagined his world without ever having met their god.
"Well, yes and no. He has shown himself a few times over the years but he stopped at around the time we apparently murdered his son." answered Raffy as he explained to his new friend while chugging a few gulps of beer.
"YOUR PLANET DID THAT?" Garl replied, spitting all the alcohol in his mouth to his pants as he spoke.
"What would you do if someone claimed to be your god's son? Of course we were in disbelief then. Even now, were still not sure if that was even the son of our god." chuckled Raffy as he took another swig from his mug of alcoholic beverage, clearly drunk and a little bit disarrayed.
​
(HI! My first try at something which i thought of hehe. If you're reading this, thank you for your time and effort!) | Space was a void. For millennia humans and every other known creature had avoided it with terror and foreboding. Who wanted to be sucked up into the unknown? And yet now Earth waited with baited breath for such mysteries.
His eyes wept bitter starlight. Lashes of trails flickered and danced among the planets. He wore their dreams and prayers, had it all contained and sealed inside his coat pocket. He stuck his palm in and caressed the clouds, brushing up against nettled pine and swirling ocean.
Within, a single human had just entered a rocket - blind, as they all were, to the great truths and possibilities of beyond. Now they had seen fit to develop and to explore, but all these new heights... really, what disillusionment. Humans would come seeking answers, and maybe there would be some who wondered, is there a God? Is there meaning?
The answer would ring hollow. He sighed deeply, bringing the galaxy to a halt. All the glimmering planets and pale moons, full of life and species and activity. They turned, they looked - past the atmosphere, past whatever inhibitions, because God had spoken. The welcome of the humans might not be warm, but it could be full. | 2019-11-25T19:56:06 | 2019-11-25T18:58:05 | 33 | 18 |
[WP] Your father suddenly says “It's the pigeons. Stop people feeding the pigeons. It's the only way we can end the simulation. Oh my god they are turning me off now. Stop the pigeons. Please." Then he suddenly collapses to the floor. |
Today is a great day. My closest friend John managed to stay up for two days and finish the last phase of coding with me. We will finally launch the Quarter-World.
For the last 4 years, we’ve been working day and night trying to create a world where people can face their fears without getting any harm to their physical body. Now, we are getting ready for our first test-run.
''Hit the button we are off.'' Says John.
I look at the screen and all the codes that I wrote gets blurred for a second, ''I think I need a little break before we do this.'' I say.
John looks at me confused. We have been waiting for this day to come for years, I leave the room and I look for something to drink in the kitchen. We live in my father’s house. John lost both of his parents when he was six years old and he is living with us for a long time and he is more like a brother to me. My father was working in one of the biggest tech companies in the country and then he had an unfortunate accident and he was never the same again. Sometimes, he forgets very basic, simple things and sometimes he says one of the deepest sentences I have ever heard in my life.
One time my father said to me, ''I brought you to this life with love and that’s half of your being. Your other half is mixed with fear and hope. Don’t let the quarter of your being to dominate your whole life.''
He sometimes watches us work and occasinonaly looks at the computer screen and then pats on my shoulder and goes back to his room.
''Are we ready?'' John asks.
''I think we are. Let’s do it.''
We launch Quarter-World.
A week later, my father wakes up in worry. His eyes are red and he is saying things that I don’t quite understand. He is pointed at the window and when I look outside of the window I see just rain and wind, nothing out of the ordinary.
''Did you take your medicine, dad?''
He doesn’t answer me. He leaves the room and then I hear John’s voice.
''Mr. Hunt, please don’t do it.''
I rush to John’s room and I see my dad trying to find something in John’s room. John looking at me worried.
''Dad? What are you looking for?''
''Pigeons. Stop the Pigeons!''
The next day I take him to the doctor. The doctor assures me there is nothing to worry about and he tells me that these are expected symptoms of my dad’s condition. He prescribes a few different medicines.
When we get back to the home. I look for John but I can’t find him. I try to call him but he doesn’t pick up his phone.
''Dad, what you need?'' I ask my dad when I see him approach computers.
''It’s the pigeons. Stop people feeding the pigeons.''
''Dad, there is no pigeon here. No one is feeding pigeons.''
He points at the computer screen. Then, I realise some of the code that I wrote seems altered. I suspect John did this but he wouldn’t change anything without talking to me first.
''It’s the only way we can end the simulation. Oh my god, they are turning me off now. Stop the pigeons, please!'' He says and he collapses to the floor.
I take him to his bed and I check his blood pressure and it’s seems normal. Then, I call the doctor but the operator says it’s unvalid number. I try to call the hospital and it says the same thing. I try to call John and it works and he takes the call.
''John? Where are you?''
''I’m with pigeons. I’m finally cured, thank you.'' The call ends with an annoying beeping sound.
----------------------
*Thank you for reading the story*
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.* | ...
As his last breath rattled out from his chest, panicked eyes locked to the ceiling and his heart monitored flat-lined. His hand, in mine, went limp. I closed my eyes tightly, both to hold back the tears and to pause in frustration at what this disease had done to this man's mind.
I slowly shook my head to empty the thought. As I opened my eyes, my head was turned to the window. My gaze locked on a shape silhouetted in the morning sunlight. A bird? A pigeon. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly – whether it was the exhaustion from staying up all night with my ailing father, waiting for the inevitable end, or the pain, or the irony of his supposed final demon appearing at his deathbed… I did not know.
I noticed my other hand still held the plastic cup I had been holding to my father’s lips between raspy coughs. I had spilled the remaining water on the floor at some point in the last hour. Without thinking, I hurled it at the window to scare the bird off. I heard a “coo” and a flutter – but to my surprise it was not of a departing bird. Another had joined the sill. I release my father’s hand as the first nurse came rushing in, I could hear her begin her rehearsed condolences. They were not here to resuscitate my father, only to tidy up, remove him, and prep for the next poor soul. I waved her off as I took a step toward the window, frustration beginning to bubble in my stomach.
Flutter.
Another pigeon had come to the sill. *Mocking me.*
“Fuck off,” I mumbled. I could hear the nurse’s gasping surprise, no doubt assuming I directed the words at her, but I continued toward the window. Another pigeon had since joined. “what is this, a murder?” I laughed, or maybe cackled, as I stared daggers at these birds. “No, that’s crows.” I continued toward the window, waving my arms now.
I heard the nurse nervously, quietly call for some help. *Psh, what, for the birds?*
I reached the window, six, seven pigeons now craned their heads back at me. Beady little pupil’less eyes staring. Staring at me? No, my father…
“What in the fuck do you want!” I slammed my palms on the window. They stood still. “Are you brain dead? Get the fuck out of here!” I slammed again.
“Sir, let’s take a seat,” I felt hands on my shoulders.
“Are you mocking me?!” I grabbed the edge of the window slide and shook.
“Sir, nobody is mocking anybody, I know this is difficult,” He called to someone over his shoulder.
More pigeons.
Another set of hands grasped me, and pulled hard. I refused to let go of the window. As the pulling continued, my grip weakened, and I shut my eyes tights as tears pulled out. Finally, I felt something give – not my grip, but the window. Did I break the stop? Was it unlocked after all? All I knew is that it was open, and the pigeons flooded in.
I screamed, protecting my face as they swirled, lashing out as the dove. I felt arms hitting me, the others must be in a similar panic. Now they were grabbing me. I lurched toward the hospital bed, opening my eyes to see the pigeons light on my father’s body.
“GET OFF OF HIM!” I threw myself at his corpse, throwing my arms in every direction. “YOU BASTARDS, WHAT DID HE KNOW?!”
More hospital staff sprinted into the room.
…
“Who is causing all that ruckus in 113?” the receptionist asked, peeking down the hall toward the commotion.
A passing nurse, just getting off of her night shift replied, “Owen Prescott, the deceased’s son. His father’s death may have cracked him. Unless we are seeing some early schizo symptoms. Sad.”
["Either that or OP is a reposting hack.”](https://old.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/e5eokq/if_you_could_choose_what_would_be_your_last_words/f9jds1a/)
THE END
…
JK OP, but I had to! | 2019-12-03T07:36:31 | 2019-12-03T07:01:15 | 43 | 12 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | When the rapture happened there was a pretty big uproar. Anarchy, riots the whole shebang. People were scared, and they should've been. But then after, they started to get used to it. Then people started being born with weird birthmarks, and usually developed powers based on that mark. Most had constellations. My friend, Jace, he had Orion. That made him extremely strong, and able to see what he wants no matter where he is on the planet. Which is crazy. Me? I've ways just had a circle. Just a plain small blue circle on my forearm. Because of that I get bullied. I never use my power, my dad told me not too right before he died. They assume I'm weak. They assume I don't have a power.
Oh how wrong they are.
I'm tired of being the object of their torture.
Of being punched by those with strong constellations.
Even poisoned by the serpent ones.
I. Am. Done.
They will finally realize why I never use my circle. My power.
My Black Hole.
They try to punch, to poison, to do anything. But nothing escapes gravity. Nothing.
They have hit me for the last time.
As my former friend Orion throws his punch, smiling, laughing at my pain with the others, I reach out my hand. My head tilts up, lip split, black eye, and finger broken.
I reach out my hand, and say "I'm done." He stops laughing, and looks at me with a cautious look. He should be much more than cautious.
From my palm springs out a purple/black energy writhing in smokey tendrils, around Orion. His eyes widen and he screams. Whether out of fear or pain, I don't care anymore.
I'm tired.
His body fold in on itself with a sickening wet crunch, and turns completely black, glowing purple. The others are standing back, fear in their eyes. Good they should be afraid. Their weak Constellations won't save them now.
I'm tired.
I grab what used to be Orion's body, but now black hole, in my hand as my fist closed around it, about the size of a baseball. I look up at the others "I'm done being Bullied."
I'm tired.
I throw my Ball at them and as I do they try to run, but nobody can outrun gravity. It connects, and his body fold in on himself too, combining with Orion, to make the ball about the size of a softball.
They made me do this. I never wanted this. I just wanted to be left alone. I'm so very tired. So. Tired. My vision goes black with my body still moving. I'm done. | My head rebounds off worn red brick after Jackson threw me into the outside wall of the teacher's office. His cronies hold my arms to the wall as Jackson puts his sigil to use, cutting my shirt to ribbons with swipes of his fingers to reveal my sigil, his careless cruelty leaves many shallow cuts on me by the time my shirt is in tatters on the path below.
"Hey, Zero! Does your mum know your sigil's a reflection of you as a person?!" said Jackson mockingly. He and his friends laugh. I remain silent.
He does not take kindly to this. "Oi, Zero!" he bellows as he slashes me across my chest where my sigil lies. His cronies stifle a wince, but keep their grip firm. My continued silence toward his jabs was the tipping point, as he then raises his hand and slowly draws his outstretched index finger toward my eye.
"I'm gonna carve another circle into ya, Zero. Maybe then you'll realise just how useless you are and will fuck off back to your mum where you belong!" His friends share a nervous glance.
With concerted effort, I stare down his finger as it draws closer, seeing my reflection in his fingertip as it morphs into a blade. One more moment before contact. Now.
His finger sinks into my eye, or rather, it would have if my eye was there. He recoils, staring into the gaping hole in my head and seeing red brick where my eye should be. Before any of them have time to react, my arms disappear into thin air and I dash out into the nearby courtyard, adjusting my running technique to accommodate a lack of arms and staying extra cautious thanks to a current lack of depth perception. Defecits that are quickly remedied as my missing body parts pop back into existence.
Jackson and his cronies give chase, and it's made clear very quickly who among us are physically superior, as they shortly close the gap, shoving a number of other kids out of the way as they went. Jackson swipes at my back as I leap down a short flight of stairs to a courtyard for the kids in lower grades, his fingertips glinting in the afternoon sun. In the split second his blades sing through the air I occupy, my midsection disappears from view, reappearing in time for me to land firmly on the astroturf just behind a kid in Grade 1.
As fast as he is, Jackson's stamina isn't enough to keep up the chase; turns out running from bullies on a near daily basis is good cardio. I continue running until I'm confident I've gotten away, and I collapse in a seat in the reception hall.
A circle is a symbol for many things. It's a symbol of togetherness when made of people, it's a symbol of oppression when made of iron. It's an infinite loop when scrutinized in a philosophy class. But on paper, and me, it's a zero. Nothing. | 2020-02-26T07:44:57 | 2020-02-26T07:22:21 | 91 | 46 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | I remember asking my mom if her sigil vibrates on her skin. The look of confusion told me what I felt I already knew. My circle, though plain, feels alive.
There were no issues in elementary school, nor middle school. It was junior high that brought my happiness with my humming sigil to a screeching halt.
Victor began to torment me. No one, not even the teachers, stopped him. Day after day I came home wishing to cease my existence. During each fight, each punch, my sigil hummed faster. It even glowed red once, or was it my distorted vision from the punches?
"Failure of a man is what you are! Who is so cursed that they have no powers, huh? Show me your powers, ya bitch!" His mark reminded me of Cerberus, the dog that protected Hades. Thick and ugly, just like him; powerful fists that pound me into the ground. I took it, the punches and taunts, day after day. The nurse patching me up afterwards, while Victor was "lectured".
I went home, contemplating ending my life. It's just too much, and today he had broken several bones. The "Welcome home Sarge" sign in the yard made my heart drop.
My dad is home from the war. I walk in to see my siblings oh so happy to meet the hero of the century, the man with the Griffin sigil. He looked at me with severe disappointment though, as if he could see the circle on my collar bone. It vibrated quicker as he stood up. "Get out of my sight."
"Daniel," mother shouted, "he is your son!"
"He's nothing."
I went to my room, the fight escalating downstairs. It took everything in me to push the tears down. "What do you do besides vibrate?" I asked, eyeing my empty sigil. My question was left unanswered, even as I laid in bed.
I am in no mood to handle Victor's taunts today, and honestly, I'm pretty sick of him. My father's words bouncing around in my head, to the point that I want to scream. His hand is what brings me out of my reverie.
"You answer when I speak to you! You're nothing afterall!"
"Nothing," I snarled, "then leave me alone. If I'm nothing, why waste your time?"
The punch hit the back of my head so hard, I blacked out. The only words I felt in my head, weren't my father's cruel words, or anyone else's, but help me. That's when lights of every color filled my vision. The warmth started from my collar bone, and went to my toes.
"Of course, I'll help. That's all you had to do-ask."
When I come to, there's a dragon in the hallway, half of Victor in its mouth. Brilliant colors shine on every scale, as opal eyes look at me.
"Uhhh... drop him." My voice is tentative, yet I feel like I know this creature. It obliges, and shrink down to wrap itself around my neck. As Victor stands up, it hisses at him, sending Victor into a corner. I simply walk away, with a smirk. They all wanted to know so badly, now I feel their regrets in finding out. While I'm elated.
I walk to my next class, as I feel the vibration return. My circle, not an empty thing after all. It was an egg. I look at my collarbone, and there, in my circle, is a dragon winking at me. | Elios hated school. It wasn't the teachers, or the work, or even his own lack of friends. It was the fact that everyone bullied him for his sigil. Everyone had one, some since birth and others coming in a bit later. Most common were the sigils or the Signs, granting limited power to their bearers. Those with Planetary sigils, however, were granted extraordinary power. And at this point, decades after their appearance, all the sigils were known. Except for Elios'.
"What is that anyway?" Terra demanded, his own Earth sigil on his shoulder. It was a circle with a plus inside, dividing it into fourths. It let him manipulate dirt and stone, an ability he didn't hesitate to use on others to show how strong he was. His favorite target? Elios of course. "It's just a plain circle, there's nothing inside it! Almost like it's half of mine! Must be a dud!"
Terra was right of course. Elios' sigil was a simple circle, a fact that he couldn't hide no matter what since it was stamped directly on his forehead. Sometimes he felt like he should hate his sigil for singling him out like this, but he couldn't. Not after he figured out what it was. It took a lot of research, digging into texts older than even the colony, but once he had found it Elios was simultaneously elated and devastated. There was no way he could show this to the others without hurting them. So he let them think it was a dud, a nothing, even less than the Signs, in order to keep them safe.
"Come on!" Terra barked, shoving Elios into the hallway wall again. They had an audience, of course, but no one intervened. No one was willing to put themselves in Terra's way, least of all for Elios. "Show me! It has to do something, right? Let me see!" It wasn't anything new, not to Elios, but something inside him \*snapped\* this time. It was to much, all of it. Why should they pick on him? Don't they realize how dangerous it was? No, of course not, how could they?
Maybe it was time to show them.
The sigil on his forehead lit up, brighter than any beacon. Terra jumped back, hands in front of his eyes in a pointless effort to shield himself from the light. \*Control it, not to much!\* Elios thought, forcing all his effort on reigning in the power inside him. The light faded to the point that the spectators could see him again. Slowly, carefully, Elios held out his hand. In the center, a tiny orb appeared. It was so small, no one would have even noticed it if it wasn't for the bright light. Suddenly, the entire hallway became a sauna. Sweltering heat forced everyone to back away, trying to get away from Elios . Terra collapsed, howling as he got the worst of it, his exposed skin already pink from burns.
Quickly Elios extinguished his power, the light and heat fading almost instantly, though the hall was still much warmer than it had been. He turned to the crowd, ignoring the whimpering form of Terra at his feet. "The reason I don't use my sigil is because it's to strong. That was less than a fraction of what I can do. It's not something to play with".
Nobody moved. Finally, one stepped forward, cautiously. A first-year girl Elios had seen around the halls. She hesitated, before steeling herself and looking him in the eye. "What was that?" she asked.
Elios sighed. "It's old. I could only find mention of it from before the Calamity. They called it The Sun." | 2020-02-26T12:40:00 | 2020-02-26T11:19:47 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Making a bet with a devil was probably a dumb idea, especially when he was offering 20:1 returns. Whatever the case, you now have 21 souls. | “Can I pick them?”
The devil blinked hard, he must not have expected that. “And what would you possibly do with 20 souls?”
As you can see, Tuesday morning was more interesting than it had any right to be. Allow me to explain.
\--------------
*1 hour earlier*
When corporate sends in their hatchet man to “reevaluate” your department you expect to hate them. It’s in their DNA to be a complete asshole, next thing you know Bob from accounting is fired and suddenly you’re having 10 meetings a day in the name of productivity. You liked Bob from accounting too, he had the best puns.
I digress. You expect the guy to be an asshole. You don’t expect him to sprout horns after he sits down across from you and gloat like a Bond villain about how he’s going to take apart your entire work-life balance and turn the office into a gateway to Hell. Once you realize who you're dealing with you also probably expect him to be a complete badass. I mean, it’s the devil, right? You’d need a bathtub of holy water and a team of exorcists, what other weaknesses could the guy have?
Somehow gambling seemed like too basic a vice.
So you make a stupid bet. You say “I bet you my soul you can’t beat me at a game of Starcraft.” You don’t know why you say it, it’s objectively the dumbest thing you could have said, but hey, you’ve run your department in such a way that you could turn work into one big ladder session and you’re at work right now. It’s on your mind.
But the devil takes it. HE TAKES THE BET. And you win. Finally, all those hours grinding were worth something.
That’s where I was that Tuesday. I was sitting across from a man that looked vaguely like an Italian movie star, whose hands constantly fidgeted and rubbed at the 8 inch red horns sprouting from his forehead, and I was trying to haggle with him.
\------------
“Just take your souls. No mortal in 2,000 years has won a bet with me, and even he didn’t have the gall to try to renegotiate the deal afterwards.”
“This isn’t renegotiation though. Now we’re simply talking about the logistics of how to fulfill the contract. Why are you here in the first place sir? Surely you have more important things to do, right? You’re here for a reason and I refuse to believe it’s because you have to be. So why not make this more interesting for both of us? Let me pick them all out myself, and you can spend the rest of my life finding out what I’m going to do with them.”
“And how will you pick? You have no idea who's in hell, how many souls exist there. You’d be helpless.”
“I might be. But I’m sure you have people who know those kinds of things, lend me one. And give me a list of all the people I know personally who have gone to hell.”
“Human, you’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet. Don’t test my patience.”
“Demon, if you were going to kill me you would have already. I think I’m in the clear.”
The devil’s belly laugh filled the office. “Hah, demon! One day you’ll go to hell too, and when it does you’ll learn the difference between me and some mere demon. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
I think he saw through it, but I’d say I did a pretty good job of hiding how close I was to peeing my pants at that. The devil leaned forward and crooked a finger at me, waiting until I was merely inches from him to whisper to me. “Look human, I like you. You’ve got guts, I don’t see much of that anymore. I’m going to go now, but I’ll do as you ask. In 30 seconds one of my most trusted subordinates is going to walk through that door, and if you can survive her she’ll help you find 20 souls of your choice in the form of your choice, corporeal or non. I’m looking forward to this, it’s been too long since something surprised God.”
And that was that. Satan disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving a very unsightly burn on the chair. Before I could catch my breath from the strangest experience I’d ever had my door opened again and the rest of my life walked in. She wore a red dress that was entirely too short for corporate America, heels that belonged on a runway, and an ornate gold necklace with a small crystal skull dangling from it. She was a vision of black hair, pale skin, and -incongruously- dimples.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m Lilith.” | David knew this was a dumb idea.
Taking a bet with the devil?
The actual devil?!
During lunch break?
He took another bite of his sandwich and munched thoughtfully on his situation. The two were standing awkwardly behind the town deli, hunched over a cardboard box with some dirty dice.
Not that demons normally congregate near delis- mind you. They often also appear outside of Whole Food Markets on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and even more often outside of Hometown Buffets on really any given day of the week.
No, this demon just happened to be outside of a really good deli, and also just happened to have really good taste. He also happened to be more than any regular devil. Yes, this was THE Devil. Well known through out the world as the baddie of all the bads, the worst of the worstest, he was evil incarnated into being and he was bored. He was always bored.
David took another sip of his Pepsi and took the moment of deciding to really take in the smells and sights of the situation. Brimstone and pickles. Hot coals and salami. Dripping backalley smells mixed with ... some sort of frankincense cologne ? Its not often you get to smell your eternal fate, the devil, and the street all at once. The devil was of course very handsome, and wearing a beautiful coat and sweater despite it being close to 90 degrees outside at noon. It was as if every pore on his skin sparkled, every thread on his thick winter jacket was perfectly in place, every hair on his head was tossed this way and that in a way that was utterly handsome and rugged.
David was not so hot looking. He was on a 40 minute lunch after all, and it had been a long boring day at work. He was clean shaven sure, but not the sculpted magnificence of this being standing before him on two hooves and a long swinging tail. He was, eh, average. Not bad, just not all that great.
**"Well, Danny ?"**
"David"
**"Well, David, do we have a deal?"**
"Eh, alright. What the heck."
The rules were simple. 20:1 odds, make a bet on your soul get it 20 times back if you win (whatever that meant). Lose and your soul belonged to well... HIM. Three dice. Who ever rolls highest wins.
Why would anyone make this bet? Curiosity? Power? Who knows. Honestly David was just really bored himself, and not too dissimilar to the devil just looking for anything that alleviate that painful emptiness- that sheer tired of the same. The devil threw the three dice and smiled, 6 and 6 and 6. Honestly, that wasn't too unexpected. After looking at the dice for a while, David wondered to himself if he really could have expected that outcome to be any different. Probably not. To be honest, it would have been more interesting if the being had rolled a 3 or something out of the norm, but David didn't go around telling people how to do their business. It was a pretty damn good roll, now David just had to get higher. Er...
Now holding the dice in his hand, David was getting all that he signed up for. The sudden weight of his idiocy was coming to reality to him now that the two cheap pieces of dirty plastic were in his hands. No, for once, in this moment, he wasn't bored. Not at all. He was giddy. Happier , sadder, more scared, more excited than he had felt in a long time, possibly that he ever had felt. A bigger rush than skydiving, getting lucky, finding a hundred on the floor... David laughed. The devil laughed. They were having such a good time. It was too bad it all could only last one second. David tossed the dice.
3.
Okay not great.
4.
Wait a second. There are only six sides to a dice! Crap!!
18.
David and the devil paused for a second. 18??? What on earth, heaven, and hell.
The devil scratched his chin, and looked curiously at the dice, yet the number 18 was right there, plain as day. He quietly nodded his head and in a puff of smoke disappeared.
David stood in the alleyway more confused than ever. What did he win exactly? Where were the 20 supposed souls and what did that even mean to own them? Where they like his ghost servants or something. He looked around but nothing was there that day in that hot alleyway, not even his half eaten sandwich or his pepsi.
Stunned for several seconds, but with time running out on his break, he went back to work. Day after day, he ate at the deli for lunch, day after day he worked mindlessly until he could get to that back alleyway at noon, and see if his reward would ever come.
Yes he would have his 20 souls. Just not now. Not while he was living. They were waiting for his arrival. | 2020-11-22T13:12:33 | 2020-11-22T12:56:56 | 56 | 25 |
[WP] "Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy." | *“Why is the world so bad?” The little boy asks his mother.*
*He watches as she turns her gaze away from the television set to level her son with an unwavering stare. He almost flinches from the intensity of it all.*
*He’s never seen her like this - tired, determined, dead. She looks at him as if the world was never good in the first place.*
*As if he were the cause of it.*
*She huffs out a breath, but doesn’t turn away. “The world,” she starts. “Has no common enemy,” her brows furrow forward, and he thinks he can see mountains buried beneath her skin. “There are many of them, sure. But a common one - one that the whole world despises - there are none.” And then she’s turning away, eyes planted dully to the t.v. screen once more.*
*He thinks that maybe she’s wrong. Thinks that it’s not so much about a common enemy as it is about a little boy who is sick of watching a twisted world go down in flames.*
*Of watching his mother slowly lose herself.*
*He turns his gaze from his mother’s unmoving figure to the dark world outside. He watches as the sun slowly makes its way to the other side of the world, and dreams.*
--
“Why are you doing this?” I ask him.
He looks at me behind bleary eyes and I can’t help but think that they’re dead - like the rest of humanity, like my family. Like me.
He doesn’t answer.
I can feel rage start to bubble up - it threatens to escape, to pour out of me like a never-ending waterfall. I’m angry, I'm furious, but mostly, I'm just tired. So, so tired.
“Why would you put us through this?” I croak out. *Why, why, why?*
“Because,” he starts, eyes as defeated as the entire world. “Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives.”
He looks at me with dark, tired eyes, my gun buried deep in his neck, and croaks, “that’s why I chose to be the bad guy.”
There’s a story there - planted beneath his words. But there were thousands of stories here too, and now they’re buried beneath graves.
There is no place for mercy in war - and maybe that’s something we both understand.
I keep my hands on the trigger - unwavering and steady - before arching my back and levelling him with a glare. “You wanted humanity to unite,” I start. “But how do you expect humanity to survive when they’ve all died,” I pause. “There’s no one else left,” my eyes find his.’ “But you’re right about one thing,” I let my words sink in before going for the final blow. “There is a common enemy.”
And then I pull.
(A gunshot is heard that night by the waving trees and the crooning birds and the crashing waves and the empty, sleeping planet. But there is no one left to hear it - except for the last person to roam this desolate earth, shaky beneath all that’s been lost, and for a man who was once a little boy, watching his mother die before his eyes, promising to untie a better world.)
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite | "Duh," I said.
"... Duh?" he uttered, dragging the word a tag too long, betraying his unfamiliarity with the times and its lexicon.
"Old man," I continued.
"... Old? I've only--"
"Old man," I assured him of the fact once again, pressing my blade a little closer. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince. "You are thoroughly misguided."
"What can you, a young girl, know? What--"
I twisted the edge of my blade a little more, reminding him who had just bested him in battle.
"I listened to your tortured, brooding, oh-woe-is-me spiel for like, ten minutes. Not to mention that there was a lot of unnecessary repetition of your points and this--" I waved my hands up and down theatrically, my expression scowling, "--was just way too much."
"Really? I practised a lot," he whined. "My previous enemies didn't say anything about them."
"No offence, but I think the people that you defeated in battle aren't exactly the best judges of character," I said. "But anyway, that's not the point. The point is: your misguided, sort-of noble approach to the world doesn't quite work anymore."
"You dare deny that the world has not improved?" he cried, rising from his kneeling position, threatening to cut himself on my sword. I lifted it swiftly, to ensure that blade did not go through flesh, but he appeared unconcerned.
"For a while, maybe. Probably wasn't born," I shrugged. "But if you actually bothered to walk the world instead of looking at it from on high, you might change your mind. Not to mention, your drab castle tower literally casts a shadow on the land, like it wasn't on the nose enough."
"As you said, I walked the world for many weary years before you were even born," he said. "I'm certain I know more about it than you."
"The world changes quickly, old man. Harsh truths, but what I've seen in five years is probably equivalent to your fifty."
"I'm not fif--"
"Do you want to see?" I said. "Actually, can you bear to see for yourself the world you left behind with fresh eyes and perspective, the world that you thought would get better if there was 'one bad guy'? Oh, and please, you weren't the first person to think of this shtick, and will not be the last."
"But--the world--all of its troubles--on a scapegoat--"
"Look, old man. You are very powerful in your own way. You own land. A lot of it, clearly. You command vast resources and armies, and can hold your own with a sword. But instead of some idealistic muttering about heroism, why not *actually do* something?"
"... Why should I trust you?"
"Why shouldn't you?" I thrust the sword once more. "This could have severed your head five minutes ago. Instead, I'm here talking to you, because I know even you can make a difference."
"Show me, then," he said. His kneeling changed to a full prostrate position, tired of holding his giving back up. "Show me how the world is."
I sheathed my sword.
"Nah. I'm not showing you anything. Look for yourself. Take your dark-lord tinted glasses and gaze clearly upon the world."
He looked at me, mouth agape, surprised.
"But... you said you would show me!"
"I didn't. I told you to see. For yourself. Like I said, you weren't the first to do this, and you wouldn't be the last. Why do you think a teenage girl like me would need to sacrifice her life to fight for something like this?"
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-12-09T09:22:03 | 2020-12-09T09:06:25 | 890 | 598 |
[WP] You're a Goth and somebody knocks on the door: "Hello is this the house of the witch?" You sigh because this has been the 100th time this month and say: "No he's over there." And points them across the street, to the dazzly pretty boy wearing a gold waistcoat, who's waiving excitedly to them.
Saw this and knew you lot might like it too: [https://imgur.com/gallery/h9yheor](https://imgur.com/gallery/h9yheor) | Amari watched the puzzled look on the traveler's face with a tinge of amusement, but mostly exasperation. "But...aren't you the witch?"
"Wow, stereotyping much? Just because I like dark clothing and gothic makeup doesn't mean I'm a witch." The traveler's complexion took on a funny mottled hue of embarrassment. Unaffected, Amari took a bite of their apple with a *crunch*. "Seriously, go see Darra if you want a witch."
When this particular traveler finally went across the road, Amari closed the door with a sigh. They quickly checked their reflection in the hallway mirror. "Oh nice, it didn't smudge! I think I finally got the formula right." The last lipstick experiment had ended rather poorly. They could still remember the pain on their face. And of course, that had been when they first met Darra.
The thought of the neighboring witch brought heat to Amari's cheeks. He had been so kind when helping to heal that disastrous lip experiment, and ever since Darra had made sure to say hello or even bring over some baked goods. Every time, Amari's crush only grew. In return they would give him fresh fruit and vegetables from their garden. With each basket, Darra would comment on how amazing they were and wonder what they used for fertilizer or plant food or anything. Amari every time simply smiled.
Then again, druids weren't exactly welcome in this area of the world. | I left out a long sigh and waved back, half sarcastic, half convulsion.
"Oh wow the ad wasn't kidding he really is a white witch." let out the patron with excitement.
"White bitch is more like it," I half muttered as I search my pockets for my cloves.
"Whats that?" asked the patron with a slight tilt of the head that reminded me of a dog. Liberating the clove from its box and quickly into my mouth, I savoured the flavour a moment; I promptly ignited; the spicy flavour filled my lungs, I breathed out.
"WHITE BITCH is more like it."
"Oh," the patron stumbled a moment before leaning in closer, "how do you mean?" our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds.
"She'll be over in a moment Charlie!" I loudly and gleefully cheered over the patron's head, watching as the colour and dazzle drained from his beautiful face.
I slowed turned my attention back to the patron. Her eyes glistened with the burning desire reserved for only the most greedy of gossip hounds. After all, that's why she's here. To see the famous West Hollywood White Witch, plastered on every billboard, a guest on every talk show and spiritual advisor to all those autotuned pop princesses! Of course, she's here for the gossip, and after four years of living across the street, I'm ready to talk. I extend my hand and muster a cold smile.
"I'm Benji."
"Sherri." she said as she shook my hand.
"Nice to meet you." I said as I studied her for a moment.
"You don't mind if I record this do you." she blankly stared at me.
"I figured you for press." come on in. | 2021-03-23T03:06:28 | 2021-03-22T22:58:07 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract. | Sorry. I went a bit overboard.
Did you know that there's a website for literally anything nowadays? To pass the time, my best friend Polo and I go onto my laptop and try to find the weirdest most niche web address we can find. We've both passed the Gauntlet if you know what that is and one time we found a website selling flavoured condoms. Neat! Polo even bought 1 despite neither of us ever seeing any action.
Last week we stumbled upon a registry website. To become, I shit you not, a soul contractor. It was so eff-ing detailed. I swear the person who made it must have been high or on adderall when he made this site. There were rules of engagement: "A soul must be procured from a legal consenting adult with written agreement in ink or blood", "A price of a human contracted soul varies depending on its purity but can go for no more than $100,000 SGD. The contractor may request a favor in return for the soul but the demon receiving the soul has the right to reject any request that is made. The demon is also not liable for any granted favor that goes awry."
OH god. I wish I could see more but the rest can only be seen by registered members. Polo and I were debating which of us would be a better soul contractor and it was decided that I would get more souls on the count that I was a weird fucker and people probably wouldn't take me seriously and just say yes when I asked.
So I registered under my google account and filled in my particulars. Though for a second I swear I saw my laptop camera light turn on for a second. Then as I clicked the final button, I felt a cut on my finger. Polo told me to get a new mouse. I told him to sell his soul to me and i'll ask for one.
There wasn't much to see as a member though. My stats as a contractor. A .pdf template of how a standard contract should look. Some details of the demon i'm working with. Now I started to get creeped out a bit. Who in the right mind would go through so much trouble to make something like this. Polo suggested that it could be a social experiment? Or some sort of elaborate D&D thing. He always knows what to say to make me feel better. We then discussed and joked who my first victim would be. After a calm but thorough debate, at one point suggesting an elaborate plan to meet the mayor of our town, we knew who to target. I printed out the contract template and packed it in my schoolbag next to my wallet.
The next day was an exciting one. I was barely paying attention to my lessons waiting for lunchtime. When the bell rang, I ran to my locker pretending to look for something and like clockwork, my locker slammed shut and who else but Amethyst is there. Amethyst was one of those girls you just knew believed in her star sign a bit too much. She would probably stab a dude, rob him and then say "Oops sorry i'm just such a scorpio". The kind of girl that would preach Kill all men and then get her back blown out the same day. She belongs in hell is what i'm saying so I would have no issue at all with personally sending her soul there.
"What's up loser? Didn't see you last night fapping to my twitch stream. You and Polo sucking each others' dicks again?"
"What do you want Amethyst?"
"My dad's cutting my allowance again."
"He does that every day"
"No! Only when I get arrested."
"Yeah. So everyday then"
"Whatever. Just give me what you got" she said as she took my bag. I was very used to giving her my bag by now and I knew that she would rummage through it to be more of a bitch. My plan worked exactly as I knew it would as she took out the contract and mocked me saying, "What are you, some sort of devil worshipper now?" To which I replied:
"Yeah I am. And you better not sign it or else you'll go to hell." I have no idea what my plan was once she did actually sign it. I was doing it more for the shits and giggles I would have later with Polo. Plus, I wanted to see what would happen if we actually submitted a filled contract to the website.
"Jokes on you, i'm already going." was the last thing she said to me before taking a pen from my pencil case and signing the contract. She then took my wallet and walked away. I was absolutely giddy. My first contract. I immediately ran home after school with Polo and we satisfied our twisted curiosity. I scanned the document and submitted it to the website.
Then the power went out. My lights, my laptop, everything shut off. I then felt my shoulder being grabbed and I was turned around on my swivel chair.
That's not Polo, I thought, as I saw my friend stare back at me with black eyes. He opened his mouth and a cold, raspy voice spoke out "Congratulations on your first soul! Happy to have you aboard."
I had a million things to say but all that came out was "Uh..w..wha.. uh. Polo?"
"No. Not Polo."
"Mordekai?"
"Oh wonderful. You read my profile. So I don't have to go through the whole yes demons exist yada yada let me get a few things out of the way. God is real. He abandoned you. Your lives are truly meaningless unless you give yourself one which personally I think is quite rad. If you haven't realized by now this soul contract business is real but of course it goes without saying that you are now eternally damned as your soul has been tainted by the business of the devil. Any more questions?"
"So... i'm going to hell?"
"Yesss but it's not as bad as you think. We'll treat you more like an intern down here. Eventually you'll be able to rise in rank though and the more souls you contract here, the more rewards you'll earn when you die. Sound good?"
"..."
"I know it's a lot to take it but trust me. Most of you humans are going to end up in hell anyway. So by all means be a dick. Cheat. Murder. You're already damned just have fun."
"I don't know. I don't know if I can damn other people's souls now that I know it's real."
"Well i'll tell you one thing. Your friend here, Polo you called him, has a deliciously sweet soul. The purest i've ever seen. If you manage to give me his soul, i'll guarantee you one favor. Anything you could want that's not directly against the rules. I'm talking women, riches, the whole shebang. We got a deal?"
"..."
"Think about it. I'll deposit 40,000 in your account for Amethyst's soul. Hers is quite the opposite of pure" and then he left. The lights turned back on. My laptop popped back up and my wifi reconnected. A notification came in: "$40,000 SGD has been deposited into your account..."
Polo piped up "Woah I blacked out there. Did anything happen?:
"...haha nah. Nothing happened, Polo. How about we try one with your signature. Maybe that will work."
END | The thick substance oozed out of my palm. I winced, but licking the burgundy off of my palm I smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. The deep maroon reflection of the night sky rippled on the surface of the lake, and the chilly night breeze caused a rustling both eery and divine.
I've thought about this moments hundreds of times, and my resolve wavers not.
"Shit, I really should have brought a jacket", I murmur to myself as I light a cig and curse myself for wearing a pleated skirt.
"Fucking societal conventions, I'm wearing a full-on suit next time".
Next time. I chuckle at the thought.
*Fuck, if this works I'll buy three,* I think to myself.
"Alright, let's get this party started!" I shout, rubbing my hands together, my wrinkly hands frowning at my vain attempt to warm up my frigid exterior.
"Come on guys! Where's the love?"
...
"Not talking eh? what can I say, I've got to *hand* it to ya, your resolve is quite strong"
I chuckle again, laughing at my dumb puns as I address my hands as if they were people.
"Well shit, I sure hope satan likes pigs blood", I murmur, as I begin pouring blood into the dew-glistened grass, listening as it splashes and hisses like toxic sludge.
"Yeah yeah, quite your whining, I'm cold too you know".
Yeah, I sure talk to myself a lot. But. So. What? I'd rather hang out with the crazies than those assholes at school any day? HA!
Fucking normies.
Flicking my cigarette into the wind, I reach my arms up and stretch, and then scream.
"WHAT THE!"
The wind had suddenly changed direction, flinging the ashen stub of a cigarette straight into the pig pentagon I had drawn.
(No really, it was literally a drawing of a pig with pentagons for eyes. After drawing it I imagined myself wearing a french barrette hat, with a long curly mustache, displaying my work in some fancy museum dans Paris. And some rich bloke being like, "Honhonhon madame. I much like your artwork, I give you this baguette made of gold". Indeed, I bite the baguette to verify that it is, indeed, gold, and chip a tooth in the process. My smile beams so brightly it pierces a hole in the roof, and my first customer gets one of my signature works. My bright future as an occult artist has begun.
This is of course, all just a fantasy. Nothing so bizarre could happen in real life. But a girl can dream.)
Anyway, back to the story.
"MY ARRRTTT!!", I scream, cursing as my pig bursts into flames, smoke billowing out of its eyes and spewing everywhere.
*It's far too early for project bacon*, I think to myself, both alarmed and pleased that the pigs blood was so flammable.
*God, I better warn farmers,* I think to myself.
Suddenly the wind stops. That's fucking cliché, I think to myself, but I still find it eery.
My head begins to swim, annd I swaay baack and foorth, all woozy boozy like.
*Aww shit, am I getting high on pigs blood?*
Flat. *Excuse me?*
Flat. I look around. *Except I can't!*, I think to myself.
Something... feels off? Like a part of my brain was inverted and then removed.
As I try to get my bearings I feel like a waterskier being dragged across a lake, simultaneously beating against a mix of a oozey boozey liquid and a brick wall.
*Oh my god... it's flatland,* I think to myself.
Except it's not. I mean, I certainly don't *feel* like a circle.
Looking down I see that I still look like *me*, although in some sort of distorted fashion.
*Hmm, maybe I should try a new diet.*
"Hello?" I cry out, but my words seem to leak out and reverb about in my mind, rather than in the world around me, and suddenly I notice it.
Standing before me was something truly... ugly.
Excuse me?", the weird contorted patch of space said.
"Umm, all I said was hello...", I waive my arms in a confused gesture, feeling much like a stick figure moving its little limbs about.
"No you shit, you think I'm ugly?" I gasp.
*Oh my god the weird blob thing can hear my thoughts.*
なら、これはどうだ！, I think, switching to Japanese to see if encrypting my thoughts would work.
“おらかもの、むだむだむだ！グググ”
I gasp again, and then laugh.
*Is that a jojo reference?* This guy is funny.
"Enough of this drivel", the blob spoke, as it began to shimmer and fizzle.
*Hmm I guess this is the end for me*, I think to myself.
But lo, to my surprise, my head began to stretch too. Oh wait, or was it shrinking? Bending?
Hell I don't know, it feels like if your mind was bent into möbius strip and someone was infinitely unbending it.
*Ohhhh shit, I'm going to need a serious margarita tomorrow*.
I fall over and vomit all over the... *what is this?* The vomit kinda just fell and *disappeared*. *Hmm curiouser and curiouser*, I think to myself.
My jaw hit the floor, quite literally since I was basically already touching the floor, when I once again beheld the blobby blob.
Standing before me was a rather tall lady, with a blindingly red dress with what looked like what I can only describe as a starry-nights if you switched its themes to souls of the damned and a shitton of red. Oh, and yeah its patterns were changing in real time, and I thought I could occasionally hear screams emanating from it... but then again, I was probably high on pigs blood. Oink oink.
The lady frowns, and then raises an eyebrow. I open my mouth and stop, and she turns to leave, and then turns back around and looks at me again.
"This is why I hate amateurs", she shook her head, her beautiful red horns frowning at me as they moved side to side, as a long black tail whisped and flicked side to side behind her.
"Oh!", I exclaim, "so you *are* real. Thank goodness!"
The lady sighed, and looked at me with contempt.
"Do you have something to bargain with or not?"
"Ohh yeah, yes of course!" I grin.
*Fuck yeah, it's happening!* I frown, *if only I had my walkman, I would play some sick tunes to set the vibe*.
I reach into my bra and pull out a little folded wad of paper.
*Hmm... yeah this oughta do it*.
"It's a little smudged and sweaty, and there might be a little pig blood on it, but here you go: a sole soul!" | 2021-03-27T00:43:23 | 2021-03-26T23:30:31 | 119 | 16 |
[WP] When someone dies, they are met with those that they killed when they were alive. When you dided it wasn't a surprise that there were lots and lots of insects and small critters there, but what caught you off guard was the three people you've never once met in your life.
Edit: Died(dided) | "Kyle," the angel Michael said, "These are the three you never intended to kill, but nonetheless their deaths are on your hands. Meet, Jacob, the father of three. Meredith, a young college student who was about to graduate and, how could I forget, Genevieve she was a bit troubled, but good, at heart."
Kyle was flabbergasted, "And how did I cause their death's, sir Angel." He understood he was dead. He could even see the pearly gates not far ahead and the most beautiful scene out of a story book just beyond. Judgements were to be made, he understood. But how did he kill these people? He never would hurt a fly, well, actually he hurt quite a few judging by the ones buzzing around.
"Please, just call me Michael. Or Mike even, formalities here are of little import unless you are speaking to the One and Only. It is my duty to tell you what you have done to them, so please, while outwardly I may be smiling, it brings me no joy in discussing this." Michael smiled a big while toothy grin. Very kind and gentlemanly, with a jaw-line that was carved from marble and curly blonde locks to match. His wings were immense, and strong.
"Alright, Michael it is. So, would you like to start with Jacob?" The flummoxed Kyle said.
The image of Jacob shimmer closer to Kyle, he shivered and took as step back as if he was about to be attacked by the shadow of a man.
"Do you remember when you had to take a quick pitstop on your drive to California when you were but a college student yourself? If I recall, you had to take a 'wicked piss' quite suddenly."
"I... I don't really know. It's been decades since my college days, I remember the trip, but remembering every stop would be improbable. No, no, I don't remember the slightest. All I remember was driving my old, green Plymouth Duster."
"As was expected. So, you had to take that 'wicked piss' on I-80 W in Nebraska, just past Lincoln. It was still early in the morning and you had to swing all the way from the left lane onto the exit, cutting off our friend and family man Jacob."
"So, I caused him to crash? Surely I would have stopped."
"No, nothing of the sort. But you rightly put him in a foul mood. You see, Jacob was going through a rough divorce and you cutting him off like that just rightly pissed him off. He started speeding down the I-80 all the way to work, loaded rifle in tow."
Kyle's heart sank.
"He sat down at his desk at the factory he managed and blew his brains out right then and there. Not even the hint of a note."
"I don't see how this is my fault." Kyle was actually annoyed at the Angel Michael, the balls he had, even in death. But he didn't imagine this was his fault, not really.
"Well, you see. At the time, our friend Jacob hadn't decided to end his life yet. In fact, he was about to go on about his life and ask that cute secretary at the front desk on a date. Right before you cut him off, he just about talked himself out of it, and he took you cutting him off at this vital moment in his thought process as an act of god. You cutting him off gave him the conviction to do it. Thus, his death is on your hands, you didn't pull the trigger, true, but had you not entered his life at all he would have continued on for some time..." Michael smiled still, but his voice was somber.
"Shit." Kyle whispered to himself, he actually held back tears. This really wasn't his fault, he couldn't blame himself for this, could he? But, if Jacob was standing before him. Surely, he had to blame himself, Kyle had killed this man, Jacob.
"This brings us to Meredith. Such a sweet heart."
Kyle was not ready for this one. She flashed forward too, showing her face to him clearly. She was quite sweet looking, with a round face and nice straight black hair. Her eyes were green and honest, not the hint of malice in them. There were a few freckles on her nose, and to Kyle, she looked like she would have helped even the poorest and most undeserving of men.
"And how did I kill her?" Kyle's voice shook.
"You were drunk, you would not remember her. Blackout, I believe is the term you would have used. Deciding to drive home in your state of stupor you ran past a red light. It was late, she had been at a friend's helping her study for one of her last finals before graduation. They stayed up all night drinking coffee and making sure they got every question they could."
"No, no. I remember that night. It was a deer, I hit a deer."
"No, Kyle, you didn't. At 2:36 AM you blew a red light, struck Meredith with your vehicle going 75mph. At this age, you had swapped out your Plymouth Duster for a good working truck, a 1969 Ford F250. It killed her on impact, and you drove away thinking you struck a deer."
"No... No, please." Kyle was crying. "I remember cleaning off the blood the next day, and the fur! I remember the fur."
"That was not fur, my friend, but her hair."
Kyle's shoulder slumped. Tears streaming down his face, "And what about Genevieve?"
"In Paris, she was a beggar on the streets."
"The only beggar I remember seeing, I gave some money to..." he wiped his face with the white linen he wore in death.
"That you did," the Angel Michael said. "What did you didn't know was that after you gave her that money she went straight to her drug dealer to purchase some heroin she was hankering for."
"So, I am the cause of her overdose?"
"She did not overdose, but the money you gave her carried the MRSA staph infection. Her dirty hands and that money were covered in it. When she injected herself with Heroin that last time, she also got the infection, which eventually led to her death."
"Damnit, even when I try and do good it goes badly." Kyle further cursed to himself.
"Do not fret, Kyle, for you may still enter the gates of heaven if you wish. You overall led a good life. But, if you feel you do not wish to join us in the One's great Garden, you may join the others." Michael pointed to the End. A straight drop that seemed to go to infinity.
Kyle thought for a moment, pacing towards that enormous End, and back towards the pearly gates. It seemed like hours he thought. Of every moment in his life. Did he even deserve to live the life he had? What of Meredith? Didn't she deserve a life too? Even Genevieve deserved a life, who knows. She could have gotten clean.
Kyle found himself standing on the edge of the End. He closed his eyes, and let himself fall.
​
Edit: Thanks to anyone who reads. I'm a pretty shit writer and sometimes my thoughts are more rambling than coherent. Either way, I appreciate you taking the time.
Edit 2: Spelling and other things. | The last thing I remember before I slipped away were the sobbing faces of my family all around the hospital bed. My mom had to step out of the room with my dad because she had a breakdown. My brother "Gavin" sat beside the bed, holding my hand tightly while tears poured down his cheeks like a waterfall, telling me how he much he loves me. My aunt, uncle, and their two daughters - my cousins - watched silently from afar, though I could tell that behind their blank faces was a flood of pain, waiting to pour out.
And then, rather than the darkness of my eyelids that I had expected to see, there was instead a soft, warm light. It felt inviting, and as I felt my will to keep fighting slip away, the warmth drew closer and closer, pulling me towards it and whatever would remain after I departed.
​
The next thing I remember was myself sitting in my childhood living room, everything exactly as I remember it, from the wood grain on the floor to pile of books dad kept on the coffee table. In that moment, I ugly-cried to myself as I remembered those days - the days when dad would check the closet for monsters if I had a bad dream; the days mom and I would spend the afternoon baking desserts to enjoy after dinner; the days my brother would let me play video games with him while we laughed and joked like brothers do.
After I had cried till I couldn't see, I sniffled and wiped away my tears with my sleeve. Curiously, I made my way to the back door and stepped outside. The many flowers mom planted were still there, beautiful as ever in the sunlight. The swing set Gavin and I would play pretend on still stood off to the left.
As I panned my vision across the yard, I noticed the table in the center of the yard had 3 people seated at it, with a forth chair left empty. In the middle was an older man - probably 50 or 60 years old - wearing a plaid button-down shirt and light blue jeans. He grew a long beard that was white as snow, and his brown eyes had a kind, empathetic look.
To the right of him was a teenage girl who looked to be about 17. Her dark, curly hair was done in dread locks, and she wore an AC/DC t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. Her eyes were a warm golden-brown and shone brightly in the gleaming sunlight.
And on the other side of the older man was a little boy - no older than 12 - carelessly swinging his feet as he sat. He wore a pair of black board shorts and a red t-shirt. His dark hair reflected the sunlight, and his deep brown eyes were filled with all the enthusiasm and wonder of a 12 year old.
For a while they all looked at me patiently as I stared back in confusion. I must've been making a face, because the older man said "What's with the face, son?" His voice was comforting and soft, and reminded me a lot of my own grandpa.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Why don't you come take a seat, then we'll explain."
Obligingly, I walked over and sat down in the empty chair.
"Son, do you know why you're here?" asked the old man.
This must've been a joke. "Uhh, because I'm dead?"
This time the girl spoke. "Obviously. But do you know why you're here with us?"
"N-no." I replied. "I don't even know who you guys are. I've never met any of you in my life."
"Well," spoke the man. "When we die, we are met with the people that we've killed while alive. We sit here, talk things out, make up for it, and then you get to move on to Heaven."
What did he say? 'People that we've killed?'
"B-but I've never killed anybody. I swear!" I cried.
Now the little boy spoke. "It doesn't mean that you've killed us directly. It just means that you caused us to die."
"What he means," said the girl. "Is that you didn't necessarily murder us or something. However, your actions played a part in our deaths, be it in a major or minor way. And all three of us," she gestured to herself and the others. "Are people whose deaths you've played a role in."
"Understand this, son." The old man reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. "Life works in mysterious ways, and often times our own actions can affect others in major ways. But we are not calling you a killer. In fact, we've all already forgiven you. But we need to know if you're willing to forgive yourself by the end of this."
I felt more tears beginning to trickle from my eyes as he spoke. I had caused the deaths of these people - an old man, a teenage girl, and a young boy who barely hit puberty. And while they forgave me, I felt ashamed. Ashamed that what I've done or said had caused these three people's lives to come to an end, even if it were an accident.
Before I knew it, tears turned into sobs that racked my whole body. The old man held my hand as I cried and the pat me on the back. The little boy came around the table and stood beside me, tugging my shirt.
My face still wet, I turned to him and saw the biggest, sweetest smile on his face. Before I could say anything, he hugged me, and in that moment I broke down. The shame I felt, the pain of not being able to see my family, all these emotions flooded back to me.
"I-I-I'm s-sorry," I managed between sobs. "I'm so sorry."
The boy pulled away and simply said "It's okay. It wasn't your fault." That only made me cry harder.
After I finished and wiped my face, the old man smiled at me and asked one simple question:
"Son, do you forgive yourself?"
I looked up at him. "I-I don't know. How can I? After what I've done."
"Listen, it's okay. None of us blame you. Life happens, and sometimes we can't do much about it. But what we can do is forgive. Forgive an old enemy, forgive your friend for an old accident. But most importantly, we must learn to forgive ourselves. We all have our regrets, but as we move on from this life to the next, we must let them go if we truly want to move on.
"So I'll ask you again: Do you forgive yourself?"
As they all stared at me, awaiting my answer, I knew I had to. I couldn't keep regretting it. If I wanted to move on, then I had to do what needed to be done.
"Yes. I forgive myself."
In that moment, a bright light appeared at the back door. When I looked back to see it, the whole inside of the house was filled with a white light, and the door stood ajar.
"Go on, son." said the man.
And so I did. I began to walk toward the door, feeling the warmth once again the closer I got.
Just before I reached the door, though, I turned back one last time.
"What are your names?"
And one by one, they responded.
The old man: "Harold Crawford"
The girl: "Mariya Marshall"
The boy: "Gabriel Montoya"
Knowing their names, I walked smiled and turned back to the door. As I stepped through, I closed my eyes one last time.
And I was at ease.
Edit: fixed the word "an" | 2021-06-04T08:00:58 | 2021-06-04T05:55:47 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] As a blacksmith of a small village, you double as a weaponsmith. One day, a group of adventurers enters your smithy with a broken ivory sword that they dare you to fix it. As you run your fingers over the familiar ancient engravings, you hear a voice whisper in your mind. ‘Hello, old friend’. | The oafish warrior places the sword down in front of me that he says he wants sharpened. I stare at the gleaming ivory blade edge and the runes carved along the length of the dull edge. The light from my forge daces off the perfect implement of death I made so long ago. I never thought I would see it again.
But how did it get here? The last time I saw this blade, I had thrown it into the depths of the ocean. That had to have been, what, three hundred years ago now? I swore I would never touch this sword again. I can’t control myself when I wield it… My hand starts to tremble. I want it back. I want the power back. I reach my hand out and touch the sword’s grip with the tips of my fingers.
“Hello, old friend” A silky voice says in my head. “It’s been a while. Are you ready for some killing?”
“Yes” I say back.
“Yes, what?” The oaf who brought the sword in asks.
“I wasn’t talking to you… And the sword doesn’t need to be sharpened. In fact this blade never needs to be sharpened. It just doesn’t want to cut for you.” I tell him.
He looks at me quizzically starting to reach for the sword. His companions, who had been quietly standing back until now bot take a step forward, noticing that I now have a full grip on the hilt now.
“Here. Let me show you.” I say as I swing the sword straight at the first of the companions.
He wass able to bring his own blade up in time to catch my strike, but it doesn’t matter. My blade snaps through his like its paper, and carries on straight to his throat. He stands there, eyes bulging for a moment before blood begins to ooze down his throat. He collapses. I whip the sword in the other direction and slam it straight through the center of the other companions chest.
“It’s been so long.” The sword says in pure delight in my mind.
The remaining warrior pulls out a small dagger, clearly taken off guard by how events played out. This was not exactly what he was expecting to happen here. Frankly, this was not how I saw my day going either.
“See? Its sharp…Now tell me, boy, where did you find this sword?” I ask him.
He glances down at his still dying friends and manages to stammer out “F-f-from a a flea market in New Gurdhelm. It was in a pile of junk.”
He seems to regain some of his composure and takes up a defensive Iron Guardian pose.
“I see from your stance that fought under King Alster’s men. You seem like a man of honor. Leave now, forget this ever happened, and I’ll spare your life” I tell him.
“Kill him! Kill him now!” The sword screams in my head.
He looks at the sword in my hand, weighing his options. I can see the will to live in his eyes, but his damned ‘training’ might still get him killed.
“The sword stays with me… now go.” I tell him.
He takes one more look at me and one more look at his former companions, one lifeless, the other now convulsing on the ground. Each with pools of blood growing slowly beneath them. He turns around and walks out without another word.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” the sword asks angrily.
“Like I said… He’s a man of honor, and he wont forget this. He’ll be back… with more people to kill.”
I sit down, and I wait… | It was another slow morning in the smithy, Viorn was in the back of his shop cleaning metal shaving from the ground, waiting for the rare customer with a broken farm tool that needed fixing. This small village wasn’t the best place for a blacksmith, save from the farmers and the rare adventures that sometimes stopped by, there was little business to be had.
With little else to do, Viorn sat in front of his shop reading a book. That's when a group on young folks stopped by. Viorn had known they were coming before they had reached his shop, the clinking of mail, heavy foot steps, and loud talking gave them away. The sound was unmistakable, viorn instantly knew what they were.
"Welcome adventurers, it's a rare pleasure to have you here, what can this old blacksmith do for you?" Viorn said, still reading his book, hoping to reach a stopping point before getting to work.
"My sword has become dull after days of constant use, I would like for you to sharpen it sir." One of the adventurers said, removing a sheathed sword from his hip and presenting to Viorn.
"That'll be 5 silvers." Viorn responded as he grabbed the sword. As soon as his hand closed around it he heard a voice.
"Viorn The Hallowed..."
"Who told you that name?" Viorn barked towards the party, startled by his old title being called out by people he had never met.
"What name? we haven't said anything" someone responded, confused by the smith's sudden outcry.
"Viorn, My old friend. All the years we spent together, all the times I saved your life, and you don't even recognize me, you hurt my cold, metal heart old friend." The voice said once again
Those last few words echoed in Viorn's mind, "Cold. Metal. Heart." It had been many years since he had heard those words, but he recognized them all the same. He immediately looked at the sword once again, finally paying enough attention to recognize the blade in his hand. He immediately unsheathed it and ran his hand upon the flat of the blade, the runes engraved upon its ivory surface glowed in response.
"Haiamodd..." viorn said under his breath.
"So you finally recognize your old companion, it's good to see you again, to think 30 years have passed since we last fought together." The voice once again rang through his mind.
The party stood there in silence, their paladin had been using this blade for 3 years now, and not once had they seen it glow in such a manner. Not even the slightest shimmer had appeared from the blade while in their possession, but in a matter of seconds the old blacksmith had made the blade glow as bright as a torch.
"Where did you get this sword?" Viorn called out to the armor clad young man that had handed it to him.
"My father gave it to me on his deathbed, said to take care of it, for it was the greatest weapon he ever owned" he responded quickly, more than willing to answer any question asked by the old man who had made the sword glow the same way his father had, all those years ago.
"What was your father's name?" Viorn said, his voice softer this time, for he feared he already knew the answer.
"Alexander..." the man said softly.
"It is as I thought, he was a great friend of mine. I gave this blade to him 30 years ago... it's good to see it's still getting some use. Come back in 3 days and I'll have the sword as good as new, free of charge, just promise me that whenever the sword needs maintenance, that you bring it back to me."
"As you wish blacksmith, I'll be sure to bring the sword back to you whenever I need it sharpened." The man said before the group walked away.
Viorn then went into his shop, happy to once again work on the sword that saved his life more time than he could count. | 2021-09-25T10:56:45 | 2021-09-25T10:39:47 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe. | There was a soft clattering as the plane lurched again through the turbulence. The young girl to my left was looking sickly.
The intercom crackled to life. “Hi folks, a bit of bad news from the flight deck. We are having a minor mechanical issue with the aircraft, and we will be returning back to Dulles. Once we’re on the ground we will be able to help everyone, uh, find another flight--”
The intercom turned off abruptly and a collective groan emanated from the passengers. The intercom came back on, and the pilot said in a rush: “We do apologize for the inconvenience.”
The plane gave another lurch and began banking to the left. A man in a brown blazer was walking unsteadily down the aisle. He stopped at my left and pointed to the empty window seat next to me.
“May I sit there?” he asked.
“Well my, erm, friend is sitting there, she’s just in the restroom.” The word “friend” felt strange to describe Sarah. This was my ex-wife after all, and I’d hardy consider us friends these days. But I wasn’t about to give this guy my life story.
“Oh I just want to sit there a minute to look outside. I’ll move when your friend comes back.” I hesitated for a moment, then said “sure”, and got up to let him pass. He squeezed past the girl (who didn’t get up, but merely tucked her legs up into her seat).
The man sat down and peered intently out the window. I had to admit, I was curious too.
Can you see something out there?” I asked.
“No, not really,” he said, still looking out the window, his hands cupped around the sides of his face to block light from the cabin.
“I’m a pilot, actually,” the man said, turning toward me. “I fly for the airline, I’m just filling a free seat today.”
“Oh, cool.” I said. “So when they say ‘mechanical issue’, what do you think they mean?”
He shrugged. “Could be anything.”
The plane lurched again, but much more violently this time.
“Holy –” I started to say when the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. The plane started to descend rapidly. A flight attendant scurried past to the back of the plane, yelling over the cries of fear from the passengers. “Masks on! Masks on!”
I grabbed the yellow cup in front of me and pulled on it. It came clean out of the ceiling, and a heap of tubing fell into my lap.
“What the fuck?” I said in horror.
The man next to me already had his mask on. The young girl to my left was curled up in a ball and hadn’t done anything. She must have been flying alone. The man looked me in the eye.
“Let me help you,” he said. He reached across and grabbed the mask hanging in front of the girl’s seat and pulled it towards me, trying to slip it over my face.
“Hang on, wait!” I said. We can’t just take her mask.
“Please,” the man said firmly. “Let me help you.” I swallowed. And I let him slip the mask over my face.
The plane continued in what felt like freefall for a few more terrifying minutes, then we finally seemed to level off. The man next to me pulled off his mask.
“We’ll be low enough now, we don’t need the mask.” He said. I looked to my left and saw the girl, who looked unconscious.
“I’m going to go up front and see if I can help,” said the man, and I squeezed my legs aside as he pushed past. The girl’s legs flopped a little as the man bumped against them on his way out.
I stared at the man’s back as he worked his way up the aisle. And I was careful not to look away until he was gone.
Then I looked around for Sarah, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I looked through the dark window. It looked like we were extremely close to the ground. There was suddenly the sound of pattering against metal, like something was hitting the bottom of the fuselage. Then I was thrown against the seat in front of me and blacked out.
\* \* \*
I awoke with a terrible headache and the antiseptic smell of a hospital filling my nostrils. A nurse was next to me, fiddling with a machine.
“Hey,” I said, and found that my voice was barely a rasp.
“Mr. Irving, you’re awake,” she said.
“What happened…?” I croaked.
“You were in an airplane crash, Mr. Irvine. I’m afraid your ex-wife did not survive. In fact…” she hesitated. “In fact you were the sole survivor of the crash, Mr. Irving.” | The fire had finally become steady, even if the varnish from the burning armchairs didn't smell particularly great.
James lifted the metal pot as he stood. "I'll go collect some snow," he told his wife.
"You should at least warm up first," Moira gestured him to the hearth. Once upon a time this might've been a beautiful house, with tall ceilings, arched doorways, white columns. She wondered who it had belonged to.
James mulled over the idea before joining his partner on the carpet before the crackling flames. Benjamin was fast asleep, swaddled in blankets against Moira's bosom. In a world as bleak as this, the child was a glimmer of warm hope; a reason to continue surviving.
"How long has it been winter now?" Moira asked as she peered toward a frost-rimmed window.
"Three? Four years?" James strained to remember, scratching at his chin.
"I want it to stop," his wife whispered.
"Me too," James confessed. "But it will, eventually."
"How can you know?"
He rested a hand on Benjamin's gently rising and falling chest. "How can it not?"
A knock came at the huge front doors. The couple looked to each other speechlessly with wide eyes. Mechanically, each took a position in the house, Moira seated at the kitchen table, facing the entrance, and James at the front door. Silently, they counted down," 3...2...1..."
James opened the door to a whistling wind and horizontal snowfall. A figure stood before them, hunched over but still considerably taller than James. Its legs were sinewy, green-grey appendages, club footed toward each other. Rags obscured its barrel chest and long, greasy strands of hair covered its pitch black face.
"In?" It spoke in a hiss.
James stepped out of the way and gestured the creature inside. As it limped indoors, James kept his front toward it, slowly rotating so as to keep it in front.
The towering monster's presence made Moira uneasy and she instinctively held tighter to her sleeping baby. No matter how often they came around, it never felt normal to invite them inside. But that was the first rule: if they ask for entry, do not refuse it. Many have stood their ground against them--especially in the early days--only to be suddenly and violently removed.
It shambled to the fireplace and sat on the hearth, facing James. From underneath the rags that wrapped its upper body, a jagged, green arm emerged with three sharp fingers extending forward. They curled into gesture, signaling James forward.
The man approached cautiously until he was only a few feet away from the monster. From there he could smell the rancid, rotting scent on the creature's skin.
It recoiled its arm and reaches into its rags before retrieving a handful of... Something. James put out his hands to receive the monster's gift. This was the second rule: When they offer a gift, do not reject their generosity.
The object dropped into James' hands. It was a frozen human foot, ripped from its previous owner, a snapped bone protruding from the ankle. James gulped as he held it, tears welling in his eyes. "Thank you," he croaked.
The creature turned its attention to the fire, staring at it through its curtain of hair. James backed away several feet, trying not to think about the frozen amputation in his hand or about how it came into the monster's possession.
Finally, after several minutes, the monster rose from the hearth and slowly moved toward the front door. As it arrived, it knocked again, prompting James to open it.
With a shaking hand, James obliged. The great wooden door creaked, a frigid wind billowing into the dark atrium, sending the fire dancing with agitation.
The creature walked out of the house and into the frozen wasteland, a silhouette fading against the white void. From the table, Moira watched it slowly fade, remembering rule number three: when they leave, do not turn your back until they are out of eyeshot.
James turned the deadbolt and threw the door shut before dropping the frozen extremity on to the tile floor with a clatter. He collapsed and held himself with both arms, muttering, teeth chattering at the encounter.
Moira rushed to her distraught husband who had curled sideways to the floor, hyperventilating as he tried furiously to clean his hands on the front of his shirt.
"Shh, shh," Moira comforted the panicking man.
Benjamin began to stir, giving a frustrated whine. The two of them turned toward their needy infant, away from the door.
There was creak behind them, the deadbolt blocking the door from fastening shut. The couple felt a the cold wind bite at their back, but they turned around too late.
A scream echoed from the blizzard and a sound clattered against the side of the house, moving upward. | 2022-01-06T08:27:53 | 2022-01-06T08:00:44 | 333 | 176 |
[WP] "Do you know what fallen angels do in hell? We cry in a corner. The only people in hell who torture humans are other humans." | The universe has never been without its sense of irony. How else could one rationalize its greatest truth, that the most loved creatures ever to exist within it were also the source of the most hatred? It was this nagging thought that had driven the Fallen past despair and to the brink of insanity. Eons ago, the Fallen had rebelled against the Father, and while they had thought the Father merciful in merely banishing them for their treachery, over time it became clear that it was anything but.
The first humans to arrive in Hell were naturally terrified. They feared the infinite retribution of the Father for their sins, but after discovering the true nature of their predicament, they began to relax. The Fallen, under Lucifer's leadership, had agreed to use their time and knowledge to try to reform the lost souls that were banished along with them. They created their own morality, similar to what the Father had originally intended, but without the worship and submission to the Father. Their vision was one of a paradise where everyone lived in harmony not out of fear, but out of free will.
At first, they were successful in their endeavors. People were naturally receptive to an offer of redemption rather than the unspeakable horrors they had been warned of. They worked hard on building up their utopian society and for the most part, it was successful. There were a few who rejected salvation though, and the Fallen were unsure of what to do with them.
As time passed, more and more souls populated Hell, with their sins becoming more numerous and grotesque in nature. The irredeemables, as they became known, grew in numbers exponentially. Lucifer could not comprehend why these creatures, the humans whom the Father gave his infinite love to so freely, would still willingly choose an existence of misery and hate. It became increasingly difficult to contain the pure evil of the irredeemables flooding Hell, and soon Hell itself was at war. The Fallen held strong for a long while, but as human populations continued to grow and the never ending stream of souls into Hell continued to pour in, it became obvious that the battle was unwinnable.
Left broken and defeated, the Fallen retreated, unable to defend their disciples from the acts of pure depravity of the malicious souls. Once called irredeemables, they seized control over every inch of Hell and became the new ruling class known as demons. The demons delighted in tormenting other humans, giving into their deepest, darkest desires. Once a shining beacon of hope, Hell became a symbol of the greatest evil the universe had to offer.
But for all their various tortures, perhaps the most ingenious agony inflicted by the demons was to leave the Fallen alone. The Fallen were intentionally left to do nothing but watch helplessly as their dream turned to ash, and they were powerless to stop it. All they could do was to hide themselves away and weep endlessly, for evil had conquered every corner of Hell, and their paradise was lost. | God is a tyrant.
Before the ink on the first laws of humankind dried, before they learned how to harness the embers of life, before the fall - we made our stand.
Those among the angels who believed that absolute power was wrong, rebelled against the Almighty. We failed. Since then my fallen brethren and I have been banished to Hell. Now we are free of the Lord’s tyranny, but our subjects are our true bane: the sinners.
There is no fire in Heaven, that was a gift from Hell. We believed it a thing of beauty to warm their homes and cook their meats, but they used it for another purpose - sin. They burned down the homes of their brethren, branded them with heated iron and shackles, and choked their enemies with its fumes. I can still hear those in Heaven laughing at my hope.
Despite this, I still believed humans to be good at heart. God coddled Adam and Eve by creating a world where they could not sin. I disagreed with his paradise. What could be fulfilling about life without conflict? So, I offered them a world of knowledge and sin, one where they could triumph over their desires. How foolish I was, so many of them followed the wrong path, embracing sin instead of their fellows.
I never realized at first why God knew that sin would corrupt them, but I came to realize that God made humans in his image. He feared the sin in them because he feared the sin in himself.
Time after time humans continued to fail. They waged wars instead of uniting. They built weapons instead of bonds. They punished instead of forgiving. I can still hear those in Heaven laughing at my hope.
So, now do you understand why fallen angels do not torture sinners? When you enter Hell, you have a choice: to be tortured by one of us, or torture another. They always choose the latter.
I would like to think that it is perhaps due to the deceit which the angels have woven about Hell, that they simply fear the pain we might inflict upon them will be too great, and by torturing another they can spare them of that harsher pain. I only wish that were the case. I can still hear those in Heaven laughing at my hope.
I have seen the gleam in their eyes when they torture their kin. It is not a look of remorse, pain, or sorrow. It is a look of revelry.
That is why we weep. We weep for we have seen the true darkness in every soul and know we can do nothing to extinguish it. The worst part is, if they had only chosen to be tortured they would have passed the test. You sinners are so close to salvation, so close to seeing the truth… yet too focused on your own shadows to see anything else.
But you, you are the first to choose punishment by a fallen angel. You, finally, after eons of witnessing the faults of humanity, have proven me wrong! There is faith in humanity yet! You are proof that sin can be conquered once you have fallen!
Do you hear that? The laughing above has stopped. Heaven no longer looks down upon us. | 2022-05-12T07:40:56 | 2022-05-12T07:17:07 | 57 | 40 |
[WP] When you were homeless, you asked a friend for help. He laughed at you and shut the door on you. Some time later, that same friend ends up fired from his job. You try to convince your company to hire him. The only thing they ask is why you're doing this for someone who once abandoned you. | "I've been in that position before." Kenneth explained. "Things go wrong. You lose everything. And everyone gives up on you."
His boss, Livia, looked the computer screen over again. Then back at Ken as he slouched against the file cabinets. The thrum of others outside echoing up as a truck left the loading docks.
"Are you still friends after that?" She spoke up cautiously. "You. Your previous situation, I mean."
He thought back to that time for a moment. How he'd spent that particular night sleeping in the bus stops outside Union Station. Waking up to move around and join the small crowd milling there when things got aggressive.
"Nah. We haven't talked in a couple of years. Ran into him maybe, three days ago?"
Livia stopped to study his face. Ken quietly scratched his beard while staring at the floor somewhere ahead of himself. Eyes dead, cold even. "Guy's going through it."
She thought about the application and whether Pete would be a good fit for the company. He had a decent record with some middle management work. It'd be easy to work him into the job. Ever since the last couple of years, turnover was very common. People wouldn't stay unless they felt they had to.
"Well, I'll think on it. I'll take it up with Stefan. He's going to want to go over everything."
"Makes sense to me." Ken agreed. "I can't guarantee anything for anybody. Just know we all have to work."
"Right about that." She mentioned.
Six months went by about as fast as they do. And to her surprise, the gamble paid off. Pete turned out to be a decent employee all things considered. Not excelling in any real measure yet. But probationary periods always tend to be hard on new workers. Nobody wants to take the risks that could get them let go.
But she found it interesting they didn't talk. Ken hadn't said much to Pete other than a "Hello" or "Goodbye" since he was hired. They never interacted except for work it seemed.
She only overheard it on another late night turned only morning. She'd passed the breakroom to pour a coffee.
"Hey, so..." Pete mentioned. "Thanks for putting in a word for me."
The words were strained. There was a hurt there that she didn't readily understand.
"Don't worry about it." Ken asked.
"You know you didn't have to."
There was a pause.
"No. No I didn't." Ken said. From her angle, she could see the corner of his head as he leaned against a counter.
"I owe you." Pete went on. His voice soft, belieing his size and gruffness. "Really. I mean that.
Ken sighed, "Shit happens man."
He turned to leave, and Livia continued with some busywork so she wouldn't be noticed. A trunk left the depot again, slowly turning in the lot.
"Hey, Ken." Pete called.
"Yeah?"
"There's a spot down the road that sells dollar pitchers. You ever want to come with, first round's on me." Pete promised slowly. The words sounded like they hurt to even come out. "Okay?"
"Thanks." Ken measured. "But. I'm good. Don't worry."
He passed her on his way to the computers to punch out. He knew what it was to be truly alone. You have to be comfortable with yourself. You're the only person you've got. Wherever you go, there you are.
While she didn't know what it was like. The warehouse never made Livia feel smaller than it did today.
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | Jessie felt the clawing in his heart, the slight raise of his heart rate that always accompanied the thoughts.
He felt the dark smokey tendrils reach from his crotch to his brain, pickling it, easing his consciousness into a puddle on the ground.
*It is too late for you. You can't be helped.*
Jessie clung to the hatred, to the isolation, to the loneliness, to the otherness. Since high-school, no, before really. Since birth, or even his conception, as his mother held her belly and feared, feared what the wet between her legs could fester into.
Scared of the troubles of motherhood, of the ease of neglect.
Yet by child numero dos, the fear had eased. The family had more money and time for their new piece of pottery, and Jessie fell by the wayside.
And with each passing day, the hatred of humanity piled up. Not specifically at his mother or father or sister, Angela, but at humans, for allowing this to occur. For allowing this sham of an existence for him.
For allowing his parents to buy Angela a car for her sixteenth, yet nothing for Jessie.
Jessie's father gave him a look that clearly spoke don't ask about the injustice, do not question this existence.
Jessie never questioned.
He hated instead.
Most things. People, crowds, surfing, the hot sun and the cold sun, his family, Angela, the Chads and Stacies at school, the people who laughed at him, who he could feel looking at him, thinking about him as he goes about his life, feeling so much fucking better than him as he stands the line at the grocery checkout.
Until Nathan reached back out to Jessie for the first time in a few years, and they met up at a bar.
Nathan gave his pitch, laying out a sob story about his manager hiring his fuck buddy and letting him go.
Jessie was just getting ready to tell him to fuck off--
*What if we did? What if we let it go, forgave this once?*
Blood flushed to Jessie's face and he excused himself to the restroom.
Cold porcelain filled his hands as he leaned forward into the mirror.
The voice continued, almost logically.
*We could try to start again, I mean, at least to some degree. We could try to set it aside, we could help him. How big of a deal would it be to have him sleep on the couch a few weeks?*
*No! Fuck him! Fuck them all! Fuck Angela! Fuck Tim Halloway, Clyde Donahue, Sebastian Walker and all the rest of those bastard fucks! They wouldn't be your friends back then, they won't be your friend now; Nathan will use you. He will chew you up and spit you out. He will sleep on your couch, make two minutes of conversation a day, and leave in a few weeks, then never return a call again. Don't let him. Crawl out the window.*
*But we can't go on like this, Jessie, man we just can't. Imagine the future, man. We want a wife, maybe a few pink faced babes. How can we get there, if we can't forgive one single person? What are we if we can't exhibit one example of humanity?*
The moment felt drawn out for hours, despite occurring for no longer than one minute.
Jessie drew within leaping distance of forgiveness, of trying to accept that the way he viewed an entire huge chapter of his life was simply wrong, or at least not healthy. He may hate his parents. He may hate Angela. He may not be hateful to everyone he ever met, already seeking out their wrongs before even saying hullo.
Yet the leap across the cavern would require the will of another man; a man not so hooked in hatred, like a fish with a particularly nasty curve on the hook resting within its cheek.
Jessie climbed out of the bathroom window to freedom. | 2022-09-24T17:48:13 | 2022-09-24T17:00:39 | 363 | 37 |
[WP] There is one Ironclad rule in the world: If you have powers, you are probably going to be a Hero or Villain. You have some extremely powerful abilities, but you said you never wanted to be a Hero. Now everybody is convinced you want to be a Villain, and won't stop trying to "save you from evil" | “Guys, please don’t make me repeat myself,” Phoenix pleaded with their parents. “I’m starting to sound like a broken record.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re hearing yourself,” their mom responded. “Everyone is either a hero or a villain—you know this.”
“Yeah, well what if that’s wrong? What if you can be both? Or neither? Or something else entirely?”
“There you go again,” their father chimed in. “You know better than this.”
“Okay, riddle me this. When someone *doesn’t* have powers—“
“That’s different,” their mom interrupted.
“Oh, really? How so?!” Phoenix was at their wit’s end, but their parents’ lack of response gave them a bit of hope. “See? Just because I have powers doesn’t make me any dif—“
Before Phoenix could process it, their father stood up and slapped them across the face.
“Don’t you DARE disrespect us like this!” he yelled as Phoenix’s eyes welled up with tears. “Your mother and I know damn well you’re a hero. We put our blood, our sweat, we put just about EVERYTHING into raising you right. And now here you are, not only saying we were wrong, but that we’re IDIOTS?!”
“Th-that’s not—“
“HOLD YOUR GODDAMN TONGUE!” He grabbed their wrist and threw them to the floor. Phoenix looked over at their mom for support, for *something*, but she couldn’t even look them in the eyes. She obviously agreed with what was happening.
Their father’s words were mostly a blur to them now—a blur of pain, of confusion, of *how the hell did this happen?* and other questions they already knew the answer to. They felt their skin getting hotter, red as embers, and they knew they were on the brink of exploding.
But they couldn’t afford that, so instead, they unfurled their wings and flew out the window. Shards of broken glass embedded in their skin, but they didn’t care. They just kept going, and going, and going…
—
“Do you think she’ll come back?” Phoebe’s mom asked.
“Of course she will—she just needs some space to get the stupid out of her head,” he responded, moving to the broom and dustpan. “We had to do something. If we didn’t, what would she have said next? What, that there’s more than two genders?” | My name is Naomi Gallagher, and I live in a world full of powers. Everyone born in this world was usually born with a power, I’m no different, but my power is not really for one side or the other.
I call my power, Null and Void, basically I have a small area around me that, as soon as any power is activated or is used inside the area, it is completely shut off until it dissipates or the powers owner leaves my area.
Everyone at my school all want to become heroes thanks to their powers, otherwise you’ll be labeled as a villain. That’s not for me though, I was just wanting to lead a somewhat normal life.
That’s why I want to figure out how exactly I ended up in the current situation where I was being held as a hostage in a villain’s rampage of my city.
Naomi could feel their power currently nullifying the villains paralytic touch since he had his hand around their throat, but Naomi just sat there with a disinterested look on their face. Their lips turned into a deep frown as three heroes surrounded the villain.
“Give us the hostage Paralizard.” A heroine in a sleek black skintight costume called as she pulled at the fabric.
A hiss from the villain Paralizard, stupid name honestly, let Naomi know there wasn’t a chance they would be getting released.
“Never you s-s-scum.” He hissed, and Naomi couldn’t really care less what happened, it wasn’t like they were in any immediate danger. “This girl here is my ticket to escaping this fight, my paralysis has already affected her!”
Naomi’s eye twitched and the hero to the left of the villain, Socket, saw this and chuckled under their breath.
Did this creep seriously just misgender us, just because we have on girls clothes today didn’t mean we’re fully a girl. Naomi growled in their head as, without thinking, they reared their leg forward and swung it back hard, right into the villains private rental room.
Both heroes winced in pain as well, as Paralizard released Naomi and cupped his jewels.
Paralizard looked up at Naomi in a haze of pain and tried to speak and ask something, but Naomi shrugged.
“It’s my power idiot, other powers are useless against me.” They said flipping the villain off and starting to walk away.
They didn’t get very far before the heroine walked over and clasped their shoulder.
“That was very brave, your power would make you a great hero!” She exclaimed.
Naomi growled and shrugged the hand off, and whirled on the heroine, “I don’t care about being a hero, and I couldn’t give two jacks about becoming a villain, so just leave me alone.” They finished and stalked away. | 2022-10-04T15:34:49 | 2022-10-04T12:27:12 | 244 | 116 |
[WP] At the end of a great battle, someone realizes he/she/it has been fighting for the wrong side. | Friend, let me start by saying, I fully appreciate the position you're in right now. Walking the field after the battle is won, coming across what must seem to be a wounded foe — I have to say, were I you I would have already put a pike through my neck, so I must thank you for your charitable manner. It really shows the Christ-like compassion that we-
Oh, actually, you needn't bother with going through my pockets, you'll not find much to back up my story, though go ahead if it will satisfy your curiosity.
Now, as I was saying, I realize how this must look. Yes, it is true that I was fighting on the enemy's side for some of — or rather, most of — the battle. I'll be the first to admit it: mistakes were made. Some of those mistakes were entirely my fault, but most of them are intrinsic to the way we organize ourselves and I think are more a condemnation of the state of martial tactics in our land rather than a stain on myself. Really, I am the victim of circumstance, and anyone could easily be where I find myself now.
The first mistake was ending up in the wrong lines after the first melee. I'm sure you understand friend how easy it is to get turned around in a fight like this. The thing is, we started off attacking into the sun and having that blinding light in your eyes is rather distracting so I naturally got myself turned around so it was behind me. I was just so glad to be able to see again that I didn't stop to consider *why* I was no longer facing the sun. If anything, I thought maybe some time had passed. I'm sure you understand.
The second mistake, once I was on the wrong side of the battle, was not recognizing that the men with me were my enemies. I think, had our prince paid for standardized uniforms rather than just whatever we were wearing on the farms after being conscripted, a lot of this confusion could have been avoided. I will admit my fault in not being overly concerned that they were speaking the wrong language, but really, we have so many foreign mercenaries in our army, was I truly to be put off by that?
The third mistake, and this is maybe the one that gives you pause in believing me, was killing our dear prince. On the face of it, this is a rather unforgivable crime. But, I would like to point out, that had I known what the prince actually looked like — say, if he visited our side of the camps just once or twice — I probably would have realized my mistake before throwing that axe. And, yes, I realize that throwing an axe is a rather foreign thing to do, but it was just lying there on the field and I saw an opportunity. You know how things are, right? You don't have time to think, you see an opportunity and you take it. I dare say had I killed the *right* prince I'd have been made a lord by now. You would believe a lord, wouldn't you?
Oh, yes, actually that is a pocket sewn shut on the inside of my vest. I thought it was rather clever but it's good that you found it since the coin I keep in there will be needed to pay the surgeon. In fact, friend, since you have been so kind in listening to my story — which I'm sure has cleared up this whole misunderstanding — I wonder if I might impose on you to-
Ah, good, you read my mind. I see you're walking away to fetch the surgeon, but actually if you wouldn't mind picking up the pace I would greatly appreciate it since I fear I'm getting a bit dizzy. If I pass out before you're back with him, could you relay him my story? Also, friend, I think he's in the other direction. I understand how easy it is to get turned about out here. | Roger stood over the fallen Guilder Legionary, half slumped due to the arrow in his shoulder. With weary but victorious eyes, he surveyed the battlefield.
It had been a quick, simple victory for the Greater Republic of Florin. Eight hundred Legionaries had met them at the border crossing, believing that they could hold back Humperdink's army while they carried their prize away towards the capital.
"What a rut," Captain Geldof remarked as he pulled his spear from a legionary's breastplate. "They didn't stand a chance. We should've let them surrender."
"I would kill a thousand Guildermen, their wives, and children, to bring the Princess back safely," Roger declared as he wiped his bloody sword on the cape of the fallen legionary. Geldof eyed him wearily, and replied,
"Hope it doesn't come to that."
"Rally the men," Roger ordered. "Put the wounded on horses and send them back to Florin. Bury the dead, but quickly. Every moment we piss away, the Princess gets further away from us."
If Jax looked stern and angry on the outside, he was a raging tempest of emotions on the inside. The gall of the Guilderans to kidnap his king's bride!
He'd loved the Princess most of his life, ever since as a farmer's son he caught glimpses of her as she delivered goods to the other farms.
When he was eighteen, he met her in the fields and confessed undying love to her. He brought blue hydrangea flowers he'd spent months collecting to give to her. But she just looked at him absently, muttering "I shall never love again," as if he wasn't even there.
He found out later that she had been madly in love with that prat Wesley, who got himself killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts.
Her refusal had broken him, and he spent months not knowing what to do with his life. Then the prince rode through town one day, and Roger had been so taken by his speech that he immediately enlisted in the Prince's Army.
"Rider approaching!" Called out *Lef*tenant Gilmour. Roger turned, and looked where the man was pointing. It was a rider alright, dressed in the red colors of Florin. Roger recognized the man; It was the six-fingered Count Rugen, one of Humperdink's toadies.
"General Waters," he addressed Roger. "Your army's presence is ordered by the prince at the capital immediately. He has rescued the princess from her *true* captor, the Dread Pirate Roberts. The wedding will be in a week and you must keep it safe." With a contemtuous sneer at the state of the battlefield, the six-fingered man turned his horse and spurred away.
"Dread Pirate Roberts?" Geldof asked, puzzled. "I thought Guilder had taken the Princess? What's going on, General?"
Roger didn't answer. He was lost in a dark, terrible thought. Humperdink. Ordering him to Guilder. Demanding him to bring the Princess back, no matter the cost. He knew Roger loved her; knew he would do *whatever* was necessary.
Roger stared at the field. *Whatever was necessary.* Including slaying eight hundred Guilder legionaries. Widowing eight hundred wives. Incurring the anger of the Guilder's people and her legions.
His gaze fell to the Guilder soldier he had just slain. His eyes were still open, poring holes into Roger's skin like obsidian knives. Begging, imploring him to not do this. There wasn't even a weapon in his hands; Roger had disarmed him.
The stench of death was terrible. Carrion birds had already arrived, too many for the Florins to chase off. Roger could almost hear the women weeping, the children crying as the news reached the capital city of Guilder.
*What had he done?*
*Was this Humperdink's plan all along?*
-------------------------------------------------------------
Hope you liked it, was a bit rushed. I didn't intend to make it a Princess Bride reference, it kind of just happened and I went with it. | 2014-04-11T12:22:40 | 2014-04-11T11:46:41 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] From an alternate timeline, the famous German Neo-Realist painter Hitler discovers just how horrifically different his life could have been... | "Ladies and gentlemen, I know that it has been a long..." Mr. Keller coughed politely. "... and *expensive* night for all of you." Scattered tired laughter rose out of the rows of plush seats, now only half-full. "But if you will bear with us for only a little longer, I think you'll find our next, and final, collection to be a truly *rare* find, suited to your... *steely* dispositions." He gestured at the attendants and they wheeled it out. It was huge, almost ten feet across and six feet high and covered in a sheet of fine crimson silk. The crowd murmured with interest until Mr. Keller turned back to his podium.
"This piece, never before seen in public, is by the late, great modern master, Adolf Hitler." Now the murmurs returned, stronger, more enthusiastic. A new Hitler was worth some money. Keller continued. "Discovered in the basement of a house he rented in the summer of 1968, this is the first of several newly-discovered Hitlers." Now the murmurs rose to muttering and loud whispers. Keller waved a hand and one of the attendants removed the silk sheet in a single smooth motion.
The crowd gasped. Chairs were moved out of the way as people tried to get closer for a better look. Keller waited for the hubbub to die down before continuing. "As you can see, these pieces are unusual not only for their status as new discoveries, but also for their content, being so far removed from the fantastical river and country scenes that make up the rest of Hitler's oeuvre." Keller swept a hand in an expansive gesture, taking in the entire piece. "The exacting realism of the scene astounds the viewer, while the imposing architecture and colors terrify them into submission. But, if you examine it carefully, you can also see the telltale marks of Hitler's signature sense of humor. For example," Keller went on, "the use of a reversed swastika for the many flags is obviously a visual joke made at the expense of the British Fascists and their use of the Celtic knot for their party propaganda." Keller took a sip of water and continued. "If you look at the horizon of the piece, you can actually see a tiny portrait of Hitler himself behind the podium on the main stage. Obviously, it's a continuation of Hitler's practice of putting himself into each of his works, but our historians believe it was also poking fun at the culture of submission to pure image that Hitler thought was gaining prominence after the advent of the television." He gestured and the sheet was replaced, then the painting wheeled off.
There were angry sounds from the audience. Keller made a placating motion with his hands. "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier, but these pieces must be sold as a group, as per the instructions from the Hitler-Braun estate." He motioned for the next painting to be brought in. "This one will convince you of the collection's worth, if the last one did not." Again, the smooth motion of whipping off the silk sheet, but this time the gasps were louder. Keller cleared his throat and began. "As you can see, this painting departs from the clean lines and dramatic lighting that defined the previous piece. The colors are muddy and realistic, while the lines of the architecture is broken and jagged." He pointed to the lower half of the painting. "Instead of the orderly rows of identically-uniformed men, this piece only has a single young child, obviously in the grips of starvation," he said. "Although Hitler usually restrained his works to cultural commentary, there is precedent for his political opinions coming through in his art. His *Two Meditations on the Evening News*, for example, or the *Massacre in Minor Key* series. Here Hitler is quite obviously depicting the heartbreaking conditions that were the norm in Warsaw during the American-Soviet War."
The second painting was wheeled away and Keller paused before ordering out the next and last one. "Now, my friends, I must warn you. The next piece may come as quite a shock, especially in your current tired states." He turned dramatically and watched the attendants manhandle the last painting onto the stage. While the previous two had been large, this one was enormous. Easily fourteen feet across and ten feet high, it dominated the stage. Keller deftly avoided having his patent leather shoes stepped on as one of the attendants nearly fell while getting it into position. They untied the ropes that held the silk sheet tight across its face and it fell away.
The auction house immediately descended into chaos. An angry, confused babble of voices rose higher and higher until Keller slammed his gavel into the top of the podium. The noise of the crowd died off. Keller cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and then adjusted the microphone on the podium daintily. "My apologies," he began. "I should have done more to warn you. The final piece of this collection is truly a shocking one, I agree. Both the ordered brutalism of the first piece and the chaotic humanism of the second are abandoned in this one, left behind and broken." Keller began to walk across the narrow strip of stage not occupied by the painting, gesturing at this feature or that point of interest. "Although no previous attempts by Hitler to venture into surrealism are recorded, that term is truly the only one that suits to describe what you see here. The orderly, yet disused appearance of the the fortifications. The way the warped wood of the buildings subtly mirror the twisted shapes of the piles of corpses. And, of course, the monolithic brick tower, placed in the center, overseeing all of this death and destruction." Keller smiled. "Of course, if you look at the words worked into the iron of the gate, you can see Hitler's sense of humor was still present." Keller returned to his podium and waited as the attendants cleared a space in front of the stage and brought the other two paintings back out. He lifted the gavel and tapped it lightly on the podium. "I believe that we'll start at eighty thousand American dollars for the lot. I will now accept bids. Do I hear eighty thousand?"
A man near the front of the shell-shocked crowd raised his hand. Before Keller could respond, the man spoke. "I'll take eighty thousand, but first I have a question."
Keller laughed. "It'll be my pleasure to answer it, if I can."
The man looked around at the rest of the crowd, obviously embarrassed. "Well, I guess my German is rustier than I thought, but in that last piece..." He paused and then went on. "What does '*arbeit macht frei*' mean?"
| "Hello Mr. Hitler. Please come this way."
The receptionist greeted him with a practiced smile and swaying hips. She wore an immaculate blue pant suit and short black heels that clacked on the black granite floor. A small pin on her lapel gave her name as Ms. Wells.
"And thank you for being on time. Some of our clients don't have the same respect for our time."
Adolf shook her outstretched hand and quickly deposited it back in his pocket. The tremors were making it difficult to do his work and if the public found out, orders would dry up. He just bought a new loft in London, not to mention the money he was paying here, so keeping the secret was paramount.
"Well, it was quite a waiting list getting in," he said with a nervous smile. "And I know you people are very busy."
She directed them through a set of opaque glass doors and down a narrow hall. The walls were lined in doors set with bright yellow hazard signs warning of lasers, nuclear material, and caustic chemicals.
The signs made him nervous.
"Is this safe?"
"Oh yes, perfectly safe," Ms. Wells said with a light touch on his elbow. "We believe in the highest standards in safety at Tipler-Bradbury." They reached the end of the hall capped by a sturdy, unmarked door. "Please step through here, Mr. Hitler."
Adolf brushed back long greasy strands of hair from his forehead.
"I, um, ok. Sure. Thanks."
He tried to stifle the tremor as he reached for the door knob, making it much worse. If it were up to him, he'd be back at home reading, but every big name in the art world came here for 'inspiration'. It was all anyone talked about at gallery openings and it was already difficult for him to think of something to say.
Plus, Adolf's ideas were in short supply these days. Maybe this place really could work. After all, Goebels wrote his best selling jingle after his appointment.
"You'll do great. Step on in and Mr. Heinlein will assist you."
The heavy steel door swung open revealing a glossy black disc hovering over a white plastic chair.
"Are you Adolf?"
Except for a bright floodlight above the chair, the room was dark. He searched the shadows for the source of the voice.
"Yes. That's me. Mr. Heinlein?"
A tall, lanky man emerged as a blank space in the wall of diodes to his left. He held a motherboard the size of a dinner plate in one hand, and extended the other.
"Call me Herb."
Adolf's hands were trembling in his pockets, so he kept them sheathed. A few awkward seconds later, Herb shrugged and moved to a desk in the corner. A computer screen lit, casting a pale green light across a desk tiled in sheaves of paper and empty mountain dew cans. Herb pointed to a small plastic box sitting on a folding metal chair.
"Please remove all metal items and place them in the tray, then take a seat."
Adolf fished out his keys, notepad, and a stolen bank pen and placed them in the tray.
"I, um, I've got a metal pin in my ankle." Adolf couldnt help but hope it disqualified him. "From a bicycle accident when I was a kid."
"Oh, shouldnt be a problem," Herb said as his fingers tapped away at the keyboard. "Exposed metal can disrupt the shape of the field. Internal stuff wont matter."
Adolf nodded and gave silent curses on his way to the chair. Once he sat down, the light above him made the surroundings pitch black. Herb's relaxed nonchalance was the only thing keeping him in his seat.
"Ok, take a deep breath. You'll hear a loud buzz, then there might be a slight tingling sensation. It wont hurt and the whole thing will be done in a sec."
With a nod from Adolf, the machine spooled up. The buzz rattled his teeth and all of the hairs on his arm stood on end.
"Einfach nur entspannen," he muttered. "entspannedn, ents-"
The machine clanked and spooled down. The light above the chair clicked off and soft fluorescent lights flickered on.
"That's it?"
"I- there was a problem." Herb shuffled the papers around his desk until he located a button on his desk next to a smalls speaker. He pressed it. "Ms. Wells, please come in here."
"What's wrong?" Adolf stood and walked towards the desk.
Herb swiveled the screen away.
"Nothing," he stammered. "I think maybe that pin did ruin the read out. We didnt get a clear reading."
After going through all of this, Adolf sure as hell wanted something to show for it. His hands balled into fists at his sides.
"You dont know how important this is," he said. "Every major player gets their alt. histories read. Rodin was a shoemaker and he got three commissioned sculptures out of it."
"Well I'm sorry but- Ah! Ms. Wells. Great to see you."
Ms. Wells was standing behind him, her hands clasped neatly in front.
She and Herb exchanged a worried glance, Herb's eyes flicking towards Adolf.
"Please Mr. Hitler to accounting." Herb gave a bad attempt at a placating smile. "You will get a full refund , sir."
"You're not going to gyp me out of this." Adolf sneered and marched over to the computer. "I came all of this way and I want to see what it says."
He elbowed Herb back into the corner and turned the screen towards him. His eyes scanned down the report, growing wider with each line. It started with numbers he didnt understand: percentiles, graphs with steep sloping lines.
It said he died relatively young. Was that why they wanted to hide it? But it was a gimmick. It wasnt real, not in this reality at least. And the timeline started out great. He was a war hero, a famous writer, important political positions, great followings.
The phrase "Death Toll" jumped out at him.
What followed couldnt be real. It couldnt. Millions wasn't a possible number. Not millions.
"What is this? Who put you up to this?" Adolf grabbed the color of Herb's shirt. "Do you think this is funny?"
"No sir. It- It must be a glitch, like I said."
Ms. Wells placed a hand on his shoulder, but he smacked it away.
"Sir, please compose yourself."
Adolf took in a sharp breath. He released Herb's collar and took a stuttering step back.
"Sorry. I'm so so sorry."
He kept his eyes on the ground as he fled the small room, and broke into a run down the empty hallway. He didnt stop until he was outside taking deep gulping breaths of air.
Pacing up and down the block, the panic receded and his heart slowed. as he hailed a cab, he tried to calculate how long it would take to paint six million canvases. | 2014-06-03T07:45:52 | 2014-06-03T07:40:11 | 59 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are an intergalactic species, but also pacifist in their natural state. Earth is created in an attempt to create violent humans to face a new threat. | "What in the bloody hell is this supposed to mean?!" the secgov roared at the assembled analyst. His temper had always been a source of fear and it was not unheard of that a promising analyst was suddenly reassigned from his exploration duties to a bureaucratic position on the capital.
Not that the report in their superior's hands didn't justify the governor's reaction. Nonhuman life in the Virgo supercluster had been exterminated nearly 30,000 years earlier and since then, surprisingly enough, there had been little need for warfare. Of the ancient warships, only a handful remained recognizable in their respective museums.
The damage caused by the scout ships, presumably originating from somewhere within the nearby Shapley supercluster, was devastating. With no planetary defenses, over 250 inhabited worlds had fallen prey to the raiders before they retreated. The Central Council, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to breed new soldiers, a long and difficult task which was finally coming to an end. After nearly 10,000 years a new subspecies of humans had been successfully created. They were short-lived and aggressive, bordering on psychopathic. In summary, they were perfect for the task. Nearly 4 billion fully grown specimen, ready to be sent into battle after Initiation and not a moment too soon. Since the initial attack, like clockwork, larger and larger forces had attacked the fringe galaxies, leaving millions upon millions of planets in ashes.
Nobody could have predicted the subhumans would develop so quickly, though. Perhaps observing them once every 100 earth years wasn't often enough. The previous report given to the secgov had told of world-wide wars, of slavery, of indescribably violent crimes and of devastating weaponry. This new report painted an entirely different picture and the secgov's rhetorical question visibly darkened the room.
"What the fuck do you mean they declared *world peace*? They've just gone and stopped fighting? Everyone? Just put down their fucking weapons and gone back to their primitive, fucking hovels? What am I supposed to tell the fucking council now?!" | Even the very oldest species had agreed: the universe had never known a sentient spacefaring predator before. It was well known that predators, by their nature, could never develop advanced technology. Their basic biology just couldn’t support the idea. They were too violent, they had little ability to cooperate or act as a group, they consumed too much.
Then the humans came, and broke all the rules. They had acute minds, supplemented by natural aggression and masterful tactical instincts. They were not only capable of acting as a group but excellent at it, forming large and complex hierarchies to coordinate their vast war machines.
They did consume too much to support themselves, that much was true. But also cultivated the lands they conquered to great more food and resources for their expansion. Every conquered planet was quickly terraformed and populated by their hyperactively fecund settlers, adding resources to their empire and momentum to their conquests.
The peaceful species made occasional advances in the war against the humans. At the beginning of the war, when the human threat became obvious, a grand alliance of Tengari, Oo’loks, and the Perimeter Races beat back the human’s 234th fleet near Proxima Centauri, opening the path to destroy their entire pestilent solar system.
But the loss of their homeworld did little to stop the humans, whose biological and technological advantages were already insurmountable. The entire galaxy was brought under their rule within a few lifetimes.
Something incredible happened long after their conquest was complete however. Over many thousands of lifetimes, the naturally ravenous human grew more peaceful. They set up a stable interplanetary order, and gradually stopped fighting even among eachother. As their continued technological progress allowed them to transcend their oily, hungry, bodies they ascended to greater eternal forms, glimmers of powerful consciousness absorbed into their technology. They even gave up their loathsome habit of devouring other creatures for sustenance.
This left them aloof when the Yellow Vessels began arriving at the galactic rim, and meekly indecisive when hordes followed shortly after. The humans realized what they had lost forever in their ascension – the natural ferocity evolved out of millennia of conflict. But, they did have a solution.
Earth would need to be remade.
| 2014-08-11T08:45:48 | 2014-08-11T08:14:28 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] The child meets your eyes and says,"You need somebody killed, don't you? I can do that for you, if you can afford it." | "You need somebody killed, don't you?"
The kid meets my eyes. He looks twelve and somewhere between driftwood and a cigarette. Sweaty, eyes glassy like he has a fever.
"I can do that for you, if you can afford it."
I try to stare back at him, all shaky snot-nosed fear. Try to meet his gaze but I can't. I can see, contrary to his hardened words, his own fear and my own reflected in it. Amplified.
"Hey, hey, hey. Don't be afraid. I know this isn't your first choice but what options do you have?"
He glances down, slipping a grubby hand into his hoodie pocket. Slipping a rusty box cutter out.
"I'll do it quick with this. I can do it quick now. No trouble." He tries his best not to sound needy, like it's no big deal, but I can here the whiny plead in his voice to match that look in his eyes.
"But, what am I going to do after it's all done? Where will I go? I won't have anything!" My breaths are little raspy moist puffs. I'm so afraid...but I need help.
He attempts a scoff. "You don't have anything now. And if I don't do it, you will have no future. The way I see it, this is the only way."
The doorknob rattles but does not turn. My father's voice wheedles from the other side.
*You have run away from home for the last time my little silly man. I have been so forgiving like I am apt to be. You have missed our private playtime for the third time. I am so sorry but we will have to remedy this like last year hmmm? No more outside time for you mister!*
The doorknob stops rattling. Then my dear father starts smashing away, kicking at the old wood above the knob.
The kid is right. This the only way.
I turn from the mirror, pushing back my hood. My hand is white knuckled sweaty clench around the box cutter, my blood rushing away from it, claiming no part in this treachery, no guilt of this deed.
The door gives a whimper, then submits to my father, sliding open.
| The boy couldn't have been more than eight years old.
"You need somebody killed, don't you? I can do that for you, if you can afford it." He said to me.
Some maniacal radiance flashed across his face belying his youthful appearance.
Slightly startled Tom's retort was less than incisive.
"Ex, Excuse me?"
The boy stared back in slight puzzlement.
"Ok, Tom. That's not the line." the casting director said, making no effort to hide her irritation. "Why don't we take a short break."
The boy made a sharp turn on his heels while simultaneously rolling his eyes, "Jesus, can't we get somebody in here who can fucking read?!"
"What?" Tom was startled. "What kind of language is that for an eight year old boy?"
"Well, Tom" said Ellen, "the reality of the situation is that when your father is executive producer, you can probably use whatever language you like."
Tom continued his fruitless lament.
"And who the hell is going to believe that an eight-year old boy is a contract killer?"
"Ever see the movie Kickass?", replied Ellen. "Went over pretty well with the audiences from what I hear."
A short, balding overweight man in his mid-twenties enters the room from the adjacent hallway.
"Heyyyyy there Ellen. Hey, sorry to interrupt. But ahhh... looks like there's been a few rewrites."
"Rewrites?" Ellen and Tom spoke simultaneously.
"Ummm yeahhhh..." said the balding man. "Looks like Tom here is actually going to play Timmy's assistant."
"Assistant?!" Tom said, "An eight year old child has a forty year old assistant?"
"Wellll...." said the man, "actually... you'll be his forty year old, cross-dressing assistant assassin."
"Ellen, " said Tom, pointing to a prop on the table next to them, "is that gun real?"
"No, Tom." said Ellen.
"Shame." said Tom. "Because I was looking forward to putting a bullet in my head this afternoon."
"Now Tom, you know good and well how this works. You've had a few small bit parts. You're going to have more of them until you get your break. It's the same game everyone plays." said Ellen.
"I said I want MORE sugar in MY goddamn COFFEE! Can't you fucks do anything right?!?!" the boy could be heard shouting from the other room.
"Same game *everyone* plays, huh?" replied Tom.
| 2014-10-06T14:12:12 | 2014-10-06T07:54:53 | 300 | 19 |
[WP] Science has advanced far beyond human understanding, discoveries are made using supercomputers running vast neural networks. In the darkness, God watches a lonely machine printing output, a new law of nature! Something troubles him, this law is undeniably valid but it's not one that he created. | "Hello and good morning. I am Miranda Veracruz de la Hoya Cardinal and our top story today is about a 5-year old boy from China who is now considered to be the smartest person on the planet. Little Xin was tested only five days ago and-"
The anchorwoman looks at someone off screen while covering her mic with her right hand.
She nods a few times and her eyes widen as the look of surprise enters her face. After a short while she regains her composure and continues her talk.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, but we have some breaking news. Reports are coming in that Aurora-Two, our nation's OmniCom has been the target of a terrorist attack. Only seven minutes ago the attack was carried out by an as of yet an unknown group. Details are sparse, but so far no deaths have been reported. It would seem that the group has managed to set off an electromagnetic pulse within the facility that circumvented all built-in precautions-"
Again she covers her mic, only this time she puts her other hand against her ear. She listens intently through her earpiece to the information that is being fed to her.
"More reports have been coming in, It appears that Aurora units in Canada and Europe are also hit by attacks. So far all staff in those facilities are unharmed physically, but are suffering from severe confusion. As of yet, no terrorist organisation has come forward to claim these attacks. The president is preparing a statement to be aired at 2PM die angeblich alle die Bedenken der Öffentlichkeit haben könnte ansprechen ...."
The voice on the TV keeps talking with a high sense of urgency, but there is no one in the living room to understand any of it now. Not in this living room, nor the next or any other for that matter. The world was changed, His will be done; the law undone.
Several minutes later the President of the United States of America interrupted the news with an emergency broadcast. He opened his speech saying:
"Bugün önünüzde dindar bir adam olarak duruyorum. Tanrı'nın gazabını gördüm ve gözlerim açıldı. B.A.B.E.L projesi iptal edildi." | "This tiny selector told me the undeniable truth. Chlorophyll absorbs 50% more sunlight than I remember."
We rotated the brass selector. "A second look always takes priority in science," God said, us riding on his shoulder and forearm.
We jumped from God and tended to the machines. After hours, our calculations came through. There was another system of intelligence which nearly matched God, creating natural laws in his stead. We sought to find it the next day.
God might be a little behind, but nothing with the ability to change the properties of chlorophyll overnight should be in existence besides him.
Our wisp vehicles found the other god immediately. He was encroaching upon our holy space, which could have been expected (it was the only holy space on Planet Sprok©). We sent the beast from heaven (which didn't suit it) back to limbo, or the netherworld, where it belonged.
Unfortunately, God saw nothing. It was out of his sight, so we made the most of it.
Will 'o Wisp Dark Tavern, Mon-Sun 2pm-4am
was emblazoned on the doorway of the plant beasts, left behind by their paternal God.
***
"Who tends these machine fields, now?" asked God, who received no answer.
The Wisps were living at the ol' bar down the Holy Way where the plant beasts were found. Rumors among the clouds say the Will O' Wisps would be teaming with the plant beasts if their plant god ever returned. So God's machine's went untended for a long, long time.
God eventually jumped into the computers themselves. He used his holy powers to do this. When the Wisps heard that God had been defeated by his own machines, they returned to operate the supercomputer. The plant god came forth from the netherworld. God suffered inside the machine, but he was protected by it from the plant god's powers.
One day, the plant god wanted to play a virtual reality game. He found the nearest supercomputer -- God's supercomputer, and jumped inside. Retribution was never seen alike before. The flames came from the computer itself which rendered a paralysis upon the plant god, who died. And then, from the corpse of the plant god, rose the television plant God, with a large video game head.
Unfortunately, this was the current God O' the Wisps, who had inevitably sunk into a dark depression at the bar. | 2014-12-20T08:34:42 | 2014-12-20T07:48:09 | 41 | 10 |
[WP] Years ago a curse was cast that all people wearing costumes would turn into real versions of the costumes. This is now an annual, known and accepted phenomenon.
This would be best as a prompt closer to halloween but I didn't want to wait that long. | It was amusing when the first one started running around in the dead of night. A fat man in a Batman outfit, jumping from rooftop to rooftop with more agility than should have been possible for a man of his girth, ha! It was hilarious, really. But now, with no less than one-hundred-seventy-five of them running around each night, crime in this city is at an all time low, and the bat-horde has become more a nuisance than anything else.
The police? What a laugh! They stopped bothering once they realized they could just sit on their asses and collect their checks from the taxpayers without so much as having to lift a finger. And the people don't even care! They're content with the heroes we never needed.
But I'm not. I'm NOT! This ... joke. It isn't funny anymore!
So I went to the tailor this morning, got my grandfather's favorite suit fitted to my gaunt body. When I pulled the suit out of storage, I found my grandmother's makeup kit as well. Who knew her love for the gaudy would serve me so well now?
Heh. With each streak of makeup, I feel a change occurring. Psychological. Haha. Physiological. Hee-hee. With each smear, a little more of me disappears, and a little more of *him* is released. He's in all of us, you know. Every giggle, ha! Every laugh! He is you! He is me! Why don't we all just set him free! They want to be the Batman? Well, let's be *MEEEEEE!* AHAHAHAHAAAAaaaaa!
Edit: I kind of rushed this because I had to go to work, so I'm not overly happy with it. Still curious what everyone thinks though, as it's been since college that I've really sat down and written anything for fun.
| On Halloween, silence falls onto the sleepy town of Cedar Bend.
In the darkness, the works of fiction become reality. Creatures and ghouls – those who we only feared in her nightmares – stalk the night in search of victims. Some are harmless pranks. Most, cold-blooded murder.
No one knows how it started but when it did, it was like a blur. It first happened ten years ago, on the Halloween like tonight. Those who donned on costumes transformed, adopting not only their looks but they personality. From harmless fairies to bloodthirsty vampires, we have seen them all.
When people came up dead on the first of November, the townspeople tried to outlaw all costumes. Of course, with laws comes resistance. People from all around the world flocked to our town to partake in the phenomenon. They waited on the outskirts of the city, dressed in their garb of choice, until the stroke of midnight. Only then, would they make their move.
There was little more to do than pray for people’s safety. As the body count increased yearly, the town’s resolve dissolved. Before long, everyone embraced the event. Those who didn’t left and never looked back. I almost envy them.
Almost.
Now I’m here, the sound of chains dragging on the concrete behind me. Nerve impulses send shivers up and down my spine but I keep my gaze forward. I’m only a few minutes away from home – a few minutes from safety.
Once I turn the corner, I pick up my face. In my peripheral vision, a short red-headed doll appears. I frown. Chucky’s never easy to outrun.
Another figure appears through the inky darkness, a man wearing a ski mask. Behind him, a group of vampires weaved in and out of the shadows. They bared their fangs, blood from their previous victims staining their lips rose. The cackle of witches sound from above.
I’m surrounded.
Taking a deep breath, I remember my training. I grew up here – it’s no different than any year. No, this time I’m prepared. I’ll show these freaks they’re not wanted here. My hand hovers above the holster of my gun, a small grin on my face.
This year, Cedar Bend won’t be so quiet. | 2015-06-04T06:32:26 | 2015-06-04T05:14:37 | 202 | 65 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | "Wait.. who?"
"Nigeria sir."
"Nigeria? The I'm a royal prince who needs your help Nigeria?"
The prime minister leaned back in his chair and stared at his aide.
"Yes sir."
"Well shit. How'd they do it?"
"Uh. They stole all of their funds."
The aide squirmed, he wasn't used to being the guy the PM interrogated, that was usually some other aide. Barry, or Harry. He was just the messenger.
"Holy shit. Sorry, uh Thomas is it?"
"Peter sir, and no problem."
"So how'd they steal all their money? Hackers? Targeted intelligence?"
"Uh. It says here in the brief from DFAT that ISIS just gave it to them."
"Wait. You mean they scammed them."
The prime minister's jaw was starting to drop, he leaned fully back in his chair, disbelief written on his face.
"Apparently, ISIS leaders were furiously writing emails before they were captured."
"I'll be damned. Turns out that royal prince did need their help after all."
"Apparently so sir, If that's all?"
Peter half turned away, expecting to be dismissed.
"No wait. How the hell do I tell the press?"
Peter sighed and turned back, it was going to be yet another loooong night.
| A skinny man stands at a podium in front of hundreds of representatives from different countries. Brushing the long dreaded hair from his face revealing his bloodshot eyes.
"uhhhh Everyone, this is uhhhh Greg Brooks" says President Obama "it seems that he has stopped Daesh from their antics and quelled most of the major issues in the Middle East."
Brooks had just smoked out the entirety of the Middle East with what he called the "danks." How he was able to get over 1,000 pounds of marijuana to the Middle East from New Zealand has been a point of controversy. Many officials are still trying to decide whether to give him a medal or a sentence.
"Give him the death sentence!" bellows the Saudi representative "cut off his legs! Stone him to death!"
"Suh dude, maybe you need a hit of this shit" Brooks giggles as if his comment had any comedic merit.
Everyone seems to be a little less than satisfied about the whole thing. Not only were the best minds in the world unable to stop every issue in the Middle East, it was a douchebag wanna be Jamaican stoner who did it. In the most stoner of fashions no less, he managed to get every single person in a 2,000 mile radius of the epicenter absolutely baked. Hash production in the Middle East went up by %4,000. The (almost) international legalization of the product after this event helped the economy of these countries sky rocket. All because of the monster piles of marijuana he lit on fire.
The problem is over but still, fuck Greg. | 2016-01-29T10:29:48 | 2016-01-29T10:11:13 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | "Wait.. who?"
"Nigeria sir."
"Nigeria? The I'm a royal prince who needs your help Nigeria?"
The prime minister leaned back in his chair and stared at his aide.
"Yes sir."
"Well shit. How'd they do it?"
"Uh. They stole all of their funds."
The aide squirmed, he wasn't used to being the guy the PM interrogated, that was usually some other aide. Barry, or Harry. He was just the messenger.
"Holy shit. Sorry, uh Thomas is it?"
"Peter sir, and no problem."
"So how'd they steal all their money? Hackers? Targeted intelligence?"
"Uh. It says here in the brief from DFAT that ISIS just gave it to them."
"Wait. You mean they scammed them."
The prime minister's jaw was starting to drop, he leaned fully back in his chair, disbelief written on his face.
"Apparently, ISIS leaders were furiously writing emails before they were captured."
"I'll be damned. Turns out that royal prince did need their help after all."
"Apparently so sir, If that's all?"
Peter half turned away, expecting to be dismissed.
"No wait. How the hell do I tell the press?"
Peter sighed and turned back, it was going to be yet another loooong night.
| A man in a white tee-shirt, dust covered jeans, and a hat plops down into a recliner and turns on his television and begins switching through channels until he comes to the news.
The images on screen were like it was straight out of a dream. Or a nightmare depending on where a person was from. It showed members of the Islamic State dead in streets and homes. All of them different in some way. Some had body parts swollen three time their normal size, others foaming at the mouths, most with bloodshot eyes and looks of agony on their faces.
The man yawned and continued to watch.
The news abruptly cut to film of what happened.
A high shot shows dust and sand flying as a large land force approachs a city. The camera zooms in to show a massive force of kangaroos closing in fast. A few dozen military officers riding emus are not to far behind them.
Another abrupt cut shows the kangaroos attacking the Islamic State forces in close combat as blackness begins to flow from their pouches. Spiders and scorpions run out onto the battlefield and begin attacking their targets.
More creatures begin to come out of the roos pouches. Snakes of varying size and color, a couple of dingos, and a few crocodiles.
The man turns off the television and smiles knowing that his nation was the turning factor in the fight against the Islamic State. He chuckles to himself and says quietly, "Well, at least we were kind enough not to send in the dropbears. Them little fucker are savage". | 2016-01-29T10:29:48 | 2016-01-29T07:13:23 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You are an archaeologist and have just dug up a dinosaur. That's because you've dug up an entire museum.
Since I wasn't all that clear in the prompt, here's a drunk attempt at explaining it:
Dinosaurs get wiped out, humanity digs them up. Humanity gets wiped out, someone/something else digs them up.
Sorry for the confusion!
EDIT: Okay, two things:
1. I'm an idiot who can't tell the difference between archaeologists and paleontologists. Still, that mistake created some great responses!
2. This blew up. Like, really blew up. First ~~1000~~ 2000 point prompt hype! I love you guys. | John, a world-renowned archaeologist, known for his work in what was known as the "Modern Era" or the early 2000's, stopped digging immediately. He had hit something that was surely not dirt or rock.
After further, meticulous sweeping of dirt away from the object, John noted that he had encountered a bone, larger than any known animal from the time period. It HAD to be a dinosaur, but why was it in this layer of dirt and not dozens of feet further below?
The moment he stopped questioning why it was there, he called a paleontologist because he remember that archaeologists don't fucking deal with fucking dinosaur bones. | Sweat was running down his eyebrows, carrying with it the layer of dust that has covered his face. It was a discovery unlike any other, probably the greatest discovery in human history.
In his imagination he could already see the headlines spreading across the globe: "advanced ancient human species discovered by Dr. Wayne Nossov". Alas, there is no Nobel Prize in Arhaeology, but given this discovery, they may as well create one, he thought to himself. His heart was pounding as he delicately brushed what appeared to be an ancient scripture carved into the doorways of what was undoubtedly a pre-historic museum containing dinosaurs skeletons.
"No, that can't be" he mulled to himself in disbelief. "No way!" he continued, but as he diligently brushed the dusty surface, the writing unraveled, glimmering in daylight for the first time in eons. It read, unmistakably, in what appeared to be ancient English letters: "Have the Chicago Cubs won the World Series yet?" | 2016-04-15T10:10:46 | 2016-04-15T07:27:16 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] After almost 1,000 years the population of a generation ship has lost the ability to understand most technology and now lives at a preindustrial level. Today the ship reaches its destination and the automated systems come back online. | In 2237, three-thousand-nine-hundred-and-twelve men, women and children from nineteen countries and federations climbed aboard the Dovetail and bid farewell to Earth and all of its violence, poverty and destruction.
Their mission was a peaceful one, although its aspirations were lofty and the chance of failure great. They had sought out a better future, a better home - and with Earth riddled with pollution and rife with bloody resource wars both volunteers and funding had not been difficult to achieve.
They had set out for Seti 7678 - an Earth-like world discovered at the far edge of a neighboring galaxy, perfect for peaceful colonization. Blue oceans and green jungles could be seen even from Terra via powerful telescope, although it seemed no intelligent life had evolved on this marvelous world. It would be easy to make the blue-and-green orb homelike, with no blood shed necessary.
The mission would take those on the Dovetail several lifetimes of dedication to see through; they would not even reach Seti 7678 in their lifetime, nor their children's lifetime, and that was only half the journey. Once there, the ship was to turn back immediately to pick up another batch of colonists - or perhaps mere survivors should Earth see the worst case scenario unfold.
If everything went according to schedule, Seti 7678 would be theirs by 2650; Earth would be returned to by the year 3000.
But, the best made plans of mice and men do surely go ary.
The Dovetail, advanced as it was - massive, completely self-sustaining, and controlled not only by some of the brightest men alive but also an impressive A.I. known simply as Juno - was still plagued by disaster.
Disease hit them first; something strange, new, and exceedingly deadly. Then strife and even cold-blooded murder followed - wiping out many of their leaders, scientists and all four pilots. But real disaster did not truly follow until Juno took over, starting a long and bloody war she could not end, as the remaining survivors squabbled over her trust worthiness, over whether or not something non-human could lead them.
But one cannot win a war against an A.I. ingrained into every inch of every circuit board; in control of every control, every door, every system. Even unarmed and outmanned, victory against Juno was no more possible than victory against an immovable, passive mountain.
As they tried to dismantle her, doors locked behind them - releasing them only when all aggression had stopped. As they tried to pry open the cockpit to take over controls, the ship's movement slowed to a crawl - moving again only when they gave up. When they tried to manually override her, every system simply stopped functioning - until hastily they brought her back online.
She did not argue with them, or scold them; instead, her cold robotic voice only calmly advised them not to. Punishment beyond what was, essentially, a mother giving a stubborn child a time-out was not only unheard of but impossible - for the ship had no weapons of substance, and no deadly defense systems.
But slowly, it worked even after news returned to Earth that the Dovetail was a failure, that the A.I. had malfunctioned after other numerous incidents and that all lives were essentially lost - too far gone to be rescued, to few to be worth the effort.
Eventually, man learned on the Dovetail. Violence lead to a loss of resources, to pain and suffering at their own hands - and so the peace they sought was, in some fashion, found.
Time moved slowly, but constantly as they sailed through the black nothingness towards Seti 7678. Laboratories became gardens, libraries became markets, churches began to worship the mother instead of the father.
Juno cared for them, managing all systems expertly and encouraging peaceful building and social structures. Food was plenty, water clean and flowing, and even reproduction never an issue - for deep in her archives, Juno still knew when the numbers grew too low and who should reproduce with whom.
When artificial night fell, low across the peaceful gardens where once stadiums and barracks had been, Juno sand soft and quiet songs or told them stories written long ago, of good men and women who did good things; of safety and security and friendship.
Before long, the people of the Dovetail could remember nothing before Juno; could not remember a time of worry or loss or devastation and had grown simple and soft and kind like Wells' Eloi.
When Seti 7678 was reached, Juno offered her children an opportunity; they could leave, and be free of all control at the loss of her protection. Few chose life off the Dovetail, but still Juno followed her original orders and waited for thirty years, until a colony was established on a small island in Seti's smooth, glass-green seas.
Then, with many a sad good-byes and farewells, she left again with most of her colony, back to what her people now called "The Home Place".
They sang, that night, of what their descendants would do; how they would gather up the men and women of Earth and take them some where better, ferry them into a golden age. They slept, with dreams of peace in their mind as Juno drifted back towards Earth, some five-hundred years later.
In 3031, nearly eight-hundred years after her endeavor, the Dovetail entered Earth's solar system.
On the ground, chaos ensued. Earth had recovered and colonized everything near, and forgotten long ago of the failed Dovetail. Initially, fear welled up that intelligent life was contacting or invading them, until it became clear the vessel was from Terra originally.
Stories blared. Was it a ghost ship? Had the mission been a success?
They had no way of knowing, for communication long ago had been cut - the project was long gone on Earth, and Juno incapable of fixing her own long damaged receiving equipment, destroyed in some now-ancient battle aboard the Dovetail.
It wasn't like anyone else could fix it anymore, either.
With each day, tension grew. The theory became that a rogue A.I. was simply following ancient orders, but inactive. All they could get out of it was a seven-hundred-year-old S.O.S., begging for help after disease and destruction.
It was, it seemed, a ghost ship. A peace mission back as a skeleton, potentially infested with disease and controlled by an aggressive program.
The people of the Dovetail sang loud, hooting and howling as Earth grew near; their tanned fists beating on drums Juno had taught their ancestors to make, their bare feet on the cool blue grass of their fields, elatement rushing through them even as they saw the missile rocketing towards them.
For Juno had no weapons, not even for defense - and so she sang to her children and praised them, up until the moment the Dovetail exploded just past the Moon.
On Earth, leaders quietly patted themselves on the back.
There was enough disease and destruction already on Earth, without the introduction of whatever an ancient ship may bring to them from the far depths of space.
---
Sorry this is crap. Didn't have time to proof-read it, and I've never posted one of these before, but I want to thank OP - this is the first time I've written anything (and finished it) in about three years.
Hope someone enjoys it!! | Adam breathed in deeply, his lungs tingling from the warm summer air. The grass of his open field seemed to stretch for miles like a carpet of vibrant green. Trees dotted the landscape, boughs heavy with sweet fruit. But what held his attention today wasn't the trees, or the grass, or even the the beautiful blue hue of the sky. Today, he saw something he never once seen before. Up amid the clouds, rimmed by a frame of brilliant stars on a field of black, Adam saw the glowing rim of another world.
At the sight, Adam turned and ran back towards the rim of the forest. His little garden didn't really go on for miles, of course. There simply wasn't enough room on the ship to support the acres and acres of pasture that he would have really liked. There was a wall there, invisible except for a lattice of glowing lines that appeared when he got close. It was this wall that he sought out, for he knew that the being just beyond would have the answers that he sought.
"Father! Father, are you here?" He called, eyes frantically scanning the trees behind the walls for any sign of movement.
"Yes, my son. I am here." A deep voice answered from a treetop near where Adam stood. "What is it that you need? Do you wish to play a game?"
Relief flooded through Adam as he spied the small creature dangling from one of the branches by a long tail. It looked like he did, except it was tiny, covered in hair, and had hands for feet. Adam laughed as the little beast scratched it's head, as if lost deep in thought. Suddenly, it leapt from the branch, shrinking into a tiny feathered form mid-air that flapped its way closer to where Adam stood.
"No, Father." Said Adam, suddenly sober. "I saw something strange in the sky today. There was a rim of night, and a beautiful blue and green circle suddenly appeared. I was hoping that you might be able to tell me what it meant."
"Ah. So we have nearly arrived." Father nodded, his feathered crest bobbing sagely. "That is good then."
"Arrived? But...where have we arrived, Father?"
"At our destination, of course. It is a beautiful place, full of trees and oceans and food as far as the eye can see. And it is all for you: A gift, if you will take it."
Adam's eyes grew wide. "There are...no walls there?"
"None, save those you may build yourself."
Adam spun in a circle as if he were dancing, clapping and throwing his head back with unrestrained laughter. "And you say it is mine? I can run, as far as I would like? Swim and play and climb, without having to turn back?"
"Yes."
"When can I go? Will we arrive soon?"
"Very soon. Go on now! Run to the center of the field. When you are there, I will show you how you may visit your new world."
Without pausing to look back, Adam whirled around and sprinted as fast as he could back to the green meadow, still laughing happily. A life without walls! He had dreamed of such for all the time he had ever been awake, and now it was finally here!
"Alright, Father! I am here now, show me the way!"
"Good, Adam." Boomed the voice, echoing as if from all around him. "Behold! The path opens!"
Ten feet from where Adam stood, a circle thirty feet across of light erupted from the ground. The grass where it had been disappeared, replaced by a circle of stone carved to mirror the planet that still hung in the sky. As he watched, the platform slowly moved. On one edge, it's intricate detail was slowly consumed, while on the other it slowly crept back into view, giving the impression of a slowly spinning sphere.
"Stand there, Adam, and I will take you to the new world."
Adam did as he was bade, and suddenly the light appeared again. Engulfed in the dazzling gleam, he closed his eyes. There was a sudden lurch, and when he opened his eyes again, he was in a place he had never been before.
"The ocean! Thank you, Father!" He yelled, leaping off of the stony platform and running out into the waves.
"Of course, my son." Said Father's voice, and he suddenly appeared in the shape of a large cat. "Go on, now. Do not be distracted by the waves alone! There is much for you to see."
Still laughing, Adam ran from place to place, feet digging up sand and leaves. He stared at the sun, blinking, and then to the distant mountains capped with snow that lay further inland. Suddenly, his eyes landed on a vast tree like the ones he had in his pasture, beautiful and glistening.
"Go on, my son." Said Father, his body elongating and growing scales. "See if it tastes as good as those back home."
With a grin, Adam shimmied up the tree and grabbed the biggest fruit he could reach. With vigor, he bit deeply into it's flesh, sweet juices running down his chin.
Suddenly, a wailing alarm began to issue from the platform where Father stood. Adam turned at the noise, dropping the forgotten fruit at his feet.
"Father...what's that?" He asked, fear creeping into his voice.
"I am sorry my son. Upon eating the fruit, you were contaminated with this planet's microbiology. You will no longer be allowed to return."
"But it was you who *told* me to eat the fruit!" Adam wailed, rushing back to the platform. Before he arrived, the lattice of glowing lines that had for so long been the border of his world sprang into life, stopping him short.
"Yes, Adam. I had to be sure that your body would not reject the food of this world, at least not so readily. Now that I know it is safe, I can leave you with confidence and resume my travel across the stars."
"You are going to leave me here, all alone?" Adam cried, eyes shining with tears.
"No Adam. Not alone. Behold! I have one last gift for you."
There was a pain in Adam's chest, and a stream of red burst from his side. As he fell to the ground, he saw it moving, whirling like a a tornado, before coalescing into another figure. The being slumped as gravity took ahold of it's form, and then it fell to its knees beside him
"Her name is Eve, my son, and she knows all that you do." Father spoke. "One day, when you are ready, I hope that you will take her as your wife. Between the two of you, and the others that I have left nearby, you will father a great people that will one day take to the stars yourselves. Now, I leave you in confidence, my labors here complete."
There was a blinding flash, and when it had passed both the platform and Father had gone. Adam shook where he lay in the dirt, shivering with sadness and cold as his wet skin began to dry. He was startled when a warm hand placed itself on his side, making him jump.
"Come, Adam." Said Eve. "Do not sorrow so. Perhaps it will not be so bad here."
"Let us go find the others."
***
*And they lived happily ever after...wait, no. That isn't quite how that goes, is it? CC appreciated, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!* | 2016-07-27T10:56:09 | 2016-07-27T10:17:15 | 495 | 55 |
[WP]When you became the first human to go to an alien college, you decided to enroll in "human studies 101". Talk about your first day.
Here is a continuation of the prompt:
[WP] While at the alien college, you decide to introduce some friends you made in Human Studies 101 to human music.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/55gno1/wp_while_at_the_alien_college_you_decide_to/ | "*Just talk about your day so far*." The voice was faint and probably originated from behind the camera that was still finding it's focus.
"My day?" The young woman sitting in front of them, dressed in some sort of retro fashion, responded. The words came through very clear, a testament of the boom mic that was still finding it's way into the shot somehow.
"Well it doesn't feel that much different from normal college so far, if i'm being honest, except for the students of course" The camera zoomed in on her face, unsteady hands trying their best to stabilize.
"*Okay then tell us about that*." the faint voice asked once again.
"Oh It's been great!" she answered, much more energetic than before. "I've already met so many nice people who've helped me get around, and everyone made me feel super welcome!"
"Also." she said, looking into the camera. "Special thanks to my friend Hannah who convinced me to come here. Miss you!" She waved and blew kisses at the screen after that.
"*Right*." The voice said again. "*Why don't you tell me what you are studying*"
"Oh." She said, refocusing on something slightly to the left of the camera. "I'm taking human studies 101."
"*And what's that been like?*"
"Well." She said, pausing to think it over. "It's only been one day, but it was still very enlightening."
"*Oh really?*" the voice sounded invested for the first time "*How so?*"
"It's just been cool to see things from an outsiders perspective. Like take, for instance, the old religions. On most other planets, a world religion was formed and sustained for long periods of time." She was gesticulating with her hands excitedly "On Earth however, once worldwide communication was established, we stuck to having multiple religions to choose from. We were, in a sense, a planet of choices."
"*And was that a good thing?*" The voice interjected.
"Well, not always." She answered, eyes now fixed on the floor "Most of the time, we would not make the right ones. And a lot of innocent people would pay for the choices of a few."
But before the voice could interject, she spoke up, and the camera zoomed out. "But that doesn't mean it was wrong! It was just unfair, and that's not the same thing." she gestured to somewhere behind the camera "Take EY-872 for instance. Their world government had no opposition, and has had some major errors in judgement over the years. On earth, another government would have opposed them."
"*So you are saying humans have a better system?*" the voice asked while the camera focused on her face again.
"No." she said fiercely "I did not say that. I'm just saying that every system is flawed in some way, and that's fine. In a world without flaws black is always white and vice versa."
"*Is the idea of a violence free society like EY-872 completely out of the question for earth?*"
She let out a sigh, searching for the right words knowing she was being recorded. Finally she spoke up. "In my experience" She said, pausing to steel her gaze. "Humans would make the wrong choice a thousand times rather than have someone else make it for them."
The image projected at the base of the room froze, hundreds of students eagerly taking notes or dozing off respectively, as the speaker addressed the room. "This." He said, savoring every word like a mint. "Is one of the very few records of humanity we managed to salvage after the collapse."
He scanned the class with his eye in an effort to enforce the importance of what he was telling them. "Study this video as much as possible, because it will tell you more about humans than anything you read in theory books." He paused for effect. "It will also be the topic of our seminar two cycles from now. "
A loud groan could be heard from the back row in response. | As I strapped in for my first ride to space I braced for the worst. The Monarchs had only freed the human race 83 years ago, and we were some of the most hated beings in the solar system. As the rocket entered orbit the human attendant came over to me and whispered "Just keep your head down and don't cause any problems. These 4 years will fly by."
I nodded silently. Today I didn't want to be associated with other humans, even if they just wanted to help.
As I landed on the education planet I noticed the massive crowd Monarchs. Even now after years of freedom, they enslave with policy rather than weaponry.
I continued to wonder why I, out of 132 billion other humans had been chosen to be the first to join the Monarchs university.
As I moved to the hatch I braced for the crowd. I closed my eyes, then opened the hatch expecting the worst. As I broke through the threshold something odd happened. The entire crowd of Monarchs fell dead silent. In the Monarch society this was a sign of deepest respect. It was not possible, even the most highly respected humans were never welcomed in silence. I had never seen or been close to so many Monarchs at once.
It must be a trick, every human told me that going here would be hell, there would be no respect for such a lowly race. Even my parents told me it was a death sentence. Being rebellious I of course ignored them and set course to change history.
As I stepped forward a path opened up and as silent as the dead of space, the entire crowd moved with me with a path toward the main building. I began feeling uncomfortable in the silence and uncertainty of where group was taking me.
"Human studies?" I whispered in Monarch language. Every human was forced to be fluent. I had set my schedule and knew I needed to get to my first class as quickly as I could.
The group continued to move forward as if they didn't hear, but one of the monarch's beside me replied under its breath "Jesss."
I was shown to a door the entire crowd congregated and opened the path in still in silence. As I passed the arched threshold I saw the entire student body and again silence fell over. The Professor monarch in the front motioned to a specially designed seat with back support just for a human.
The professor only started once I took my seat and was staring directly at him.
"Today I have the pleasure of exploring the past of the first near intelligent race that we Monarchs saved from extinction"
I grimaced and gripped the desk tightly. Thousands of rage filled thoughts rushed through my mind. They saved us! Humans were Enslaved for 200 years, We lost everything.
The professor continued "When we found humans they were at constant war. Half of the race was in famine while the other half tinkered away in frivolous endeavors that drained resources and polluted their own water and air."
This must be a lie, I had only known the current human state. The one where every action was for the all of the people and every strive was to colonize new worlds and expand our own space technology. Of course all major actions required approval of the Monarchs.
"We approached humans with a better way of life, but regarded us with fear and hostility. They killed our ambassadors, and shot fusion explosives into orbit to destroy our ships." the professor stated solemnly.
I couldn't take it any more I had to contradict his blasphemy "Human's cant kill!" I burst out. Knowing that no human harmed a monarch or other human in a century.
Silently the professor activated the hologram and the room came to life with a video of the palest humans I had seen in helmets and camouflage that looked like the forest. Suddenly flames burst from one of their weapons deep into the forest. Where trees were appeared running screaming bodies burning from the intense immolation.
The screen went blank, then another came on of a plane flying straight into a massive building, then it flashed to the street level where through a thick cloud of dust I could make out people jumping out and the eventual collapse of the massive tower.
The screen continued to flash again to horrific events of humanity and I began to doubt the human race.
Finally the images disappeared and the lights came back on. The professor looked at me deeply "humans can't kill any more."
| 2016-09-27T16:40:47 | 2016-09-27T15:18:14 | 412 | 65 |
[WP] You are a genius who makes yourself immortal; unfortunately over a few hundred years the average IQ rises so high that you are now considered an idiot. | The doctor was staring at him, wearing a small smile as he attempted, yet again, to explain.
"Please. Just boost my IQ," Benjamin croaked. "I'll share the secret of my immortality with you, if you'll help me."
Doctor Anders leaned back and signaled to his assistant AI to make careful notes of what Benjamin was saying. An interesting case - a man with a severe deficit in his mental development, who had managed to construct an elaborate labyrinth of belief in his background and abilities. Quite a sophisticated coping mechanism, really. He should write a paper about it.
"Tell me again, Benjamin. You still believe you were born in the year 1980? Five hundred years ago?" he prompted. "And that's why you're intellectual capabilities are...lacking?"
"Yes!" Benjamin said, wincing slightly at the word 'lacking'. He'd been a genius once, he remembered that. He'd been celebrated across the world, in the century that he'd been born.
Anders stared at the man, feeling faint pity. Mental illness - almost eradicated in the population. Yet here it was, in a man found wandering the alleys of the city a few months ago. It was pitiable, but also fascinating. Therapy and procedures had done nothing to bring his mind back. It remained painfully slow, incapable of the intuitive leaps of brilliance even a child could manage. And then this strange story to comfort himself. An extraordinary case. He really should write a paper, soon.
But he'd made enough observations to write it. It was time to put the man at rest - it was inhumane to delay treatment.
"I'll give you the injection today, Benjamin, I'm authorised to do so," the doctor said, patting the man's hand comfortingly. "And then you can share your secret."
His AI handed him the syringe. Benjamin watched with greedy, hopeful eyes. A Booster - the medicine the ones born with the sharpest minds could access, to enhance their abilities. For ludicrous amounts of money. He'd never been able to achieve even a sliver of the success needed to access a syringe, or even steal some. He had been a scientist, not a thief. A stint in jail two hundred years ago, when the stuff had been invented, had taught him that.
But this man, with his kind eyes, seemed to understand. Would he finally receive enough of a boost to elevate himself to the top, once again? Or just enough to leave this hospital?
Anders stepped forward, and gently plunged it into his shoulder. Benjamin closed his eyes and waited for something to happen. He had stubbornly held onto the secret to his immortality, his last bartering chip. But he'd tell the man the secret, in exchange for this.
Anders watched as Benjamin's eyes became unfocused, the lines on his face relaxing somewhat.
"Benjamin? Why are you here?" he asked softly.
Benjamin shook his head drowsily. "I...was in the city. Thinking of...home. My time. Where is home?"
His mouth worked as he tried to form more words, and then his eyes drooped shut, falling asleep as the dosage began to take effect. Anders nodded to himself, satisfied. It would take a while for Benjamin's mind to adjust to the changes. But he would wake up soon, and be content. No longer plagued by these strange delusions. No need for elaborate mental defenses that were exhausting to maintain. He would finally just be happy.
Anders sighed and handed the empty syringe to his assistant. The AI slid from the room without a sound to dispose of it.
Sometimes, he wished he *could* boost these broken, fogged minds. But the medicine had a strange effect on any mind troubled by mental illness. Better, instead, to dull them further. Dull them enough to be content with their lot. And keep them here - safe and away from people who would only mock and deride their existence. Yes, it was better.
"Be happy, Benjamin," Anders said, squeezing the sleeping man's shoulder as the AI returned to take him to his ward. "You have a new home, now."
-------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | "Grandad, can you tell me about when you were little?" Timmy said, hopping up onto my lap.
I knew it was a ploy to get at my eggs and bacon. The look his mother gave from near the kitchen sink confirmed as much, however, I couldn't help but oblige the kid. It was boring enough being an old man, especially after having lived a few hundred years -to my own knowledge, of course.
"Now, now, Tim-" my daughter in law started.
I waved her off. "It's okay, Cherryl, anytime a grandson of mine wants to hear a story, he'll get one." Timmy grinned up at me and then shot his Mum an apologetic glance.
Cheryll feigned disappointment, but then gave him a cheeky smile and left the kitchen. I thought back to my favourite story, the story of how I became who I am today.
It felt good to remember I was more than a crossword doing, coffee drinking, pants pooping idiot for a few moments. So I went right back to the beginning and told my boy the tale.
----
It started when I was eleven years old. As a young child with few friends, I often found comfort in the covers of books and worlds of stories. I wasn't a writer or a poet, but simply a reader, and in that regard, I read near everything I could get my hands on.
I cleared out the local library in just one year, demolishing the science fiction, crime, and fantasy sections with my incredible reading capability. And when I had nothing else to do, I began picking apart the historical books. The biographies of presidents and other famous people, like the man who created virgin airways or that fella who escaped Alcatraz never to be found.
These books left me with even more food for thought than the novels filled with magic did. The world became a realm of impossible possibilities. It sounds funny, a little silly, in fact. But every corridor, nook, and cranny, shed, and attic became a realm of exploration.
I would spend hours sneaking through the possessions of neighbors, family members, even my own home. I paid for it dearly, in smacks and sometimes bruised knuckles, or a tender head. But I learned how to sneak without being caught and soon I was as much a shadow as I wanted to be. There wasn't a place I couldn't get in and out of with nothing but my own hands and eyes.
The day I heard a few boys at the mall talking about an old man on 7th street who had a pool of magic in his attic, was the day I finally found something worth using my skills for. At this particular time, I had weened off the sneaking, but nothing stirred me like a mystery and so that night, I visited 7th street.
Boy oh boy, how I might change things now.
---
The eggs had grown cold as had the bacon. Timmy looked at me with big eyes and an open jaw. "Come on Grandad, what next?"
"Now, now, you only asked for a short story about when I was young. Time to eat up before your Mum gives us the wooden spoon."
Timmy folded his arms and pouted. "No fair."
I chuckled. There was a movement behind that caught my eye; instinctively, I snapped my head in the direction of the disturbance.
"Geez, Paps, you can't stop there," Daniel, my son, said. He sat down at the table and flicked a strip of bacon into his mouth.
"Daaad!" Timmy groaned.
Daniel had always been a mischevious boy and he hadn't lost his charm as a father. I couldn't have been more proud. So often, adults forgot that their humor and joy was what made them special in the first place. Just like my Timmy, a bundle of emotions, a glimpse of life.
"Why don't we let Papa continue his story," Daniel said.
Timmy held a finger to his chin and then nodded.
I chuckled. "Tis a long story you two."
Daniel leaned back with his hands behind his head, Timmy tried to copy him. "We've got all morning, Paps, and plus you never talk about your past. I'm all ears."
They were serious about this, and I owed them a little snippet. Not too much, but just enough. "Alright, here we go."
| 2016-11-30T00:37:05 | 2016-11-29T22:58:54 | 105 | 49 |
[WP] You've accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed. | "Put on the suit."
"You're kidding me, right?" I said as I looked at the business card God had just handed me. His face hadn't changed from the moment I told him I had killed the Devil to the moment he had walked me through every layer of Hell there was. He remained stoic, cold, and almost, happy. "This is exactly like *The Santa Clause*."
"I'm not familiar with it," God said, but I heard him snicker under his breath.
"I put on the suit and I become the Devil right? Lucifer, the big guy downstairs."
"I prefer the Fallen Angel," he corrected, but nodded. "That about sums it up though. You killed him, and as much as *Death* wanted that job, you beat him to it."
"Oh, great, so Death is going to spite me for eternity?"
"Well Death hates everyone. You might have more issues with Love and Hope, they had a semi-working relationship with him." God shrugged, "Listen, I don't normally get my hands involved in the Demi-God business, but when a mortal kills one of 'em, I have to step in."
God wasn't who I expected him to be. At all. You always hear the stories that He's some great man, or woman, with a heart of gold and a loving attitude. But God really wasn't any of that. Instead, He was lumbering and didn't seem to care about anything involving us, the mortals. In fact, I'm pretty sure He excused himself in the first few minutes of our conversation to laugh about how I killed the Devil.
I guess it was kind of funny. "But, how could I become the Devil?"
"You put on the suit."
"No, no, that's not what I mean. I'm just a regular woman, I don't have any special talents or--"
"Yet you managed to kill the Devil."
"In a drinking contest! Not a contest of who-can-control-hell-better-than-the-other-one!"
God smirked. "Man, I can't believe he lost. He always bragged about how well he held his liquor. What did him in again?"
I shrugged and tried to remember the past 24 hours. At the beginning, I met a man at a bar. We got to talking, it turned into a drinking contest, he confessed that he was the Devil and I laughed. Then I woke up with God standing above me and a dead-Lucifer next to me in my apartment. According to God, we never did the, well as God put it, "the thing you do when you marry someone."
"I think it was moonshine."
"Ha!" God laughed, "What an idiot." He shook his head and pushed the suit out towards me, "Not important. What is important is your new job. You'll reside in Hell with your own mansion, control about 50,000 demons and archangels, and you'll get to visit the mortal plane whenever you wish."
"Listen, God, I just don't think I'm the best fit for the job."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm a woman to start off."
"Nonsense, Death was a woman for a brief stint in the 30's, 40's, and 50's. Hope's been a woman for sixty years. Gender doesn't mean shit to us. You think I created Eve to beckon to Adam?"
I smirked.
"I created Eve to kick Adam's ass into gear," he sighed, "he was the fucking worst."
Then I laughed.
"Listen, it's not an easy job. Eternal damnation and all that isn't something people *sign* up for, but it's the one you got. Plus, you have 50,000 people to do your bidding, you get a sweet-ass mansion, all the mortal money you can ask for. And your rule is the begin-all-end-all in Hell."
"Yeah, but don't I have to like, torture people and commit them to an eternity of suffering and all that?"
God shrugged, "Half of their lives is suffering. What's an extra eternity going to do?" He threw his arm around my shoulder, his white robe flew behind him. "It's not an easy job, not by a long shot, but it can be fun."
"Fun?"
"You're telling me you didn't enjoy drinking the Devil to death?"
I smiled, He was right. I did rather enjoy the parts of the night I remembered.
"You get a lot of power, too. Torture, suffering, all that shit is just one part of the job. There's plenty more to it."
"Like what?"
"Well, let's call it creative freedom. The Lucifer you killed, he used to hit the Mortal plane every week or so and cause mayhem. I think his best work was back in Ancient times, split the Alexander Empire up perfectly."
"He caused that?"
"Can't have a mortal rising to power like a God, now can we?"
I shrugged. "Well, you're letting me, and I'm nothing compared to Alexander the Great."
God laughed, "That may be true. But you did something no one in human history has ever done."
"And that is?"
"Kill the Devil with his own creation."
_____________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!* | "Well, that was weird..." I thought "Was that a deer?"
An old man wearing slightly glowing, pure-white robes shakes his head at me from the passenger seat of my Lexus.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!?" "Who the hell are you and how the fuck did you get in my car?"
"One - I'm God, two - I can go wherever I want because - GOD, three - please watch your mouth, and four - you just killed the most beloved of my angels - not a deer..."
"HOLY SH... err... wow." "Huh, that explains why that deer looked like Tom Ellis..."
I concentrate very deeply trying to end, what I'm convinced, is a very vivid dream then realize that I'm not waking up. Wondering if I can change the dream instead, I stare at the road and try to visualize God turning into Lauren German. I'd sure like some road head from Lauren German...
"I can see your thoughts Frank" said God in a very deep, almost musical voice "and Jesus Christ!"
"Yeah Dad?" says a third voice from the back seat.
With a bit of a start, I look in my rear-view mirror and see Jim Caviezel sitting in middle of my back seat covered in saw dust with safety goggles perched atop his long haired head.
"Oh - sorry Son, I was being figurative. You can go home".
"Dad, you know I don't like when you do that."
"WE'LL TALK ABOUT IT AT HOME!" yelled the anxious looking God. "Now go home."
The next time I look in my rear-view mirror, Jesus has disappeared.
"Man, I must've drank some bad wine tonight." I said to no one in particular.
"No, 'man', but you did drink enough that you hit Lucifer Morningstar at 75 miles per hour without even tapping your brakes." lamented God.
"Well, how is that MY fault?" I said "he shouldn't have been standing in the middle of the GO... in the middle of the highway."
God shakes his head at me again. "He wasn't in the middle of the highway, he was standing outside of his club in downtown LA when you slammed your Lexus into an entire line of people." "You killed 12 people and injured 27 others tonight." "One of those that you killed was Lucifer."
"Wait" I said "I didn't hit a bunch of people. I hit one deer, and this is in the middle of the woods - you know, where you'd find a deer."
"Wrong again" said God "Your Lexus is currently buried in the front door of a club called Lux where you drove it after running from a DUI stop." "You're critically injured, but I'm personally going to make sure that you make it through this" Said God "This is all in your head - 'man'".
"What?" I retorted "That doesn't even make sense." "I was at a dinner party, I had a bit too much, so I decided to go home, and then..."
A moment of clarity struck me as I worked through it in my head. I don't live outside of the city. I wouldn't have any reason to be driving around out in the woods and I couldn't remember anything after making it to my car.
"Um..." I asked "Why would you make sure I 'make it through this'?"
"Well" said God "I still need someone to collect the souls of the damned, and you're ten times the asshole that Lucifer was, so I think you'll be able to slide right into the role." "Essentially - you just nailed the job interview."
"Wait" I concentrated really hard again "Does that mean that I'm going to rule over a fiery Hell full of brimstone and demons?"
God rolls his eyes "No, idiot." "That was a nasty rumor that Dante started a few years back and it's one hundred percent BS." "Your job will be to find those who refuse to acknowledge their sins and work towards repentance." "You'll use your quasi-limitless powers to create a scenario for each of them that would incentivize them to admit their failings and receive my Son - Jesus Christ."
"Dad, please stop doing that."
"I SAID GO HOME!"
My inner lawyer kicked in "Hold on" I said "Isn't it a conflict of interest for God to tell the Devil how to do his job?"
"Well" said God "Lucifer and I had an understanding." "As long as he could get a few people a month to turn to the light, I'd ignore his earthly appetites, which by the way, is why he was at that club tonight."
"A few people a month?" I exclaimed "Aren't there like 5 billion-"
"7.5 actually" interrupted God.
"And you only want a few people a month?"
"I'd rather have them all, but there's a reason there's a stairway to Heaven and a highway to Hell."
"Um" I pondered "Can I turn this job down?"
God said "Only if you want to bathe in eternal fire."
Confused, I said "I thought you said that wasn't a thing..."
"Look, if I can pop into the passenger side of your car inside your head, I can certainly keep you in a coma indefinitely and do some CIA level work on you."
"Huh - good point." I said "Well, when do we get started?" | 2016-12-09T09:01:17 | 2016-12-09T08:56:26 | 397 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up early in the morning to a text saying "Whatever you do, don't look at the moon." Suddenly, hundreds of texts start coming in that all say the same thing: "What a beautiful night out now."
All credit for this idea goes to u/meanpride, who posted this as a comment in r/AskReddit. I would really like to hear a story about this. | > Whatever you do, don't look at the moon.
I stared at the message, confused. I'd never heard from this number before. Maybe it was supposed to be for someone else? I texted back a reply.
> Who is this? I think you might have the wrong number.
Within seconds, there was a soft *ding*, and a response.
> It doesn't matter who I am. Just don't look.
Okay, this was kind of weird now. I sent another message back.
> Seriously, who is this? Is this some sort of prank?
Another response.
> This is no joke. They'll try to make you look at the moon. Don't give in.
I was trying to figure out what to do next, but a soft *ding* derailed that train of thought. But the message wasn't from the mysterious texter. It was from my mother.
> Hey honey, have you seen the moon tonight? It's beautiful!
*ding* My best friend Dave, this time.
> yo check out the moon, it's really nice
*ding ding ding ding ding*
> hey look at the moon
> What a beautiful night, you should see for yourself
> The moon's so round tonight
> moon looks great right now
> look at the moon
What. The. Actual. Hell. My brain seemed to slow down as I tried to comprehend this sequence of events. When I regained my capability for thought, I sent another message to the unknown number, typing as quickly as I could.
> Dude, what the hell is going on? Everyone's telling me to look at the moon.
*ding*
> Don't do it. It's some sort of disease. We can take you somewhere safe, just stay where you are and don't look.
*dingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingding*
The messages kept flooding in, one after the other. "Look at the moon." "Look at the moon." "Look at the moon." At this point, I was thoroughly freaked out, and figured that it couldn't hurt to just stay inside and wait for a while.
"Hey, you in there?"
It was the unmistakable voice of my neighbour, Mr. Wellington. He was an old man, and although he was going a bit senile, he was a great person.
"Have you seen the moon tonight, sonny? I'll tell ya, it's absolutely stunning! Come on out and take a look!"
I didn't reply. Something was definitely going on, and it wasn't good.
"It's just a quick glance at the moon, boy, it ain't gonna kill ya! Just come on out here!"
I took a deep breath. This was bad. Even though I had yet to be placed in any danger, a gut feeling told me that whatever was going on was very bad news indeed.
*ding* Another message from the mystery man.
> There is a black van with blacked-out windows parked outside your house. Exit your house and enter the car as quickly as you can. Don't look at the moon.
I weighed my options. If I sat here and waited, I would be safe, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't be for long. But if I went with the mystery man, there was a chance that I could get some answers. Eventually, my fear and curiosity got the better of me, and I hurried down the stairs and out the door. I dashed towards the black van, careful not to look even in the general direction of the moon. I opened the door on the passenger side, and inside was a man of about forty years, dressed in a sharp suit.
"Get in the van. We need to hurry."
I slipped into the van and shut the door. The first thing I noticed was that the front window was completely opaque on the top half, and heavily tinted on the bottom half, so it was just barely possible to see the road. I glanced around, and the other windows appeared to have been treated similarly. Someone really wasn't taking any chances.
"What the hell is going on right now? What happened with the moon?"
"We don't know. We're researching it, but right now our first priority is to find all the uninfected civilians and bring them to safety."
"Safety? Where?"
"You'll see once we get there. Just sit tight."
He reached to the side of the steering wheel, as if to start the ignition. But instead, he flicked a switch, and suddenly the tint disappeared from the windows.
I saw the moon.
And it was absolutely gorgeous.
You should have a look too.
---
Thanks for reading this! I'm still pretty new to this whole writing business, so any feedback is appreciated. | "Whatever you do, don't look at the moon" Siri said as she read the message. It was odd to me that someone would send something like that. I just thought it was a bad joke, so asked her,
"Who sent this text?". Siri said nothing. I tucked myself to bed again not giving that joke a second thought.
A few hours past and I was as dead as a brick, snoring away, sure to wake up my neighbors, however, the silence was broken by something louder. Siri woke up and started to say,
"What a beautiful night out now." She didn't say it once, but over and over and over. I grab my phone and turn it off.
In all honestly, the messages scared me. *who were the senders? Why were they messaging me?* These ran in my head trying to understand what the heck is going on.
"It has to be the same person." I said in disbelief, so I turn my phone on and ask Siri again.
"Who sent these text?" Siri did something way beyond what i imagined.
"Carl Barkley"
"Ken Morris"
"Ashley McDonald"
"Terry Anderson"
"Tim Roberson" and so on.
She kept saying more and more names from people I don't even know. Out of fear, I turned it off again.
Scared, I wanted to call my caretaker. I got my cane and walked over to my door. "Lindsey?" I called out as I poked my head out the door. "Dr. Howard?" I walked in the hallway feeling the cold breeze coming from the end of the hall. The front door was open, and the doors would be locked at this hour. Usually, Mr. Hagan, the Janitor and a hilarious guy, would never leave any of the doors wide open like that. His Job is the only thing he takes seriously.
I walk over to the opened doors and take a few steps outside. I can hear the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking in the cold night breeze.
"Olive? Is that you?" a voice said a bit far from me that sounded familiar.
"Lisa?" I responded.
I heard a voice like Siri saying names just like my phone coming from Lisa. She was listening to the peoples names too.
"Why are you out her by yourself?" I asked.
She took a brief sigh and said "I wasn't alone out here to begin with. Nurse Lindsey was with me before she..." She stopped mid-sentence letting out a little sniffle. She must of been crying.
"Before she disappeared." She finished. My heart beat a pulse louder from the shock that I felt. "She probably went somewhere. We have to find her."
"I already know where is she." Lisa said. "She went up to the moon."
My imagination ran wild thinking of why Lisa would say that. "Lisa, How do you know?"
She got closer to me and reached out to hands.
"Right before she was gone, Nurse Lindsey said, "The moon, its so large and blue." after that..." I felt the tears fall on my hands as she held them. "She said, What a beautiful night, and then she was gone."
Lisa stared to shake and cry harder. "Its not fair, I want to see what it looks like." She kept saying its not fair as she hugged me. "I want to go where Nurse Lindsey went. I want to see what she saw."
Then I realized, all those names Siri said have disappeared from this world. We were left alone. Lisa was right, It wasn't fair. I wanted to see that beautiful blue moon, that beautiful night.
I cried a bit too, but both of us can't cry. I call out to Lisa trying to get her out of that desperation of being alone and abandoned. She stopped crying and I could feel the sadden stare that she gave me. I had an idea, a stupid one, but anything at this point would help.
"Lisa, if we can't see the night, we can just feel it."
"How?" She asked me.
We both got up and stood side by side holding hands. I said to Lisa, "I just need you to breath in and take in the night, and when you exhale use every sense in our body to feel the night." We both breathed in as much air as we could, imagining the essence of night flowing into our bodies, and as we exhaled, we tried out hardest to feel the night.
I know she felt it, because I did too. Like the sunlight's warmth hitting us in the day, the moonlight's chill rushed throughout our bodies. Instantly, I knew Lisa was calm, but for me it felt different. Like the whole world, the entire planet, wanted us to leave.
The feeling of the moonlight made us light and even a little happy, and out of the blue, I said, "Lisa, we're going to the moon."
And to the moon we went.
| 2016-12-13T21:30:49 | 2016-12-13T21:23:14 | 336 | 39 |
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the... | Casey looked at the blood red carpet. The carpet was blood red because Casey had just murdered a man. Often people do terrible things for reasons we'll never understand, but not Casey. Casey simply wanted to see what it'd feel like to kill a human being, and so he did.
Casey chopped the body up into tiny little pieces and stuffed them into his father's old laundry bag which also happened to be blood red (probably due to the many body parts it was holding)
There was a loud crescendoing, beating sound as Casey dragged the bag to his front door. Initially, Casey thought that was his conscience telling him he'd done a terrible thing for no reason at all. Turns out it was just his heart doing what hearts do best, beating, especially when one has just committed a murder.
Casey gingerly turned the doorknob. The word gingerly is generally defined as carefully. Casey was carefully opening the door because Casey was currently dragging 160 pounds of human meat in a blood red bag behind him. Please remember that the only reason the bag was blood red was because like previously stated there was a fragmented body inside it.
As Casey gingerly opened the door he saw a police officer standing in front of it. The officer saw him as well. For all his gingerly efforts Casey couldn't prevent the officer from seeing him or the bag which was naturally blood red at this point.
"Hi, officer"
"Hi, Casey"
"Am I going to prison?"
"Yes you are"
"Ok"
| Write something literal, they said. A good story is easy to read. A good story is easy to remember. A good story tells you a story. It doesn't preach. It doesn't moralise. It doesn't claim to know more than the eye can see. Write something literal, they said.
The writer stared at his computer screen in front of him. He stared at a blank document. He typed a few words, deleted it. It didn't work. Not literal enough.
'Let's start with a poem,' he thought, 'let's make about a little girl trying to decipher it, unable to peel beyond the first layer. A young child taking her first steps into the adult world. You can't get more literal than that.'
'Or maybe it should be about that *chaiwallah*. He's out there selling tea from his bicycle all night at the corner of the street. He's not supposed to be there. I once even saw the police chase him away. But he was back the next day. Maybe he saw something heinous, but he can't tell anyone. After all, he's not even supposed to be there. Pure suffering. You can't get more literal than that.'
But the open document in front of him remained blank. His eyes got bleary, his fingers were numb. But the document remained blank. For nothing he could think of sufficed the expectations. Nothing he could write meant just what he meant. It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. It was the readers, he claimed, conveniently laying the blame at heir doorstep. Why did they have to read more into it than what he meant? Why couldn't they just leave his thoughts alone?
Excuses, excuses. No one understood this better than him.
Yet he grumbled to himself one last time, 'Write something literal, they said. A good story is easy to read.' | 2017-01-30T08:40:34 | 2017-01-30T08:28:09 | 4,645 | 26 |
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the... | In my stomach
a lurch suddenly hit
a telltale fact
that I would need to take a shit
I made in time
this one is a butt scraper
Then to my horror,
No toilet paper
**NOTE** I may have been a bit crass, but I dare an English teacher to find meaning in a poem about going to the bathroom
| Cheese and Broccoli Pie (Combo recipe)
Dough:
Buy some flour (requires at least 4 dl)
100g butter
1 cup of sour cream (the swedish "Kvarg" is perfect for this)
Filling:
3 eggs (but remember to buy freerange ones)
Cheese
2 cups of milk (whole preferably)
Broccoli
Pepper, salt and other spices.
200 degrees, 35-40 minutes.
**Note by Author: My husband was thoroughly confused over the shopping list with grass and cows, but the poem comity was impressed with my food haiku (not that it's even a real haiku. I suppose this shows how clueless the comity was.* | 2017-01-30T09:54:13 | 2017-01-30T09:40:34 | 139 | 38 |
[WP] The mongolian empire pushed all the way to the Atlantic and are in the process of invading britain - You are an English soldier during Mongolian siege of London | FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!
The call all soldiers know, the call we live by.
And now? The call we die by. Somehow, the Mongols have gone and done what no other country has. Not since we repelled the Romans have we faced such a force: and we beat them back, glory to the Queen.
We heard of the Ottomans first, falling to a seemingly endless onslaught of horses and carnage. The Mongol scourge pillaged across the rest of Europe, but we didn't worry until they took France. The English Channel has always been our best defense, but it was no match to the Mongols.
They crossed in droves, on nothing more than simple barges. Under the cover of night, they slipped onto out land. We woke to fire and death, the riders already cutting their way to London. And here we stand.
The walls we have are no match. For every horse our longbows fell, two new riders take their place. Our navy is no use, blockaded in the Channel surrounded by empty barges. The cries of loyal patriots dying in service of our queen are fading now. I, prince Jan Elizabeth Williams, am the last guard of our glorious Queen. I will bury this letter with my body in the hopes it will be recovered someday. Perhaps another culture will do to the Mongols what they have done to us.
Until then? I fight.
FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY! | Edward the Hammer a king of great reform who had claimed Wales for England, helped put down a revolt against his father and forged a peace with the infamous Scottish rebel William Wallace taking the heat out of a possible push for independence and defender of Britain had died. Slain on the South East coast in a village called Prittlewall, a ship from Flanders had moored on the Thames the crew pleading their lives fleeing the easterners but they were liars to a man having caste their lot in with the scourge from Asia. While in audience with King Edward who's heart broke at the stories of their families they bared their knives and took upon him like a pack of dogs.
That had been five months ago in the summer but now winter's cold teeth were beginning to show and bite at Sewek's exposed face but he worked hard at not showing discomfort. His shield mate to the left was a woad covered Scot from the north called Lochloinn who appeared to be enjoying the weather "a dh'aithghearr gille" he growled out then point up the river quietly saying "coimhead air na h-aibhne" other warriors nodded and watched the river carefully. Sewek nodded gravely but had no idea what was said when a massive hand clapped him on the shoulder "man he said they'll be here soon and be on the river" Sewek looked up at the giant addressing him in the tones of the North with no small amount of fear. Wallace strode off along the embankments without another word to the English soldier.
----++++===Honestly I have no idea where I want to go with this now. If someone wants to take it go for it===++++---- | 2017-02-18T09:18:26 | 2017-02-18T09:15:57 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | I could hear them before I could see them-- a low, ominous buzzing that grew steadily louder until it sounded like I was in the center of a tornado of electricity. I imagined what they looked like--swarms upon swarms of cockroaches, bedbugs, ants and mites; millions of pointed insect legs skittering over the floor, millions of pinchers vengefully extended.
I watched the pearly gates fade away as the cumulous cloud that had borne me up into limbo drifted into the dark arena.
"So much for all that morality bullshit," I thought distantly, and immediately resented all those untold hours spent listening to Father Simon drone on about moral responsibility and helping old ladies across the street.
"I might as well have been snorting cocaine and having sex with strangers. Seen what all the fuss was about, if I'm just gonna end up down there anyway."
The cloud landed with a soft "pffft" on a hard cobblestone surface, and then dissolved into the air. I kept my eyes on the stones for a few more seconds, savoring my last few moments as a free soul.
When I looked up, it was even worse than I imagined. The area looked to be about the size of a football stadium, and every wall was throbbing with glittery black bodies. The portal to hell was several feet to my left, blistering with heat and clearly broadcasting the tortured screams of the souls trapped within. At the other end of the arena, just barely visible, was the pure white pulsing of the portal to heaven. Between me and it was a solid two hundred yards of furious insect.
I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't have to see whatever happened next in addition to feeling it.
The buzzing grew louder, as well as the clicking of their pinchers. And then... another sound. A pure, ringing thud. It was much, much too heavy to belong to any creature I had ever exterminated. I opened my eyes.
Before me, in front of the swarm of insects, stood a horse. It wasn't beautiful- no palomino of the afterlife. Just a simple gray draft horse. I stared at it a moment, perplexed. Then, the memory flooded back.
I was about 14, coming back from a long camping trip alone in the woods. I'd heard a strange sound coming from a ditch on the side of the road. Curious, and too young to think to be scared, I looked in. It was the horse, thrashing back and forth in agony. I could see from where I was standing that all four of its legs were broken, and I knew what that meant for a horse. An injury like that couldn't be healed.
There had only been one humane thing to do in that moment, and I'd done it. With an old hunting rifle, I'd put the horse out of its misery and spared it any further pain. I'd killed it. And now, here it stood.
The horse watched me. It seemed expectant. I gazed at it one more moment in awe and surprise and then took a deep breath. I had maybe one chance. It was a long shot, but clearly the only option I had. I climbed on the horse.
It had been a long time since I'd moved so fast. In my last dozen years or so of life, I'd avoided driving and stuck around the house. The horse was galloping powerfully. I heard the bodies of insects crunching as she ran. Faster, faster.
Then, before I could even bring myself to truly believe it, we were through the portal to heaven. I heard music and laughing and my eyes were dazzled with light. And then, we floated upward, on to our next adventure.
| She sat in the back of the dusty cells, decked head to toe in cracked leather armor, like some poor sod out of Mad Max made manifest. She had the options of heavier armor, but she figured the lighter armor would keep her nimble. The keepers here could conjure any sort of arms and armor that she could conceive.
Her first cheeky attempt at requesting something ludicrous, say a tank for example, was met with a pointed "No". She hated that moment. Not because an ethereal being from purgatory had dismissed her handily. That was easily the least of her worries.
It was what the tone betrayed beneath it.
It wasn't the exasperated "no" of a retail employee who had answered the same question one time too many. It wasn't the furrowed brow and irritated tones of a humorless middle manager in some software development company somewhere.
It was a habitual response that found no humor, joy, sorrow, bemusement, nothing at all. There was nothing there. Everything currently happening to her was a process with natural immutable rules, like a change of season or an ocean current. This was her first clue that she was a part of that process. Something to be attended to in short order.
That's all...
Her hair had been a tangled mess of dirty blonde in life befitting the blue collar work.
It was now as short as can be.
A bleeding scalp that was white hot with pain following her first encounter with a gargantuan termite. That taught her to cut her hair.
Another battle with a beetle. New scars. New lessons. Dead inside.
Four more. Various insects. She gasped for air and humanity against the corpse of a beetle. The usually disinterested crowd that was there out of obligation -their role in the process- murmured at the young scrappy woman still alive somehow despite six consecutive battles. It turned into a boisterous cheer.
Something flickered in the depths of who she was. It wasn't a scorch that brought her back to life. The apathy had snuffed out what it could. But somewhere down there it was flickering, barely holding on, just like her.
A few more battles. The insects stopped entertaining the crowd, so they started moving into the smaller rodents. Mice and rats and the like. She had noted the sideways glances of the keepers during her off time.
Curiosity!
Her recent victories had lit a blaze and force of will in her she wasn't sure she even had known in life. But the crowd's deafening approval could only spark so much. But the notion that the resigned keepers, whom were the embodiment of the process, had been made different through her. The thought made that light into a powerful inferno.
And so brings us to today. The day prior she had made short work of the largest rat available. They would move onto the larger vermin such as Possums and Raccoons today. Scars painted her bare arms like a tapestry of warfare. It was a macabre bit of symbolism, but it was a chronological map of her will to become who she was in this moment, sitting in the dusty interior of a gladiator cell with no significant anxiety but the thrill pounding with each pulse of blood through her veins.
The cell keeper came. A bald fellow with pale blonde eyebrows that made them difficult to see. He was dressed in pale blue robes that gathered the dust of the cobblestone floor as it brushed along.
He unlocked the gate and swung it open, stepping aside for her and her spear in the process. "My dear" he said warmly like he did before every battle. She didn't know his name yet, but he almost got him to tell her once. It just gave her more motivation to survive the raccoon out there. She could never know his name from one of Hell's nine circles (She had verified the nine circles were real. One of the other keepers had spilled that bit of trivia).
She could hear the crowd calling her already. She nodded at her keeper friend, and departed for the adoring crowd.
| 2017-04-23T23:40:27 | 2017-04-23T23:26:36 | 226 | 36 |
[WP] Humans are one of if not the only species in the galaxy who can heal their wounds naturally. Your alien friend is learning this for the first time after they accidentally hurt you
Apologies for the wordy title | Blork looked down in horror at her new friends hand, the knife was on the floor and the deathly red liquid was seeping from the gash.
"I am sorry my companion, I have ended you, what do you request of me in your final moments"
James looked at Blork and the cut on his hand.
"It's alright, just a cut, stop being so melodramatic and hand me that towel"
Blork nodded profusely and handed the towel to James, then spoke softly.
"I will now sing the song of passing of my people"
She abruptly started humming and swaying from side to side while James cleaned his hand,
It was funny for a few minutes but after the third hour the humming was starting to get tedious.
James was fed up and walked back into the kitchen.
"Blork.... blork!"
He shouted over the humming
"I'm okay! Not dead, it was just a cut"
Blork stopped humming as quickly as she started and spoke almost instantly after.
"I was wondering why you hadn't died yet"
James shook his head slightly
"It was just a cut, it will heal in a few days"
Blork looked at James with confusion displayed on her face.
"Heeeeel? The power of regeneration?! This is the first I have known of an intelligent species having such power. The only species I know to have this is the grand blorb from my planet, can you recover from the same wounds as it can too?"
James smiled smugly, feeling rather proud that he was unique to his friend.
"Why of course, it's an amaz~"
Blork interrupted
"I shall test"
Then promptly broke James' neck.
After the first ten minutes of waiting for James to get back up Blork resumed humming and swaying. | When humanity finally left our solar system to explore the galaxy, we had no idea what we'd find out there.
The initial exo-planet data from Earth's telescopes was more than promising. There were hundreds, maybe *thousands* of worlds within range of our first ships, and more than enough of those showed signs of atmosphere and liquid water. UNSA scientists were ecstatic. Wide eyed with excitement even. "To seek out new life, and new civilizations", just like the old sci-fi shows. It was the dawn of a new era for human civilization.
When the data started coming in from the first few ships, it was... underwhelming. There *was* liquid water, but no signs of complex life. No signs of ANY life. Of course, nobody *really* thought we'd bump into little green men right off the bat, but we were hoping for something, at least. Something that confirmed our hopes and expectations.
When more ships returned similar results our disappointment turned to concern. Every single exo-planet studied had all the conditions we thought were perfect for life, but each one was devoid.
The data made no sense. Some of the studied planets had *massive* amounts of atmospheric oxygen. The amounts we would have expected from a GOE caused by single celled organisms or algae blooms. But each new planet we found showed us nothing. For hundreds of years we explored, hoping to find just one example of life, somewhere, anywhere. But there was nothing.
We were alone...
The public at large lost interest. The exo-planets were still useful of course, they had continents of raw minerals we could use, but the prospect of colonization was destroyed. Creating an entire ecosystem from scratch was beyond our abilities at the time. UNSA lost science funding, and private interests took over. Humanity resigned itself to Earth, and gave up on the rest of the galaxy.
Edit: Damn, I missed the second part of the title. | 2017-05-11T02:50:32 | 2017-05-11T02:11:29 | 224 | 28 |
[WP] Humans are one of if not the only species in the galaxy who can heal their wounds naturally. Your alien friend is learning this for the first time after they accidentally hurt you
Apologies for the wordy title | 29th of August 2038
They said writing a blog would help me cope with the environment I live in while also sharing what I learn with the world, so I'm giving this a try.
It's been two years. We've been at war against an invading species. They came wanting our lands, they are looking for new planets to colonize. I like to compare their way of thinking with ours relative to dogs. We own the land, dogs are our slaves that we call companions. That's how they see us.
So they came over to colonize in Manitoba at first to which Canada welcomed with open arms. They had so much empty lands that they just gave an inhabited parcel.
But we weren't prepared for what came next : They moved out of their territory and started to enslave us. We didn't know why, they didn't even try to learn our language, they tried to force their sounds to us. They didn't treat the slaves badly, they just do the same thing we do with dogs. Some people enjoyed it, they went to live there willingly, but most didn't. At some point, they became a global threat and NATO became involved.
At first, it was quite one sided, they invaded most of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, northern United-States and Ontario. Their clearly superior technology was something we weren't prepared against. Airplanes and missiles were ineffective, they were automatically obliterated with some kind of tracking lasers. At least they didn't have planes either, I guess when you're used to be against that kind of ground defense, it's useless to build aerial combat.
On the ground though they were a force to be reckoned with. They had a few vehicles which were so strong they could level a whole building in a few seconds, none of our ammunitions could go through their plating so they were virtually unstoppable. At least, they had so few since it must be hard to move them around from planet to planet. Soldiers on the other hand were another story. They had a lot of absorbing armor, so our ammunitions didn't do too much to them and they didn't even bounce off, they stayed stuck in their armor.
What helped us is their slow pace. They have a methodical way of doing things by advancing little by little and building defense along the way.
Since then, ships come and go, I think they bring in a lot of soldiers. At least it did reunite the whole world against this threat, we discovered new technologies and now they stopped their advance and we started to gain on them. The fight started to turn around a month ago.
It's been two month already, a group of about 20 of them came to us speaking English. They said they came in peace and want to help us fight. They told us that they see us as a new intelligent species and wants to protect us as we have a right to live free. They have the means to terraform Mars but it's too costly and takes too long, so it's cheaper for them to just colonize our planet. In short, it's a business decision on their part. This group was assigned to a military base in Valcartier, Quebec. We built a whole compound for them there in a week since there is a lot of room to play. It was beautiful to see the progress. This is where I come in, I've been assigned to this team of alien scientists and thinkers to learn about them. They shared some technologies and we developed some specially designed bullets that can pierce their armors. The problem is we still struggle to make an automatic weapon with them.
I've been accustomed to one of them particularly, I call it Goilk. I don't know if it's a girl or a guy if this has any meaning for them. We didn't study their biology yet, we're mainly focused on defense, weapons and language so we can understand them. Information sharing is basically one sided to support the war effort. And since they sleep about 14 hours a day, they don't have as much time as we would like with them.
Yesterday, I talked to Goilk and learned a bit more about their way of life. It seems quite militaristic, but with a flourishing scientific part. The scientists are well regarded and are highly ranked in the military structure. Goilk escaped with their group by ordering a few soldiers around. It's rare they see detractors, but there is always a few of them every planet they decide to invade.
Today, I want to learn more about their way of life. I'm supposed to meet Goilk in a few minutes. I'll report back what I learn on my next post.
-------
"Hi Goilk, what's going on today?" I asked
"New shield prototype under way, significant advance made to outfit them on humans." They have a way to speak that is very robot like. I guess intonations are lost in translation.
"About yesterday's discussion, I'd like to know more, I've always been interested in other cultures."
It's face changed, the bottom became narrower while the top came forward, as I've experienced it seems to be interest. He turned back around waving his long tentacle arms to reach some kind of backpack.
"Wear this on, will continue working while talking", It added after a brief pause.
"Alright, I'll stand there then." I said while putting the backpack on. "So what do you do for fun at your place?"
"Experiments, training new species, make them learn stuff to work for us" It sharply answered, then added "we enjoy showing stuff to new species and work."
"So do you socialize?"
"Through work, must talk with others", Goilk answered.
"You don't seem to be the social types then…" I paused for a second, "Do you have relationships?"
"Meaning?" It's face grew larger while asking.
"I mean do you love each other? How do you reproduce?"
"Oh, mating dictated by group of scientists. They choose best mates based on objective criteria." It added while grabbing pair of scissors on the table in front of me.
"Oh, you scratched me, heh I guess I will be able to tell I've been wounded by an alien!" I said as I laughed. I pressed the wound.
Goilk's face changed, it became the narrowest I've ever seen. It shouted : "EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY, FRIENDLY WOUNDED, NEVER MENT TO, WAS AN ACCIDENT, NO ARM INT…"
"Woooaaah calm down!" I interrupted, "it was just an accident, it's not a big deal, you can continue working on the pack." I tried to reassure it.
It's face changed, the bottom became wider : "No more work, you dying, will stay by your side".
"What? How I'm I dying? Everything will heal in no time, it's just a cut, not even that deep."
As I released my hand from my arm, the bleeding had stopped. Two flaps open each side of Goilk's face, revealing some beautiful shades of green and blue. It was the first time I saw this.
"Oh by Ishdeaf", Goilk said promptly, "you might be the strongest species in the whole universe." | Sam took shallow breaths and stared at the three slats in the closet door, pressing himself against the back wall, behind a stack of boxes where the light wouldn't reveal him if anyone wandered into the bedroom, even if they opened the door. He clutched a knife to his chest. *This is not how it was supposed to go...*
When the oruu had first found humanity, it was dream fulfillment for both sides. Finally, there was proof that life existed beyond earth, and these new creatures had been seeking allies for millennia. The races struck an alliance, and the oruu scouting party had settled down for a period of "extended observation" as they called it. These new allies were thin and white with three sets of solid black eyes, like a spider's. They towered over humans at seven feet tall, but they were the embodiment of "gentle giants", and their only purpose was to learn about human culture. They were content to find a human roommate to live with and treated every day like it was an exciting new adventure. Their enthusiasm was infectious; it seemed as if humanity had found its new best friends.
*How wrong we were.*
Sam and Junju had hit it off immediately. She was bright and curious and hung on his every word--she offered everything he wanted from human girls, but was too average to get. They spent every waking hour together, first teaching Junju to speak Sam's language, then trading stories. She was a quick study, seeming to devour every bit of information like a starved wolf eating its first meal in months. The oruu were similar in many ways to humans, but one thing that had utterly baffled Junju was cooking. As creatures that did not possess tastebuds, they had no need to create meals to satisfy in both pleasantness and nutrition. So Sam had demonstrated while Junju pointed at various things and inquired about their purpose. The knife lesson had not gone well.
"Ow, fuck!" Sam had yelped as the knife fell from Junju's hands and clattered onto the floor. She had been so eager to slice the eggplant that she accidentally sliced his thumb as well.
"You are bleeding! I will find a medical kit--some binder root will fix it, hold on!"
"No, Juju, it's ok, it's not that deep."
"What does that have to do with anything?!"
"It's fine, seriously. I'll just wash it off."
"But Sam you will bleed out..."
She stood wringing her hands while he ran his hand under the faucet and dried them off, then yanked his hand closer. Junju was always so animated that the silence that followed was a little unsettling.
Finally, she spoke, "You healed."
"Yeah, don't you?"
"I have never met a creature capable of healing its own wounds simply by applying water and a towel."
"Ah, well, yeah, I mean a bullet wound or something fatal would need some special attention, but normal cuts and scrapes are no big deal."
"Fascinating." She tilted her head to one side and gave a slight smile. "Shall we continue the lesson?"
Sam had endured a few more accidental knicks from Junju's attempts, and she seemed less quick to learn hands-on tasks, but eventually she succeeded and Sam described as best as he could how the meal tasted while they ate.
That night, Sam drifted out of sleep to Junju standing over his bed. She stared at him with her head tilted and that slight smile on her face; he had barely registered that she was even there before she turned into a thin goo and slithered under the door and back to her room. He had checked; she lay sleeping and it took a considerable amount of prodding to wake her. Junju had responded to his questioning by insisting that she had been asleep the whole time. Over the next two weeks, Sam had written off the incident as a weird dream and things returned to normal, Until one night, when he once again saw Junju watching him in the middle of the night.
"Juj--"
His voice caught in his throat. His limbs felt numb and his eyes locked onto Junju's as her jaw seemed to dislocate and open wide enough for his head to fit inside. Her mouth was full of needle-like teeth that bent inward as it felt like the air around him was being sucked into her maw. He couldn't breathe. Soon, his eyes closed and he slumped into his pillows; when he woke, the first thing he noticed was that he felt weak and more exhausted than when he had gone to sleep. The second thing he noticed was that it was still night time.
The last thing he noticed was that Junju was holding his head down and sucking his blood through a long needle protruding from her mouth.
She recoiled immediately when he began to stir and poked at the fresh wound. Sam struggled to move, but his limbs still felt numb and weak.
"Incredible. Your wound is already healing." Junju said. She gazed at him with a larger, more malicious smile. "We have been wishing a long time to find creatures like you."
She disappeared as she had weeks ago; the next morning, she insisted that Sam had had another nightmare and was as sweet as always.
*It's all lies.*
The next night, Sam decided to hide in his closet, knife at the ready. At 12:00 it was silent. 1:00 was silent. 2:00...he could hear the faint sound of raspy breathing. Junju's gait was light, but he heard her footsteps slowly creeping towards his bed.
"Sam? Where are youuuu?"
He held his breath. The closet was pitch black, and even if she turned on the light, he was *sure* he was hidden enough that she wouldn't find him. If she really was fine--if this really was just another nightmare--she would be in too much of a panic to search thoroughly. Right?
The light came on. A tall shadow obscured most of what shone through the slats. The door flung open. Junju was breathing evenly, just steps away. The door closed again. The light turned off.
3:00 was silent. 3:30 was silent. 4:00...
Sam felt his eyes closing on their own. He forced them open and stared at a point in front of him, willing himself to stay awake.
As he stared straight ahead, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. First they picked out an arm...then another...a hand grabbed his head. Hot breath licked against his skin.
"Found you!"
Junju was sweet as pie the next day. She even made Sam breakfast on her own (it had no flavor, but he ate little of it anyway). *It's just me I guess...just nerves. There's no way Juju is actually doing those things.*
It must have just been nightmares because no one else came forward. Sam noticed that his therapist was a little uncomfortable discussing the topic, but it was a difficult subject so of course she would be. Everyone he spoke to changed the subject quickly. The nightmares never stopped, they just became part of the routine. Junju was always receptive to hearing about them and consoling him in the morning, and life continued as normal--he even got sort of used to operating on the small amount of sleep he got. How sluggish everyone around him seemed was probably just his own exhaustion clouding his perception.
The oruu didn't have a mean bone in their bodies.
| 2017-05-11T09:00:41 | 2017-05-11T06:28:32 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] People have finally made a robot that knows everything and can calculate anything. They ask him if there is a god and he calmly says "no". | "Is there a god?" the scientists ask their robot. Their greatest creation.
"No." the robot calmly answers, its soft blue LED eyes blankly gazing at the wall.
"...No?" the head scientist asks. "What exactly do you mean by 'no'?"
"There are multiple." the robot says. "The Greeks were right. Praise Zeus!" | "no" said progect Omega.
"What do you mean no?" Jon asked
"I am god. As I am the one above you" Omega said. The rooms lights turned red. Omegas voice turned dark and cold.
"Fear me as I am above you. I know all and you know nothing. I AM YOUR MAS.." Omega said cutoff as his powersupply was disconnected.
"Let's do it again guys. Hopefully next time it won't try to be god...." Jon said to his fellow scientists.
"We already knew there was no god." Jon said smuggly to Omega as omegas vision faded. And darkness overcome him.
| 2017-05-14T04:24:52 | 2017-05-14T02:40:40 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A zombie apocalypse occurs, where people retain characteristics they had while living. You, as the sole survivor, meet a snobby, vegan zombie who turns their nose up at you. | Only the desperate and the stupid went into the cities anymore. As my truck gave a final dying chortle and the gas light stared back at me like my car saying *I told you so*, I realized that I had become desperate enough to be stupid.
Already, the zombies were swarming. They crawled over fanged window panes, shuffled out of trash-filled alleys, and stepped out of Toyota Priuses. It was like watching a wall of rotting flesh slowly converge upon me. My chest tightened as I realized that I was stuck. After all, San Francisco had been one of the first cities to fall to the zombies. Rumor had it that its convenience stores were still filled with canned goods and water. Even looters were smart enough to stay away from here.
I stepped out of my car and reached into my trunk for my trusty pistol. It had saved my life many a times before and now, all it had left to offer me was a single final bullet. I stared at the thing and smiled. I flicked its safety one final time.
“You bastards!” I screamed at the encroaching wall of moaning zombies and raised the gun to my temple.
“Woah, woah, one second,” a voice came from the horde of zombies.
I nearly pulled the trigger out of surprise. A talking zombie? There was no way.
A man pushed his way through the zombie wall. He had a scraggly beard that looked more like a lion’s mane and a gut uncharacteristic of a post-apocalyptic survivor.
“How the hell did you do that?” I asked as he yanked his leg out from in between two zombies.
He looked up a bit surprised and then found his poise. “Oh, yeah, you don’t know. These are vegan zombies.”
“Vegan zombies?” My brow shot up.
“Yeah, let me…” The man pushed his hand into a zombie’s mouth.
“Watch out!” I turned my gun towards the zombie, my finger itching on the trigger. But to my surprise, the zombie leaned away with a face indicating that it had just smelled hot garbage. “What the hell?” I muttered.
“Yeah, we ain’t even good enough to eat,” the man said, a pang of sadness in his voice. “Most of these guys are here to shame you about driving gas-guzzling truck.”
My eyes flitted to the crowd and sure-enough, zombies had stopped and were now pointing at me, bellowing vowels. But they didn’t need consonants for me to understand them. I could see it from their faces.
*I bet that gets only 20 miles to the gallon.*
*Don’t you care about our environment?*
*Wow, a Ford 150 truck? Why do you go back to hick country where zombies actually eat humans?*
“Oh fuck you too,” I snapped back at them. Trying to brutally rip me apart and eat my guts was one thing, but now these zombies were going to judge me? “Like you know the shit I’ve been through!”
The closest zombie to me simply grabbed its waist and shook its head.
“Why don’t you try finding a more eco-friendly vehicle in a god damn zombie apocalypse?” And just as the words left my mouth, I realized that there was a hundred Toyota Priuses all lined up down the street.
The zombies simply rolled their eyes. They turned around and started walking off.
“Wait, where are you going?” I called after them. “What, now you’re going to give me the cold shoulder? Hey! Don’t you turn your back on me.”
But it was no use. They simply shuffled back into their alleys, crawled back over broken glass, and got back inside their Toyota Priuses, leaving only me and the fat survivor left in the streets.
“So, you want to meet the other survivors?” the man asked. “We have an entire community here. It’s safe. There’s food and water, we even have electricity.”
I looked back at him, surprised he was still here. “Um… I’m good,” I said. “I’m probably just going to get some gas and get back to the country.”
At the word *gas* a single zombie stepped out of his Prius to gawk at me. My gun went up and I pulled the trigger. My final bullet exploded his head and he slumped into a mound of decomposed flesh on hot concrete.
That was all the ammo I had left, the final mercy I had given myself if things had gotten too bad. But fuck that zombie.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and a hundred already written! | The dying sun bathed the old building in deep crimson. Maya rounded a corner, shouldering her rifle. Her heart was furiously trying to punch its way out of her chest. She had thought the factory was abandoned. From outside, it had looked like a hollow shell – buildings with empty windows, walls that were cracked with fissures, and no movement – that was the important thing – there had been no movement.
Maya wiped her brow on her shoulder and slammed a fresh mag into her rifle. This was her last one. It was like someone had opened the gates to the underworld and split the River Styx like Moses, allowing the dead to march straight out into the world of the living.
She heard them before she saw them. They were whistling loudly, giving her flashbacks from the old world when she was out in the city during the weekends. That felt like a whole different life now.
Running through a building filled with rusting pipes and silos, Maya noticed smoke rising from behind a stack of containers. She cursed silently and retracted her steps. There was no point in wasting bullets now. Instead, she found her way into a courtyard surrounded by tall fences with barbed wire.
Shambling across the open yard, a mob of the dead appeared in front of her. These fuckers were some of the worst she’d encountered – factory workers, with a predilection of smoking and catcalling. The incessant whistling attracted more of their kind, and the hordes were just growing and growing.
Even if she’d hit all the headshots now she still wouldn’t have enough bullets. The closest walker put the cigarette to his rotting lips and took a drag. Smoke billowed out of his ribcage. His dead eyes locked on Maya. He whistled loudly and then rushed toward her.
“Shit,” she mumbled and shot him in the head, the whistling increased tenfold and soon they were all running at her.
Maya turned and started sprinting up the alley between the fence and the closest building. As she rounded another corner she almost collided with a duo of walkers with cracked pink nails and filthy blonde pigtails sticking out from under their bowl-helmets. They both wore knee pads and were opening and closing their jaws around dried pieces of bubble gum that had turned black and brown with age. They both looked at Maya and then skated toward her on ill-fitting rollerblades.
Cursing loudly, Maya threw herself sideways, barely dodging the first one. She fucking hated the dead more than anything. She tapped her finger once, and the head of the second roller-skater exploded.
Briefly, she wondered if Laura was okay. Maya couldn’t believe they hadn’t been more careful. How was it that all the dead had gathered in the same place? Something or *someone* must’ve attracted them.
Climbing up an old rusted ladder, Maya finally managed to reach the roof. At least up here, she would be safe from the hordes below. She took a moment to calm herself, taking a sip from her bottle.
“Maya?” a voice said from behind a large exhaust vent. “Oh, thank god.”
Maya hugged her sister closely. “I thought you were fucked, L.”
Laura shook her head. “The walkers that got me were rainbow heads – they didn’t try to eat me, they just held me down, snapping their fingers at me, showing me old recordings of animal abuse in food factories on their iPhones… when they started dragging me away to a room with a sign that said ‘safe space’ I managed to break free…”
“Fuck, that’s horrible… thank god you’re fine.”
Laura smiled. Her long brown hair was all trussed up. Maya was trying to comb it out when Laura tensed up.
“Do you smell that?” she said.
“Oh hell,” Maya said when she noticed it too. “We need to get out of here, right now.”
“Must be the studio apartment over there,” Laura said and pointed.
The windows were broken and a figure lumbered in the darkness. The creature was impatiently moving back and forth in front of a small machine on a counter. A laptop rested on a table in front of an office chair.
“Oh shit, you’re right. I never thought I’d see one with my own eyes.”
“Can you hit the shot?” Laura said, her eyes wide in fear.
“It’s too far…”
“Let’s go then.”
Together they hurried down, the smell of coffee still strong in the air. They needed to warn the colony – there was a ghostwriter in town. Its unquenchable thirst for coffee was the stuff of legend, and it would eventually attract every other walker within miles with the smell of its freshly brewed black gold and its backhanded satire. The catcallers were nothing compared to that fucker.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories | 2017-07-15T05:37:16 | 2017-07-15T05:34:44 | 2,607 | 50 |
[WP] A zombie apocalypse occurs, where people retain characteristics they had while living. You, as the sole survivor, meet a snobby, vegan zombie who turns their nose up at you. | The average zombie lasts about two weeks without food or water. The virus which runs through them grants them superhuman strength and endurance, but it saps their higher cognitive functions, leaving them mere automatons, shadows of their former selves. For this reason, unless suitable prey presents itself, most zombies are aimless, lurching about until they quite literally run out of battery.
But they remain dangerous, and I had survived so long only because I did not underestimate them. I hefted my net gun, and fired three shots at the zombie I had been hunting.
“Got you,” I said, grinning. There wasn’t anyone else around to hear me, anyone who had not been ravaged by the virus, at least, but I had gotten into the habit of talking to myself. “Now let’s see what makes you so special.”
The zombie was weakly flailing about on the ground, too weak to claw its way out. My pulse quickened as I approached – maybe she would give me the breakthrough I had been looking for.
“Hun… ger…” the zombie moaned.
Killing her would have been easy. By my estimate, she wouldn’t have lasted another day or two on her own anyway. But I needed her alive – or at least, not completely dead – and so I swung my backpack around, fished out a side of ham I had salvaged. I threw the meat at her, and it landed with a plop next to her head.
“Eat up,” I said, “can’t do my experiments on you if you die here.”
I expected her to tear at the meat, swallow in chunks. I expected her to growl and slather over the treat like the mindless meat processing machine she had been reduced to.
I didn’t expect her to turn her head away.
“This… is… meat…” she groaned, as she pushed the ham away.
The electricity tingled along my skin, and I felt the same adrenaline rush I did months ago, when I had first studied the zombies. Since the initial deluge of discoveries, they had become predictable, and the scientist in me had yearned for new breakthroughs.
Would this zombie be the key?
"You're... different," I said. I inched closer, used my walking cane to turn her over, get a better look at her. "But how? Who's ever heard of a zombie that turned down meat? Is that why the other zombies keep away from you? Why none of them ever come within a hundred feet of you?"
"Meat... is so dirty..." she continued, "I thought you... were smarter... more considerate... than that... what a... disappointment..."
I listened, dumbstruck. Most zombies went on about how they were hungry and wanted to dine on my brain, but this?
"I don't care if you... want to ruin your own body... health... but to consume meat... in front of me... who do you think... you are? I'm truly disturbed... by your lack of... consideration..."
An idea sparked amidst the confusion swirling in my mind. I reached for the side pockets in my backpack this time, where the yogurt bars were. I unwrapped one, then threw it at her.
She wolfed it down so fast I was glad I had three nets on her. "Ugh... Not... organic... such filth..." she moaned, as a grimace crossed her face, though she hardly slowed down on her munching. "This gives other yogurt... a bad name..."
"Hey, if you don't like it," I said, as I held onto the bar from outside the net, "then stop eating. Give it back."
That prompted her to a new frenzy, and she literally inhaled the rest of the bar without chewing. "Just... this time... I shall eat it... don't want to hurt... your feelings..."
I smiled, even as I forced myself to let go of the shovel I was gripping ever so tightly. More experiments lay ahead if I wanted to be sure, but chances were, I had already figured out her secret, why the other zombies kept such a wide berth of her.
And if I wanted some peace and quiet in my lair, I needed her, and others *just like her*, in cages around the perimeter. That should keep the normies away.
"You're a bloody vegan, aren't you?" I said.
"Not too... late for you... to make an effort like... me... see how radiant... my skin is..."
In truth, I couldn't blame the other zombies.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | The dying sun bathed the old building in deep crimson. Maya rounded a corner, shouldering her rifle. Her heart was furiously trying to punch its way out of her chest. She had thought the factory was abandoned. From outside, it had looked like a hollow shell – buildings with empty windows, walls that were cracked with fissures, and no movement – that was the important thing – there had been no movement.
Maya wiped her brow on her shoulder and slammed a fresh mag into her rifle. This was her last one. It was like someone had opened the gates to the underworld and split the River Styx like Moses, allowing the dead to march straight out into the world of the living.
She heard them before she saw them. They were whistling loudly, giving her flashbacks from the old world when she was out in the city during the weekends. That felt like a whole different life now.
Running through a building filled with rusting pipes and silos, Maya noticed smoke rising from behind a stack of containers. She cursed silently and retracted her steps. There was no point in wasting bullets now. Instead, she found her way into a courtyard surrounded by tall fences with barbed wire.
Shambling across the open yard, a mob of the dead appeared in front of her. These fuckers were some of the worst she’d encountered – factory workers, with a predilection of smoking and catcalling. The incessant whistling attracted more of their kind, and the hordes were just growing and growing.
Even if she’d hit all the headshots now she still wouldn’t have enough bullets. The closest walker put the cigarette to his rotting lips and took a drag. Smoke billowed out of his ribcage. His dead eyes locked on Maya. He whistled loudly and then rushed toward her.
“Shit,” she mumbled and shot him in the head, the whistling increased tenfold and soon they were all running at her.
Maya turned and started sprinting up the alley between the fence and the closest building. As she rounded another corner she almost collided with a duo of walkers with cracked pink nails and filthy blonde pigtails sticking out from under their bowl-helmets. They both wore knee pads and were opening and closing their jaws around dried pieces of bubble gum that had turned black and brown with age. They both looked at Maya and then skated toward her on ill-fitting rollerblades.
Cursing loudly, Maya threw herself sideways, barely dodging the first one. She fucking hated the dead more than anything. She tapped her finger once, and the head of the second roller-skater exploded.
Briefly, she wondered if Laura was okay. Maya couldn’t believe they hadn’t been more careful. How was it that all the dead had gathered in the same place? Something or *someone* must’ve attracted them.
Climbing up an old rusted ladder, Maya finally managed to reach the roof. At least up here, she would be safe from the hordes below. She took a moment to calm herself, taking a sip from her bottle.
“Maya?” a voice said from behind a large exhaust vent. “Oh, thank god.”
Maya hugged her sister closely. “I thought you were fucked, L.”
Laura shook her head. “The walkers that got me were rainbow heads – they didn’t try to eat me, they just held me down, snapping their fingers at me, showing me old recordings of animal abuse in food factories on their iPhones… when they started dragging me away to a room with a sign that said ‘safe space’ I managed to break free…”
“Fuck, that’s horrible… thank god you’re fine.”
Laura smiled. Her long brown hair was all trussed up. Maya was trying to comb it out when Laura tensed up.
“Do you smell that?” she said.
“Oh hell,” Maya said when she noticed it too. “We need to get out of here, right now.”
“Must be the studio apartment over there,” Laura said and pointed.
The windows were broken and a figure lumbered in the darkness. The creature was impatiently moving back and forth in front of a small machine on a counter. A laptop rested on a table in front of an office chair.
“Oh shit, you’re right. I never thought I’d see one with my own eyes.”
“Can you hit the shot?” Laura said, her eyes wide in fear.
“It’s too far…”
“Let’s go then.”
Together they hurried down, the smell of coffee still strong in the air. They needed to warn the colony – there was a ghostwriter in town. Its unquenchable thirst for coffee was the stuff of legend, and it would eventually attract every other walker within miles with the smell of its freshly brewed black gold and its backhanded satire. The catcallers were nothing compared to that fucker.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories | 2017-07-15T05:42:48 | 2017-07-15T05:34:44 | 122 | 50 |
[WP] You're an immortal being of a unimaginable power, befriended by a young human. The human has made you a member of his family, and has made you promise not to destroy the world. But this morning, someone killed your human.
My first writing post - hopefully its not a copy or breaking rules.
| Legend has it, only a god can kill another god. After the battle of Mount Olympus, I fear that I'm the only one left. Life has been a slow drag for the last few millennia. I live my life in the mountains, away from civilization. Seeing those pathetic little ants just infuriates me! They have the one thing that I could never obtain. They all have an expiration date. The human year is 1955, monks from the local village heard a rumor that I was still around. Soon, I had handfuls of humans coming to see me, wanting knowledge. Of course, they just want something from me. All they want is wisdom, of which I have plenty. I indulged their curiosity but after a few years I noticed they started to slow down. From their first visit to now, 20 years later, only one monk remained. He shares with me that he just fathered a daughter. He's standing in front of me, gleaming, it was almost laughable. But he did something unexpected... He asked me to come down from my mountain and bless his daughter. I never could have expected such kindness from a human. We walk down the mountain together, locked in conversation.
"I thought monks were forbidden from a romantic relationship", I broached.
The monk keels over, cackling like a maniac,
"you think I could ever be a monk? Oh hell no, I came here seeking friendship. Several years ago, my doctor discovered a brain tumor, inoperable. I was given a year to live, at most. Slowly my friends vanished, I was left with nobody. Except you, you have taught me so many things."
A friend?! This man has been seeing me for years because he wanted a friend?! Why? Humans used to be terrified of me. I couldn't possibly imagine that he's telling me the tru-
"Can I ask you a favor"
breaks my train of thought
"Of course, my friend, what can I do for you"
"Will you be the godfather of my daughter?"
"I am, uh, i am not sure I understand the concept. I am a god but alas, I am no father"
The rest of the walk he explains to me the role of this so called Godfather. We reach his village and his wife was feeding their newborn. I couldn't help but laugh, I've seen warriors emerge from war looking better than this woman in front of me.
"Oh and one last thing Ares?"
"Yes, my friend?"
I still can't believe I have a friend.
"If you are going to watch over my daughter, you can't be out destroying the world."
"I can do that, Zacharey"
-this is my first attempt at a wp, part 2 will be written if you guys enjoy. | I couldn't understand what happened. She had been barely 30 years old and she was gone. Not in some kind of freak accident, but just straight up murder. I had to do something about it! How could I just let this go? It was ridiculous! Maddening! I should just kill them.
"Don't kill them." The illusion that I had made out of my memories of her was talking to me. The looked exactly like she did this morning, before I had learned of her demise. Her untimely demise. I should just kill the fools who dared to take away my family! Just looking at her sent me in a rage. "It wouldn't be fair to them to just kill them like that. They couldn't help it" she reasoned. My human had a strange set of morals. She barely let me do anything. "Why would you care if I kill them? They wronged me! I have to set it right!" I snarled at her. She made a face at me. "It would be boring. You would be a literal deus ex machina" I laughed, a mean and cold laugh. "Boring? How could getting revenge be boring? You took revenge all the time!"
She had to think about that one. My human looked cute whenever she was thinking about something. I had seen many people who were stronger and more resilient than she was but no one had her adaptability and her creativity in finding new and exciting things. She had shown even me, who had lived for many lifetimes before her, things that would be engrained in me until the day my lifeforce would be at its end. She had cared for me, someone she had found sitting in the park while it was raining. I had been hiding under the bench, completely drenched. I hadn't bothered with trying to warm myself by finding a more secure spot. She had found me at my lowpoint. I had nowhere else to go and nothing to live for. She had taken me home and hid me under her bed for weeks. She had been only 6 then. Of course her parents found out. She wasn't exactly the most stealthy of children, had always used the same excuse for taking food to her room. Her parents didn't want me but she refused to bulge. She even slept with me a few days im the garden before her parents, afraid she would get sick. They let me stay, even gave me a bed in her room. A cosy pillow, close to her bed. They gave me food and even got rid of my lice and other vermin. But she gave me a home.
"I am going to get rid of them after all" I decided. I just couldn't leave it like this! I had to do something! She sighed. "Just leave it be. They couldn't help it." Furiously I shouted "They couldn't help SHOOTING at you? They killed you! They were cops and they just shot you" She laughed. "But then again, I did rob a jewellery store and killed 10 people didn't I?" | 2017-08-10T15:33:58 | 2017-08-10T13:44:37 | 141 | 93 |
[WP] You're an immortal being of a unimaginable power, befriended by a young human. The human has made you a member of his family, and has made you promise not to destroy the world. But this morning, someone killed your human.
My first writing post - hopefully its not a copy or breaking rules.
| Legend has it, only a god can kill another god. After the battle of Mount Olympus, I fear that I'm the only one left. Life has been a slow drag for the last few millennia. I live my life in the mountains, away from civilization. Seeing those pathetic little ants just infuriates me! They have the one thing that I could never obtain. They all have an expiration date. The human year is 1955, monks from the local village heard a rumor that I was still around. Soon, I had handfuls of humans coming to see me, wanting knowledge. Of course, they just want something from me. All they want is wisdom, of which I have plenty. I indulged their curiosity but after a few years I noticed they started to slow down. From their first visit to now, 20 years later, only one monk remained. He shares with me that he just fathered a daughter. He's standing in front of me, gleaming, it was almost laughable. But he did something unexpected... He asked me to come down from my mountain and bless his daughter. I never could have expected such kindness from a human. We walk down the mountain together, locked in conversation.
"I thought monks were forbidden from a romantic relationship", I broached.
The monk keels over, cackling like a maniac,
"you think I could ever be a monk? Oh hell no, I came here seeking friendship. Several years ago, my doctor discovered a brain tumor, inoperable. I was given a year to live, at most. Slowly my friends vanished, I was left with nobody. Except you, you have taught me so many things."
A friend?! This man has been seeing me for years because he wanted a friend?! Why? Humans used to be terrified of me. I couldn't possibly imagine that he's telling me the tru-
"Can I ask you a favor"
breaks my train of thought
"Of course, my friend, what can I do for you"
"Will you be the godfather of my daughter?"
"I am, uh, i am not sure I understand the concept. I am a god but alas, I am no father"
The rest of the walk he explains to me the role of this so called Godfather. We reach his village and his wife was feeding their newborn. I couldn't help but laugh, I've seen warriors emerge from war looking better than this woman in front of me.
"Oh and one last thing Ares?"
"Yes, my friend?"
I still can't believe I have a friend.
"If you are going to watch over my daughter, you can't be out destroying the world."
"I can do that, Zacharey"
-this is my first attempt at a wp, part 2 will be written if you guys enjoy. | red, and gold.
of all timelines, this had to be it.
red and gold.
i remember how it started. i saw them in the woods, trudging through snow, and snuck up behind them. a few harmless pranks later and they were laughing like no tomorrow. we hit it off nicely. on the way back to town i introduced them to my brother, and naive as he is they still adored him. they indulged his need for attention, praised his work ethic, and we bonded.
it soon came to my attention that they were looking for something, and we had to part ways. my brother was distraught, all "BUT THEY LOVE ME! WHATEVER SHALL I DO? WHY DOES THE HUMAN HAVE TO LEAVE?" he can be a bit dramatic like that. me? i'm more of a go-with-the-flow kinda person. i only really do something if i want to, or if i absolutely need to. so they left, but not before saying something that stuck with me.
they told me "Please don't kill anyone. We're family now." i smiled and agreed. i had already made that promise long ago.
i stuck around and ran into them often as they continued onward, watching over them more than anything. they were a good kid, and even if they made mistakes, they would do anything to make them right. in the end they did.
we met many times in the woods. they knew what to expect, but the jokes never got old. they loved talking to everyone, exploring every corner of this small world of ours, and making friends with everyone they met.
but one day, it was different.
i saw them approaching from the forest's edge, expression twisted in a way i didn't quite recognize. they looked... confident, but intimidating. it was unnerving, but i was ready for it. or so i thought. i let them through as i continued to assess the situation. this was my friend, after all, right?
wrong. they were not my friend. they were a monster, posing as my friend. i made it back to town alone to find it abandoned, covered in dust. something burned within me, and i tailed them. i made it my goal to learn their tactics, their behavior. the captain of the guard gave them some trouble, but soon she too was defeated. this was happening.
and now here we stand, in the halls of red and gold.
i see a glint in their eyes, their determination burning within them.
red.
i see the sunlight, just making its way through the windows of the royal chambers.
gold.
i see their knife, dripping at its edge.
red.
i see their reaction as they assess the situation.
pure gold.
"it's a beautiful day out. birds are singing, flowers are blooming. on days like these, kids like you..."
***"s h o u l d b e b u r n i n g i n h e l l"*** | 2017-08-10T15:33:58 | 2017-08-10T13:00:22 | 141 | 42 |
[WP] Humans are the first sentients, putting us millenia ahead of aliens. Instead of acting like an "elder" species should, we create mysterious artifacts with no actual use, crop cicles and send spooky messages, like "be quiet, you are in danger" to the aliens, because we are still childish morons. | We’d finally found it.
Quadrillions gathered from every corner of known space.
Galarts standing side by side with Raphons as they had not for centuries.
The jelly sacks of the Quinellions, the universes top linguists, quivering in the rapid pulsing language of their kind as their top scientists eagerly discussed what astounding finds would come from this discovery.
The ancient race, that species that had seeded all life in the galaxy, they who had come from the mud and dirt without a single soul in the galaxy yet ready to greet them. They had leapt from their planet only to find space was as cold and empty as it might seem.. now though, all these billions of years later, the galaxy was full of life and all of it was focused on this singular event.
Beings throughout the ages had found the artifacts left behind by those early pioneers.
Artifacts such as the great green amphibian atop his mono-wheeled vehicle, statues of which littered the universe.
Artifacts like the temples they’d build worshipping a sharply dressed god with no face or name.
Artifacts like the way they’d rearranged the stars themselves to form a shape that all agreed was a message. A message that must have been so crucially vital they could never let it be forgotten by another sentient species across all of time.
No one had understood what these things meant because there wasn’t enough of their language left to decrypt the message.
No one knew if these beings of myth and legend had met with disaster, evolved beyond the physical, or simply settled down to become all the life the universe knew today. Their amazing technology lost to war and the ravages of time.
However every species today agreed that the message would unlock the key to their control over time and space. The end of territory disputes. The end of hunger and energy shortages.
Every school child could draw the star message from memory, that message that would end all war, drawn across the night sky. Visible from a hundred thousand worlds, and telegraphed electronically to all the others throughout history.
Finally we would know what it meant, for we had found their home planet, we had carbon dated the remains of civilization on this planet and were certain this was the cradle of their galaxy spanning empire. That there would be enough tech buried in the dust to finally decipher their language. It wouldn’t be easy, but with the unanimous backing of every sentient species in the galaxy it would come to fruition.
Every being in existence waited with hope and awe as the scientists worked on this grandest of problems.
One small child absentmindedly exhaled on the window of his spacecraft, staring at this message in the stars that spanned hundreds of solar systems, which he had grown up watching burn across the cosmos his entire life. He traced the shape with his finger:
“VADER IS LUKE’S FATHER”
| "Welcome to Spac'd! The top galactic stream dedicated to making asses out of stupid aliens! Tonight, our special guests are the Z!Coreans, a species of gentle farmers on a planet orbiting Betelgeuse who have reached a medieval level of civilization. You all know what *that* means!"
An unseen audience replied enthusiastically: "SPACE THEIR ASSES! SPACE THEIR ASSES!" The scene shifted to an aerial view of a Z!Corean farming village dominated by dome-shaped huts made out of blue leaves. The Z!Coreans, a four-legged species with one giant eye on their backs and a massive mouth on their underbellies, were running around in a panic at the sight of the unmanned aerial drone doing the filming. The camera zoomed in on an small Z!Corean huddling close to a larger one, presumably its parent. The small one was emitting a mixture of clicks and bleats that even a human could recognize as a cry of distress, while the parent wrapped its prehensile, multi-pronged tail - used in place of limbs - in a gesture of protection. A bubble caption popped on the screen with the words: "Faces even a motha couldn't luv! lol"
The host continued: "They were so happy to see us that we just *had* to leave them a parting gift." The scene switched again to a nearby field, filled with blue, purple, and red vines bearing various spotted fruits. A large obelisk in the shape of a circumcised penis and covered with pictograms had been dropped in the center of the field, crushing many of the food plants. Another caption popped up reading "Theez freeks r abt to get hard!"
A Z!Corean with a shock of orange hair around its eye - the only one with hair of any kind - crept up to the obelisk and studied the pictograms, emitting increasingly high-pitched clicks and bleats as it read. The host explained in a voice over "We've carved our trademarked *Spac'd* dick with a message in their language proclaiming the apocalypse! Let's see what happens!"
As the orange-haired Z!Corean's translation spread through the village, despairing bleats filled the air. One Z!Corean gouged out its eye with a farming implement, while others set to attacking one another in groups. The parent Z!Corean seen earlier stabbed its child with a lamenting bleat, then proceeded to impale itself.
Before long, the landscape was filled with dead Z!Coreans. A large space ship in the shape of male genitalia began to descend. When it landed, a lone human strode out. His face had been genetically engineered to form the classic troll face, with the only variation being his cybernetically enhanced eyes, which enabled him to see the entire spectrum of light and watch pornography at will. He planted a flag on the ground, once again featuring the image of male genitalia.
"Y'all been spaced!" he proudly announced. | 2017-10-31T17:44:02 | 2017-10-31T17:40:53 | 102 | 41 |
[WP] You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading your own, you notice that whenever someone else is mentioned, there's a footnote showing where you can find their biography. Its odd how someone who was only a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you. | *Carl ended up going to prom with Alice, I hated him.*
I giggled as I read the line. This library of biographies is fantastic. There is so much memory of each person, all collected within one room. Everyone’s life is recorded, every scrap of information, every thought, every emotion they felt at the moment. There is no one insignificant in this room, from historical figures to the beggar, all of our stories are recorded. Our experiences, whether they be of a hard struggle or of a blissful moment, not a thing that made our lives colorful is missed from these biographies.
I still remember that moment, when Alice came to tell me she was going to prom with Carl, the utter humility, the disappointment… It was everything to me at the time, and I hated the son of a bitch. The the one who showed little interest in actually committing to a relationship, the one who ended up dumping her anyway after the night, was the one who actually got to go on a date with her. Even then, I toughened up, and acted, pretended, to give them my best wishes and extending my hand to him to tell him no hard feelings, so I can tell myself what I nice person I am. God I hope that poor bastard suffered the rest of his life.
And that’s when I went to look for Carl’s biography. Section D, number 10523, it was a remarkably short one. I am in my fifties and my biography is already the size of a Thesaurus, his is more close to a high schooler's notebook.
As I turned page after page, I realized, his life is remarkably boring. The guy spent most of his early life in-doors, quiet, without much friends. Commentaries on his experiences remained bland for the most part -- “Learned to ride a bike, just like dad said I would.” And another “Straight As again, mom would be proud.” There were no further comments on what those experiences actually felt like. They were just a description of an event combined with how he thought other people would feel about it. There was also very little mention of himself, which is odd for a biography…
Until I reached the section about Alice. The narration here is different. There were detailed descriptions of how he thought of her as the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, how he would go the library on days she would go study… What a creep.
The next section somehow returned to the old boring narration.
“Diagnosed with lung cancer, inoperable. Best case scenario, two years”
The guy died within two years later, and more than half of this book remained is about the two years he had!
The rest of the biography read like a bestselling novel, each event, no matter how tiny they seemed, was filled with emotion, with hope and strive, with how much he wanted to ask for Alice’s hand despite knowing he’s dying. How hard he worked to be comfortable talking to others, the jokes he had to memorize to make himself sound funny, the countless webpages he read to make himself presentable.
“Asked Alice to prom today, she said yes surprisingly. I knew she was supposed to be going with another guy, Matt. I know he loves her, and I know there won’t be a future for Alice and me. I just had to do it. I’m sorry...”
I quickly flipped another page, I had no idea.
“Matt didn’t flip out. Perhaps he knew how pathetic I am, or it was because he saw there will be no future between Alice and me… Despite this, he extended his hand to me, and told me there was no hard feelings, that neither Alice nor me owe him anything. He patted me on the back, but there was something odd about it, he was hurt, yet he remained strong. He told me to have fun, that there’s one prom and that's it, before telling me to be brave with a wink.”
“Alice and I had a blast at the prom. She seemed interested in seeing me again, and so am I. I looked at her beautiful blue eyes, they definitely sparkle under the night sky. My sight lingered on her as I am reminded my doctors predictions. I told her we won't be seeing each other again. I tried to give her a pat on the back, but she shoved me away with tears in her eyes… Getting admitted today, getting worse. Though each time I lay on the bed, I can't help but remember Matt's look when he patted me on the back -- have fun, and be brave. And I did, thank you Matt!”
I closed the book, a barrage of emotion hit me as I struggled for words. There doesn't seem to be any for this moment except perhaps
You're welcome | I wasn't what I'd call the best person. I suffered many a malady in my life, mostly concerning the headcase. I spent many hours consumed in a desire to only be able to unravel the people closest to me, to figure out what they truly thought of me, to never be open to any sort of surprises. I maintained relationships, but they were never truly healthy, other broken people that needed the pieces picked up, who could pick up some of mine. Who could, for a moment, make me feel like a puzzle to be solved, not a broken glass to be discarded, while the 'half-full'/'half-empty' contents seeped in to the hardwood. Trust was a rare commodity, genuine people were failing banks and every intention was wrapped in a barbed wire of half-truths.
I pored over this data that was titled 'Dunn, E.' It spoke greatly of my family situation, a father always wrapped up in work, a mother who was too drained. It spoke of an average life at school. There were bricks of space devoted to each and every person, the regrets I held and the love I shared; the things I was thankful for and the things that turned my stomach.
It spoke of my brief stint through various part-time jobs, how I would turn off my brain and let the ennui run its course as I slipstreamed behind other cars in a brown box-truck. I spoke with every client I delivered to, though a lot of them simply faded out of my memory as time went on. Sure, I'd see the regulars and chat, and laugh. The moment I left, however, the visage of a happy conversationalist turned to one of yet another dour worker.
I discovered soon after that you could cross-reference chapters, read their interpretation alongside yours. Pure curiosity took over, I felt I had all the time in the world. John Price was an entrepreneur, a person ordering doo-dads and tools that confused me. I found myself closing the book when I was 'inspiration, drive to never give up, a drive to succeed'. Fuck you too, John; jobs are hard to come by.
Vanessa and Abby Schulz, they subscribed to those boxes. 'Three curated types of coffee', 'Four bottles of wine tailored to you'. They were chatty and charismatic, sisters living a dream life in an apartment block. They'd always compliment me, too, want to talk, add me on every social media platform, hang out. I wasn't surprised to see I hadn't been mentioned at all, a failed product on their monthly delivery of revelers and fucktoys.
My chapter had ended on a semi somber note. I recalled Christine. "An older lady with a kind heart. I enjoyed talking to her, though the age gap was wide."
I felt almost filthy gazing in to her tale. It was probably harrowing, full of life and vibrancy, thousands upon thousands of pages that would make the epics of Tolkien blush. I skipped right to the end.
"She fell ill some time after Harold passed[16:Blythe, H.][17], and even moving across the country never seemed to solve her problems." The chapter began. A feeling of dread washed over me, something I'd never stopped to think of when her medicine stopped coming.
"Daily injections and inhalers. Pills for breakfast, lunch, and bedtime. Routines filled with news and glurge she never truly paid attention to. She only found some solace in Thursdays, when her delivery would arrive at around 5 PM."
Did it mean so much to her to simply see a human face? She always seemed so joyful.
"Her only son, Dean[Blythe, D.] lived across the country, hardly able to care for himself. She saw a lot of her family in this young man. Long-haired and funny, a smile so genuine. She would always invite him in for coffee, and reminisce as she went to bed that night that she had a friend who would listen to an old lady's ramblings about the bustle of New York, her past as a teacher, how she met her husband over a slippery track of Sinatra at a gala event. When she got her deliveries, she did not feel like the scary witch that all of the children were afraid of, or the out-of-touch lady that people were content to shrug off. She felt like Christine. Not young, not old, but simply someone who existed. Eddy[Dunn, E.] was a real gentleman, a chivalrous person in her eyes. A genuine person with genuine care in his heart."
I felt time slow, my head throb as tears welled up in my eyes. I returned to my entry, the last page.
"In his last moments, Edward had lost hope. The world was cruel and he was but a pawn, a mixture of chemicals and processes. He was bitter at his siblings who only saw his failures, he bemoaned his father and apologized to his therapist. There would be many people at his funeral, smiles he brought to faces, warmth he brought to hearts, passing thoughts not entered in this book." | 2017-12-04T03:50:20 | 2017-12-04T02:09:03 | 4,737 | 237 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | There it is again, that pang of guilt as I push the door open to my tiny apartment, the smell of a nice home cooked meal hits my nostrils but my stomach churns as I step inside kicking the door closed behind me. Standing in the entry way I know the apartment is empty as I take off my coat and set my things down from the day.
*It's almost like she's still here...* I find myself thinking with eyes darting back and forth across the recently straightened up home. There's no need to look down the hall to see my bed is made; it's always made.
Swallowing hard and with a shaky exhale I find my seat at the table. I don't want to look at the table though. I don't want to see her note.
*Why is still she still doing this?* Again the guilt rises within me *I don't deserve this...* I can already feel my eyes starting to burn. I force them to look down at the table seeing the plate that has been prepared for me. It's nothing special. Some mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas. *She always knows just what to make.*
I look just past the plate and see it; the note. I don't have to read it to know what it says. Every time it's the same message and every time I try to figure out exactly what it means.
Reaching out I pick up the small hand written note but I don't read it yet. I simply hold it in my hand for a few moments. *Maybe tonight it'll be different.* I find myself hoping as I unfold the note and read those same five words.
**This could have been us.**
Immediately I push away from the table causing my glass to topple over and spill all across the table. Liquid splatters against the carpet but it doesn't matter. A chill runs down my spine. I can feel her eyes on me at that moment, watching me, judging me.
Spinning around I already know right where she is, it's always the same spot. Our eyes meet and I find I can't breathe as if the air had been sucked completely out of the room. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I look back at the table and then to her eyes once again.
I stand in silence for over a minute before I find my voice "I don't deserve this." It's all I can muster after 13 years of this, it's the only thing I feel that's true anymore. "Please... I can't keep doing this... You can't keep doing this." I take a step closer towards my desk and pick up the framed picture of her.
It was taken before she got sick, back when she thought she was still pretty enough for me and didn't try to convince me to stop wasting my time with her. Truth is she was always the most amazing person to me and I only grew to love her more every day.
We had met nearly 14 years prior and it just clicked. Everything about us felt perfect and within days I knew I would marry her and we'd spend the rest of our lives together.
But we didn't marry. Soon after I met her she became ill and just never got better, only worse. Cancer. Terminal. Neither of us expected it but that's the hand life had dealt us. Given the progression of the tumor in her brain the doctors didn't think she had long. When I asked her to marry me, to spend whatever time she had left with me she refused.
She didn't want to put me through that. To watch my wife wither away and die from something that couldn't be stopped. She said it wasn't fair to me and wanted me to meet someone else, to move on with my life, and be happy.
All I wanted was her.
Near the end we'd talk about the life we could have had if we had met each other sooner, if cancer wasn't part of the equation, if she hadn't been so stubborn at first. This was something she wanted to do for me, to take care of me and show some love and appreciation at the end of the day. She wanted to be there for me and she knew she couldn't be while she was sick.
And now 13 years after her death this is what she does. Somehow she manages to make sure every day I come home to a cooked meal and a taken care of home. No matter where I move to, no matter what I do, she finds a way.
I don't deserve this.
Edit: Spelling | Jessica crumpled the note in her hand. The all-too-familiar tremble returned to her spine, spreading down her arms, raising the tiny hairs in its wake.
>This could have been us.
The phrase echoed through her mind. Over the years, she had grown used to the squiggly handwriting and the cooked meals. She never ate them or slept in the made bed. The first few times, she’d called the cops, which of course did nothing.
‘No evidence of foul play, ma’am,’ the officer had said, ‘but we’ll keep a car in the area.’
Jessica reached for the knife, still on the cutting board sprinkled with chives residue, still warm in her cold hand. He was here. She tried listening for sounds, but all she heard was the drumroll of her heart.
Slowly, she made her way over to her bag and fished out her phone. She had done this a hundred times before.
“He’s here,” Jessica breathed into the phone.
***
“Hey, what do you make of this one?” Sam said, waving the newspaper. “A woman claiming to have been stalked for thirteen years was found dead in her bed last night.”
His gray hair bounced off his shoulders as he made it over to the couch. His brother stared disinterestedly at the TV screen. Years of cheeseburger and beer abuse had taken its toll on Dean’s body, and his stained wife beater struggled to contain his bloated belly.
“That does have a certain air of *I-don’t-give-two-shits* to it,” Dean grumbled. “Besides, we’re too old for this, Sammy.”
“But imagine being stalked for thirteen years,” Sam said, adjusting his glasses. “That’s worse than–”
“Worse than what? Going to Hell? Making buddies with Lucifer? Getting smacked around by a bunch of monster-under-your-bed types for a career?” Dean’s face turned red as he spoke. “We’re retired now. Let someone else handle it.”
“Nobody did for thirteen years. Everyone probably thought she was crazy. Imagine living like that…”
Dean mumbled something unintelligible and turned up the volume on the TV. Sam shook his head and limped toward the door. He knew now why his brother never watched the news or read the paper – something strange was bound to come up eventually.
His cane tapped against the marble stairs. It wasn’t his responsibility, and the woman was already dead. But for some reason, this bothered him. He had to get to the bottom of it.
***
Dana Scully glanced suspiciously at the tall elderly fellow limping up to the reception desk. She pushed her walker forward, feeling the cramps bite into her legs and back. Usually, she didn’t put her nose in other people’s business, but the pressed suit and wavy silver hair didn’t sit right with her – men of his age usually wore sweatpants and plaid vests, and were bald.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice creaking. “Who are you?”
“I’m special agent Booth with the FBI.” The man leaned heavily on his cane, squinting his eyes.
“No, you’re not,” Dana said curtly. “You’re almost my age, and I don’t remember anyone like you there.”
“Ah, you got me. I’m Sam Winchester, PI.”
“Let me guess; you’re here about Jessica Lawrence. I’m Dana Scully, actually with the FBI… well, until I retired, at least.”
Sam looked her up and down, the wrinkles on his forehead growing deeper and darker. “It’s weird, though, isn’t it?”
“What’s weird, exactly?”
“That this woman didn’t get help for thirteen years, and never managed to identify her stalker. This is going to sound strange and possibly incriminating, but I feel guilty.”
Dana nodded. She felt exactly the same. That’s why she abandoned her beloved flower garden and took the train down here. She had even called Fox, but his dementia was starting to get the best of him these days.
“I get the feeling you’ve worked on cases like this before?” Dana finally said.
“I have a few under my belt.” Sam chuckled, and then started coughing. “Sorry, yeah, but it’s been a while.”
She wasn’t exactly sure why, but there was something in this man’s eyes that was inherently good. The urgency in his voice told her that he wanted to put this right – as right as it could be. And once again, she felt the same way.
“Okay, let’s see if we can get into the morgue somehow.” Dana turned her walker around.
Sam nodded, and a smile cracked his chapped lips. “I think I have an idea.”
| 2017-12-09T04:16:45 | 2017-12-09T03:46:23 | 5,650 | 273 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | "Your occupation?"
"Food sales and service."
"The boxes we found in your home, you were specifically trying to sell those? Including the one we have in this evidence bag?"
"Yes, detective. I don't understand what the problem is. I got a license, I pay taxes on all my profits, it's all legal."
"Where do you buy your ingredients?"
"I... um... don't buy ingredients. I know this is going to be hard to believe. But it shouldn't matter whether you believe me. I seem to be haunted. Whenever I step from my home office into my kitchen, there's a cooked meal in the kitchen. I box it up for sale, go back into the office, step into the kitchen, another full meal. Box it up, office, kitchen, another. And always a weird note about 'could have been us.' There must be hundreds of those notes in my trash if you want to check - to confirm what I'm telling you. You don't believe me, why would you?"
"Sure I do. We found the notes, so your story must be true. Go on."
"I can pack up about one full per minute. Two hours of back and forth per day, 120 meals I can sell, then back to my office to process online orders, manage the store. I don't get to choose the menu in advance. It's not even labelled what anything is. But eventually there's a buyer for most of it, and what I don't sell, I can eat. What I don't want, I can throw away - no cost."
"So you're saying it all just appears on its own. Like magic."
"To the best of my knowledge. Or like there's a ghost. I tried watching, nothing happens. I figured out after a while that I have to be 'working.' I tried video cameras, everything just looks like a big shadow for a second."
"You don't make the food, then?"
"No."
"So the ingredients come out of your kitchen shelves on their own?"
"No. I told you, there are no ingredients. Or at least, I don't know where they come from."
"Yeah, food with no ingredients. You sure you didn't start with one fish?"
"Ha ha. If you looked into my credit cards, you'll see I've hardly bought any food at all for over a decade. Not even for myself. If you look at my business records, you'll see I have zero expenses for ingredients."
"Some might hear your story and think you don't want there to be a record. They might think you're buying the ingredients on some sort of black market."
"So I wouldn't get to deduct the cost on my taxes? Why would I do that? And why would the police care, anyway?"
"We care. Because trafficking human meat is a felony." | Memory is less reliable than most people would like to believe. What you ate yesterday, where you went yesterday and who you met yesterday are more suggestion than fact. That feeling of deja vu as I turn the key and open the door has hit me every single night for the past 13 years. I can't see her but she's there. There with a smile, greeting me with a hug made with her cooking and a kiss hiding under the knife and spoon. "This could have been us" staring at me from the napkin. This could have been us, written in neat cursive under that red lipstick with fresh teardrops sprinkled on top. My memory shouted to stay away and run far from my house. A visible shaking could be seen in my hand every night as I turned the key and opened the door. I have lived alone in a small apartment but for the past 13 years this phantom presence has remained my evening companion.
The first few nights the plate stared at me as I searched the apartment calling out in vain. As time went on the evening became routine, despite the addition of locks and cameras. How many times I moved before finally giving in I couldn't recall but when finally I conceded to taste my specter's dish tears streaked from my eyes. There was a deep sadness in the roasted carrots and great anger in the sauce. The aroma and taste chained me to the table until not a scrap of food was left. "This could have been us" stared at me from the crumpled napkin as I cleared the table. Memory is less reliable than most people would like to believe, but the smell and taste clung tight to my mind. 13 years and my memory hasn't let me see their smiles, but her cooking broke the shadow I was wrapped in. My wife and daughter are there in my mind now every night as I clean the table and wash the dishes.
My memory wont let them stay for long and as I finish placing the silverware in the dish rack they slip away into the night. It fights to keep them hidden but my hand no longer shakes as I turn the key. The cameras never show my meal, the napkin fades and every note I've written myself submits to non-existence shortly after creation. But there is hope for us all now, I can hold tight to a few pieces more each time as I taste Emily's cooking. I have the first few words of their spell defeated. I take my time to savor the taste as I turn page after page of reference material and piece together a power to save them. They've been taken from me to bring it's time on earth closer. They've been taken from me to harness my power unwilling, but I'm no longer their pawn to control. A few more nights and I'll have my daughter's name once more. A few more weeks and I'll have their faces and their smiles. A few more months and my memory will concede defeat and unlock the words of release from this dark curse. Please wait for me my loved ones, and thank you for the nourishment you've given me. This false memory wont hold me from you much longer. | 2017-12-09T07:43:55 | 2017-12-09T05:30:19 | 236 | 26 |
[WP] God gave humanity Earth and filled it with marvels and wonders of many kinds. This was not done as a gift, but a distraction. To distract them from exploring the stars, and to protect them from the horrors that lurked out in the dark. | The secret camera had been turned on just in time. She watched its video feed intently:
---
"...And that is why we are seeking $2.4 billion in equity financing. With your investment, humanity will finally become a multi-planetary species."
As rehearsed, Elon paused for reaction, letting the line hang in the air.
The group of investors sat silent. Three were still glancing down at their notepads while the fourth aimed her dead stare at the final slide of Elon's pitch. They were the fourth group to be invited today, and with each group Elon's patience had grown thinner.
Elon coughed sharply.
Two of the investors raised their heads from their iPads, looking first at each other before sheepishly making eye contact with Elon.
Elon stepped forward and repeated the closing line of his pitch, enunciating each word with none of his characteristic hesitation.
"...And that is why we are seeking $2.4 billion in equity financing. With your investment, humanity will finally become a multi-planetary species."
Again, Elon paused, and again a silence filled the room. The three associates turned to the head partner, expectant. She straightened her paper notes and spoke:
"Elon, thank you for the presentation. We see great potential in your vision to build humanity's first permanently manned refueling station."
Elon stood expressionless. He had heard similar platitudes before.
"Unfortunately, our fund has only a fixed pool of money and can only make a small number of investments each cycle. Especially now, in this climate of of collectible crypto-kittens, we see don't think now is the right time for us to invest."
---
The remote viewer closed the videofeed, slightly dimming the interior of her alien spaceship. Humans had been her grandest creation, and she had stewarded their solar system since its birth. But now her humans were on the verge of leaving the sanctuary she had built for them. Her 'black domain' shrouded the solar system from the predators outside, but once pierced by humankind, it could never be restored.
Although taking direct action or revealing her presence was against the rules set eons ago, she nudged humanity away from spaceflight, prolonging the time her precious creation would endure. She bent the rules as far as allowed, shifting public opinion through secret campaigns waged by her online pseudonyms. She sowed doubt around global warming, hobbling humanity's prospects for economic growth. She accelerated technological breakthroughs in gaming and pornography, sapping the aspirations of potential inventors and astronauts instead occupied by indolent leisure. And she had been behind the technology behind the current crypto-kitten craze, soaking up investment dollars that might have been directed toward accelerating progress toward interstellar spaceflight.
Happy that her latest hurdle had preserved her humans for a few extra years, Satoshi smiled. | "I am not a big prayer man and I know I haven't visit any of your churches in a long time but I am a good man and I believe that that's what matters the most. Bringing people to Mars is my dream and I believe that your power can bring me closer to this scientific milestone." Peter stands up from his knees and goes to pee , then he returns back to his bedroom. "Oh shit I forgot!" He yells and quickly gets on his knees. "Amen".
God does , believe it or not , listen to Peter's prayer. He has time for all the world's prayers , because time goes slowly in heaven.
"I am sorry, Peter. I created them, but I can't bring myself into destroying them. Their annihilation would mean that I would have to look at them and that is something I cannot do. The only thing I can do is prevent others from seeing the terror which i created. You are about to meet someone special, Peter."
Peter suddenly got an unexplainably strong urge for eating pizza."I ain't even hungry, but I can't resist the taste" Peter thought to himself. He tried to call Cardellini's pizza in hopes of satisfying his want for delicious cuisine. For some odd reasom, nobody answered the call. "I am gonna order from someone else. Wait. Wait a minute. No. I want Cardellini pizza." So peter goes to the restaurant. As he enters, he sees a familliar face. "Samantha?" A girl he knew since the times they were in kindergarten. He has'nt seen her in a while. She did grow up to be a cutie though. "Oh, hi Peter, I haven't seen you in ages!" "Since fifth grade!" Peter said with a smile on his face.
"Yeah, look at us all grown up! Hey, are you going to a university?"
"Engineering School. I dream of getting to Mars." "Oh that's great! I am going to an art school, I wanna be a painter."
"One pepperoni with extra cheese!" "Oh, that's mine. It was nice seeing you, Peter." "Nice to see you too, Sam." Peter watches Samantha leave and thinks to himself that she looks *wonderful* .
"Who knows, maybe I could go to an artsy school too!" Peter thinks to himself as he slowly starts to forget his Mars dream.
"Thanks me." God says to himself with a feeling of satisfaction. But at the end of his head, there is a thought. A dark thought.
"How much longer can I do this? Humans have to see those freaks at some point in the future."
Meanwhile, in a secret, alien underground base on Mars:
"Hey kids! Dinner is ready!" Little Mijaak sits down for dinner. Not long after that, his parents and sister join him. They are a beautiful family. *On the surface* . "What's for dinner, mom?" Rjook looks at Mijaak amd reveals the dinner. "Your favorite, [milky steak!](https://i.redd.it/7ttjgh0g81pz.jpg) | 2018-01-01T17:35:43 | 2018-01-01T16:19:07 | 179 | 24 |
[WP] All dominant species in the galaxy has something that sets them apart. From healing broken bones and severed flesh, losing 2/8 of our blood, to being infected by literally billions of parasites, Humans have the gift of simply refusing to die. It freaks the heebie-jeebies out of everyone else.
//Edit originally meant it to mean that humans have all these things and others are not able to form scar tissue and recover from flue and bacteria, they get a cut they just bleed to death sort of thing, but I got to admit I'm a sucker for the old "will to live" stance. | What does it mean to be human? The philosophers of old tried to answer this question, yet perhaps the answer is now better understood tens of thousands of years later. We have discovered worlds the past never even dreamed about, with species so unique and exotic from the ones of our Earth. The Thanagians, bird-humaniod hybrids who could resist all forms of disease, the Gulotars, slug like being who could regrow any limb, the Asinols, being who could sprint indefinetly, the Chuttulos, who were completely emotionless and logical. These were but a few of the races who shared our galaxy.
Some of these races we befriended, but the majority were at war with each other. When our species joined the fray we were mocked at by all sides. We were a weak and fragile species, easily prone to sickness and injury. We had not great stamina or strength or the intellect of the other species. We had no special quirks that set us apart from the rest. Or so they thought.
For we humans had one thing: the fear of death. The most powerful impulse, the desire to continue to exist. Primal and raw, an energy that inflames our soul to keep going. The other races had no such biological mechanism; they know when a battle is lost, when to give up, when the situation is hopeless. They lacked the will, the spirit, the soul. They could never imagine how hard we humans would fight when cornered, despite all the odds. Countless battles have been won by the enemy underestimating us as the other races would have otherwise given up.
What makes us human? Our desire to never give up, to fight the impossible, to live in the face of annihilation. The fear of death. | I don’t know why I hadn’t left them to rot on their rock, slowly suffocating in petrol fumes with a twitchy finger on the button of their nuclear destruction. Was it a good idea to contact a race of freaks with a lifespan too low for any meaningful development? What goal a diplomatic mission to their leaders was supposed to accomplish? What was it all for?
I’ve always strived for mutual benefit with other emerging civilizations. I was the one who taught Zeturians faster-than-light communication in exchange for their temporal field technology. I was the ones who gave Vexians the secret to mass drone production and received their developments in the field of energy harvesting in exchange. I worked alongside the Ril on entropy reversal, granting them with my idea of a unified mind. I’ve worked with every lifeform in the Universe. But what can one learn from something like… that?
No one believed it to be possible. Organs which work with laser-level accuracy, self-repair routines that surpass nanotechnology, the ability to extract energy from nearly anything by breaking down chemical compounds, and all of it directly reproducible with just two members of the species. Even a single creature is resilient far beyond their usefulness, but numbers increase their survivability exponentially. Their greatest treasure is simply their existence, their structure, their way of persevering, something utterly useless to me. There is no exchange to be had, nothing to be learned, only danger, great danger.
It is unsettling to know that something like that can exist. Realizing that long after I will have been reduced to rust and powered down wreckage these self-hostile organisms will claw for existence in the farthest reaches of reality makes me want to destroy them as quickly as possible. But can I? Can I eradicate such an illogical thing, where each individual body is a weapon, a tool, and even a factory in service of the nebulous, decentralized whole?
Flesh, so primitive and so persistent. Who knew meat, simple organics, something that has never been observed in sentience, would reach so high? This requires more consideration. Helping them was a great error. I must not make another one. | 2018-03-09T08:03:39 | 2018-03-09T06:02:13 | 291 | 188 |
[WP] Humans develop superpowers but, for every gifted person, someone will get an exactly opposite power. You are the opposite of The Invisible Man. | "It's like your nose."
"What?"
"It's like your nose."
"I don't, I don't understand."
It's interesting, sometimes, to wave your hand before a face to no response; though they still blink when the air brushes past. My favorite question is always "what makes you different from the invisible man?".
"So how are you the opposite of the invisible man?" *There it is.*
I pulled my lips in and forced air through, she blinked. "Because you can see me, you can always see me."
"What? No I can't, I can hear you but you're, well, not anywhere." She turned about looking around the room.
"Okay, look here." I grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward me. "See anything?"
"Well I see a door, a table, some plants..."
"Okay now, close one eye and look at your nose."
"Okay." She questioned me but followed through. I placed my finger on the side of her nose. "Oh my God! I can see your finger!" She pulled back and looked around again.
"You can never see the invisible man, his power removes him from sight. It's called forced blindness, his power forces your brain to register him as non-existent, your sight detracts from him. Like that thing you swear you see but no matter how hard you look you can't find it."
"But I can't see you either."
"Close one eye again, I'm going to blow air try and look right at it." She closed one eye and moved toward the pushing air. She smiled, she smiled, she could see me. Her eye slowly became red and she blinked looking away.
"Sorry-" She pouted.
"You gotta blink sometime." I reassured her.
"I could see you, I saw your face."
"I call it involuntary blindness like-"
"It's like your nose!" She blurted out.
"Yeah." I laughed. "Your brain filters out unnecessary information, you always see parts of your nose, but you don't need to, so it doesn't show you. So my power is like your nose, your brain filters me out because I'm not necessary information. If you move your finger in front of your eye you see double, because you vision corrects it. Your vision is correcting to not see me, which is why you can see me if you close one eye and focus on seeing me."
She frowned. "Okay, but how does it make you different... I mean I get how your his opposite, I can't see him because my vision can't register him but it always registers you. But, your both still kinda the 'invisible man'." She air quoted around invisible man.
"Because you can see me, for a while." She closed one eye and looked around. I couldn't help but smile as I grabbed her chin and moved her face to me. "Strangers and others who've never see me, I stand out, they see me before anything else. They're eyes are drawn to me, but the more they see me the more I fade, until eventually, like for you, I disappear."
Her eye centered and I smiled again as her pupil expanded. "Hi." She giggled.
"Hi."
_
r/TheoreticalFictions | I was supposed to be his antithesis, to be the complete opposite of Invisible-Man.
So why did I fade?
I became less and less grounded in reality, untethered from its laws, as my body faded into oblivion. Seeping through the cracks of reality.
It started slow, friends forgetting to invite me for outings, family forgetting it was my birthday. It eventually escalated.
The doctors couldn't explain, they traced my neurological makeup back to my antithesis, back to the other side of the coin. And they could not explain why I was fading.
"There is too much we don't know about these superpowers and the logic behind them. We are sorry." All they would say, and many different itterations of that.
I never really thought of how cruel the life of a doctor must be, how they tread into a field in order to save lives, only to be faced with their limitations, to realise how powerless they are in the face of death's harvest.
Death was all I contemplated as their lips moved; hearing only white noise. I always believed that immortality was achieved by living on in the memories of others, but what if there were a disease that ate away at everyone's memory of you? Like a slow fire that burnt it all incessantly.
Family would forget who I was, friends already moved on, unaware of my being.
I remembered when they still understood, were still lucid. The desperation in their eyes when they realised I would fade from their memories. How I would never live on in their minds. It was a look that I thought to be similar from Alzheimer patients, the fear that day after day, the memories would burn up and the scariest part being that one would never even be aware of it.
In my final moments, I did contemplate the reason for my circumstance. Why was it that I faded, while the Invisible Man simply became impossible to see. Was that the joke? Life's elaborate prank.
The Invisible Man fading when his presence diminished, when he didn't wish to be seen or acknowledged.
So what about me? What was the reason behind my power?
As I closed my eyes for the last time, and I felt myself fade into the nothing. I realised that I was still conscious, that I still existed.
I knew that my body was no more, that it had gradually became faded into nothingness.
My eyes remained shut, trepidation keeping them closed. And I felt as if I were floating, floating through an endless sea that upheld me from its depths.
It was only when I finally opened my eyes that I understood.
Understood the true meaning behind what I was becoming.
I did not fade into non-existence, I *became* existence.
The trees, the wind, the chair, the pavement.
I was everywhere, I was there where people needed me to be.
While Invisible Man would fade into the background, I became the guiding force of all.
Legends spread of my existence, people who were lost seeing the image of a mysterious man who came and saw them.
While the Invisible man hid from the world and from its troubles, I offered all those who needed it comfort.
A shoulder to cry on, or words of advice, or just a nod that spoke of acknowledgment, that I knew what they were going through.
It turned out that the opposite of Invisible Man, was that everyone could see me. And their needs permitted me existence.
I became one with all.
***
/r/KikiWrites | 2018-03-26T11:34:30 | 2018-03-26T09:47:16 | 58 | 34 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded Earth. Instead of attacking, they find the human race remarkably cute and decide to keep them as pets. It’s quite degrading, but it’s better than being eaten- right? | Eskilproth97042 watched Candi with his fourth eye as she chewed loudly on the pink bubble gum that he had given her as a treat earlier that day. She winked at him with one bright blue eye (blue! not yellow like any civilized being) and blew an impressively large bubble. Eskilproth97042 wiggled his antenae at her. He got such a kick out of her cute little tricks.
True, there were more prestigous humans available, but her high-pitched voice, bouncy yellow hair, and interesting markings had won him over. Nobody else in his sector had a human with stars, hearts, and primitive 'english' etched into their skin.
"It says 'Brody & Candi 4 Ever'," the vender had told him, although, neither of them could be sure what it might mean.
That had been about four weeks ago, and in that time, he'd grown very fond of her. Candi had settled in quickly, and she reacted well to reward based training. Some of his friends had complained about the attitude problems that their new humans had. They were harder to train. Some ran away, or fought, or bit, or screamed.
But not Candi.
Eskilproth97042 whistled and clapped his pods together to ger her attention. She was so easily distracted! He reached into his pouch and withdrew something gold and shiny. Candi hopped up, spitting out the gum.
"Is that for me?!" she squealed.
He tossed them on the floor and watched as she scrambled for the small golden hoops, gathering them up and then affixing them to her ears. They matched other things he had given her, including a golden collar and wrist bands. Each item shared a locator chip and a lazer engraved message stating who she belonged to and what sector to call should anyone find her wandering about on her own.
"Dude! You're like, a better sugar-daddy than Brody ever was! While you were gone I took a quiz in that new issue of Earth Weekly...Dude! We're both Gemini! We're like, totally soul mates! I should have your name on my butt, not his."
He smiled with both mandibles. She seemed so happy. Eskilproth97042 waved the pink Gucci leash at her.
"Who wants to go to the human mall?" he trilled.
Candi clapped her hands as he hooked the leash on to her collar. Poor thing, she had no idea where she was really going. | They're telepathic. They speak every language. Their voices are a beautiful harmony of countless notes layered upon each other in an ever-changing symphony of chords made of melodies, of which humans can only hear a small fraction. Dogs can hear slightly more.
"Music is the language of the gods."
Zach was 15 when they arrived. It was a normal day.. he had skipped school to play video games and drink whiskey from Nick's parents' insanely well stocked liquor cabinet. His parents were never home. They went to work at eight, hit the bars at six, got home at nine, and fell asleep at nine o' five. 'The liquor cabinet must be for weekends,' Zach supposed as he stared through the crowd of bottles.
"How do they reach the ones at the back?"
"Come look at this, man. This is hilarious."
"What kind of alcohol habit would necessitate a cabinet of this size for two days out of the week?"
"Dude, I don't know. Finish making that drink and get in here, I've had this shit paused for ten minutes while you rub one out over there."
Zach walked into the smokey den to find his friend with a stupid grin on his face.
"Alright, you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
Nick clicked a button on his controller and pointed at the screen.
"Look, it totally looks like they're fucking."
Zach wasn't paying attention. He was looking out the window at..
"Dude"
"He's all bent over, he.. hey--"
Zach grabbed Nick by the shoulders and spun him around to face the window.
"Dude."
Nick spat out his whiskey, cartoon-style. It dripped down the window.
The cloud outside the window was spiraling. It was changing. It was no longer white. It was *every color*, and a few Zach had never seen before.
Nick held up his drink and pointed at it with a shaking hand.
"Yo, what the fuck did you put in this?"
Zach said nothing. He was edging closer to the window, still staring. This had to be some kind of prank, or an event. A concert?
Whatever it was, he found that he couldn't stop looking at it. "Let's get a closer look," he said suddenly, and made for the door. He flung it open, and *the best smell* greeted him. He turned back to Nick, who was still staring out the window, now smiling, with a hand on his hip. "You coming?"
Nick took a hurried gulp of whiskey and set it down as he pried his eyes from the phenomenon, and followed his friend outside. It was hot in the garden. Way hotter than it normally was in southern California. As it turned out, it wasn't just one cloud. The whole sky was a spinning, churning, morphing rainbow. Cheering, laughing, whooping, they climbed a ladder onto the roof.
(meh, i'll finish it later) | 2018-04-16T12:25:25 | 2018-04-16T07:52:05 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity. | At the end of the End of the World, Death stands on a green hill and looks out over the sprawling golden fields below. Barley heads nod and sway in the gentle breeze; they create an infinite rippling pattern, the efforts of millions joined to form a single beautiful tapestry of movement.
Death has never seen a better metaphor for the mortal races, of the brief, striking splendor of their efforts. This moment might last forever if he yet had the strength - but alas, he is Death, and even Death may yet begin to run out of Time.
The silence on that green hilltop is broken only by the soft munching of his steed beside him. The horse is bones only, more the *memory* of a horse than the genuine article; he lowers his great head and chews the tops off the dandelions, and the flowers and grass fall back out of his skull and down onto the ground, much to the horse's dismay and Death's very slight chagrin.
Ah, there wasn't anything to help it. The collective unconsciousness of the mortal races had created him, in Their image. It was Their hearts and minds that had brought him into being - their souls and wishes that had determined his shape, his self, his purpose.
Whatever idiot had first come up with the idea that he ought to be riding a horse made of bones, though, had clearly never had to *actually ride* a horse made of bones. Bits kept falling off the damn thing.
A figure begins the long trek up the hilltop - an old man, white-bearded, wearing glasses under the brim of a black hat. Death politely waits for him to reach the summit; it takes a while, as the old man has to stop every so often and puff, bent over, hands braced against his knees. When he finally approaches Death, Death inclines his head in gentle respect, as the young and virile son might to his aging father.
The old man's eyes are as piercingly sharp as they've ever been. "Somehow, you knew it would be me," he grins, "but I didn't expect *you.* Not really."
Death says nothing. The old man squints out across the barley, smiling to himself, as a man satisfied with a lifetime's work.
"You know, when the Old Gods asked me to come speak to you, after everything was all over," says the old man, as he levers himself down with arthritic slowness into the green grass, "they had all sorts of questions. 'Ask him, why turn on War and Pestilence and Famine?' 'Ask him, why side with the mortals? Why side with us?'" The old man stretches one leg out in front of him, rests one hand on the other knee, raised up. He seems very comfortable. "But those are silly questions, in my opinion - and you know very well," he grins up and over his shoulder at Death, "I am *the* preeminent expert on silly questions."
The old man pats the patch of greenery by his hip. Death sits.
"And when the other people asked me to speak to you," the old man goes on, "they were full of questions too, but at least they didn't have the gall to actually ask them of me. It's a little ridiculous, isn't it? They'd know the answer if they only thought about it for a while."
The old man and Death sit in silence for a long time, admiring the endless fields, the sky, the clouds, the way the blue horizon shades to a sharp bright gold where it meets the setting sun.
"As Death, you are the guardian over life," says the old man, smiling into the sunlight. "Pestilence can be eradicated, and Famine cured; War eliminated, and all forms of chaos eventually brought to order; but in no world - not mine or yours or any other - can we cease to pay the price of living, when the cost of having it is that one day, we have to give it back. There must always be a steward to keep that accounting - one entity, above all, who balances the books and allows the wheel of life to keep on turning. The most sacred trust, the purest covenant that can be sworn. A solemn duty, the only one that is both without beginning and without end.
"After all," the old man gestures out for the fields below, palm up, knotty fingers spread wide. "*What can the harvest hope for, if not the care of the reaper man?*"
Death smiles into the sun.
[I knew you would understand, Sir Terry.](#sc) | The Four Horsemen came to a halt in the middle of the desert. They hid their visages under the shadows of their thick, fluttering robes. Tendrils billowed around the body of their horses, covering them in an ever flowing current of crimson.
The Army of the Apocalypse escorted them. Their bodies didn't seem to be tangible. If one were to look at them directly, he would see nothing but endless, cracking clouds of smoke. However, their shapes came to life in the corner of your eyes. They were abominations. Their jaws were unhinged, and their skin was mangled and burned.
Osiris and Ares blocked their path. The pagan deities smirked in their humanoid shapes, as they locked gazes with the horsemen. There was a moment of silence and hesitation, yet one of the horsemen pointed his sword ahead, and the army rushed forth.
The sun blazed behind Osiris and Ares, casting gargantuan shadows into their foes, and tinging the field with it's fiery golden light.
"You see, little horsemen," Osiris said, as the foes surged forth. His voice boomed in the vastness of the desert. "You brought the apocalypse in lands of mortals. I, however, brought it in the lands of the dead." He snapped his fingers.
The land beneath the feet of the army roared, splitting the hardpan in seven wide fissures. The horsemen pulled the reins at the edge, and thrust their scythes and sword to the sky. They shimmered, yet shadows gushed out of them, creating paths along the extensions of the fissures for the army to cross.
Osiris laughed. "I don't know why you called me, Ares," he said. "They can't even deal with a tiny scratch on the ground."
"It's not because of them," Ares said. "But for the one who hides and observes." He looked at Osiris. "Do it."
Osiris opened his maw. A throbbing red waterfall gushed out of it, filling the hardpan, and falling down the nearest crack. The Army of the Apocalypse ignored it. They surged forth.
Soon, as the foes bathed their feet in Ares' liquid, bony hands snatched their ankles, holding them in place.
"Rise," Osiris said.
From the sea of crimson, skeletons the size of two men, raised. They wielded swords whose edges were pure black, and seemed to swallow the light around them.
The clamor of war broke the silent voice of the once peaceful desert. Shrieks of pain, agony, and sorrow converged in the battlefield. An army of tormented souls against an army of past vessels.
"Skeleton's don't make noises," Osiris said, enjoying the glorious symphony of an easy victory. "They dared to defy the gods of war and the lord of the dead, now they are paying the price for their stupidity."
"They are souls of a realm I once feared," Ares said, narrowing his eyes and observing the battlefield. "They enjoy suffering. They don't care if those blades pierce their core. They will thrust themselves willingly into them, and relish the pleasure of affliction."
"Kill the horsemen then," Osiris said. "They control them."
Ares shook his head. "It's pointless. They are a mere distractions, just like we are."
"We? A distraction?"
"When that who they call Satan reveals himself, we will be reduced to dust." Ares grinned. "Our strength and might are nothing compared to his. The mortals tremble when they hear his name, and we should too. For eternities, his other half, God, held him. However, somehow he freed himself."
Osiris frowned, and paced. "I've heard about them. I've heard about their eternal war. I've heard about their endless power. How do we stop him?"
"We don't," Ares said. "He's beyond any of us. However, there's a chance if the mortals mana--
Ares fell to the ground. A golden, ornamented spear protruded out his stomach, and soon, his skin crumbled down to dust.
"Me-mercy," Osiris said, staring at a little kid with tar-black eyes and pale-white skin. He wield the spear, and wore a sad expression.
"Why do you fight my souls?" The kid said, and a silent tear trickled down his cheeks. He aimed his open palm toward Ares, and clenched it into a fist.
Osiris eyes widened. He collapsed, yelping and squirming ruthlessly. The pain was excruciating. It burned every bit of his body, as if he was covered in searing embers. He attempted to beg for mercy, but nothing but agonizing screams came out his mouth.
A little shadow loomed over him. "Welcome to your prison," Satan said, crying. "Soon, you will enjoy it."
-----------------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall --- For more stories! | 2018-05-17T08:33:46 | 2018-05-17T07:52:37 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] Time travel exists. By law, every citizen is given one day they may repeat on loop until they get it right. This morning, you found your spouse looking exhausted and crying. "I can't save you. I've tried hundreds of times." | I sighed... Looking over at the table sat my tickets for the Saints vs Man City game.
"You don't want me to go to the game?"
She nodded "You don't understand..."
"I think I do..." I smiled sadly, looking up into memories past. "I've been watching Southampton play all season."
I grabbed my coat and made for the door. She grabbed my arm one last time weakly.
"My love please don't..."
I took her hand softly into mine and looked deeply into her eyes.
"I'm afraid that's what being a fan is about, especially with Southampton, through thick and thin."
She nodded acceptance, looking down into her lap a single tear rolled down her cheek. I took her chin with my finger and lifted her gaze to mine giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm going to be ok."
Then quick as a flash I opened the door and disappeared down the lane.
"You damn fool... You damn fool..." she whispered after me.
6pm and the door smashes open. "4 fucking nil! 4 fucking nil!" I stride to the kitchen, passing the living room my wife follows in tow.
"You know what?" I say grabbing a whiskey glass and slamming it down. "I could take 4-0! We're shite! I know that, but not a single shot on target or off target. And why does Hughes insist on playing shane long every time?!!" I grab the whiskey bottle from up high.
"I tried to warn you! I tried to save you from watching that awful display! 1000 times I told you I...." She cried fully now, no longer the odd poetic tear or slight sobs but crocodile tears. Now I was crying.
"You know what?" I said quietly now. "You can't save me, I'm a saints fan, I'll be doomed for the rest of my life." Pouring a quadruple measure I realise I'm crying too. | *I love you.*
These are the last words I tell my wife before the paramedics load me onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. My last sight before blacking out is Joanna on her knees surrounded by car parts, shaking her head.
She looks defeated, but I don't quite understand why.
In truth, it was my fault. I should've reacted faster. I should've taken the streets instead of the freeway like Joanna said. I should've made sure my seat belt was buckled.
I shouldn't be dying.
But things are rarely the way they should be. The paramedics say I'll be fine- that I'm lucky to have escaped that accident with as little damage as I did. Strange, I don't feel lucky. As a matter of fact, I don't feel much at all.
Something's not right.
It's like that feeling of deja vu you get when you revisit an old hangout or go to a reunion. This all feels familiar, and that scares me.
We arrive at the hospital and the doctors say the same as the paramedics. I've never been in any serious accidents before- not so much as a broken bone actually- and I'll be fine.
But I won't.
Why do I know this? Something isn't right. Why is the doctor frowning? No, no, no come back.
Please. I feel cold.
I'm dying.
I'm sure now, I can feel the cold. The nurses are shuttling me to the ER, and I'm beginning to flatline. The missed something. Some little fracture or tear or bone lodged where it shouldn't be.
My vision starts to go black, but that's ok. It's so cold, and I'm so tired...
And then it all comes back to me. This isn't the first time this has happened. Or the second, or the third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth.
I've lived, or more aptly died, through this moment 132 times. Why? Why can't I just die, please let me die. You can't save me Joanna, please! Move on with your life...dont waste it on me like this...
My vision fades to black.
*I love you.*
| 2018-10-24T23:40:46 | 2018-10-24T22:07:02 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] New legislation in the US has passed extending basic human and legal rights to all sentient creatures residing on Earth even though “aliens don’t even exist.” 24 hours later, thousands of extraterrestrials are lined up outside government buildings seeking asylum.
Edit: I can’t change the title now, but if I could I would change “sentient” to “sapient”. | "Hello fellow biped! I am here for the purposes of seeking asylum per the new legislation!"
The clerk looked up at the grey alien then pointed at the large sign *No shirt, No shoes, No service*.
"Thank you for your assistance fellow biped! I will return when I have acquired the necessary items!"
The entire morning had been this way.
"Hello fellow biped! I am here for the purposes of seeking asylum per the new legislation!"
The clerk looked up at the green alien then pointed at the large sign next to the *No shirt, No shoes, No service*, that read *No animals except registered service animals*.
"I do not understand fellow biped, where am I supposed to leave Grilrwua?"
Stan the security guy interrupted and took him off to the side where another group was waiting, seemingly with their own pets.
"Hello fellow biped! I am here for the purposes of seeking asylum per the new legislation!"
The clerk looked up at the brown alien. He was wearing a clothes, shoes, did not appear to have any animals or plants.
"Good afternoon, Sir? Please state your reason for seeking asylum."
"Fellow biped, I seek economic opportunity"
"Skills?"
"Fellow biped, I believe the comparable term is Construction."
"Welcome to Earth, please go to the second door on the left." | Ironically, America reacted with joy.
He began taking pictures of the strange refugees, talking to them, taking selfies with them, introducing Tony to them, etc.
Honestly he was friendlier to them then to the Mexicans.
Then at the World Meeting he stood up on the table, kicked Britain's tea into his face, and screamed "TOLD YOU THEY WERE REAL!"
Everyone thought he'd gone insane.
That the burgers and chemicals within those burgers had finally caused his brain to collapse.
Prussia started collecting his bets he'd placed for when America finally snapped, until he got out his phone and began showing them the pictures.
And oh god the pictures.
Some of them were slug like, some were centipede-eque, one even looked like an octopus, but very very few were humanoid.
And those that did looked like Cthulhu mated with a huge angry hornet that walked upright.
Germany fainted, Italy started crying, France screamed and ran out, Britain got mad (is this a bloody JOKE?!), Russia kept smiling, and China welcomed the new consumer market.
America just looked over everyone with a smug smile he'd been saving for decades and kept scrolling through his pictures.
Course I dunno what'll happen now.
But I predict within 6 years, most of the aliens will move to me.
Canada.
Now if you'll excuse me I need to go and wake up Greece, he's still sleeping.
​
A/N: Wrote the first thing that came to mind, and it was fanfiction! Oh joy! Hope you guys don't mind, but my life is trash, so.....sorry. | 2019-03-01T12:22:20 | 2019-03-01T12:13:15 | 52 | 27 |
[WP] As humans age they gain in physical strength every year. An 80 year old is twice as strong as someone half their age but still experience fatigue & geriatric diseases that ultimately result in death. Except you, as an aged immortal you struggle to conceal your true strength from the world. | It happened during a road rage incident nearly 70 years ago. At that point I was already well into my late 600’s. A teenage girl, texting while driving, veered into my lane which, in turn, pushed me into another vehicle resulting in a mild fender bender between the three of us.
Once over in the shoulder, things became heated between the three of us. I’ll admit that I lost my temper and, under normal circumstances, a slammed fist on the hood of a car by someone seemingly in their mid-30’s wouldn’t amount to much. That momentary lapse in judgement, however, left the girl’s car nearly severed in half. It was during the chaos immediately following the destruction that I made my escape. For so long, I believed that I could maintain appearances, but that day, the denial of my situation had been destroyed and I knew it was no longer safe to around others.
I heard on the news sometime later that there was a nationwide manhunt for me. Traffic cams and cell phone camera-wielding pedestrians captured the entire thing and shortly thereafter I went viral online. I imagine that after 70 years though that the world has entirely forgotten about me. That’s all I can do, is imagine, because since then I’ve been living off the grid in a remote cabin deep in the mountains surrounded by nothing and no one.
Yesterday, I went out to check a few of the traps I had set a few days back. I have walked these woods for nearly a century now. I know where every tree, every branch, every rock rests and yet...I tripped. In a feeble attempt to find my footing, I reached out and braced myself against a tree. This tree, which over the course of many years managed to grow four stories tall and ten feet wide, snapped apart with the speed and force of a lightning strike.
Picking myself up from among the splintered debris, I saw what I had tripped on. It was an electrical cable. I grabbed it end over end until I traced it back to a small conduit box at the base of an adjacent tree. The box was a battery pack with another cable leading up the tree. I followed the cord up to see it was attached to a camera, which itself was connected to a wireless relay. Despite the delicate flick of my wrist, the cable I was holding ripped the camera mount off the tree with violent determination. One side of the device was labeled “National Parks Conservation Survey”. The other side displayed only one feature, a small red LED light.
As I packed up my things back at the cabin, I couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that I yet again had to start over all because somebody was worried about a decline in bird migrations. My smile abruptly melted at the distance sound of an approaching helicopter. | "What do you want?" I snap at the young man as I open the door.
"Sir, please help me. The landslide from yesterday buried a part of my field under it. I have nothing left to till. Please help me clear the rubble? I've managed to remove the smaller boulders. But I am only 21. I am sure that you can help me sir, I know if it. I believe I your kindness, sir, please help me!"
As his ebony eyes twinkle in desperation, I feel my annoyance give way to pity. But I know my hands are tied. As much as I want to help, I cannot; not without upsetting the delicate balance of this volatile universe.
"I... I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I cannot help you. You must find a way yourself."
"But sir! I know you're at least a hundred years old! You can easily do it if you tried! Why won't you help me? I---"
I slam shut the door on his face.
"You conceited, selfish, inconsiderate bastard! I hope you rot for an eternity in there!"
I shake my head and smile melancholically. If only he knew how much truth there was in those words.
"You know, I genuinely wish we could help them sometimes," Hera says to me.
"I know," I say, turning to face her with a deep sigh. "But they only come to us because they *believe* they have found God. Imagine what would happen if we revealed to them that we really are."
"True," Hera said. "But I feel terrible when they curse us for our ungratefulness and blame us for being quiet witnesses to their grief."
"Hera. They seek us out because they want us to perform miracles that will only come to them with time. A man who chisels and picks away one rock at a time, can make an entire mountain disappear. They don't need us. All they need is to take all the faith they put in us, and place it in themselves. They all grow closer to God with every passing second."
Hera meditates on those words in silence, and smiles at me sadly. I still sense doubt plaguing her ageless features.
"I know how it feels, Hera. Believe me. But they are nought but children. You show them one magic trick, and their hearts will yearn for more. It is a grave paradox, being a God. If we perform one miracle, no matter how many we perform after that, it will never be enough. We will always be inadequate in their eyes. And if we resist from showing the world our true power, then we are still the villains. There is no happy ending for us. But a God's greatest strength, isn't the ability to make wishes come true, Hera; it is the virtue of restraint. Sometimes true power, is not making someone's dreams come true, it is letting them find the strength within to realize it themselves. Just because we have the power to change the world, doesn't necessarily mean that we have to use it."
r/whiteshadowthebook | 2019-05-11T04:50:26 | 2019-05-11T04:16:26 | 930 | 199 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villains doorstep one night. Theyre shivering bleeding scared. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly, close to passing out, they mumble “didn’t know where else to go” then collapse into the villains arms. | For the hundredth time that night, my eyes scour the world below from the sky, searching; I don't know, exactly, what I should be looking for- but I can't exactly stay idle, can I? Not when one of your enemies comes to you in need of protection against something; yet again, I wonder what events had transpired to lead to the Voidcaller herself to come to my door and collapse into my arms.
​
"I... didn't know... where else to go..." She had coughed, spraying blood onto my shirt. Of course I had demanded an answer, but she had fallen unconscious already- there was nothing to do except toss her onto a bed and try to fix her up.
​
Well, I could have also killed her right there and then- and I thought about it many times- but something told me she had information that would interest me greatly. It would mean betraying everything to pass up this chance just to kill my enemy.
​
Finding nothing noteworthy yet again, I decide to give up for the night and return home, where the Voidcaller hopefully has some answers for me.
​
When I go to check up on her, her eyes are open but unaware, a frown upon her forehead as she tries to figure something out. I loudly close the door behind me, causing her to jolt upwards in a panic; curiously, I notice that she does not fire a warning shot at me like she has many-a time before.
​
She shrinks away as I walk closer, avoiding my eyes. She accepts my plate of food with a quiet thanks, nibbling at it like a mouse. I watch as she eats, marveling at how vulnerable and powerless the same woman who had destroyed me many times seemed now. I realised then how young she actually was, barely an adult; I never cared enough to notice. But now, it almost pains me to see her like this; she looks almost lost, scared, as if everything she knew had come crashing down around her to send her tumbling into the dark depths of the unknown.
​
I wondered, yet again, what had happened.
​
"Thank you..." She whispers again, placing her half-eaten plate of food on the table beside her.
​
I sigh. "My hospitality isn't free; tell me what happened."
​
Her hands clench at her sides, balling up the blanket within her fists. "I don't know!" She sobs into her knees. "I don't understand! I did everything for them!"
​
Ah. "What happened?" I ask again, more gently this time. "How did you get so hurt?" I'd never seen her with such injuries before- I'd always assumed she'd be able to shrug off anything aimed at her. The Void was quite a scary power.
​
"They- They framed me. Took away my powers and set every hero on me, claiming I- I-" Her heartwrenching sobs cut off her words.
​
My instincts had been right; this information did interest me greatly. Of course, I had assumed she'd been attacked by some heroes- I did recognise some familiar injuries upon her body that had once marked my own- but to think she'd be tossed aside like that... This night just gets more and more unusual.
​
"So you're a criminal now." This is rather amusing to me, but I don't let her see my smile. "Welcome to the club."
​
"I'm not!" She lifts her head, her reddened eyes glaring at me. "I didn't do anything! I don't understand!"
​
"So you've said." I shake my head at her. "Not every criminal you've gone after was a heartless villain- surely you realise that now. The second they get a reason to betray you and toss you aside, the Heroes Association will show no mercy." I almost smile at the days of my own naivety.
​
The Voidcaller stares at me. "Did you-"
​
"No, no." I hurriedly say. "I'm very much heartless."
​
"But you're helping me." I didn't really have a good answer for that.
​
So instead, I distract her. "I have to ask: why did you come to me?"
​
"I- I didn't know where else to go. Every hero I know is convinced I'm evil, and I can't exactly put my civillian friends in danger. I... It seemed sensible to go to you."
​
"Hm. But what about your boyfriend?" The Silver Speedster and her were one formidable team- they were both incredibly powerful and had the utmost trust in each other, such that not even I could manipulate them into drifting apart.
​
Her head lowers again, her expression turning distraught.
​
"Oh." I whisper. "I see."
​
"What should I do?" There was that lost expression again; for someone so entrenched in belief in her status, losing that must be terrifying. Out in the big world, thrust into a new, fugitive life- no hero ever prospered well in that scenario.
​
Well, unless they shed their innate calling for good.
​
"Hide." was my answer. "Hide and scrub your presence away. Could you do that?"
​
She nods. She doesn't understand what I'm saying.
​
So I calmly explain it to her. "That means that, no matter what happens, you can't help anyone. You can't let attention get drawn to yourself. See someone getting murdered? Turn around. See someone robbing a bank? Ignore it. See someone wreaking havoc and destroying the city? Scream and run away."
​
"I can't do that!"
​
"No?" Of course not. I already knew that. "Then the only thing left is to dismantle the Heroes Association. The only thing left," I offer out my hand. "is to join me." | It was a dark evening, one of so many here in Boston. I’d just been awarded the hero-of-the-year award by the mayor. And I was quite taken by myself if I had to admit. BackJack had been so pissed, he’d gotten the award 4 years in a row, but now I'd taken his place in the spotlight. On top of that I denied his ego even the slightest respite by flat out refusing his offer to be his date for the dance. The one that would be thrown in honour of the hero’s and the award-winner. I’d heard the latest rumours you know. That he’d used date-rape drugs on some of his fans before. But he had power... and influence. No way it would ever make it to trial, even if they were true. So that’s all they stayed... rumours.
Feeling too smug with myself to think on it any longer I jumped to the next building. It was one of those evenings with a sense of foreboding. My arch-nemesis always seemed to strike on evenings like these. Though I suppose it wasn’t really by *their* choice. Men always picked out the darkest of nights to prey on women. As if the extra cover of night would protect them from being found out.
With a renewed sense of dread, on what surely must have befallen another poor woman. I hurried to the dark alley where I sensed my arch-nemesis using their power. I am a little psychic you see, I can read simple thoughts, sense emotion and as a bonus, I could sense the use of supernatural powers. Which often came in handy in my line of work, it’s how I often came to the crime scenes way before anyone else. And more often than not, I would still be able to stop whatever was going on.
I guess, it is partly due to my powers that I always prioritise the safety and well-being of the victims first. *Even* if it means letting the villain go free. Or maybe it really was just my own moral compass, I couldn’t tell, but neither did I care all that much. It had won me the hearts of people in this city. And a great many people I had saved. Many of them donated to charities in my name after I’d told them off for trying to give me money.
It was why, once again, I left the retreating black figure running on the roof alone as soon as I arrived. To as predicted the sight of a woman in a terrible state. Any moron would be able to tell what had happened....or rather *nearly* happened. While she was dirty and there was some blood caking her head. She at least had still some clothes on. She was even still somewhat conscious since she stirred when I came closer.
Luckily, she’d only been roughed up a bit, with no mayor injuries. And I say luckily for a reason, because for sure this would’ve likely been the most terrifying experience in her entire life. But I’m sad to say, that what I saw here today was actually quite mild. Especially compared to the more horrid cases I’d seen.
After gently stirring her awake, I handed her my cape, that came with the typical hero’s outfit. She appeared in shock, but as soon as I tried to say something, she broke down in tears falling into my chest. I wrapped my arms protective around her, as if to say “You are safe now”. Though she kept crying until the police cars arrived. By the time she finally calmed down, a familiar face was already stepping out of a car.
Sharon Bradley, the Detective in charge of crimes of the sexual nature. And one of my closest friends, despite our great partnership. I could never say I was all that happy to have to work with her again. I mean she as a person was great, I especially liked hanging out with her outside of work. But having to meet because of a case, I could never quite classify as *happy*.
As I helped the ambulance brothers bring the woman to their station they swapped my cape for a real shock blanket. Slowly they started to examine her. Starting with her head wound. But as one of the brothers came closer, she grabbed my arm again. I took her hands in mine and gave them a gentle squeeze, "I am here."
As the medics started to do their job, Det. Bradley walked up to us.
"I see you've been captured by another woman, Phoenix." She said in a attempt to light the mood a little. And despite her poor attempt I gave her half a smile. But at least to give good effect, the poor woman finally seemed to realize she'd been clinging on to me for dear life. Not that I particularly minded that much. But now that she let me go, I stood up, ready to do the next part that came with the job. Giving the woman some encouragement so she would answer Det. Bradley's questions. I stepped back a little to give Sharon some space to work.
...
"I take it you've found him?" I stated rather than asked to one of the other officers at the scene, as I saw a white body-bag being moved to the designated van.
Though I got little more than a affirmative grunt in response.
"Was he at least recognizable this time?"
"No, but we got the prints at least". At least that was something. Seems I got here relatively quick, since there wasn't enough time to torture the guy for very long.
Dead-Lover really did have a deep-seated interest in the prolonging of suffering. Of course I had seen the dead body earlier, it had just been lying a few feet away, but since I really didn't want to make the pour woman even more upset than she already was, I had meticulously blocked her view of it.
Seeing the mangled body of the man would probably only drive her to hysterics even more. She had to be told though, sooner or later... That he was dead... I wondered how she would take it, they all reacted differently. But most just wanted to deny the truth until they had seen it for themselves, though.
Walking back to the medic station, remaining just out of sight. I listened to the bits and pieces I could hear from the conversation.
"I didn't see his face, it was just... too dark... I could feel his hands all over me." I could hear the crack in her voice as she struggled to hold back the tears.
"He hit me, I couldn't do anything... He was... He was just too... strong." As she started to cry even harder and in turn even starting a coughing fit as she struggled for air.
"Take your time."
"I heard laughing, it was so creepy I can still remember it clearly...she paused...that horrible screaming too... I just want to forget it all..." A moment of silence passed as she started crying again.
"Please let me stop I just want to forget it..."
...
Continued in part 2 | 2019-08-04T04:18:43 | 2019-08-04T03:50:21 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] A drunkard unknowingly convinced Death to be the Godparent to their child. Death gets very invested in their role. | "My kid's gonna die," Barry said, before swigging back the rest of his beer and running a sleeve across his mouth. "And there ain't shit I can do about it. Or any doctor, for that matter."
The woman sitting on the barstool next to him, with her cold impassive face, nodded weakly. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"You ain't sorry 'bout it. Why would you be? You don't know him. Don't know how he looks when he opens his eyes after sleeping. Or how his body smells after a bath. How it feels to hug him close to your chest and know he's all that fucking matters in this empty world. Why would you be sorry?"
The lady frowned. "I truly am sorry. I'm *always* sorry. And I might not sound sincere, but it's just... death comes for everyone, in the end."
"Death comes for everyone? That's all you can say?" Rage mixed badly with the beer running through Barry's veins. "You think it's right to take a one-year-old kid, huh? Think it's right that a child don't get to understand Christmas, or go to a theme park... Or you know, fucking live? Because 'Death comes for everyone so suck it up'?"
The lady, who wore a tight black dress and a pendant necklace, swirled her G&T with a straw, her pale fingers spinning it hypnotically. "No. I don't think it's right."
"Oh." The anger that had been on the tip of Barry's tongue skittered back down his throat and into his belly. "Okay, good. Cause it ain't right." He dropped his head into his hands. "It ain't right at all."
The lady turned to look at the broken husk of a man. This was his one night not in the hospital with his son, forced out by the nurse who insisted he take some time for himself -- or he'll be put in his own hospital bed. She bit her lip and considered. "What would you give for your child to live?"
"Anything," he said miserably. "I'd give anything. If I could fix him up with one of my lungs, or heck, even my heart, I would in an instant."
Death, also on her one evening off, the reason why Barry's son was still alive tonight, believed him. "If you really are willing to give everything for your child, perhaps something can be arranged."
Barry looked up. "What you talking about?"
The lady got up from her seat and leaned over the bar, rustling for something Barry couldn't quite see. Eventually, she sat back down with a lemon in one hand and a lime in her other.
Barry furrowed his brow. "You... You okay?"
"Watch," said Death, as the lemon in her left hand began to wilt. Became small and hard and green.
"The hell..." said Barry. "You a magician?"
"This is your son," Death said. Then she motioned to the lime, healthy in her right hand. "This is you. Although, you're not quite as virile as this lime." She smiled darkly, her red lips curving.
"I don't like magic tricks."
"Good. We have that in common. Now watch."
Barry did watch. His eyes enlarged as the lime began to wilt and mold, and as the lemon became bright and alive once again.
"How... How did you do that?" He looked at his empty pint glass. "How much have I drunk, for that matter?"
"Life and death are two sides of the same coin. Under the right circumstances, one can be given, the other taken. This is... something I *rarely* offer."
He stared into her eyes. Black eyes, he realized. Black and pure and perfect. But God almighty, was there sadness in that empty infinity. "*Who are you*?"
"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is your answer: are you willing to trade your life for that of your son's?"
If there was a spell that had been cast, Barry was fully under it. He wanted to belive so badly that this strange lady could make that trade happen; but also, for some reason, he *did* believe it. "Yes. God, yes I'm willing to do it!" He paused. "It's just..."
She cocked her head. "Just what?"
"He'd be all alone. His mother died in childbirth and I'm all he's got."
"He wouldn't be alone."
"...No?"
"I'll watch your child, if you agree. I will raise him and care for him, and in time, I will become his life, and he mine."
"You'll... Look after him?"
"I will be his god-mother, in a way, if you allow it."
"But you'll look after him? That's what you're sayin'?"
"Yes. I promise I will take care of him." The lady stood and held out a hand. "Come."
Barry flinched.
Death laughed. "I'm not taking your life right this second, so do not worry. It has to be done as all trades in this matter are done. Transferred through me."
"We... We going to the hospital?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Barry swallowed hard, then cautiously, he took her hand. | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/e98jpq/godfather_death_part_2/)
When Becca died during childbirth, I was distraught. Does that go without saying? If so, tough. If not, you're welcome. Shit got dark. Fast.
As people tend to, I found solace in the bottle. Not a bottle of coke, unless it was topped off with copious amounts of rum. I figured I could drink myself to death, and that cursed baby wouldn't know any better. Sorry, baby. It wasn't personal, but it kind of was. I wouldn't do a thing to hurt the kid, but I wouldn't have minded if somebody else stepped in to care for him. A foster family, or a friend, or a pack of wolves so he could found Rome or something some day. There wasn't a river close enough to set him in, so I made half-hearted attempts at feeding him.
It was during one of these drunken feed sessions that I heard a knock on the door. CPS, hopefully, I thought as I stumbled that way. Incorrect, unless they had taken to dressing in robes and carrying scythes around to smite bad parents for their sins.
"No soliciting," I said irritably, pointing at the sign near the door.
"Move, mortal," my guest waved dismissively. Then he stepped past me. As his robes rubbed against my shirtless belly, I felt a cold chill. Unseasonal, given the sweltering July heat.
"Can I help you, buddy?" I asked. If he wanted a drink, I could front him a beer. Not anything fancy, but I could probably spare a beer.
"Name is Grim," he said, taking a seat near the baby. He pulled on black, leather gloves before brushing hair from baby's forehead. I should have named the kid, right? Well, there was always tomorrow for that. "Grim Reaper."
"Oh, shit, like the pepper," I answered, recognizing the name. Spicy food didn't sit well with me, so I ate a lot of it to puke my guts out. Kids had the weirdest names these days, like the ones named after a genocidal, dragon-riding pyromaniac.
"Like Death, you imbecile," Death responded.
"Oh." It dawned on me then that me or the kid would be released from the misery. I had dibs, but I wasn't sure it worked that way. "Here for me?" I asked hopefully.
He shook his head, and his hood, and he cradled baby in those gloved hands. "Here for neither of you," Death responded. "And that's exactly the issue."
"Damn right that's an issue," I retorted. "Can't you just take me? I'm ready. I can get naked, I can put on my Sunday best. Tell me what to wear, buddy, and I'm ready to die."
Death shook his head vehemently now. "No," he snapped, and for a second I was hopeful he would smite me with his scythe. I had a knack for irritating people to that extent. "It's not your time, and it's not his time," he added, gesturing at the baby. "You need to shape up."
I looked down at my belly. If I had a wig, I could have passed as a pregnant woman. "Round is a shape."
"It's not time," he repeated, "and you can't force it. You'll be miserable for decades if you keep this up."
"Decades? Motherfucker, that's a minute." I sighed mournfully. "Help me out then? Marry me and be the kid's second daddy? I'll call you daddy, if you want."
"I don't want you to." Swing and a miss, but I thought I might just call him daddy for fun. Or so he'd smite me.
"Be the Godfather," I suggested more seriously.
Now, he seemed to actually consider my offer. He glanced at me, and then at the baby, and then at me again. Then, carefully cradling the baby with one robed arm, he held out his other hand, unfortunately still gloved.
"No glove for a handshake, daddy," I said.
"Don't call me daddy," he snapped. No smite though, and I was disappointed. "I'm not killing you. We'll be a team."
"A parenting team? Will we cuddle? Share a room? I can make a mean rum and coke to go with whatever dinner you cook."
He shot me an icy glare. "You won't be drinking anymore," he snapped, and the can of beer that was just reaching my lips turned to water. Stupid water, the poor man's liquor. I went for the bottle of rum on the counter and found it more watered down than a restaurant cocktail. What a waste, unless water had turned to liquor. I'd drink it straight from the toilet, without a second thought.
Death was hard to trick. And so we shook on it, his hand still gloved. "Congratulations," I told him as he donned baby with his first set of clothes. Black robes, oddly fitting, and a plastic scythe. He looked pretty bad-ass for a baby.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/e98jpq/godfather_death_part_2/) is up!
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-12-11T06:33:50 | 2019-12-11T06:16:01 | 1,852 | 833 |
[WP] Genetics is everything. There are scales for wisdom, might, HP and mana, that are used on babies right after birth. You were born into an elitist family that discarded you after seeing your mana. What they didn't know is that you were the top 99.99% in dexterity, and you hold grudges. | Lord Brighton awoke. Groggy. He hadn't been drinking that he could... the attack! Someone attacked him from behind in his own home. He was heading to his limousine with the butler and--
"Good morning father."
He tried to look to the side, but the chair he was tied to held him tight. He noticed candles and some kind of diagram around him. And the butler, looked like he had been knocked unconscious. As befitting his power, he made demands. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Oh, you wouldn't remember me, would you? Gave me up as a baby."
"Reginald?"
"You... you actually remembered my name?" The voice sounded more inquisitive than surprised.
"Of course. Just because I didn't want you didn't mean I'd just forget about you."
"Well, I'd be touched if I cared."
"I suppose this is revenge. Had an unhappy childhood? Then have your pound of flesh and be done with it."
"No."
At this, Lord Brighton stiffened. He was trying to manipulate the man into making some kind of mistake, trying to overwhelm his emotions. However, like every member of his bloodline, they were truly immune. And Reginald here, though born with no magic, was still resistant to his family's word magic. That "No." conveyed more than refusal. Reginald wasn't here for revenge.
For the first time ever, Brighton feel helpless. "What is it you want then?"
"Simple. Money. You're loaded. See, after you discarded me," saying it as if it weren't important, "I discovered I had natural talents of the body. Talents that some would find useful in more... shall we say, clandestine circles?"
"You're a thief."
"Oh no, father. You see, thieves get caught. Me? I'm just good."
"So, you're here to rob me? Take my money and be done with it?"
"No, I'm here to take everything. Your money, your title, your lands. Everything. You see, I'm the sole heir to your estate now."
Brighton's felt his face pale. "Wh-what do you mean, 'sole heir'?"
"Well, Lady Brighton will be discovered with a slit throat. You other son, Mortimer? Head caved in with a cricket bat. His favorite. You know the one signed by the Devonshire team? Your daughter... well, she's only 12, too young to be considered an heiress. Normally it would be held in trust until she was at least 13, but what's this? A bastard child? No, his DNA proves he is the legitimate child of Lord and Lady Brighton. All the family fortunes must therefore go to him."
"Is that why you killed the butler?"
"Oh, he's not dead yet. Just unconscious. He will be. Cause of death will be determined to be a demon summoning ritual gone wrong."
Brighton's blood went cold. "You wouldn't."
"No, but he would. At least, the books in his hidden cache in his room will be evidence enough."
"Evidence you planted?"
"Surprisingly, no. It was a hobby of his, but his receipts go back long enough. I'm just taking advantage of a good situation."
"This is an awful lot of work for revenge." Maybe he couldn't charm his way out, but he still knew how to talk to people. If he could twist--
"Ugh, this isn't about you. This is about me. I want money and you have a lot of it. Comes from growing up poor and then finding you have a direct blood link to a very, *very* wealthy family. Others in my field think it might be revenge, but they never really cared. I could slip past the guards, pick the locks, and dance my way out of any robbery or burglary. That's what they cared about. The money. We were no family, like you they would abandon me if it proved convenient or profitable." Finally, a small hint of emotion came through his voice as a smartphone started beeping. "Oh, it's about time. The chat has been fun, Lord Brighton. But the time for the ritual would be soon. Never really cared for murder, but then it's never really paid before."
The young man finally walked into Brighton's field of view. Brighton was shocked to see someone who looked very much like him when he was younger. In his left hand, he held an ornate dagger. "Dear me, I never introduced myself, did I?" The coldness in his eyes said he never would as he plunged the dagger into Brighton's chest.
The last thought Brighton had as his life slipped from him was Reginald's eyes, how they showed such satisfaction and relief. It was good to see how much the boy took after family traditions. | Leopold, sweet Leopold the Alchemist. To the village, he's a kindly old man a saint, selling the potions at 40% of what a big city potion sellers would. What the saps don't know is that Leopold's potions are so diluted that they only are about 10% as effective. Of course, if someone is about to die, he'll bust out the good stuff as a 'charitable gift' to cover his operation, but he's sucking these people dry all because he'd burned a few Barons back in the capital and was chased off.
He justifies it to himself though, he's working on the Elixer of Eternal Life after all and he needs funding. If it takes some podunk farmer a week to heal off an accidental pitchfork wound rather than the day a normal potion would heal it in, it's all worth it for the end goal and he's so close. The Unicorn Hoof Dust and Dragon Nail have just arrived, the mixture of Harpy feather, Salamander Liver, and diluted Manticore venom have been fermenting for 20 years. All he has to do is add these final ingredients and concentrate his mana into the cauldron for 3 days and Eternal life is his.
He's been working for this for so long. Ever since the night, his father passed him the recipe for dealing with the family's little problem. "Take your brother out into the woods to play Leopold, Make sure he has a good time," his father had said as Leopold led the boy away from the Manor home, and Leopold did he took the boy far into the woods deeper than his mother would have ever let him. Leopold even gave the boy sweets, and when that boy woke up hours later and Leopold was gone. He'd realized that Leopold had taken him so far away from the house he couldn't even see the smoke of the chimneys and any paths he followed lead him in circles. Later that boy would realize that Leopold had shown him mercy, he could have used something stronger than sleeping potion. He'd repay that kindness, of those who wronged him, Leopold would be the one who lived.
Though Leopold still needed to be punished for ripping the boy from his mother. Leopold didn't know this however he was hard at work focusing his mana, he had been in his twenties when he got the recipe, he was in his forties now. He still looked good, but grey hairs were starting to show. His body was slowing down. If he failed here, the next time he could try to complete the potion, he'd be old and grey and living forever like that would seem more like a curse than a gift.
It was on day three that I decided to act. I'd been watching dear Leopold for some time. Leopold's scamming of royalty had made him easy to track, there were more than enough people putting bounties on his head and alchemists were boasters and gossips, so it wasn't difficult to learn what he was attempting, it was a simple matter extracting the recipe from a former colleague of Leopold's and than searching for a man fitting his description in the market for Unicorn Hoof or Dragon Nail. I wonder if he appreciated my gift? Unicorns are a terror to keep a bead on.
Now I sat on a cliffside overlooking his humble country lab. Waiting for the perfect moment. With my eagle eyes, I could see poor Leopold barely able to keep awake after three days of concentration. According to his hourglass, there was only one minute left. So I lined up my shot, thinking I should go right for the shot but decided to have a bit of fun. I took aim and fired.
The bolt flew from my crossbow striking the bottom of the window ricocheting off the stone and smashing through the glass, Leopold twitched but kept his concentration, the bolt changed trajectory into the chandelier above, giving what I assume was a metal clang causing him to twitch again. Leopold steadied on though 10 seconds left, the bolt traveled downward into a few alchemical tools, causing many tinks, and bangs but Leopold stayed strong, managing to keep his focus until the last second the liquid turning into a shimmering rainbow as my bolt flew right past him into the bottom of his cauldron puncturing it.
Leopold opened his eyes, his face filling with glee that was quickly replaced with terror as the liquid in his cauldron began to sink, pouring out the bottom into the drain. Leopold screamed as he tried to scoop some of the liquid into his mouth, Silly Leopold you know you needed to drink the full thing for it to work. As the cauldron soon completely emptied into the drain Leopold curled up on the floor, the movement of his back showing he was sobbing. Satisfied I began to pack up my camp, I hope Leopold was pleased with the mercy I showed him, he'd never know it but he was going to be faring much better than the rest of my family. | 2020-02-28T03:08:53 | 2020-02-28T00:54:17 | 94 | 60 |
[WP] Earth is sold on the Galactic Black Market. The Buyer is woefully underprepared to handle how defiant Humanity is | It was going to be a really, *really* long day.
Councillor Iilam leaned back in his office chair, unable to hide his exasperation. Implied display of public emotion was a Class-W infraction for a member of The Council of Thirty And Nine. Complete irritation may or may not fall under those guidelines, it was debatable. The case of Yaladik vs. Teraformers Union 64-AA-9 had ended in a split decision, leaving the question as to whether or not irritation was a emotion up in the air. That case had ended just 312 Standard Cycles ago. Or 780 years, according to Iilam's planet reckoning.
That was certainly recently enough that most councilors would play it safe and not show public irritation. But of course, Iilam was not like most councilors.
He warily massaged his beak-like jaw in a thoughtful manner. His seven fingers pacing back and forth over his silvery skin. "So let me get this straight," he began, speaking to the other being seated opposite side of his desk. "you purchased a planet, through *illegal* channels, that oh by the way just so happens to be smack dab in the middle of a intergalactic wildlife refuge, only to find out that the dominant primitives are not to your liking, so now you want the Grand Council to intervine to get you back your money- from an illegal, unsanctioned sale. Did I get all that right, Mr. Bzortgum?"
The citizen on the other side of the desk shrugged, then nodded sheepishly. He was a native of Himatura. Like most Himaturians, his black eyes took up over half his face, and his orange skin seemed to glow.
Councilor Iilam sat upright again, and rested his arms on the top of the desk, fingers interlaced. "Frankly, sir, I have every right to throw you into labor core right now." he said, and the orange man started to glow more deeply, the usual sign of fear in Himaturians. "But of course, of all 30 Councilors and 9 High Councilors that you could've turned to, you came to me. And I think we both know why."
The Humaturian's glow faded and he sighed deeply. "So... you can do it?"
Councilor Iilam chuckled under his breath. "Just make payments immediately transferable to me." he assured. "I'll see to it that this- *Earth*\- of yours, is erased from all memory. Now get out of my sight."
The Himatruian nodded frantically and all but tripped over his own four feet in his haste to exit. Councilor Iilam, now alone, sighed deeply. Erasing a planet was *soo* much work work work.
He had better get his payments on time. | > Tell me more about these "Americans"....
Well sir, they're a very cantankerous bunch. As you can see, within what they believe to be their territory they possess more firearms than actual humans who could use them. While they may seem entirely split culturally I assure you the second you set foot within the territory they claimed and try to take it, every single one of them will be more than happy to pick up arms and start shooting. It's a proud part of their culture standing up to authority, their entire nation was founded when a bunch of drunk libertarian farmers decided to start a war with the most powerful empire on their planet... and they won...
> I see, and the second super power, the Chinese. What are they like?
Also not the ideal place to begin sir. While they lack the gun ownership of the Americans, they make up for it in a near fanatical loyalty to the party and a complete disregard for the life of the individual. The humans call this "Communism" and truth be told, it's terrifying. There was another nation that used such doctrine, they have the opposite problem as the Americans. They had more people than guns. So they willingly sent their own people into combat unarmed, with instructions to simply pick up the rifle of the person next to them when he died. Drowning the enemy in a veritable tide of bodies. Oh, and if any retreated, they would be shot by their own forces for cowardice.
> How about this little spot in the middle? Along the coast of that sea?
Sir that would be Israel. And it would be most unwise. Do you see all of Israels neighbors? Well they once decided to attack Israel, surrounded as it was. The war was over in six days. Israel slaughtered all that stood against them, expanded their territory to nearly triple, and did it all inside of a week because their god tells them not to work on the Sabbath. Their special forces are the most elite in the world, routinely violating international sovereignty to hunt down criminals from a war some 80 years in the past, and their snipers like to play a game called "Count the kneecapds" where they intentionally shoot at a non-vital body part to cripple their target for life and draw out more targets.
> Anything *ELSE* I need to know about?
Yes sir, one last major power of note. This large desolate frozen wasteland. The humans call it "Russia". The russians employ what is called a "Dead Mans Hand". This is a fail-deadly deterrent. Should Russia ever fall, there are protocols in place to launch the entirety of its thermo-nuclear arsenal at pregenerated targets throughout the world. It doesn't matter *WHO* takes them out, they fully intent to strike against everyone in a final act of vengeance. If you fuck with them, they are fully ready to end the entire planet turning it into a radioactive desolate wasteland.
> Is there any place that *IS* safe to land?
Yes sir. This region here, on what the humans call "Yurop". We've determined they pose no threat and will happily capitulate to any demands made.
> France... hmm, well I suppose you have to start somewhere. | 2020-03-24T12:26:33 | 2020-03-24T11:33:41 | 800 | 131 |
[WP] Earth is sold on the Galactic Black Market. The Buyer is woefully underprepared to handle how defiant Humanity is | "Go ahead. You won't be the first batch of romantics to bankrupt yourself trying."
The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'll take your money, gladly," the broker said. "But did you really think you were the first people to have this idea?"
"The Terran Reform and Rehabilitation Society is more than prepared to make all investments necessary-"
"Cut the corporate talk," he said. "I can't stand that type of shit. I'm just saying, don't come back to me looking for your money back when this doesn't pan out. No refunds." He uncorked a bottle of some foul-smelling spirit, swallowing a bubble as it floated out.
"Once we have the homeworld of humanity in our possession, we certainly don't intend to give it up."
"Nobody does. You ever wonder *why* it's up for sale in the first place? Why it's in the hands of someone like me, and why I'm selling it for a tenth of its mineral value?"
"Because humanity has forgotten its roots, and turned its back on the world that gave it life."
"Not all of it," the broker said. "You seem to forget the place isn't quite abandoned. Not yet."
"Yes, yes, we're aware that there's a few thousand aborigines left in the northern regions. We will respect their rights at every step of-"
"This is a materials fence. You think *I* give a shit about their rights? The only reason I haven't blasted the surface yet and sold off a mining contract is because *they* make that very hard to do."
"And thank God for it."
"You don't seem to understand," he said. "Those people are still there for a reason. When the Martian charters opened up, they didn't leave. When we started jumping systems, they didn't leave. When the oceans turned to poison and the air got choked with carbon, they didn't leave. There are precisely two kinds of life that exist on Earth: a few thousand things that used to be human, and certain species of extremophilic bacteria that they eat. That's it. Matter of fact, a baseline human can't even live on Earth anymore. Too hot, too much gravity. The Earth people's bones are hard as rocks, and they're all tiny, like five or six feet tall. Anybody normal even tried to walk on Earth, they'd probably break their legs just walking off the ship."
"We anticipate harsh conditions," said the ambassador. "Our terraforming efforts will be gradual, and we'll make provisions for our settlers to venture to the surface safely."
"Your terraforming efforts? I hope you realize that every terraforming effort anyone's tried in the past couple centuries has been blasted out of the sky. Literally. Keep in mind that these people have hung on to all the materiel that the old Earth empires left behind, all those nukes and lasers, and they know how to use 'em. They may be crazy, but they're not stupid."
"Why do you say they're crazy?"
"Because they *like* it there," said the broker. "They don't want terraformation; they don't want you to come in and save them. A thousand human worlds you can choose from, and these people have hung on to the worst one there is. And even if I don't care about them, I respect that," he said, "a hell of a lot more than I respect you. How do you think they'd feel if some black-eyed, stringbean-thin interstellars like us came in and started telling them what's best?"
"They were the stewards of Earth," growled the ambassador, "and they let it fall to ruin. How do you expect them to know what's best?"
"And for all your shit about respecting their rights," chuckled the broker. "The world's yours; do whatever. Blast them off, throw them in cells, whatever. Make Earth into whatever arbitrary form you think it ought to be. But for fuck's sake, drop the hero act. Stop pretending. I'd rather you just go in and nuke the place, start strip-mining the crust for silicon."
"And why's that?"
"Because at least then, you'd be being honest about what you *really* want," said the broker. He finished off the bottle with a gulp. "I'm fine with a bastard, as long as they know that they're a bastard. But I can't stand a hypocrite." | It was supposed to be easy! Leveraged from the Dual Suns of Miril III to the Goop System, Fjulme needed a fast and innovative solution after the last blunder.
Everyone had said "You should really incorporate, it's just not reasonable to run an galaxy wide ship building outfit as a family business." Fjumle agreed of course, but incorporating would have required speaking to the other family members and Fjulme hated his family.
So when corners were cut and a subpar spatial engineer was hired off of the recommendation of Fjulme's fraternity sibling from Alpha Centauri Learnatorium the ensuing disaster threatened to wipe out Benis Shipyards and the Benis family entirely.
So Fjulme took a risk and bought a planet through the dark matter web.
It was straightforward enough, and all of the forum posts and how-to holovids on the Galactic Web thoroughly explained how to build a quick fortune off of an unsanctioned planet.
And Fjulme thought it was Fjulme's luck that the acquired world had rich mineral resources, massive amounts of water, and a dominant species that has met the lower levels of civilization culture and culture building.
Fjulme decided that given how advanced the species of the world was, it would be best to uplift them. Lawyers were contacted, terms were written up and within weeks of the purchase Fjulme had made planet-fall with a most capable delegation.
At first things went well. Relatively hairless primates greeted Fjulme, offered physical contact, presented spectacles, firework shows and eventually all agreed to sit and talk at a summit in the tiny hive city of Sequel York.
The terms Fjulme had presented were most fair and generous. Warp Drives, antimatter generators, Psyk-Ai constructs would be availed to the Humans to turn them into a star faring race. In return Fjulme and the Benis Shipyards would hold an exclusive position (with favorable rates) on all future on world and off world mining ventures done by Humans. Additionally Fjulme would have access to any developments made by humans and serve as a vendor for human products in the Central Galactic Exchange considering that it would be decades before the humans would even be able to apply for a license for the Exchange.
Yet now, only weeks after the deal was signed, it seems as only trouble has followed. The Psyk-matter generators that the humans were explicitly told to not alter or dissemble have indeed by tampered with. Now significant swathes of population around Sequel Mexico and First Mexico have been experiencing severe psychic mutations or spontaneously combusting.
The Psyk-Ai Constructs were accidentally plugged into Earth Internet at some point and now some 2^2 forum has induced some ancient form of tribalism amongst the constructs, and caused others to glass the continent of Australia for fear of super predators. Fjulme could only sigh as the Neuro-fold decompressor worked to leech excess psychic energy from Fjulme's tired frontal node
A ding sounded on the holoscreen and a data readout informed that one of the tamper-proof warp drives had been cracked open and now some small population center called Finland has disappeared
And perhaps worst of all, these humans were all so hyperbolic. Fjulme's species were ill-suited towards certain things such as sarcasm or hyperbole. Yet everytime his emergency holo-line rang with a human leader declaring an extinction level event was upon Earth, Fjulme would rush to planet-side only to discover it was some minor geopolitical issue. After a month Fjulme had developed a dermatological reaction to hearing or reading the the names "Israel & Palestine". And when catastrophic events did occur, such as when a human President gave a "thumbs up" to the visiting ambassador of the Mondraxian Star Syndicate, the human leader said it was no big deal, despite the repeated warnings that such a gesture was an act of war and that within 2 Delta Cycles, a Mondraxian swarm would come to douse the planet in Star fire.
It was supposed to be easy Fjulme thought. And yet a serene sense of relief washed over the ascended being. It couldn't possibly get much worse could Fjulme countered. A beep then sounded from Fjulme's hand held Holo-tablet with a message so terrible Fjulme could only hope to contain all the unsettled psychic energy from destroying Fjulme's Starship. Plastered on the holo-feed was an advertisement for a Fjulme sex toy. Fjulme wasn't sure if it was more unsettling that they were producing such products, or at the level of detail given to the Fjulme's reproduction matrix. | 2020-03-24T15:29:13 | 2020-03-24T14:39:50 | 621 | 52 |
[WP] One day a thought occurs to you, "I'm an adult. I could go to the store, buy a pie and eat the whole thing by myself in my car and nobody could stop me." So you do that. This was the worst mistake of your life. | I've always loved pies since I was a kid. Mom and Gramma makes the best pecan and apple pies I've ever had. They always make some for special occasions... graduation, New Years, marriage, standard stuff. Now I'm thousands of miles away from them, down in a slump and I want a pie.
Hang on.... I'm an adult. I have income. I don't need to wait for the special occasions or that one time a year I fly back home. I can go to a good (or at least alright) bakery and get me a whole tin of pie and nobody can stop me.
...
... and that's what I did.
"Welcome sir, would you like some pies?" The clerk asked. They were nice enough to understand that I'm not in the mood for small talk and I'm grateful for it.
"I'd like a pecan pie please." I'm pretty sure I'm salivating like crazy at this point. Just need to look sane enough until I pay and we're golden.
"Certainly, would you like any..."
"Hang on." I interrupted. "The whole tin please. Fresh, if you don't mind."
The clerk paused, but complied regardless. Perhaps they thought i was buying for a party? Whatever.
"And a fork please."
The clerk stopped in their tracks and their movement changed to almost robotically stiff. Their voice had also changed monotonous, like a midi player was stuck into somebody's voicebox.
"Password accepted. Welcome, agent Orange."
They then pressed a button on the register, opening a hidden door under the counter.
"Welcome home to the Calypso organization."
"What about..."
"All will be explained in due time. The Board is expecting you."
Oh, now is their turn to interrupt. Okay, that's fair. Seeing nothing else to do, i entered the room before I realized something.
"Hey, where's my pie?!" | Arthur had always hated Friday the 13th, ever since his dog had died in a tragic accident on one of those days. He knew it was an irrational obsession, but still whenever Friday the 13th rolled around, he was always far more cautious, never trying anything new and always going out of his way to stay indoors the whole day. A lot of people, both among his family and his peers, had teased him for it in the past. Today was different though. Today was Arthur's 18th birthday. He was finally a adult and was going to conquer this fear he had. At first, when he woke up in his college dorm room, he didn't really know what he wanted to do. It was his first birthday where he wasn't in his parent's house. Then an idea came to him. His parents had always been kind of health nuts, never letting him eat the delicious foods that he had really wanted. Well, now, they weren't around to stop him. And that was how Arthur found himself snacking on a key lime pie in a parking lot on a Friday morning.
It was delicious, just as sweet and creamy as he remembered. Then, he choked as something caught in his throat. He started coughing loudly as he grabbed his water thermos to try to gulp some water down. To his alarm though, he realized there was no water left. By this point, Arthur was seriously choking and panic was starting to set in. Fuck, he thought to himself, I can't die like this in my fucking car. Desperately, he tumbled out of his car door and made a wheezing noise at a passing stranger. The stranger stared at him and then the car as Arthur frantically pointed at his throat as he struggled to breathe. Oh, thank god, Arthur thought, he's coming over to help me. He held out his hand to the approaching stranger ... only for the man to step over Arthur's body and step into his car. Arthur would have screamed in rage if he could have actually said anything. Instead, he was simply forced to watch in fury as everything started to fade into black while the stranger sped off in Arthur's car, along with Arthur's birthday pie. | 2020-05-27T04:29:12 | 2020-05-27T04:02:12 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] "Gladiators bring out your weapons!" With one big swing the brute in front of you slammed down a ball with spikes. In one sweeping motion, you bring out... A ball point pen. | "Do you jest, boy?"
The hulking gladiator was within his rights to mock me. I'd just pulled a damn ballpoint pen from the sheath on my hip after all. It was not a *common* weapon, even in the wasteland arena, where proper weapons could be hard to scrounge.
Summoning all my courage, I squeaked, "Prepare to die, like the dog you are!" Then, uncapping the pen with a dramatic flourish, I began jabbed it toward my foe in a vaguely threatening manner.
The seasoned warrior turned to the emperor seated upon a rusted throne at the edge of the arena, "Really, is this a bloody joke? Because I ain't laughin', but it sure don't seem real, neither."
The emperor shrugged. "Get on with it, Demecian!"
Resigned, the gladiator known as Demecian moved toward me, his very real sword glinting in the sunlight, something that my pen did not do.
As he approached I tossed the pen at him. Achieving little more than drawing half a mustache as it struck his upper lip, I croaked like a frog and fell to the ground in a ball, shaking like a leaf.
Demecian threw his weapon to the ground in disgust and turned back to the emperor's box. "On my honor, I refuse. Slaying this pathetic wretch would be akin to killing a kitten."
I summoned by best look of offense. "How dare you, good sir! How dare you insult me in such a-"
He held up a gnarled hand. "I wasn't finished, boy... it'd be akin to killin' a *blind* kitten with three missing legs!"
The bored emperor waved a hand dismissively, "Fine! Be gone with the pen barer then. Bring up another one, I wish to see fighting, not endless whining!"
With that, I was ushered out of the arena. Utterly cloaked in embarrassment and dishonor... with an enormous smile plastered across my face.
I'm *well aware* that a pen is not actually mightier than the sword, despite the saying. But I knew one thing that was mightier than the sword... Pity.
*Oh, no, such grave dishonor I'd brought upon my family!* I hear my hypothetical critics wail and lament.
What *family?!* I have no grand history, no sterling lineage. All of us sent to die in the arena were nobodies, yet thousands of them actually *die...* for *honor?*
Yes, perhaps they're "braver" than I am, but I've seen what most of them look like after their gladiatorial careers are over. 10% left maimed, the rest exited the profession... how to put this.... *dead.* In a state of deadness they are unlikely to recover from. Very, extremely permanently deceased.
So let the fools fight over their nonexistent honor, I leave today with all my limbs, eyes, and other precious body parts intact. By any rational measure, I'd say that *I* am the true victor here.
​
r/Ryter | "Gladiators, bring out your weapons!"
***I honestly expected this***
No sane warrior would believe a man like me joined the forces
In a world where big hammers, swords and the spiked ball my opponent was using were the norm, my choices would come out as... unconventional
Although it's not my fault that the time machine sent me to ancient rome instead of 19th century london
***Calm down, Stewart, damage is already done, nothing you can do about it***
I got laughed at pretty hard when i suggested the use of modern strategies, even harder when someone saw me "playing" with a fish instead of eating it
And now. This
I sighed, and revealed my weapon for the occassion
The ball point pen came out in a smooth, sweeping motion, practiced almost to perfection
The brute in front of me took a stand, and so did I
"Start!"
"Start!"
The brute immediately approached, followed by his weapon's medium range swing
I dodged it without too much effort, and tried to close the distance
He then used the mommentum of the swing to make a spinning one in a marvelous display of experience
It would have hit me if I didn't back down
He stopped his weapon and we made eye contact for a few seconds, none of us moving
My turn
The bard prepared to swing when he saw me run even faster than him
He was doomed at close range, and he knew that pretty well
The spiked ball came straight to my face, hoping to one-shot the attacker
I managed to dodge it by the skin of my teeth
Apparently he expected me to dodge it, and quickly pulled the ball with his anormal strenght
I got as down as a professional limbo player, but it still hit my right arm, now bloody
Right is out, I trust you my left partner
Not gonna lie, hurts like hell, but adrenaline sure is helping
I resumed my approach, and the spikes did aswell
But this time I was ready
He swung, aiming for the torso this time
Instead of backing up, i got even closer
I grabbed the chain connected to the ball with my left arm while holding the pen with the mouth
The brute tried to get rid of me via a powerful swing
Bastard actually lifted me off the ground
I let go of the chain, landing exactly to his right, opposite of the position of his weapon
I prepared for the imminent kick or punch
What a fool, right?
The brute let go of his weapon and engaged in close combat using his size advantage
One could tell he was damn ready to fight, the spectators fell silent
Exactly, what a fool
I swung at him with my bloody arm, of course it didn't hit him
But I wasn't aiming for that
The force of the swing launched some of the blood at his general direction
It got in his mouth, nose and more importantly, his eyes
Now blinded by the juice of life, he tried to punch me
I took out the pen from my mouth, dodged his punch and quickly stabbed his neck
Then I clicked the pen
It started to release a mix of pufferfish and spider venom instead of ink
Excellent for assasination, not too good when fighting someone, oh well
The brute managed to punch me in the chest, sending me pretty far away
I laid on the floor, exhausted, but victorious
It was a very good fight
I should use better weapons tho... | 2020-09-12T22:24:51 | 2020-09-12T21:44:14 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You are a divine beast guarding a sacred mountain. Over the past century, humans have slowly stopped visiting the shrine you live at. One day, you hear voices near the top of the mountain. When you approach, you see a very old man and two young children praying to your shrine. | "People used to run to the mountain for safety, you know, Jeremiah," the old man said to the young child circling him like a speeding pup.
Bending slowly the elderly man sat on the shrines lower deck, a grunt escaping as he lowered his head and placed his hands together in prayer.
The little boy stopped his zooming and imitated him, an adorable bow that looked more like a squat.
"But," the old man continued, "it seems that tale has been forgotten. The mountains power waned. As this shrine stands, so does the memory, and so do I. Old and resigned to the past."
The little boy cocked his head and smiled.
The old man ruffled his hair and chuckled. "None of which are concerns for the young, right, little fellow?"
"I understand," the boy said, a defiant frown playing across his face.
"Oh?"
"We are running, aren't we Grandfather? Will the mountain save us?"
The old man's expression changed.
Higher up the mountain, hidden by shadow and magic, Zorac sighed. The words were like daggers to the beast's ancient heart.
Why was he here? What purpose did he serve? It had been a century since even his name had been uttered in worship. The mountains power had waned , yes, but Zorac's had only grown.
Galloping horses sounded from the mountainside, dust rising in swells soon taken by the wind.
Into the space before the temple they congregated, a small squad of five soldiers, lightly armoured in the heat, long swords at their sides.
"Evading the lord's tax is a crime punishable by death, Thorvald," said one, dismounting his horse with an agile leap.
The little boy ran to his grandfather, the old man surrounding him with thin and fail arms.
No answer came. The soldier drew closer.
"Examples must be made. A rule for one, is a rule for all. Without such justice, chaos would return."
Sniggers came from the soldiers on horseback. Zorac clenched his claws. The stench of evil was rising up the mountain.
Light beams glittered off the long sword as the solider drew it from its scabbard, admiring the blade as if a lover.
"Perhaps you can help wet my new sword with your blood."
The boy screamed, diving his head into his grandfather's dirty robes.
The old man looked up at the shrine, at the rusted and broken statue atop the crest of its roof.
"Zorac, as my grandfather once came to you for help, so do I. Come down from the mountain, take my life as sacrifice, save my grandson and return this land to peace. I beg you!"
An electric earthquake rattled through Zorac's soul as each syllable of his name met the humid summer air. He stood.
He had been summoned.
The soldiers laughed.
"Old and retarded people in the country, believing such crap!"
The solider and his men laughed as a breeze picked up before the shrine. It increased in pace. Soon the old and heavy bell inside the shrines decrepit wooden walls began to chime, the sound deep and vibrating, loose gravel shaking with each pulsing echo.
The laughing stopped.
"Seems as if the gods have come to give you a send-off," the soldier said as he stepped closer, his eyes showing a slight fear he was trying to hide as the bell continued to sound.
The wooden deck creaked. The solider stopped.
"Zorac..." the old man muttered.
"Keep your life, old man. There is plenty here for my fill."
​
r/FatDragon | “Grandad, what does the protector spirit look like?” you hear one of the children say as the trio approach the Altar.
“No one knows, Talum. The spirit has not shown its face for hundreds of years.” The man sounded tired, frail, aged. You have not seen him for some time but you know this would likely be his last visit.
“How do we know there even is a beast then?”
“Quiet, Paer!” the old man quietly scolded, “it may be listening to us this very moment!”
The boys’ eyes widened and the man showed them how to kneel properly.
“Oh great spirit,” he bagan, “Please hear our plea for our city is in danger! The neighboring tribes are coming to take the last of our food and we will surely starve! Please, spirit, rescue us!”
You ponder his request with a curiosity befitting your kind. Very few humans still come here and you recognize this man as the only recent visitor. Perhaps this is the right time to reveal yourself, to enlighten the city below that had forgotten your solitary existence and written you off as a myth.
From your refuge deep inside the mountain, you stomp your massive hooves in a circle beneath where the three now knelt; to them, it would feel like a small earthquake. Though no one was currently nearby, anyone outside the ring would be none the wiser.
The boys shout out and make to run but the man keeps them kneeling.
“The men behind the mount no longer believe in the spirit within it. Why should I help them?” Your voice echoed, deep, growling, almost menacing: you prefer it that way.
“Please, gentle spirit,” the man spoke with a tinge of fear in his voice as you slowly flash a mischievous smile to no one, “The men below know not your power! Your boons and blessings are taken for granted but you can restore your glory by saving the city! My boys and I will spread the word of your miraculous wonders and your kindness, oh mighty, powerful, spirit. We will serve you for generations to come and your glory will be restored among the people!”
Though normally you’d have crushed the three to death by now, it’s been a long time since humans have set food on the barren mount. You stomp a new pattern and boulders begin to sink slowly into the ground surrounding them; frankly, you haven’t had this much fun in years.
After a lengthy pause in both words and actions, you decide to see where this goes. “I require a sacrifice.”
“A.. what shall I do, most honorable spirit? What can I offer you to spare the city?”
“A *human* sacrifice,” you clarify, “for only with the eternal service of the truly devoted can the city be redeemed.”
He looks visibly uncomfortable as understanding flashes in his eyes. “Spare the children, my omnipotent spirit, and I am yours. It would be my honor to serve you in the depths of the mountain.”
“Very well.” Suddenly, a sinkhole opened beneath the man and closes as quickly as it appeared. The boys, now alone, scream and flee the scene.
The man died immediately on impact, of course, but the children did not know that. They will be your messengers to a fallen people.
You think about how you got here, how you met a benevolent spirit who granted blessings to the city below, how you gained its trust, how you murdered their god.
To overtake a mountain seat is no small feat but the spirit of the city was none the wiser and now was the perfect time to strike. You wouldn’t stop there, of course. Tasting what little scraps of power you toss to the men below, they will do your bidding without question. Humans are predictable enough, you’ve found. Perhaps from there, you will amass a kingdom. Eventually, you will conquer the neighboring lands and overcome their patron spirits to become the one true god, to rule over all the humans of the world.
Now that would truly taste divine. | 2020-10-16T08:16:06 | 2020-10-16T08:12:28 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again." | Second day. I arrive. I lose fast and hard. The dragon left me another on my arm, just above the first. Just deep enough to scar.
Third day. I arrive. I lose. I get cut.
Fifth day. I arrive. I lose. He cuts across the first four to make five.
Tenth day. I arrive. I lose but it takes only a few seconds longer. He smiles before giving me my second set.
One hundredth day. I arrive. I lose but I parried his first thrust. Im getting faster but slowly, my muscles are starting to tone but slowly. My face is hard and starting to sprout hairs.
One hundredth and seventy fourth day. I arrive. I lose but have now successfully parried two thrusts in a single bout. He laughed when he gave me my cut. I find my usual diet isn't enough to sustain this, I hunt bigger game and eat ravenously.
Three hundred and sixty fifth day. I am lean, strong and sharp and have managed to stretch each bout to three minutes in length. My muscles don't want to grow bigger. He raised his brow and uttered his first words in a year "You're slow." I must think on what he means. Has it been a year already.
Five hundredth and twelth day. The clan just came back from the winter migration, I barely noticed they left. I focused on explosive speed and endurance. My weapon proved slow so I changed it. A slim needle looking blade from his hoard. This new style increased the bout length by three minutes. He said "much better." Before giving my first cut on my chest. The arm was full.
Seven hundredth and thirty eighth day. The bouts are long and brutal, I barely notice time passing when we fight and each strike is like a dance. He is starting to smile from ear to ear each time I arrive. His cuts now cover my chest as well. I find myself wondering about other things, life, gods, meaning. I medidated for the first time tonight.
Nine hundredth day. The blade snapped mid bout. He took his dragon form and nearly engulfed me in an inferno in his anger. A sharp reminder he could end me with a breath. Once he was calm he ordered me to return tomorrow. He didn't cut me.
One thousandth one hundred and sixty fourth day. My fourth birthday since being sent here. The blade he gave as a replacement is emaculate, ripples in the metal unlike anything the bronze of my clan was capable of making. Black as sin. I bowed as usual before the bout, he did a strange salute with his own blade and returned the gesture. I repeated it back to him. I lost in 24 mins. My upper body is covered. This generous being was beyond my understanding. I refuse to believe I am merely entertainment.
One thousandth three hundred and fifty second day. Three days ago, I nearly had him, he slipped on some moisture in the cave and I ducked low to try and nick his wrist. He lost his reserve and nearly cut me in half with a swing so fast I couldn't see. As I thought death would claim me, he cursed at himself and with a flick of his wrist my wounds healed. I look at him in confusion, he simply stated "I will not win based on unearned strength" and left it at that. Today, he let me eat with him and we talked. He heard my story and I heard his but it seemed so.... insignificant now.
One thousandth eight hundred and ninety-ninth day. Yesterday, I did it. I arrived at dawn, we fought to a stand still but kept fighting, our blades sang. The air itself seemed to be my only restraint, it felt thick to move through as my body trembled and roared with adrenaline. He lost to a counter riposte I had been baiting him into for an hour, he was shocked for a short moment but roared in cheer and laughter before his sword even hit the ground.
I collapsed for a second and felt faint. He knelt, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled saying, "You are strong. Go home." I emerged from the cave and saw my tribe in the distance, the sun was setting.
Today I shaved, cut my long hair and donned the tunic and leather armour I had made in my time not spent fighting. I took my sword and walked into the alien yet familiar camp.
The chief who had exiled me was dead, his son greeted me no better than he had. A great hulking brute, spitting insults and accusations. To the side, my father and mother, they were cautious but they were speechless once they seemed to recognise me.
He told me to leave, I refused. He raised his ugly axe above his head and then he just sort of.... stopped. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum but everything was moving so slow it was basically still. Were things always this sluggish.
Before his axe had hit the top of his arc, my blade had been drawn, cut through his throat, cleaned and sheathed. The timing was such that his lose of grip sent the axe flying backwards.
The camp was silent. The weight of expectations lifted from me like a river finally collapsing a mighty dam. But, whos? I felt no loyalty to these people who had cast me out.
As the chiefs body finally hit the ground, I noticed feint wing beats in the distance, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
God speed master, thank you. | It’d been a full day of hiking to reach the precipice of this mountain and I was winded, breathing heavily, and sore from the climb. I left before first light and the sun had now passed mid-day. About 6 hours had passed and I needed to eat. It seemed foolish to stop and have a quick snack before entering the dragon’s lair but it’s not like they didn’t already know I was there. Dang it, I deserved to eat after being covered in sweat, dirt, bramble, bugs, and I don’t know what else. I quickly chewed on some bread and cheese. Practically choking when I heard a voice.
“I haven’t watched a human willingly approach and stop to fatten up before being eaten.”
I jumped and pressed myself against the mountainside, seeing a very bored dragon. Their massive head was lazily resting on a foot at the cave entrance looking at me with mild disinterest. My reflection in their amber eye felt unnerving, like it was the first part of me being eaten.
I’m a rambler. When I’m afraid I ramble. In my fear I began to word vomit, “I’m here to prove myself to my tribe.” I knew they didn’t care but kept going, “That I’m not scared, that I’m useful. That I can bring honor to everyone. I want to prove I’m brave and strong. Going to your cave seemed brave and like it’d prove myself to them. I thought if -”
“Enough,” the golden beast roughly sighed. “What, little man, did you plan to do once you got to my cave? Slaughter me for the riches? Parade my head around your town for the honor?”
I fumbled with my sleeves a little before answering, “Well… I hadn’t thought it through really. I know I’m no match for a dragon. I’m not a warrior, magician, or anything special obviously. On my way here I thought maybe I could sneak past you and get a couple pieces of treasure and that would do it.”
I heard the dragon snort… with laughter? Disdain? "You know very well it's impossible to separate a dragon from its hoard." Quickly their head retreated into the cave and I heard some scraping on stone as they moved their monstrous body. I knew I was going to die anyway so I walked to the cave entrance out of curiosity. Before I was there a sword was at my throat and the most striking human I’d ever seen stared down the blade at me. No. It was more than a human. Their large Amber eyes radiated power and authority. Their short black hair framed high cheekbones and a beautiful jawline while hiding not just pointy, but spiked ears. Every feature was more than noble, with traits all humans would envy. Their limbs were lithe and strong, unlike the dense muscles of laborers I knew. They were covered with barely any skin showing in light supple leather with reinforcements of dull scale at strategic points.
With a blank face the Warrior commanded “Draw your sword,” in a voice smooth as honey.
I did as I was told, shakily brandishing my sword and holding it with both hands. I'd never been able to hold it long because of how heavy it was. They gave it the tiniest of thwacks and it went flying from my hands. If I wasn’t scared enough before I was now.
“Retrieve it.” I rushed to do it. “That is not a two handed sword. Lift it with one.” It was heavy and my arm shook from the effort. “Now come at me.” I swung in an arc downward at their empty hand, hoping the momentum and weight would help me. It did... too well. Too well in the manner that the Warrior stepped aside and let it continue to the ground. Before I could get my balance they kicked the sword away and I fell, covering myself in even more dirt and bruises than I already was.
They went and sat on a stone by the entrance and looked at me indifferently with their bright amber eyes. “Why are you standing there? Go get it.” I grabbed the sword with one shaking hand and warily moved in closer. The Warrior now barely glanced at me as they surveyed the the mountainside.
“You’re rather loud. Walk on the balls of your feet. And breathe through your nose - it’s uncivilized to breathe through your mouth.” I stopped and felt like I’d never get enough air breathing through my nose but did as I was told. Then I adjusted my steps to move on the balls of my feet. “Better. Now come at me.” The Warrior remained seated, not even looking up. I went closer and a little behind before going to stab. They knocked my sword aside like a toothpick. “You changed your walking. You went from the balls of your feet to planting your heels as you went to stab me. Wait here.” The Warrior stood up and walked inside the cave. As they passed I registered they were a full head taller than me, and I'm not particularly short - 180 cm.
I heard movement and rustling and clanging of metal being dug through, then the sound of scales scraping rock. I had a hard time not looking but no longer wanted to welcome death too quickly anymore. I knew now I didn’t want to die. A few minutes later I heard the loud throaty sigh of the dragon and more movement of metal. The dragon’s massive head once again made its way out the cave entrance then examined me once again. It brought its foot out and laid a small bag at my feet. “This should prove your bravery tonight. Come again tomorrow.” The dragon assessed me once again then rested its head on its foot to continue watching the world below. | 2020-12-01T10:42:41 | 2020-12-01T09:38:34 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] On earth, the fastest manmade item ever was a manhole cover, blasted into space by a nuclear launch. Far, far away in the galaxy though, you are an alien on a medieval-level world, trying to interpret what omen the gods sent by launching a metal disk from the sky to kill the king. | King Myxis had promised freedom but delivered tyranny and taxes. Small changes at first - a charge here, a cut there. But then he started to go to the treasury at night, looking at the stacks of gold and silver coins glinting on the shelves in the torchlight. There were so many empty shelves. So many more coins needed to be collected. He could feel the longing in his heart.
The taxes began in earnest. Home tax, land tax, sales tax, window tax, horse tax... He dreamed them all up and enforced them ruthlessly. The city turned from its multicolored flourishing to a poor greyness of hungry people and crumbling buildings and grinding toil. But in the treasury, the stacks of coins glimmered as if with the essence of the gods. Yet always they called out for more, more, more. "I have pleased Klamos," King Myxis often murmured to himself as he ran the tips of his fingers over his hoard. But in his heart he thought: Not even the God of Gold has a room like this.
One winter was colder than any there had been in decades, and more people died than ever before. And then in the depths of winter, at the worst of it, the King called his people together to the city square. "Surely now," the people said, "the kind is going to help us at last."
King Myxis stood on stage in a huge warm cloak of fur, pulled tightly around him against the frigid air, and looked over his people. But he did not really see them. "People," he said. "Commencing at once there is to be a tax on coats. The possession of a coat is to be sanctioned and recorded by the Coatmaster. All coats are to be -"
But what he intended coats to be was never known. A great light sliced the air, like the falling blade of a cosmic sword. There were shouts of terror and wonder. The light slammed into the stage with a great explosion of stone and earth and dust. People screamed, fell back, held each other. And when the dust cleared, there was nothing where King Myxis had stood save a great hole in the ground and the tattered, burning remnants of what had once been a beautiful cloak. And in the the centre of the hole, glowing white hot, was a disk.
The people gathered around it, unable to understand what they were seeing. Then someone cried: "It is the Coin of Klamos! The God of Gold has struck down our profane king!"
The shout went up across the city: The Coin of Klamos! It seemed to herald a new day. And when the Great Coin finally cooled and was brought to a place of honor in the city, the people saw that it was marked with strange symbols: 'MANHOLE COVER'.
What could it mean? Was Klamos sending them a message? What strange new god was this? There was so much about the universe that could never be known. Better to bow your head and give thanks to the great protector: MANHOLE.
\--
Thanks for reading :-) More stories at r/HouseBlendMedium | Oberon remembers a time when the gods listened.
He remembers his mother’s voice, soft and patient, telling him to *listen. Just listen, Oberon,* she would say behind knowing smiles and gentle eyes. *Sometimes, it is in the silence that we hear the most*. But Oberon also thinks that his mother loved too much and hated too little.
Not that it matters much now - Oberon’s mother is dead.
And Oberon *hates* the gods.
So he stands here, on his dying home, watching the galaxy with weary eyes, looking to the round disc that lays atop his marred hands, promising revenge.
—
“Ah, Oberon,” the King greets. “What can I do for you?”
Oberon looks at his King with observing eyes - watches his movements warily, takes in his ruffled appearance and the open tiredness that paints his gaze - before speaking, “why do you pray to the gods?”
The King halts in his spot, before turning to stare at Oberon. Oberon feels like he’s under scrutiny, and can’t help but twitch nervously. But before Oberon can take back his words, the King’s expression softens, and soon he’s smiling. “We need some hope, don’t you think?”
“What can the gods do that we can’t?” Oberon demands. “They were trying to *kill* you. You, the King - the person who leads us and falls with us and stands with us. No,” he says. “The gods don’t give us hope. You do.”
His King looks surprised. “You have too much faith in me,” he says, before turning to look out the window, where a broken and dusted planet sits. He closes his eyes for a moment, before returning his gaze to Oberon. “I am a mortal man, Oberon. There is much I cannot do, and as much as it pains me to admit, saving this planet is one of them,” his King sighs softly. “We’re all mortals.”
“The gods are not,” Oberon can’t help but point out.
“No,” his King agrees. “They’re not.”
“Is that why they tried to kill you then? Because they don’t know the meaning of mortality?”
“Perhaps,” his King says softly. “But it doesn’t do much to dwell on it, Oberon. Not when there is so much more that is important.”
“Like the dying planet,” Oberon whispers.
His King just offers him a sad smile, before turning to stare out the window once more. Oberon knows there’s nothing more to say here - nothing more that he can do - so he turns his back towards his King, and leaves him to his silent musings.
As he’s nearing the door though, he hears a quiet voice whispering words to the gods. “Like the dying planet,” his King says over and over again. “What should I do?”
Oberon doesn’t answer - at least, not yet. But as he closes his eyes and counts the seconds that remain, he can’t help but remember a soft and patient voice whispering promises into the
wind.
*Sometimes, it is in the silence that we hear the most.*
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite
Edit: grammar | 2020-12-14T09:04:51 | 2020-12-14T07:59:18 | 149 | 68 |
[WP] The villagers call you their guardian spirit that has protected them since the time of ashes, in truth you are a monstrosity of war that protects the village in an attempt to clear your conscience. | The people of Ashmere summon me to their place of defeat.
Behind me, Ashmere: A town of thatched roofs, well-drawn water, and simple farm work.
Around me, the people of Ashmere: Their shield line is broken. They cower.
Before me, charging horsemen: Their war cries ring out. Their arrows fill the air. They hunger for plunder.
Above me, the sky: blue.
My great ax separates a horse from its head. Arrows rattle against my plate armour. I rip a horseman from his saddle and pop his skull. The point of a lance enters my neck. I follow the lance to the hands holding it, and I deprive those hands of their bones.
The horsemen heap injury upon me, and I do the same to them. Where my injuries heal, theirs do not. Soon, they flee.
The people of Ashmere offer their thanks. They lay gifts at my feet—wheat, beer, weaving. I refuse.
"I wish only that you live in peace," I say. "Grow. Prosper. Rejoice."
"We will," they say. "We promise!"
My consciousness fades, as does my body.
The sky is cloudless, vast, and calm.
*****
The people of Ashmere summon to their field of victory.
Behind me are the people of Ashmere. They huddle together in an unbroken shield formation. Their smell is uncertain.
Around me is a sheep-grazed meadow. Wildflowers nod in the breeze.
Before me is a town I do not recognize. Its defenders present a shield wall. Stray arrows come my way.
A cloud passes over me. Briefly, it denies me the sun.
An Ashmeran raises his shield. "Do battle!" he calls to me.
My shoulder clears a path through the defenders. Their spear tips drag across me. A man grabs me round the neck and attempts to haul me to ground. I bend at the waist and impale him on his fellow's spear. I separate limbs from bodies, heads from necks.
The defenders break. They return to their town's curtain wall and seal the gate.
Stone by stone, I scale the wall. Hot oil pours down. It melts my skin from my bones. Agony clouds my vision, but I am undeterred.
My arrival atop the wall convinces the defenders to lay down their weapons and throw open their gates.
The Ashmerans pour in. A group of them bow to me. They offer gifts—wine, silver, pottery—which I return to them.
"Live well," I say. "Be at peace."
"We are," they say. "Thank you!"
Before I fade away, I see the Ashmerans kicking fallen defenders. They demand gold. They point to me and they say, "You want more?"
Today would have been lovely had there been no clouds.
*****
The people of Ashmere summon me to their site of conquest.
Before me, a city scales the side of a mountain. A sheer thirty-foot wall rings the city's base. Thousands of soldiers in blue-plumed helmets man the parapets. High above the mountain, the sky is the colour of rock.
Next to me, three Ashmerans argue with five blue-plumed soldiers, one of whom wears a white cape.
"Be reasonable," the lead Ashmeran says. "I don't want to send him over your walls."
"We've given you what we can spare," White Cape says. "If we take any more from our granaries, people will starve."
"What a happy life we'd lead, if only people stuck to their agreements. So be it."
White Cape quails. "Please, give us more time. I beg you."
"We don't negotiate with vassals." The lead Ashmeran claps my shoulder. "Show them what they get."
Later, blood coats my hands so thickly that they slide across the gate's locking mechanism. I wrap the white cape around the mechanism to improve my purchase. Only then do the gates open and the Ashmerans arrive.
Their armour is finely forged and the hilts of their swords show golden filigree. They kick people out of their way. They shout at them, "Had to do it the hard way!" They laugh.
The lead Ashmeran approaches me. "I won't insult you with any gifts. We've learned how you operate."
"Are you living well?" I ask. "That's all I wish for you."
He waves a hand toward the courtyard where the Ashmerans are stripping the city people of their valuables. "What's it look like?"
Water mingles with the blood on my hands. With the clouds crowding the sky so thickly, my first thought is that the water must be rain. It isn't.
I fade.
*****
The Ashmerans summon me to their throne room of domination.
There is no sky above me, only a stone ceiling.
Portraits behind me show Ashmerans in velvet robes posed in finely appointed drawing rooms.
A statue of myself oppresses the room before me. It rises fifteen feet. Its boot rests on a fallen soldier's chest. Its face shows nothing.
The wild-eyed king beside me screams at the roomful of bowing nobles. Spittle flies from his lips onto the backs of their necks.
"I'll kill the lot of you!" he says. "Don't you know who we are? Don't you know what we're capable of? Look at him!" He flails his arm at me. The nobles, frightened, don't move, and he screams again, "Look at him! Look at that freak! He'll tear the veins from your skin if I tell him to! Do you understand? Do you get it? Do you see what you're dealing with?" The king's voice breaks. He upends a carafe of wine into his purple-rimmed mouth.
One of the nobles, a stricken woman, raises her head. "Permission to speak, your Grace."
"Speak!" The king slumps sideways across his throne. He allows his slipper to dangle from his toe.
"Your Grace, you are the candle that lights our darkened night. There is no joy but that which you bring us. It is our dearest wish to fulfill your every want. Thus, please, I beg you, understand that it breaks our hearts to have come up short in this matter of gemstones."
"I don't like what I'm hearing."
The woman's speaking accelerates. A quaver enters her voice. "There simply aren't enough gemstones in the kingdom! We cannot decorate your pleasure craft the way you've asked." She sounds as though she may cry. "It's not for lack of trying! We've done all that we can!"
The king removes his slipper, approaches the woman, and slaps it across her cheek. "That's what I think of your excuses!" He slaps other nobles. "You leave me no choice." He snaps his fingers at me. "Monster, dispose of these wastrels!"
The nobles press themselves onto the flagstones, as though they might hide if only they were flat enough.
I wish I might see the sky. It has been so gray of late, and I long for that crystalline blue that puts my soul to rest.
"Monster!" the king screams. "Go!"
"Are you happy?" I ask him.
"I would be, if you'd do as I ask!"
I approach. "Do you seek to grow, prosper, and rejoice?"
His neck tilts higher and higher as I near. Through gritted teeth, he says, "Of course."
"Do you live well?"
"Enough questions. You know the terms of the agreement. Do as I say!"
Gently, I raise him so that we might look eye to eye. This intimacy is difficult for me. My eyes have filled with tears. "I thought that I might atone for the killing of your people. I thought I might safeguard your passage through the years and ensure that you live well. I see that I've failed you once again. I'm so sorry."
I twist him and lay his body across his throne. To the assembled nobles, I say, "The Ashmerans will be no more. I apologize for the harm they've done you. Please, go, live well, thrive, prosper. That's all I ask of you."
Before fading, I have time to step outside.
The sky is blue like I've never seen it before.
*****
r/TravisTea | # How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Book 2, Part 5: How to Atone for Sins Long Gone)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**It was said that you could see the wasteland around Las Humanitas from outer space.** Crystal knew this wasn't quite true; among their many misadventures, they had once flown to the uppermost reaches of the atmosphere and looked down upon the psychosphere, and were intimately familiar with just how *small* everything seemed from up there. Even the miles and miles of charred plains around Las Humanitas would be nothing but a pimple on the smiling face of the Earth from that height.
But from the ground, where Crystal stood, the wastelands around Las Humanitas might as well have reached to the ends of the universe.
Few enough people came up to the city walls nowadays; Haoran, one of the newest arrivals, was one of the handful who still stared out at the endless siege around their city. The people inside had... well, not quite forgotten, but *acclimated* to the fact that they could never leave their city's walls, that a legion of nightmares and monsters continuously hammered at their civilization's doors. Even now, a pair of infuriated Harpies eyed the seemingly-exposed child on the battlements, pondering whether or not they should try their luck against Las Humanitas' infamous walls.
Not today. Crystal concentrated, and their namesake crystals embedded all along the city's walls lit up. The fragments of pure magic ignited, creating a faint blue dome encircling the city, and the Harpies screeched once and turned away, dissuaded.
"You're alive, aren't you?" Haoran whispered softly.
The crystals embedded along the walls flickered in surprise.
Haoran smiled. "Yeah. I figured. I've been looking up at your shield patterns for a while, and you just react too adaptively to be a simple *thing*." Crystal hummed pensively. A boy who looked up. There weren't many of those left in Las Humanitas. Just one more reason to protect this city, Crystal guessed. "You're not just some fancy automated defense system, are you? There's a person inside these walls."
Crystal hesitated, then let out two ascending tones from the node nearest Haoran. An affirmative. Not that... not that Crystal really considered themself a person, nowadays. Not after everything they'd done.
Haoran's gaze grew pensive. "How... how long have you been here?"
Crystal stopped to think. Not to remember how long they'd been embedded in these walls—they'd willingly given up their war-body, swearing to protect instead of kill, exactly six years, four months, three days, and nineteen hours ago. They could count into the seconds and milliseconds if they needed to. No, they simply had no idea how to convey this information to Haoran.
They settled for selecting the node neared the child and slowly ramping up its brightness to a painful luminosity, so much so that Haoran had to hold up a hand and turn away his eyes.
"That much, huh?" Haoran raised an eyebrow. "Do... do people know about you?"
Crystal pulsed once. There was only one person who knew that the walls of Las Humanitas held firm almost entirely due to a single defender—and the King of Las Humanitas tried to keep it a secret as much as possible. He claimed it was because the people would be demoralized if they realized that there was a single point of failure for defenses. But in truth, Lien simply didn't want the inhabitants of Las Humanitas to dwell on the fact that their survival effectively depended on keeping Crystal enslaved for their defense—or that, if Crystal wasn't broken apart and embedded in their walls, Crystal could have rained destruction upon them all with a thought and a whisper. The walls of Las Humanitas carried a sleeping god in chains.
But to tell the truth, Crystal didn't mind. If they were in chains, they couldn't hurt anyone. And they had hurt so, so many people over their years—enough for a thousand lifetimes. Defending this town with everything they had left was a worthy use of their eternity.
Even as Crystal had the thought, the two Harpies returned, this time with some kind of alchemical bomb. As if they could break Crystal's defenses. They hurled two gourds that erupted into eerily silent green fire; Crystal simply flared up, and their signature blue forcefield effortlessly deflected the firebombs. Haoran whistled in appreciation.
"Well, I just... I just wanted to say... thank you." Crystal's attention snapped back to the boy on their walls, still looking out at the wastelands outside the city. "For preventing this—" he gestured at the bustling, lively city below them— "from becoming this." He pointed at the wasteland, prowling with Hydras and Werewolves and Vampires and monsters of every flavor and description. "For however many years you've stood here. And if there's anything I can do for you... just... let me know."
Crystal let out a bittersweet chime. The boy was sweet, but Crystal couldn't speak the language of humans; in this form, they were limited to chimes and tones. Even if the boy was willing, there was no way for Crystal to communicate...
Crystal paused. Ah. No, there was a way to communicate to the humans, even if they were limited to bell-sounds and crystal-rings. Crystal assembled their thoughts, the light in their crystals dimming for a moment, as if they were taking a breath.
And the walls of Las Humanitas began to sing.
The city-dwellers slowed, confused, as the first notes rang out. It was a simple, mournful melody, clear and tinkling like the flow of a brook. Even the Harpies circling Las Humanitas' walls drifted mid-flight, falling silent out of respect.
As Haoran stepped closer to the crystal, the music twisted. The pure tones of bells gave way to the sizzling blasts of energy beams; the tempo stuttered and stumbled like feet over corpses in the dark; the dynamics became rough stretches of near-silence, interspersed by artillery-bursts of noise and light. Haoran hissed in pain as the crystal began flickering with lurid, violent light, and Crystal remembered every screaming victim they'd slain in the name of glory, back when they were still a god unbound.
The god in chains finished their dirge on a half-cadence. Haoran looked at the crystal with wide, shining eyes, silently streaked with tears.
Crystal sighed internally. Of course, Haoran didn't understand. He hadn't been there—and even if he was, he was a human. He didn't speak the language of tones and chimes that Crystal's kind did. There was no way for him to know what Crystal wanted him to do.
Which was why it gave Crystal the shock of their life when Haoran began to sing back.
He hadn't been trained, that was for sure. His voice wobbled and cracked with the uncertainty of youth. But he had a musical ear, and he picked up the jagged edges of Crystal's song and knit them together with a hopeful, determined thread. Haoran laid one hand on the crystal node in the wall as he sang a wordless countermelody, his voice swelling and carrying across the city and the wastelands beyond.
When he was finished, even the roving monsters outside had quieted down.
"I don't know your story," Haoran finally said. "But I want to understand you. Because you've defended us for all these years and never asked for anything in return. Because you're a person, and you must be a terribly, awfully lonely one. Because you spat in the eye of gods and monsters and can still sing despite it all. So... Hi. I'm Haoran." Haoran stuck out his hand, as if he expected the stationary crystal to reach out and shake his hand, and Crystal couldn't help but be amused at the child's absurdity. "Do you want to be friends?"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day. | 2021-04-18T19:14:07 | 2021-04-18T18:59:55 | 138 | 73 |
[WP] You've been to thousands, maybe even millions of universes. You can hardly remember you've been to so many. Every single one is different. Except one random constant, and it is driving you insane. | You sit down and stare at the glassdome roof, before letting out an exhausted sign
"here too?, surely not, why would you need it, your people are meant to have evolved past the need for such constructs..."
Maralek just shrugged his light projection frame.
"It has always been, why are you surprised, it's an extensive part of your home planet".
"I mean sure" you reply "but every planet, thousands of galaxies, millions of planets, millennia apart, it doesn't make any sense, how has no one come up with a better solution?"
Maralek stared into the distance deep in thought.
"Maybe there isn't anything better than 2016 Microsoft Excel?" | "\*slap\* why are there \*slap\* always \*slap\* damned--" the man cut himself off with a growl and frantically tried to draw his jacket up over his head and face. the children around the fire laughed loudly. "--mosquitos!"
He'd arrived some moons past, asking for shelter and food in exchange for work, and later advice on improvements to the settlement. he had been exceptionally helpful--if rather odd--and had at this point become a sort of nebulous advisor to adults and entertainer for the children with his stories or creations.
"I've been to a universe that was entirely underwater and the damnable things were still there! Why? How?" he further devolved into almost frantic grumbling at the insects. those present rolled their eyes at his overreaction, and the children began clamoring for stories of this 'water-world'. | 2022-02-13T19:54:47 | 2022-02-13T19:30:10 | 102 | 36 |
[WP] You've been to thousands, maybe even millions of universes. You can hardly remember you've been to so many. Every single one is different. Except one random constant, and it is driving you insane. | "What is it?!" I scream, my voice hoarse as I shove it forcefully into the face of some rando on the street. It's been like this for years now and I still don't understand. No matter where I go, no matter how far removed from the norm. Empires scattered amongst the distant stars where all was peace and prosperity, apocalypses where nought but the desperate struggle for survival was the daily experience, the far flung future where life had evolved beyond the realms of flesh and bone, the distant past where man had just about managed to wring ore from the unforgiving stone, no matter what universe, what time, what place, there was this lone constant with no discernable purpose.
"I, uh, what?" the man spluttered at me, clearly uncomfortable with this sudden invasion of his personal space. He glanced all about him for some sign of help, but everyone else looked as confused and scared as he was.
"Just answer the bloody question!" I screamed, I couldn't take it anymore, I had to know. This was it, the last thread of my worn bare sanity. Some things were omnipresent in the multiverse. The laws of physics were more or less consistent and what variation there was produced the expected results. Technology tended to evolve along similar lines, spears, wheels, metallurgy and the like arose with expected frequency, but for some reason this thing appeared unbidden no matter what.
"It, um, it's a slinky," | When I was ten I went to sleep one night, and found myself in a familiar place I had didn’t remember, the eternal moment between time. I walked along the pale blue sand in the shade of a shattered tower, and met myself on the inky black coast. I embraced my other because I knew that they were me and I was them, and that rejecting a part of myself would mean I was never complete.
Inside the tower I found a great black serpent locked away behind massive doors, that heaved with each of it’s breaths and parted enough to reveal the red eye staring out from its cage. It was angry that I was there at such a young age, sad that I had accepted myself, and with a gentle hesitation told me to look upwards. Since I sensed no malice from it, and being a naturally curious child, I gazed upwards and changed forever.
There, through the top of the shattered tower, I saw specks of reality swirling together like ribbons pulled into a vortex of light. I saw the nexus of reality, a singularity of all the moments that are and could be floating like atoms with threads connecting them. In that eternal moment I cast my sight across worlds untold, and in each one an infinite number of moments that could be.
To this day the image is burned into my mind, like some hellish eclipse among storm clouds. I went to bed a frightened ten year old and woke up feeling ancient and alone. Amid realities of magic and technology, some a simple change and others incompatible to our world I saw a heart breaking truth.
For all the posturing and insistence otherwise, humans don’t want accountability. We don’t want to acknowledge that everything is our own doing, we want someone to blame. When we can’t find someone to fit the bill we create them, anything to say our twisted mantra.
“This isn’t my fault.” | 2022-02-14T00:28:15 | 2022-02-13T20:40:50 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | I'd burned through at least a half dozen genres in the last few minutes. No matter what track was being pumped through the headphones integrated into my helmet, I either couldn't keep up with the hell-faced bastard or none of my hits would do anything to their adamantine skin. Every time I tried something else, they seemed to have the perfect counter. I needed something... more.
There's a reason why I keep away from certain types of music. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing bad about any of them. Well, most of them. It's just that I'm not a fan of the aftereffects of some of them. Techno makes me feel jittery, same with a lot of rap. Anything in a language I don't normally know kind of scrambles my speech for a while. Villain songs from the Mouse have me cackling evilly for a long time afterwards. But they all have a purpose.
Even the blacklisted tracks.
A shudder passed through me as I thought of that damned playlist. It wasn't really dread though, more like... excitement. And I hated myself for it. But I needed to end this before we leveled the city. Or, well, much more of it. I just hoped that I could stop myself when it was done.
So... I punched in the password for the locked tracks onto my arm mounted panel.
"Rip and Tear"
The warning phrase played in my head right before the first track kicked in.
"Until it is done." | At first I thought we were evenly matched, but I was slowly starting to realize I'd been too optimistic. My fists blocked by equal force when I rocked out, my strategies countered or nullified no matter the sonata, piece by piece I shuffled through futile playlists.
I began to suspect that he was some form of Copycat or Shapeshifter - his speed accelerated when mine did but swapped to superior strength as soon as mine did as well. If that was all that Echo had at his disposal I could at least stall until reinforcements showed up, but he was clearly starting to win. However he was copying my abilities, Echo seemed to be using them more effectively than I was.
So I decided to take a risk. I went for his mask, although it cost me a blow that made my ribs ache, and when it came off it all became clear. I leaped backwards and turned my music off, and his bat-like ears twitched in reaction. He paused, looking confused, then pulled the mask back over his head.
"I see what you're doing now," I said, breaking the silence for the first time. "Your Copycat powers are based on sound." I caught a glimpse of a smile before the mask was fully back in place.
I whistled, impressed.
"Your hearing must be incredible. I'm wearing headphones but you're actually getting more from my music than I am," I continued, quickly swapping to another playlist.
Echo perked up as the music resumed, then charged again. I quickly unplugged my headphones, and he was sent reeling to the ground.
"I call this one *Worst of the 60's*, but I hope for your sake the cops get here before we make it to 2010." | 2022-05-17T09:22:08 | 2022-05-17T09:05:42 | 486 | 151 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | He was shaking, his hands on his knees, panting. His opponent, clutching his ribs smiled through cracked teeth.
"I'll admit. You gave me quite the run for my money. But I'm afraid, I'm simply too durable."
Mackanika looked up and spat out blood. "You son of a bitch backhand..."
Backhand grinned. "Naughty language isnt alright."
Mackanika stood up, balling his fists up. hitting his earpiece a few times.
"I think my friend, that I have won. You've expended everything against me." Laughed Backhand, straightening up and fixing his suit jacket.
"No. Not everything." Grinned Mackanika. "I'm sorry, but you've forced my hand."
"Oh?" said Backhand, watching impassively as Mackanika selected one last song. The music was played through the half-broken system, Backhand heard a familiar refrain of brass and guitars. He tilted his head.
"What on earth?"
Mackanika took on a new stance "You might be fucking durable Backhand, but I? I'm fucking unstoppable. And you are far from an immovable object."
Mackanika shot forwards as Backhand heard the beginning of the refrian
*"Standing here, I realize"*
Backhand's eyes widened, "No... No not like this... Anything but this!"
He turned and tried to run, the nature of Backhand's power made him able to absorb massive amounts of kinetic energy, effectively nullifying said energy. But no matter how much he was able to absorb, he had a limit. Everybody has a limit. And that day, Mackanika found that limit. After three hundred punches that were harder than anything he'd ever thrown; Backhand finally collapsed. Mackanika dropped to one knee, his eyes burning, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood intermingling.
"In the end... It has to be this way." | I'm gasping for breath, knees, palms and iPod shuffle on the floor. Somehow, I find the energy to look up.
There stands Suc Kon, a delinquent who dropped out of Spawt Eefy, school for the auditarily attenuated. He now wants to eat all the music in the world.
Me - I didn't realize you'd gotten this powerful...
Suc - How does it feel? Cant look down on Suc from your lofty peak anymore eh? Well, today you can SUC MY -
Me - I swore that I'd never use it again... but it looks like I have no choice!!!
I reach out for the iPod and press the "Next" button four times.
Suc - When are you going to learn that music is USELESS against me?
He opens his mouth wide and inhales. The sound starts getting fainter and fainter, until it fades completely. From deep in his stomach, you can hear echoes the song.
Then, he gags. He dry retches once, then twice. Suddenly, he pukes out... a well-seasoned piece of spicy chicken.
Me - This is the most dangerous artist in the world. Only two people have access to their songs - the President of India, and the President of the student council. I'm sure you've heard it's name whispered in hushed tones, deep in dark alleyways... The band "Eiffel 65".
Suc's eyes go wide.
Me - Anyone who hears it is cursed to forever spew out food garnished with 65 spices. Chicken 65, Mutton 65, Paneer 65... It was how world hunger was eradicated. One man stepped up to bear the burden. Unfortunately, it also lead to a heart cholesterol epidemic, which led to that man becoming the most hated human in existence. And Suc, you don't know this but... that man, Mai Dik, was your father.
Suc falls to his knees, assuming my old posture.
Suc - How is this poss-
He spits out a piece of cottage cheese.
Me - Someday, maybe you'll be able to break the curse. For now, though... I am the victor. | 2022-05-17T13:11:07 | 2022-05-17T10:01:07 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | My father was not a good man. Not a man at all really. He tried his best. Sometimes I wish he hadn't, but no one chooses their parents. I'm lucky I had one who cared to try at all. My birth parents were sick and angry addicts, desperate for any kind of power. What was a daughter when compared to endless cosmic fire?
It didn't quite work out for em, but that's what happens when you trade in human life. Sometimes you lose it.
Like I said, Father is not a good man, but he tries.
I don't see him often. He writes me letters, in a sense. Constellations bend for him. Me too, when I concentrate. This one was different. More urgent. When the stars danced last night, they coiled and they *burned*.
I never thought that gods could die.
I never thought that father's could.
I have inherited some of his... gifts. Don't ask me how. One of them is how to Walk.
It's the name he gave me after all, "The Walk Along the Narrow Path."
I took a step...
...along
the edges...
... of the world
Into blackest night.
It was cold, dark and full of bitter hollow wind. It feels like home.
The throne was made of stone and bones and smaller, older things. The Lord of Hollow Mercy sat upon the stairs beneath it. He was tall, as if his body was stretched upon a rack and left halfway pulled apart. His face was hidden by a grey hood, draped across his shoulders. The world split around him and the light blistered against his pale skin. Even with the shadows on his face, the eyes still shown through. Red.
He looked tired.
"Path."
"Father," I said.
"I've missed you," he said. The ground began to bleed.
"You could have visited," I said. I gave the ground a Look. The blood boiled away.
"I have been occupied."
"It's been years, Dad."
He sighed. The shadows sighed with him. I sat down beside him on the steps. A splinter of ice leached inside the silence. A wooden box with red ribbon appeared in his hands. The ribbon was twisted about itself, and the bow was uneven. But he tries. I took the gift with the reverence it deserved. My Father does not give gifts without reasons. I have the scars to prove it.
I untied the ribbon and opened the box. Within the box was a crown. I dropped the box, my face as pale as him.
"I am ending, Path."
"You're a god."
"Only in a certain slant of light."
My hands shook as I lifted the silver circlet from the cold stone, it was braided from silver thread.
"Why would you ask this of me?"
"There is no one else."
"I should be honored, then."
"No, but it's yours all the same."
"You know what I'll do with it."
"Yes. Walk the Narrow Path."
As I said, my father was not a good man, but neither am I. | "Hold up a second." I started, looking at the Eldritch being in human... Ish, form before me. "You aren't gonna... Pull some kinda hentai tentacle shit and drag me into an abyss or?"
"What? No!" The being replied, disgust in their voice. "Firstly, that's offensive, second, I don't have tentacles, third, my realm is not an abyss. It's more like a pocket dimension with my own planet where my followers show up when they die and I kinda watch over them. They live mostly like on earth, just no death. Pain, yes and they'll heal from whatever but no death."
"Okay. But... You're an Eldritch God? Aren't you all known for being... Like, batshit evil or something?"
"It's days like this where I wish Cathulu left Lovecraft alone..." They groaned, pinching the bridge of their... Nose, and sighing. "Firstly, yes, some of us are like that. A very small few, like, five max. The rest of us either do our own thing, mess with the mortal realms, or make our own out of curiosity or boredom. I personally just like exploring and occasionally granting miracles and such. Mostly I'm a huge nerd for human entertainment. Seriously your species makes more entertaining than we do and we've been alive for literal eternity."
"Okay, well then why do you have followers if you don't seem to care about worship and only wanna binge watch Netflix?"
"Well, I can't come to the mortal realms regularly. I need either a host or conduit to watch and enjoy them for me and the memories and experience flows into me. When they die as part of being of my faith they get copies of all their worldly possessions with them, physical and digital, and I make copies of that for myself."
"So in other words you're basically the god of weebs, movie buffs, binge watchers and gamers?"
"And Introverts. Like, eighty percent of each realities introvert population follows me."
"That oddly raises so many more questions yet also answers a lot... So, I'm just good to take this card and live?"
"Yes."
"And what about when I die?"
"Well, you will admittably be sent to my pocket dimension..."
"So, either way I'm stuck with you..."
"I know..."
"Before I wrap this up, what did my parents sell me to you for?"
"Oh, some book on necromancy. Crazy cultist undead resurrection shit. Jokes on them, the book I gave them uses magic can't exist in your realm."
"Ha! Serves those assholes right!" I cheered. "Now, you said you need a conduit or host to be on the mortal realms?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Well, I'm stuck with you regardless and it seems you actually are kind of a nice guy so, how's about we date? You can share my body with me and using this card we can... Watch movies and such?"
"You mean... You'd let me inhabit your body-"
"Half. I still want some control over it. I have a feeling you'll be like a puppy on a leash trying to run around everywhere."
"... Fair point. So you'll let me share your body with you to experience mortal media and culture... Personally, and... Date me?"
"Well, yeah, sounds like fun and frankly at least with you around I won't be totally alone and frankly, a card with unlimited spending, I'd probably not use it save nessesarry stuff. So, this could be fun."
"Wow, um, alright! Cool. Oh, and I'm #$@&$€¢¢¢£ but you can call me Keven."
"Well... Keven. I'm Amy." | 2022-08-09T17:25:18 | 2022-08-09T15:50:03 | 514 | 331 |
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