prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP]You're a mind reader, but whenever you read the mind of Evan in your bio class you just hear Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up. You're not sure if he is a douchebag who knows about your powers, or just really really likes the song.
[deleted] | Evan doesnt usually read peoples mind. He finds it extremely rude to do so but once in awhile a thought is so projected its impossible not to hear it. That's how he found out Emily was a mind reader as well. Since that day whenever he was in her presence he thought of the song Never Gonna Give You Up. Over and Over again. He got so good he could do it passively. Three years into highschool he hears her thoughts about how hes either a douchbag or a weirdo in love with the song. He couldn't help it he stopped playing the song "says the person who cant respect others privacy" he looks towards at seeing her jump in her seat and just holds back a chuckle. | Have you heard of logical paradoxes? He's one: "this sentence is false." Was that sentence true or not?
You see, paradoxes are the keys to understand our world, where, unlike your world, super powers exist. Unlike in your unimaginative world, where logics and physics explains the workings of your universe, our world allows for such inconsistencies. You want to phase through objects? No problem, you can do that. You're going to ask me why won't you just keep falling downwards right? Nothing to worry about, because each time you fall downwards through ground a big mole rat pushes you right up. It's like the maker of our universe decided that this universe should be colourful and without regards to logic, and each time something that "breaks the code" happens he just fix these bugs with more absurd patches.
Have you ever wondered what would happen when a mind reader reads his own mind? Well, personally I just hear Rick Astleys never gonna give you up. | 2020-09-18T03:21:50 | 2020-09-18T02:24:46 | 84 | 42 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | It's strange to be standing in front of the throne, instead of behind it. Facing a man who scorns my service, handing back to him the sword I've used for three years to protect someone else.
The King, as much as he is praised to his face, is nothing like his father had been. Where my former lord - God bless - ruled with fairness and compassion, his son has turned out to be no more than a gluttonous child drunk on more power than he really possesses.
This boy would not starve alongside his people as an army lays siege to the city. He wouldn't negotiate with Queen Thesia in the north or Emperor Nolan in the south. He wouldn't pardon a man sent to kill him in his own bed, sparing a life in exchange for the assassin's sworn dagger. I would have served him anyway as my oath demanded, but he chose to relieve me of it instead.
I suppose I'm not quite at the level of the elite guard. The sword I carried had only been for show, as in my three years here I lost practice bout after practice bout against my comrades. Still, the old King requested for me to attend to him at most every conscious hour, and some unconscious ones as well. His son had never understood. He still does not.
Tyrone, a lieutenant, gathers up my sheathed sword. By nightfall, it would be on the hip of one of a dozen new recruits, undoubtedly one who could last longer than I on the practice courts.
But perhaps the daily afternoon practice session will not happen tomorrow. Perhaps more guard members will be forcibly retired like I am being now, or simply executed on the spot. Whether they walk out of this throne room alive likely depends on the potency of the poison that the chef's apprentice baked into the King's pie half a bell ago. It's a botched job, to be sure. Death's Caress kills slowly and painfully, but not if its victim indulges in a certain wine his majesty happens to favor. Instead, he will merely lie ill for half a week, maybe a full one if the flower had been picked fresh.
I'm tempted to say something. Be helpful in my last minute of service. It's only a few words, after all. "Don't eat the pie." But the King evidently doesn't care for what I have to say, and I owe him none of the devotion with which I watched over his late father.
I'll take my freedom. Now I can live outside the shadow of a debt, either to death cult or to royalty. I can find a woman, start a farm, raise some children. Finally enjoy peace.
And if one day someone remembers the legends and comes to find me, if I am given sufficient reason and gold to break out the old dagger, perhaps I will be the one to slip something into the King's drinks or slide a blade across his throat.
He wouldn't survive, not like he will today. Only one person has ever survived me, and now that man is gone. | 'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig. | 2021-02-28T05:20:39 | 2021-02-28T03:33:58 | 108 | 61 |
[WP] You've died and despite living a fairly honest life, you've been sent to hell for all the terrible things you've done in video games. You're offered one way out. Prove you wouldn't do any of those things in real life by clearing the nine circles of hell like a dungeon, without being terrible. | "Welcome to the nine hells. Speak." A voice rasped from the bottom of the seemingly endless burning pit.
"Thank you, might I ask your name kind sir?" You ooze back
"Irrelevant. Call me Lord" The voice spat back in a burst of flames
"Yes my lord! SO... your gatekeeper says I must clear the nine hells as I would a dungeon yes and not commit any crimes my lord yes?"
"Yes"
"Can you do me a solid one and perhaps give me a sword and shield?"
"No"
"Just a sword then?"
"Foolish mortal... no"
"How about a dagger?"
"NO"
"Well do I get anything at all?"
"Stop with your incessant questioning and begin at your leisure, you will start at will, you will not age till you cross that line, you have only the possessions you have on you at the time of death, you will not eat or drink as you do not need to. Only the roar of hells torture to fill your ears!" The guardian standing behind you let out a chuckle.
You pat your pant pockets, 4 smokes(No lighter), 3 coins, bubblegum wrapper and your plumbers business card. Ha. Nothing of use.
You do have your trusty leather jacket on. You check the pockets. Nothing. You check the secret compartment. You find your grandfathers harmonica.
Could you? No. Would he even listen to you? Impossible
"My gracious kind lord! May I play you a song? its a rather long one I must add. Possibly a few hours to thousands of years? Multiple stops and toilet breaks in between and honestly, its a great deal really for you, Ill get better with time and its some entertainment for you as I'm sure the moans are really quite monotonous hey?"
The voice let out a deep booming laughter that shook the walls.
Silence for what felt like an eternity before the reply came.
A single word. Bored.
"Play"
And so you began.
Hours passed. Not good enough. You changed the tune.
Days passed and you were now playing fluently.
Demons and devils lounged around in their spare time to listen to the now beautiful music.
Weeks more passed. They started to bring victims to torment in a sick game, but they just smiled and weathered the torment for the music. The furious denizens of hell dragged them back to the various pits.
Months went by and you were now considered a master of music by one of the princes of hell.
Decades went by before the Lord of hell broke his silence to notify you that you have surpassed all mortal musicians in skill.
Seven Centuries later, you still played. The Lord notified you once more that you were on par with the skill of the Angels of Heaven.
3245
The golden number
3245
A number you will never forget.
3245
The number of years you played the Harmonica for The Lord of hell. You scraped every single day with one of the coins on the walls and then the floor of the timeless waiting area.
You remember that golden day. That sweet moment. On that final day. You placed the Harmonica on your lips.
The music, like gold being pored into your own ears, your soul itself touched the Heavens.
Devils, demons, succubae and every being right down to the most tormented soul dropped into sweet slumber as your walked throughout the nine hells before the Lord himself took his first nap in 5000 years. | I can't believe I had made it this far. I carried that stupid penguin all the way back to it's mother even as the void called to me. I stuck around for those god forsaken turret sections to cover my allies. I limped my way across the map as my escort mission target shambled along and collided into every object on the floor and every door way. I had made it to the final circle.
"Well you've managed all the challenges until now." St. Peter said. "I was sure the pointless fetch quest through the water level would have lead to a mass murder when you got back to town and didn't get a reward."
He stroked his beard contemplatively.
"Oh yeah piece of cake! Hahaha..." I shoved the headless shop keeper voodoo doll further into my pack.
"Hmm maybe we need to recalibrate these. More and more people are making it to the final stage." He mused.
"Well it's time to breeze through the last challenge and get the hell out of here. What have you got lined up for me Pete?" I couldn't wait. I had been stuck on this stupid redemption arc for months.
"Don't get cocky kid." Peter said with a surprisingly evil smile on his saintly face. "I can count on one hand the number of people who have cleared the final stage."
I gulped nervously. He seemed pretty confident. And I had been so close to falling off the goody-two-shoes wagon near the end.
"If you're ready, I'll send you in. You can start at my last save file to save time." He stated storing at his tablet as he adjusted setting. "That way you can skip the character creation and almost being executed as a horse thief."
The portal swirled at my feet. I could see a nordic town materialize on a bleak plain. Might as well jump in an get this over with.
"Sounds good Petey. Can't wait to be neighbors once I polish this off." I flashed him a cheeky smile before leaping into the swirling abyss before me.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I awoke with a start. I was sitting in a town square. People in drab clothing milled around inspecting street stalls. A preacher prattled on about some ancient gods as people did their best to avoid eye contact. I'd played my share of these adventure games. They actually reward you for pacifist decisions. Looking up I saw a familiar castle on a hill.
"Guess that's a good place to start." I muttered to myself.
Peter never gave me any indication of what I needed to do on each stage. I could aimlessly wander around looking for that one key quest that let me pass that level. I remember wasting weeks of time running back and forth across a huge map before realizing the key quest was getting rocks for hungry rock people. Their entire village was made of rocks...
I shook that aggravating memory away as I felt my blood pressure begin to rise. Thinking back I could swear this level felt familiar. Glancing around the square, I couldn't quite place where I had seen this town before.
"Dammit if I could remember the game, I might be able to find my quest easier.". I mumbled to myself as headed for the stone steps to the castle. Just before them I was stopped by a man with a condescending smile on his face. He gave my rustic adventurer armor a slow once-over before speaking.
"Do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying - of course you don't."
With that a surge of memories came flooding back.
"You're pretty evil for a Saint, Pete." I mumbled and then smiled sadly as felt my hand gripping my sword with murderous intent. Oh well, hell can't be that bad right? | 2021-03-07T16:10:36 | 2021-03-07T15:56:53 | 160 | 117 |
[WP] You've died and despite living a fairly honest life, you've been sent to hell for all the terrible things you've done in video games. You're offered one way out. Prove you wouldn't do any of those things in real life by clearing the nine circles of hell like a dungeon, without being terrible. | "Welcome to the nine hells. Speak." A voice rasped from the bottom of the seemingly endless burning pit.
"Thank you, might I ask your name kind sir?" You ooze back
"Irrelevant. Call me Lord" The voice spat back in a burst of flames
"Yes my lord! SO... your gatekeeper says I must clear the nine hells as I would a dungeon yes and not commit any crimes my lord yes?"
"Yes"
"Can you do me a solid one and perhaps give me a sword and shield?"
"No"
"Just a sword then?"
"Foolish mortal... no"
"How about a dagger?"
"NO"
"Well do I get anything at all?"
"Stop with your incessant questioning and begin at your leisure, you will start at will, you will not age till you cross that line, you have only the possessions you have on you at the time of death, you will not eat or drink as you do not need to. Only the roar of hells torture to fill your ears!" The guardian standing behind you let out a chuckle.
You pat your pant pockets, 4 smokes(No lighter), 3 coins, bubblegum wrapper and your plumbers business card. Ha. Nothing of use.
You do have your trusty leather jacket on. You check the pockets. Nothing. You check the secret compartment. You find your grandfathers harmonica.
Could you? No. Would he even listen to you? Impossible
"My gracious kind lord! May I play you a song? its a rather long one I must add. Possibly a few hours to thousands of years? Multiple stops and toilet breaks in between and honestly, its a great deal really for you, Ill get better with time and its some entertainment for you as I'm sure the moans are really quite monotonous hey?"
The voice let out a deep booming laughter that shook the walls.
Silence for what felt like an eternity before the reply came.
A single word. Bored.
"Play"
And so you began.
Hours passed. Not good enough. You changed the tune.
Days passed and you were now playing fluently.
Demons and devils lounged around in their spare time to listen to the now beautiful music.
Weeks more passed. They started to bring victims to torment in a sick game, but they just smiled and weathered the torment for the music. The furious denizens of hell dragged them back to the various pits.
Months went by and you were now considered a master of music by one of the princes of hell.
Decades went by before the Lord of hell broke his silence to notify you that you have surpassed all mortal musicians in skill.
Seven Centuries later, you still played. The Lord notified you once more that you were on par with the skill of the Angels of Heaven.
3245
The golden number
3245
A number you will never forget.
3245
The number of years you played the Harmonica for The Lord of hell. You scraped every single day with one of the coins on the walls and then the floor of the timeless waiting area.
You remember that golden day. That sweet moment. On that final day. You placed the Harmonica on your lips.
The music, like gold being pored into your own ears, your soul itself touched the Heavens.
Devils, demons, succubae and every being right down to the most tormented soul dropped into sweet slumber as your walked throughout the nine hells before the Lord himself took his first nap in 5000 years. | My eyes shot open and I sat up, breathing hard. I frantically felt my body. All completely, miraculously whole, as if the car crash had never happened.
“Thank God!” I said, breathing an enormous sigh of relief, “I knew it all had to be a mistake.”
Then I blinked, noticing the small room I sat in for the first time. *Wait. Where am I? Are those… iron bars?*
My relief diminished somewhat. I was sitting in a small cell composed of black stone.
“Hello!” I yelled, “I think there’s been a mistake! Can someone let me out, please!”
I sighed and waited a moment, then heard footsteps. I perked up and looked down the hallway.
A black-horned, red demon with a fiery whip in one hand walked over to my cell, his expression hard as he met my eyes. I squeaked and scrambled to the back of the room.
*Wait… did I die? Is this… some sort of hell?*
“Your records have already been processed and your judgment passed.” The demon boomed as he reached my cell, “You have two choices, either take the easy way out and serve your sentence in the fires of torment until your sins are burned away…”
I gulped. I wanted to scream and plead for mercy, but those fiery eyes kept me paralyzed.
*Please let the other choice be good…*
“Or you can atone for every criminal act you’ve committed by completing our *video game trial*.”
“I’ll take that one!” I said immediately, relief washing over me. *Video games! This is the one and only strength I had in life. Maybe I had a chance!*
“You’ll be delivered to the fires of torment in a couple of… wait, did you say you would take the *video game trial?*” The demon stared at me for a few seconds unbelievingly.
“Y… yes. Is… that the wrong choice?” I stuttered.
The demon looked at me with… respect? Then he coughed into his hand and explained the trial in his gravelly voice.
“The video game trial is an experimental judgment we’ve created that has never been completed before. The trial is engineered to suit each person specifically, in your case,” The demon pulled out a clipboard and flipped through it, “Your sins consist of toxicity, violence, and bullying in online video games.”
The demon met my eyes, “You will face the incarnations of all of these toxic and violent actions throughout the nine levels to atone for them, do you understand?”
“And if I fail?” I asked weakly.
“I… don’t know what will happen.” The demon said, “You die in the afterlife. You’ll most likely be obliterated on the spot. Are you still willing to take that risk? The other option guarantees you'll be safe, at least... ”
“Yes,” I said, standing up. *I’ve played game upon game upon game. I know how to wield every weapon, how to kill any monster. If anyone can do this… I can.* “Can I start now?”
“One more thing,” The demon said, “You cannot face your toxic and violent incarnations with more toxic and violence. You must find a way to defeat them with kindness.”
I stared at him. *Kindness? Wait… I know weapons, weak points, killing strategies. How am I supposed to kill monsters… with kindness?*
“Alright, I’m going to send you now.” The demon said, holding up a hand.
Before I could protest, a portal opened up at my feet and I fell into blackness.
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/m0845m/nine_levels_one_life_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | 2021-03-07T16:10:36 | 2021-03-07T15:43:07 | 160 | 70 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | Magic schools demand miracles and the assignments are a real pain. What's worse? The professors are all old coots in long frocks.
"Mr. Johnson, your spell is rather...rather..." Professor Pulsifer huffed, proving the point.
"Yes, sir?" Godfrey Johnson, sophomore, answered.
"Well, it's a rather crude spell. It, uh, it works, yes, that can be said. It does work, but...but...it's not what I would call...appropriate."
As these words tumbled down the professor's white beard tufts, the only thought Johnson had involved a rather violent method of removal of those very old and dignified whiskers. As a result, Johnson's abdominals crunched and stopped the emotions from showing on his scholarly face.
"Why, what's the matter with it, sir. You say it works, and sir, quite frankly, it produces quite miraculous results."
A frown appeared on Pulsifer's face, and his beard lowered itself further, almost melting into the grey floor.
"Miraculous things. Ah, yes, miraculous, the pain yes, it...it...goes away. That is true, but...but...it won't do any good in a medical setting."
"But, sir, the effects indicate that it will do splendidly. It does eliminate the pain. The motive is achieved."
"It's not the spell I have issues with. It's the...the..."
"Incantation?"
"Yes, the incantation. It's so crude. Vile stuff, really. I don't think any nurse would ever agree to chant it."
A stutterer by default, Pulsifer was eloquent when it came to handing indignations. This fact only added to Johnson's woes, who found it hard to crunch his abdominals any further.
"But sir, seen free from colloquial and cultural standpoints, as in of itself, the gesture doesn't mean anything. It's just a finger, sir, nothing more."
Pulsifer's frown deepened, the beard now lay heavily on the floor. "Mr. Johnson, here at Magic High, a finger is not in of itself a finger. You do realize that a terrible curse associates itself with the gesture. Your spell is good; you just need to change the...the..."
Finally, Johnson's abdominals gave up, and a violent breath escaped through his mouth. On his face came a scowl befitting a gargoyle, and his upper lip defied his brain to curl itself into a devilish sneer.
"What's that Johnson? This is such bad conduct. You'll be in detention, one hour, I'll write you up."
The old coot didn't stutter even once, and Johnson's abdominals resumed their emotion clogging function. It was a minor miracle. | Professor Baron was sketching the alchemical formula for the fifteenth time today. The class was silent. A thick aura of boredom congealed the air, making the classroom oppressive. Students fidgeted, scratched at the desk, rubbed their eyes.
Another hour of this, I thought to myself, rubbing my neck.
Arya yawned, loudly.
A ripple of giggles rolled through the class, halting Professor Baron’s chalk in its track.
She stood there, her back to us as her arm dropped down to her side, her shoulders lifting slowly from her steady breaths.
“Is this boring you, students?” she asked, turning towards the class in an almost graceful twist, her black robe swirling. “Do you feel this is not important in your training? That you can forego the basics?”
She looked around the room. “Well?” she asked, pressing us as she stepped to the front row, putting her hands on her hips.
The tension and silence were palpable. I adjusted in my seat and the professor’s eyes locked on me.
"Well, Ezzy? You have something to say?"
“Well…” I said. “It’s just we’ve gone over this so many times, Professor. Can’t we get to something more… exciting… can’t you teach us some spells?”
Professor Baron smiled at me, her lips curling up gleefully.
“Do you think that’s how it is, Ezzy? That I can just teach you spells, as though there is a recipe book for them?”
“Isn’t there?” I asked her.
“I wish,” Professor Baron said. “It would make my life a lot easier, wouldn’t it?” She walked down the aisle past Becky, Jenny, and Rachael, who craned their necks to follow the professor's clicking steps on the stone floor.
“No, that’s not how it works, dear,” she said as she stopped at my desk. “Do you think your mother and father neglected the basics of witchcraft?”
I winced at that. They were dead and she knew it. The whole class knew it.
I looked up; my hands balled in fists. She stared at me. As though questioning me, seeing how I would react.
“A spell is a witch’s own, Ezzy. You of all people in this classroom should know that. All spells are different and special and born through the fires of your own self. No two are the same. Just as no two of you are the same.” She said, sweeping her hand across the rows of girls staring at her. “I am here to teach you girls the basics. To give you a foundation. But it seems you girls are above those trifles, yes? Spell making is easy, then? Okay. You all will make a spell tonight.”
“But Professor…” Ashley called out from the other side of the class.
“No buts... that is your assignment.” She looked down at me, smirking. “Easy enough for a prodigy like you, right?”
I lowered my gaze. It was no use arguing with her.
“I expect it on my desk first thing in the morning,” she said.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-04-02T00:02:18 | 2021-04-01T20:24:12 | 96 | 59 |
[WP] What’s worse than a mad scientist? A well-meaning scientist that has no comprehension what social upheaval their inventions will inflict on society. As the city’s superhero, it inevitably falls on you to explain, every time, to this socially oblivious genius what’s gone wrong and why. | Captain Justice leapt to the top of the water tower in a single bound, landing in a perfectly heroic fashion—fist to the floor, down on one knee, steely smolder in the eyes. He could hear maniac laughter echoing from inside the water chamber. “*Mwahahahaha!*”
Captain Justice could recognize that laugh anywhere. He ran to the chamber’s iron door, pried it off with one hand, and rushed inside. Across the room was Dr. DoGood, arm outstretched over the cities water supply, vial of green liquid in hand.
“Dr. DoGood!" Captain Justice shouted. "Stop in the name of *Justice!*”
“Calm down Captain. Hear me out first, okay?” Dr. DoGood cleared his throat.
Captain Justice resigned himself for the monologue that was sure to follow. If there was one thing he’d learned over the last decade it was not to interrupt a mad scientist’s monologue. They’d tell you everything you need to know.
“Humanity has changed..." Dr. DoGood said in a low, menacing voice. "People used to interact with one another, go outside and play. I’ve grown sick of watching everyone cower in their little hidey holes like rats… scared to leave their homes, scared to hug their families. My grandkids don’t even visit anymore. Everyone’s cowering in their dens, eyes glued to their screens, wasting away. People don’t *live* anymore. They may as well be *dead!*”
Dead? Captain Justice perked up. That was a superhero buzzword. “If you poison the water the only one who dies will be *you!*” he proclaimed. “I’ll snap your neck faster than you can say ‘extrajudicial killing.’”
“Poison?” Dr. DoGood frowned. “This isn’t poison. Trust me, this is for the greater good.”
Captain Justice rolled his eyes. It was *always* for the greater good. “What kind of cockamamie concoction is in that vial then? Some kind of potion that turns everyone into an extrovert? An elixir that blinds everyone to the light from their phones? Oh I know, I bet it makes everyone photosynthesize and therefore require sunlight.”
“Not at all. Those are all fantastic ideas though." Dr. DoGood scribbled in a notebook with one hand, then flipped it closed. "This here is just a COVID-19 vaccine.”
Captain Justice opened his mouth but no words came out. “What?” he said after a moment.
“You heard me. It’s a vaccine. Super effective too—all it takes is one glass of water, and you’re immune for life. Effective against the variants and everything.”
“Well you can’t… that’s not…" Captain Justice stuttered. "Okay well, have you *tested* it?”
“Oh yes, many tests. I've even used it on myself. The only side effect is marginally more defined abdominal muscles. See?" Dr. DoGood pulled his lab coat away, lifted his shirt, and flexed. Captain Justice had to admit, he looked hot. "Seriously though," Dr. DoGood continued. "If you don’t believe me, come here and cough on me. I won't even flinch.”
“I’m not going to cough on you,”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Cough into my mouth, I'll prove it.”
“No! Doctor, no. That’s crazy. Everything about this is crazy. It’s too dangerous.”
“Look, you can trust me. Remember that shrink ray I made to shrink everyone down to the height of shortest human?”
“Yes, I distinctly remember that. You said it would make basketball more equitable, and then you made me two-feet tall. It was a terrible idea and it hurt like hell for the next month growing back to my regular size.”
“Yes but the point is it *worked!* This vaccine is great, trust me.”
Captain Justice sighed. “Look, even if it does work, you can’t trick people into getting the vaccine. It’s not right.”
“That’s what you said about the shrink ray.”
“And that wasn’t right either! Doctor, I respect where you’re coming from but I can’t let you do this.”
“All right all right,” Dr. DoGood said, throwing his arms up in the air. “I won’t do it. But you’ll have blood on your hands, Captain.”
Captain Justice shrugged. “It’s part of the job.” He walked up to Dr. DoGood and took the vial from his hand. He meant to discard it but hesitated. “But uh... do you mind if I take a sip? I miss indoor dining.”
Dr. DoGood shrugged. “Why not, hypocrisy be damned.”
"Ooh, it's bubblegum flavored."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | "This is basic stuff, Greg. Honestly," White Glove said, as he willed the jagged shards from the smoking machine to reform into his white chair. He flared back his jacket and sat, one long leg crossed over the over, wing tip tapping the air.
"No, not this too," Greg Folvier said, holding up a bit of neuro connective wire, frayed and unconnected. "I just wanted to share happiness."
"Imagine," White Glove said, as he rolled a long cigarette using two thin pieces of the chair backrest looking not unlike floating chopsticks operating on their own. He paused for dramatic effect, as he always did before these lectures. "A world where any pleasant memory could be stored and replayed perfectly an endless number of times."
"I didn't have to," the scientist yelled, throwing the cabling weakly at the smug hero. The chopsticks snatched them from the air and threw them to float down to mix with what remained of three years of near-constant work. "That's exactly what this was!"
"People would never leave their homes, chap," White Glove said, taking a long drag of the cigarette and leaning back on the chair, resting his legs on an ottoman of air. This was the economy lecture again, Greg knew. "They'd relive the same steak dinner and night on the town, over and over again."
Greg had had enough of this insufferable cretin. "What's so bad about that? Some of us prefer staying at home." Who said chap? British people from the eighties? Who was this fool even pretending to be?
"Well, the travel industry for one, not to mention the entire service industry. Magic shows like mine would be the first to fall but the American Economy runs on the back of experiences. We simply can't have it be free, Chap. The market wouldn't survive. Maybe, if you rebuilt this in a limited fashion and had it be a subscription model, two hours a week max. That might work."
Greg could hardly hear the rambling over the plasma drill beginning to bolt the armor onto him. The cocky clown didn't even bother to stand when he saw what Greg was doing. "You call yourself a hero, but all you protect is the status quo." His voice was distorted through the helmet, sinister and deep as an avalanche.
"So," White Glove said with a sigh as he stood and the chair behind him collapsed into a cloud of dust, pulsating like a swarm. The four legs framed his head like a wooden divinity of a renaissance painting. "This is some suit of armor to try and stop me, Greg? You realize I control my cathedra at a molecular level. I can invade you, clot your brain, coat your lungs and hold you down till you die in spasms. Armor's not much of a threat to me."
"This isn't for you. It's for the rest of them when they find out what happened to you. That," Greg said, pointing to the seemingly destroyed machine, as it whirled back to life. "That's for you."
"So, you're going to give me a memory so pleasant I bow down and beg for more?" White Glove tapped the cherry of his smoke on the tiles. "Let's see it then."
"No, that memory saver thing was just to get you here. I knew you wouldn't let something so nice come to the people of the city for free. Do you know how many starved after you destroyed my food replicator?" At some point, he had started screaming. He liked the new voice. White Glove remained placid, unanswering, and unconcerned. "Do you know how many of the homeless froze to death that could have spent the winter in my cyber-bamboo homes if only you hadn't killed every seed? All for the economy, the state of things, the status quo!"
"I'd love to have a long political discussion over this, Greg, I really would but I-" White Glove paused. If he could see through Greg's helmet at that moment, he would have seen the widest smile the man had ever made. The killer dust of the chair collapsed, lifeless on the floor, alongside the clanking legs. White Glove suddenly looked very, very alert.
"I've spent three years determining the nature of the signal your mind sent to your chair. It's a complex but replicable resonance, and my machine there cancels your signal out. I was only about sixty percent sure it would work but looks like I got lucky." White Glove darted for the door, running fast on those long legs. Greg lowered the flamethrower on his arm and engaged full blast.
"You're an idealist son of a bitch, Greg," the man said, somehow maintaining that inhuman composure even as he burned alive. He was even still smoking his cigarette as the smell of his meat filled the room. "They'll kill you for this, or they'll tie you to a rock and never let you die."
"Like Prometheus?" Greg asked with a smile as he brought the flames closer. "Thanks for the name," he added but the hero that had plagued his life was unhearing, a smoking corpse now in a gentleman's repose, finger bones curled where the cigarette had been a moment before. The smell of burning plastic superseded all the rest. Prometheus could hear a siren over the rain beyond his small window. The others would already be on their way.
​
/---
/r/surinical | 2021-04-21T20:44:06 | 2021-04-21T20:36:20 | 440 | 147 |
[WP] With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. "Wait. There's just one dot." The Villain says. "...Someone loves me?" The hero replies with hope. | "Someone loves me?" Morgan looked away from the screen to stare at Peace, the hero, the savior, strapped to his masterpiece. It- it must have been mistaken! Something about Peace's powers must have caused it to malfunction!
"Of course someone loves you!" Morgan snapped. Her grand plan, her magnum opus! Ruined because of a bug. "You're their hero, the man who saves the day and asks for nothing in return!" Peace let his head fall and a broken chuckle fell from his lips.
"That isn't me though." He said, "They love the mask, the powers, the things I do for them. Most of them don't even notice when a hero gets replaced."
"So what? You may always be ready to thwart my plans, but you have days off! You have a secret identity. Surely your friends love you." Morgan scowled and turned back to the machine. Perhaps there was some way she could shield it from the sub-gamma wavelengths that short-circuited Peace's powers. But those only worked so long, she'd have to figure out how to speed up the scan process as well.
"Not really. That-" Peace coughed, blood landing on his chin that he didn't even seem to notice, "All I really get to do is watch people up close."
"Parents then! The brother you mention in interviews!"
"My brother hates me." Morgan stopped her frantic tinkering, "I've been Mom and Dad's golden goose since I started flying out of the crib. He's a banker in nathbakkae last time I looked him up. Can- can that device show who it is?"
"What?"
"Who it is who loves me. Can, can I at least know before you finish me off?" Morgan growled, grabbing her wrench and chucking it across her lair.
"How can you just accept this?! You give and you give and you give for what?! For a life so lonely only a single person loves you?! I could throw anyone in that chair and get at least a dozen hits. Even I get nine!" Peace just shrugged, and Morgan let out another irritated noise, before reaching up and changing the screen view. It came up somewhere in downtown supesville. She stuck a hand out and summoned her crystal ball, before taking a breath and scrying. A girl came into view, quietly playing with her dolls. He had a kid and only one-
He looked confused. Peace had a near flawless memory and this girl was so innocuous it took him nearly half a minute to figure out where he knew her from.
"She's one of the girls who take the school bus past my house. That light's always long, so I usually wave as they pass. I think," He closed his eyes, "I'm pretty sure she's one of the ones who answers whenever I ask how their day was."
"And that's it? A girl who's name you don't know is the only one who loves you?"
Peace just nodded, leaning his head back against the table he was strapped to, "Thank you Void."
"Morgan."
"Morgan?"
"Calling me that right now... Just, just use my real name." Morgan sank down into her throne.
"Ok Morgan." Peace said, "I, my parents named me Jack. Before they turned me into Peace. If you want-"
"Those creatures don't deserve the right to be called your parents." Morgan didn't know what to do. She- she HATED Peace. He was the bane of her existence, the man with everything, the perfect human with the perfect life. She'd dreamed of destroying everything he loved, of bringing him to her level and showing him just how it felt to be pathetic, abandoned little Morgan Lafayette.
Turns out he had even less than she did. There was nothing to take.
"Why do you still do it?" Morgan's voice was weaker than it had been in years, since she'd squeaked out apologies from the corner.
"Be a hero?" She didn't know what name to use for him, "My parents told me to and I guess I just... never stopped."
"So its all been an act? You never cared about the people you saved?"
"I guess? The guy who files court reports helps people. Does he care about them?"
Morgan felt sick. It was all so meaningless. This entire war, this entire crusade, this entire life!
"If, if you could get out, would you?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
It took 3 weeks for Void's layer to be discovered after Peace went missing. The league busted down the doors, but there wasn't any security active anymore. They cleared the entire facility, but it wasn't until they reached the bottom floor that they found them, two bodies on the floor. There didn't look to be a fight. Even the weapon Void designed to weaken Peace was by his side, not hers.
The funeral was a global event. Everyone, even villains he had defeated countless times, stopped to pay respect to the hero.
None of them cared for the man though.
"Do you regret it?" Morgan asked. She hadn't had any interest in watching the farce, but he'd insisted.
"Yea. Yea I'm sure."
Mr. and Ms. Lafayette, a set of siblings as far as any record, memory, or person could tell, watched the burial of the facsimile Void had made to try and defeat Peace. They decayed quickly, but no one would dare exhume Peace's body to find that out. The mimicry of Void had been chucked as far as she knew. The only instruction she'd given them was to make sure they were hidden before they failed.
"Peace's parents reach out in support of mental health." The news reporter went on to say, and the newly named Marcus reached out to turn it off before they could appear on screen.
"I still could ruin them. A time delayed message wouldn't be strange."
"No, its fine." Marcus said, "It doesn't matter anymore. I don't need to worry about them." He took a sip of tea and smiled. "For the first time ever, I can just..."
Live. | It's red. That, for some reason, is hilarious to me. Laughing hurts my cracked ribs and split lips, but I can't stop.
The psychopath controlling the machine pivoted slowly back toward me. "What are you laughing about, *alien*?"
"I just never thought I'd be so excited to see a red dot." The sentence took a few coughs to get out, and I had to tongue a tooth back into place to finish it, but I got it all out before he hit me again.
"*Legions* and *legions* of worshipful, adoring *idiots* who hung on your every word, reduced down to one single survivor, and that *amuses* you?"
"Well..." The next hit jostles one of the ribs he cracked earlier. Only the sight of that red dot keeps me from howling in pain, keeps the big dumb grin on my face, keeps me talking. "I... guess?" That tooth is done for anyway. I try to spit it in his face, but he jumps backward.
"How *dare* you try to spit that... that alien *slime* all over me?"
I check the hole in my bite for splinters, and then reply. "I was just giving you the prize you earned for that punch. I mean, you went to all this trouble. The tungsten chains, the power-draining... whatever you called it. I just thought you'd like to... have the tooth. As a trophy."
He considers my face for a moment. "You're right. I'd need to contain it, of course, to prevent the spread of any *contagion* from your alien biology, but having a sample of whatever you use for DNA could be useful in case any more of your kind show up to try and get revenge."
"You blew up a whole *city*, and you're worried about *aliens* getting revenge?"
He looks up from the ground below the platform I'm chained to, a sarcastic smirk on his face. "Mankind will *love* me when they realize I've finally saved them all from you. Wiping out your *fan club* was regrettable, but necessary. The survivors will understand."
On the screen, the red dot suddenly starts to visibly move across the world map, picking up speed as it does. I laugh again. "In that case, here. Have two." The second loosened tooth skitters off the other side of the platform just as he's wrapping the first in one of those latex gloves. I *knew* he carried spares.
"Say, about those teeth." My words whistle now, and I have to take a moment to stifle laughter before it hurts my ribs again. "Even with all this... stuff. Did it bother you to have to take off my helmet before you could, y'know. Try and break my jaw?"
The dot accelerates.
The psycho looks up at me. "No. I was a little disappointed to see that you looked so... *human*, of course. The stories all say you were raised by some idiotic farmers from a fly-over state, so I suppose you had to at least *vaguely* resemble a human, but..." He shrugs. "I'd just thought that some morons will try to save *anyth-*"
The ceiling implodes. Chunks of concrete and volcanic stone the size of buses tumble down around us, obliterating billions of dollars' worth of cutting-edge technology wasted on hate. A shame, but necessary. I watch serenely as the shattered steel and stone crash around me, even smiling a little as they bounce away from the faint blue dome suddenly surrounding myself, the psycho, and his last weapon. All the hate his wizened, twisted little heart could hold, bound up into that little red dot, and all it did was give me hope. I can't stop the laughter this time.
<*Dad!*> Even without the thought-to-voice processor embedded in his helmet, the sound of anguish in his telepathic "voice" hurts my heart. He drops through the blue dome, twisting the telekinetic field into a second shield around himself as he does. A similar bubble appears around me a moment later, shearing through the heavy chains. He catches me in his arms before I can fall, the two shields merging. I *should* be pointing at the madman, trying to stop him as he starts to run away, but it's all I can do to just stand here, the familiar heat of his alien body against me, and fight the sobs of relief.
<*Dad, what were you thinking? He could have killed you!*>
I shrug. "I knew you'd find me. What about the -"
<*Tech found the bomb. We took it out to the ocean and detonated it. The city's safe. But you aren't! Come on, Dad!*>
"You needed time that he wasn't going to give you. So I gave myself up. Plus, hey. At least he got a couple of souvenirs for his trouble. To help him fight off any other 'members of your species'."
<*Souvenirs?*> Rage overtakes his "voice". It's nearly impossible to hide emotion through telepathy. Completely impossible to hide it from your father.
I nod at the madman, trapped inside the larger shield. An angry red filters through the blue of the shields around us as my son turns to face him. I crane my neck, eager to see the xenophobic psycho's first real look at my beautiful baby boy. To watch the horrified realization as he sees the eyes like voids, the thin vertical breathing slits where a human nose and mouth would be.
My molars tumble from his suddenly nerveless fingers, bouncing free of the gloves and skittering across the floor. All three of us watch them slide to a stop at the base of the machine.
My son holds out a hand without looking, his gaze fixed back on the madman. His helmet - the one I stole to go with the outfit that, honestly, doesn't fit me very well at all - rises off the floor and lowers itself onto his head, familiar beeping indicating that the circuitry inside has connected properly to his mind. My audible voice wraps words around his telepathically projected statement, assembled from a thousand sounds I painstakingly recorded for him when we first built the processor so long ago. When I lent my baby boy my voice - the most essential part of his disguise, letting him give hope to this world the way only he can.
"Well, Dad. I don't think *teeth* are going to help." | 2021-06-18T23:08:26 | 2021-06-18T21:49:24 | 2,253 | 408 |
[WP] On every planet, there is one being who is a living recorder for everything that happens. During the yearly recorder meeting, one always comes in emotionally drained. “Look. It’s the guy that has earth” | I am the Recorder of Venus. This is a cushy job. Most of ours are cushy jobs, really, since there isn't life on most planets. My cousin, who records everything that happens on Mars, he had a *real* crazy time a few billion years ago, but ever since then, it's all been one-paragraph summaries about the lives of microbes.
Me, on Venus, I don't even have to write about those. "It's hot," my report says every year. "Yep. Still hot."
We're youngings in this universe, though. The wise old man, they get assigned the tough spots.
In our solar system, that's The Recorder.
We call him that as a nickname, even though it's his job. Kind of like how you might call Wayne Gretzky "The Hockey Player," (if you're from Eearth, you'll understand). To us, The Recorder was just that good.
Earth was fairly run-of-the-mill at first, to hear the Recorder tell it. Molten lava, oceans of acid, that sort of thing. Pretty standard proto-planet stuff.
Then the Cambrian Explosion hit. That's when things got interesting.
Soon Earth was run over with critters, monsters, and all manner of behemoths. Great fanged fish scoured the oceans clean. Feathered and scaled beasts roamed what dry land there was.
One year, the Recorder came into our yearly meeting place—Europa, why not? It's nice in the summertime—with his pale eyes bugging.
"A meteor hit it," he said. "It's all chaos down there."
He wasn't disturbed. He spoke of it like he had seen an exciting movie. You see, the Recorder had seen everything. Before Earth, he'd even had a planet with a civilization on it. They had gotten all the way to agriculture when a meteor rubbed *them* out, too. The Recorder wept them, but he mostly wept for happiness, at having seen so much life.
Life is rare in the universe.
Life is the most precious thing, The Recorder tells us.
Anyway, long after that meteor tore up the Earth, the Recorder was surprised to see that things went on. Dinosaurs lived as birds. And mammals, once a small side-critter, came to dominate.
Then, fairly recently, those mammals started getting smart.
Real smart.
Agriculture smart.
Only this time a meteor didn't crush them.
The Recorder came to Titan every year to update us on their progress. "One of them figured out their planet is round!" he said as we gathered around the fireplace where we exchanged our stories. "It was rather ingenious. He measured the distance between two cities, and the shade of a stick. Just using his own guile. Isn't this the most remarkable species?"
I remember then, how his eyes were caught in the heat of the fireplace. Eyes full of hope.
He spoke of great monuments. Pyramids and statues and colossus. He spoke of remarkable technological achievements. Medicines and great industrial workings. One year, the Earth-people figured out how to make machines do most of their work, using only the power of heated steam. Remarkable, The Recorder said, his eyes beaming with pride.
The humans had their problems, but what civilization didn't?
Lately, though, things have been different.
There have been wars. Wars fought with these new industrial beasts. Humans would use their locomotives to ship soldiers to the fronts, where the soldiers would only be chewed up by gunpowder explosives and hot lead.
The Recorder remained hopeful, though. Even after one particularly destructive war, he was so happy to tell us that eventually, these Earth-people had come to solve it. Even signed an armistice. There would be peace on Earth, finally, for the last war was ended.
That was some time ago.
This year, the Recorder came back to us with a slow gait in his walk. His eyes were weary. For the first time, I saw how old he was, how hunched. The glint of hope had washed out of him, like ocean tides scrubbing the beaches clean. He seemed empty.
Then, he told his tale of this year.
We'd never heard such horrors. Women raped and mutilated. Children, the same. Men murdered by the dozens and the hundreds and the thousands, as though they were nothing but logs to be thrown in fires.
"But Recorder," I said. "You said they'd fought the Last War."
It was the wrong thing to say. The Recorder bent over and wept into his palms.
"Mark this day," said my cousin, the Recorder of Mars. "This is the first time The Recorder wept."
"Very well," said I. "What year is it on Earth?"
"By their reckoning now, they call it 1937." The Recorder's eyes caught the heat of the fireplace. "A place they call Nanking."
Then he wept again. In between his heaves, he said he would only go back to Earth if we could promise him better days. And we promised, we promised and promised and promised, not because we knew, but because we knew he was the only one strong enough for Earth. And we hoped the worst had passed. | It was the yearly recorder meeting, when the party was already going.
"Earth's watcher is still missing, right?"
The Great Beast's planet watcher said.
"Yeah, as usually he's late. No magic, no autonomous machine civilisation, no galactic civilisation, yet the humans of Earth can give him so much to do."
Kepler's planet watcher said.
As the two were talking, a figure walked in.
It was a tall, thin, pale looking woman, with sunken eyes, and blood red hair.
It was Earth's watcher.
&#x200B;
"Finally here?"
The Great Beast's planet watcher asked, approaching her with a drink.
"Oh yes...Thank the Great Creator that I arrived at all..."
She said, chuckling weakly.
"It was that bad this year?"
Kepler's planet watcher asked.
"You can't even begin to imagine."
Earth's watcher said, finishing the drink in one big gulp.
&#x200B;
"Tell us, maybe it will be better."
The Great Beast's planet watcher said.
"Well, a plague, a tonne of misinformation, country ending calamities hitting every now and then, though they are solved so it's okay."
She said, drinking her sorrows away.
"It's probably more than this."
Kepler's watcher said.
"Oh, you can bet on it."
She said laughing.
&#x200B;
"Come on, don't keep us on edge, tell us."
The Great Beast's watcher urged.
"Well, the countries there are teasing each other with war, literal war, over amusing things like pride, and bad word usage...
Then let's not even forget that instead of working together against the plague, they are still pointing fingers at each other, trying to blame someone else for nature's work."
Earth's watcher said, shaking her head, sighing.
"I would understand if it were a magical civilisation, with empires, and kingdoms, but from you I know, that country borders aren't that well respected these last few years.
Everyone going to live where they can afford to live."
Kepler's watcher said.
"If magic would exist on Earth, you would have 10 galactic Emperor's in a decade, and a wasted system in a century.
The humans of Earth, are as adaptable as the Insect Race, as cunning as the Fox Clan, as strong willed as the Berserker Barbarians and as greedy as Greed himself, good luck trying to pacify them after they will realise other civilisation exist"
Earth's watcher said sighing.
&#x200B;
The 2 watchers froze a bit at that statement.
Indeed, when Earth becomes a galactic civilisation, interactions will be inevitable...
The 2 of them gulped in terror at this realisation.
Earth's watcher realised this, and chuckled.
"Don't worry, I already filled in the magical advancement, and planet ending cataclysm form.
I am planning to advance their civilisation in another direction, while putting a huge pressure on them."
She said, smiling.
The two other watcher froze, and then paled.
&#x200B;
"Y-y-y-you did what?!?!?!"
The 2 of them asked, drawing attention from other attendees as well.
"You heard that right."
She said, shrugging.
"But how....do you think it will get approved?"
Kepler's watcher asked.
"The planet ending cataclysm will be my husband's presence.
More controllable danger than this can't exist.
And don't forget who I am, of course it will get approved."
She said.
&#x200B;
Indeed, she was the daughter of the founder of the watchers circle, and also the most talented watcher, being the one with most connections, and highest strength.
Then, the first part of what she said got acknowledged by the two.
"Your h-h-h-husband?"
The Great Beast's planet watcher asked, stuttering, and shivering a bit.
"Yep."
She said, nodding.
"The Great Eldritch, rumoured to be the 1st entity to be ever born in this universe?"
Kepler's watcher asked.
"That little piece of cowardly primordial matter indeed.
You already met him once, why are you so surprised?"
She said, chuckling.
The 2 indeed met him, and remembered his aura for a lifetime.
He might be meek in front of his wife, but he is known as the Devourer of Galaxies in this universe.
&#x200B;
The two quieted down, and let Earth's watcher drink in peace.
Everything at the meeting went on peacefully, and ended in a ranking.
Again, Earth has been ranked as the most difficult to assess, and Earth's watcher has been awarded as the most detailed reports submitting watcher.
&#x200B;
Before leaving, Great Beast's planet watcher, and Kepler's watcher stopped, Earth's watcher.
"Y-y-you will keep an eye on Earth, and your husband, right?"
Kepler's watcher asked.
Earth's watcher just rolled her eyes.
"I am Earth's watcher, and his wife, what do you think."
Saying this chuckling, she disappeared, and left for Earth...as who knows what happened in these few hours she was away. | 2021-08-13T07:48:15 | 2021-08-13T07:47:15 | 181 | 59 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | It's quite hard to kill a god. And believe me, they tried. Long ago, I had to watch as my followers were sacrificed in someone else's name, while my temples were defaced and the surrounding cities were razed.
My name was forgotten.
My lands were eventually reclaimed by the earth.
And I took refuge in my only remaining temple, sharing my company with a tiny stone idol of myself, sleeping the centuries away, dreaming of my once sprawling cities and devoted followers.
All at once, I felt it. Light penetrated my long-faded eyes and the sound of soft voices resonated throughout my meager home.
"Cin-dee, what are you doing?" Lisped a shrill voice.
I drifted around the corner, peeking into the antechamber for a hint of who had brought me back to the living world.
A pair of children. Their tiny toothless smiles at the center of round, chubby faces. One was a boy with close-cropped red hair and dull brown eyes. The blue shirt he wore said "Conrad" in script I did not recognize, but understood all the same.
Then there was the girl. Cindy, the boy had said. Curly brown hair and green eyes that shone brightly with stars behind them. She stood before my altar, brushing the layers of dust and dried grass to the ground. An act which, unknown to her, granted me presence in the cramped space.
"My mom says we can't eat on a dirty table. We just can't. Same goes for Mr. Dancer." She said pointing to my idol, whose long legs crossed about one another like that of a stage dancer.
"But Ms. Baker told us not to come in here. We're gonna get in trouble."
"Then go away, Conrad. That way you don't have to deal with it." Cindy said, brushing more of the debris from my altar.
Conrad flustered for a moment before settling on an answer that satisfied him "But I gotta stay so you don't get hurt." He said, using the particular brand of logic that only children understood.
Cindy, now finished with her task of cleaning my altar, turned to Conrad and held out a hand expectantly. "Gimme a piece."
"W-what?"
She tilted her head and gave a withering, you-know-what-I-mean look. She then flexed her fingers and commanded "Give it.'
Conrad flustered again for a second "B-but those are supposed to last the whole trip."
"Then give me one of the strawberry ones. I'm the only one that eats those anyhow."
They stood there for a second, Conrad trying to make his best pleading look while Cindy simply pursed her lips and tapped her foot expectantly. If they could have heard me in that instant, they would have heard only laughter.
Conrad eventually gave in and shoved a tiny wrapped candy into her waiting hand. She promptly turned around and placed the candy into the small depression on my altar which once held a gold offering plate. And just like that, I could feel again. Within my temple, the cool air and damp stones were once again mine to cherish.
She looked briefly at my idol with a toothless, cherub-like grin. "I hope you like it. Strawberry's my favorite, and I hope it's yours too." Then she turned on her heel and strode out of my home with Conrad in tow.
A few days passed, and I had savored the offering with satisfaction. A tiny offering from a tiny child to a tiny god. When what little power her gift had imbued me with faded, I would have something new to dream of. Something happy, not sad. It was more than I deserved, really.
That was, however, until I felt myself grow a bit more solid and a new location filled the space of my mind. With a hint of glee, I transported to the new location in an instant, my thoughts racing.
The room was brightly lit, filled with the gentle hum of electric lights. Brightly colored pictures, rugs, chairs, and tables littered the room. And there I saw Cindy holding up a colored pencil sketch of me before an audience of children. Children and one adult, of course.
The sketch was crude, some features of mine, such as my long and twisting legs, were exaggerated, but it was me all the same.
"This is Mr. Dancer. He lives in the house in the field."
A hand shot up. "Was he nice."
Cindy's smile grew. "He was very nice."
And so it was.
Another hand. "He looks strong."
"He is."
And so it was.
Conrad's hand shot up. "Tell them about the candy."
Cindy shot Conrad another withering look. "I gave him a piece of strawberry candy, and he said it was his most favorite thing to eat. The end."
And so it was.
The teacher, who had believed this story to be the result of a child's imagination, simply patted Cindy on the head and pinned her drawing to a cork board. Cindy then asked that a piece of Strawberry candy be pinned up with it, and so it was.
And so, with an idol and an offering, I was given a new temple. A new temple, a new name, and a new priestess to create and share my stories. Stories of a kind and powerful god who likes strawberries.
I could live with that. | Some called Clay mentally unwell. Given his unfortunate upbringing, he was bound to have problems — so these people said.
Others suggested that he simply had a suicide wish. And that was easy enough to believe, seeing as he’d just tackled a guy waving a kitchen knife about like a flag, and had been stabbed three times for his trouble.
It wasn’t like that though. Least, Clay hadn’t thought so.
Two days before the stabbing (once in the chest, twice in the left thigh) Clay had been sheltering from the rain in a Shinto shrine in his local park. Hell of a storm, he’d thought. Like God was wringing out his towels or something. And there was a wind, too, that slapped the cold rain against his skin until it bit like mosquitoes.
What a Shinto shrine was doing in his park, Clay had no idea. He didn’t follow local news. Or any other news. Hard to without a phone or a television. Or a house. But this was definitely the park he’d spent many years of his life in. And the sign there said it was a Shinto sign — something to do with protection — and so a Shinto shrine it was. And, seeing as it had a roof and three walls, tonight it’d offer him protection.
&#x200B;
He slept beneath old newspapers that night, lying his damp coat over them so he didn’t feel the wetness of it on his skin. He had a bottle of cider and finished the whole thing before he fell into what he called a sleep, although it was really more like something between sleeping and being awake.
When he woke it was early morning. The sun lit up the dew on the grass outside like there was a bed of green jewels sitting there.
He yawned and sat up, newspapers rustling like birds as they fluttered off him.
”Hello,” said the girl.
He hadn’t noticed her, somehow. But she was inside the shrine, just to the side of him. Small kid, ginger pigtails, bright smile. Blindingly bright. She held a cardboard box in her arms.
”Uh, hi kid.”
”These are for you,” she said. “My mom said if I leave them here it’ll make you happy.”
”For me?” Clay scratched his head.
The girl put down the box. “I have to go now. Have a good day.”
She waved, even though she was right next to him.
”Uh, you too. I guess.” He waved back.
Then the girl left.
He looked in the box. His mouth opened. Closed. Then he ran out of the shrine to thank the girl, but she was already a blur in the distance, running towards an older lady far away. That was Mom, he guessed.
He took off his old socks and pants and tried on the new ones. He found a bottle of water and a banana, pocketed the sweets and money, then ate his little breakfast on the grass outside remembering just how kind people could be.
He felt a tiny bit like a god that morning. As lucky as one, at any rate. The god of protection maybe, he thought with a wry smile.
&#x200B;
Two days later, about 9 p.m., he saw the girl again. He’d been lying behind a dumpster in the alley trying to settle down for sleep. He’d struggled sleeping last night — usually the drink put him into his restless slumbers, but he’d tried to turn over a new leaf since the night in the shrine. He’d even applied to a couple of schemes to get him back on his feet. Who knew if they’d go anywhere, but he was to check back with them tomorrow.
So that night, as the mom and ginger kid were pushed into the alley, he was stone cold sober. He poked his head out from behind the dumpster.
”Purse,” said a guy with a knife and a fidgety arm. He had a friend next to him, bigger, but no knife.
The girl was crying. Mom was trying not to look scared but her hands were betraying her.
”Please.”
That same girl. He was certain of it. That same one who had left him the cardboard box in the Shinto shrine. He tugged up his new socks as he thought of it.
Then a rage flooded through his veins stronger than that of any drug he’d tried. He didn’t have kids, but if he did he imagined this was the kind of protective feeling that would surge through him if ever they were in danger.
”Hold on,” he said.
Whatever happened next, Clay couldn’t recall. It was only after he’d woken up in the hospital wearing more bandages than a mummy that he was told what happened.
“Thank you,” said the girl standing by his bed.
There were fresh bright flowers on the table next to him. He couldn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. Because she was okay. And her mom was there too. So there was nothing needed to say, not then.
He managed a wink, but all it did was push the tears out of his eye and spill them over his cheek.
It’d been a long time — maybe never — since he’d been so glad to see someone.
The girl placed a little bag of sweets on the table next to him. “For when you’re better,” she said.
The nurse came in. Led his visitors out. The girl waved as she left. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”
Clay had always been afraid of hospitals. Strange, he thought, to finally be in one and to be feeling like the luckiest man alive. | 2021-09-02T09:10:25 | 2021-09-02T07:41:43 | 2,738 | 1,490 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | It's quite hard to kill a god. And believe me, they tried. Long ago, I had to watch as my followers were sacrificed in someone else's name, while my temples were defaced and the surrounding cities were razed.
My name was forgotten.
My lands were eventually reclaimed by the earth.
And I took refuge in my only remaining temple, sharing my company with a tiny stone idol of myself, sleeping the centuries away, dreaming of my once sprawling cities and devoted followers.
All at once, I felt it. Light penetrated my long-faded eyes and the sound of soft voices resonated throughout my meager home.
"Cin-dee, what are you doing?" Lisped a shrill voice.
I drifted around the corner, peeking into the antechamber for a hint of who had brought me back to the living world.
A pair of children. Their tiny toothless smiles at the center of round, chubby faces. One was a boy with close-cropped red hair and dull brown eyes. The blue shirt he wore said "Conrad" in script I did not recognize, but understood all the same.
Then there was the girl. Cindy, the boy had said. Curly brown hair and green eyes that shone brightly with stars behind them. She stood before my altar, brushing the layers of dust and dried grass to the ground. An act which, unknown to her, granted me presence in the cramped space.
"My mom says we can't eat on a dirty table. We just can't. Same goes for Mr. Dancer." She said pointing to my idol, whose long legs crossed about one another like that of a stage dancer.
"But Ms. Baker told us not to come in here. We're gonna get in trouble."
"Then go away, Conrad. That way you don't have to deal with it." Cindy said, brushing more of the debris from my altar.
Conrad flustered for a moment before settling on an answer that satisfied him "But I gotta stay so you don't get hurt." He said, using the particular brand of logic that only children understood.
Cindy, now finished with her task of cleaning my altar, turned to Conrad and held out a hand expectantly. "Gimme a piece."
"W-what?"
She tilted her head and gave a withering, you-know-what-I-mean look. She then flexed her fingers and commanded "Give it.'
Conrad flustered again for a second "B-but those are supposed to last the whole trip."
"Then give me one of the strawberry ones. I'm the only one that eats those anyhow."
They stood there for a second, Conrad trying to make his best pleading look while Cindy simply pursed her lips and tapped her foot expectantly. If they could have heard me in that instant, they would have heard only laughter.
Conrad eventually gave in and shoved a tiny wrapped candy into her waiting hand. She promptly turned around and placed the candy into the small depression on my altar which once held a gold offering plate. And just like that, I could feel again. Within my temple, the cool air and damp stones were once again mine to cherish.
She looked briefly at my idol with a toothless, cherub-like grin. "I hope you like it. Strawberry's my favorite, and I hope it's yours too." Then she turned on her heel and strode out of my home with Conrad in tow.
A few days passed, and I had savored the offering with satisfaction. A tiny offering from a tiny child to a tiny god. When what little power her gift had imbued me with faded, I would have something new to dream of. Something happy, not sad. It was more than I deserved, really.
That was, however, until I felt myself grow a bit more solid and a new location filled the space of my mind. With a hint of glee, I transported to the new location in an instant, my thoughts racing.
The room was brightly lit, filled with the gentle hum of electric lights. Brightly colored pictures, rugs, chairs, and tables littered the room. And there I saw Cindy holding up a colored pencil sketch of me before an audience of children. Children and one adult, of course.
The sketch was crude, some features of mine, such as my long and twisting legs, were exaggerated, but it was me all the same.
"This is Mr. Dancer. He lives in the house in the field."
A hand shot up. "Was he nice."
Cindy's smile grew. "He was very nice."
And so it was.
Another hand. "He looks strong."
"He is."
And so it was.
Conrad's hand shot up. "Tell them about the candy."
Cindy shot Conrad another withering look. "I gave him a piece of strawberry candy, and he said it was his most favorite thing to eat. The end."
And so it was.
The teacher, who had believed this story to be the result of a child's imagination, simply patted Cindy on the head and pinned her drawing to a cork board. Cindy then asked that a piece of Strawberry candy be pinned up with it, and so it was.
And so, with an idol and an offering, I was given a new temple. A new temple, a new name, and a new priestess to create and share my stories. Stories of a kind and powerful god who likes strawberries.
I could live with that. | I sit patiently on a stone, watching the children play around me.
They've come here every day during recess and I am pleased by their laughter and the meager offerings they bring me. Mostly small bugs, easily caught and weeds plucked like flowers laid upon the stone altar.
They are small gifts passed by small hands but they are more sacred to me than the coins and offerings once passed by in my temples. For these are the gifts that come from tiny hands who offer them for no other than the desire to give me a gift.
I watch as they play their games of childhood, tag and hide and seek and other small games that they play of their own imaginings.
She cannot see me but I feel eyes upon me nonetheless. The teacher of the children who now have become my worshipers eyes the rock upon which I sit.
She is a good woman, kind and matronly and though she knows not that I am here she sees the echoes of the children's reactions. She sees the flowers placed upon the rock that disappear without a trace. The bugs that seem to vanish without notion. She suspects but has no proof other than the stories the children tell of me sitting here.
I am certain she is starting to believe that they are speaking truth. She is no fool and is a wise woman. She will teach many students well long after my children have left to go further into the school and probably long after they forget I am here watching.
She returns to watching and so do I. But after a moment I stop. There is a darkness over my children...A cloud of malice and evil.
Its here again. *HE* is here again.
I turn from them and find across the street there is a man standing with a dog. He doesn't see me nor does he know that I am watching him. But he watches my children.
I narrow my eyes. This is not the first time he has come here but this is the first time he has brought a dog. He is up to something...
"Goddess?"
I turn as Emily, my high priestess, puts a hand on my leg.
"What's wrong Goddess?"
"Nothing my dear... I am just thinking of grown up things."
She held out a butterscotch disc. A similar piece to her first offering to me. "Here Goddess...Mommy and Daddy say adults have lots to worry about. I like Butterscotch when I worry."
"Oh, you are most gracious with your offerings, Emily." I say taking it with both hands.
She laughs and cheers and runs off to her friends.
I eye the man again as he walks off as the whistle blows calling the children inside.
I watch from my place outside as they return to their classroom.
&#x200B;
It isn't long however before I feel that cloud of malice return.
I stand outside the gates of the school as HE stands on the other side, watching and waiting, Thinking I don't know he is there behind his car.
I growl and hold the flowers they gave me in my hand, feeling their power flowing through me.
The wrapper of butterscotch crinkles in my hand as I clench my fists watching him.
The final bell rings after some time and he pulls the dog out of the car and lets it go as the children come out and play, awaiting their parents.
The dog eagerly bounds toward the children and many run around and try to catch it. Some of the teachers call it to try and hold on as the man seems to watch the chaos until finally he approached one of my children.
He slid a hand over the childs arm and pulled as the child cried out. The teacher heard and ran after him as the man tried to move around everyone.
The child struggled to escape but to no avail. The hold was strong but it was enough. The teacher grabbed his arm and tried to force them apart as I slid the disc of butterscotch into my mouth.
I could never tell Emily this, but I hate the taste. It has always been this way, but her gifts give me such strength. I open my hand that held the various ants and grasshoppers and other things the children managed to catch and they swarmed, biting and stinging and hitting wherever they could.
The man tried to hit the teacher but found a particularly large spider on his hand that jarred his movement as she pulled my child away from him and they clung as he moved to try and run.
I dropped the flowers and they sprouted as weeds and roots, impeeding his path each time that he stepped on the grass. Forcing him to pull his legs and feet up hard.
He managed to get to the car. I held out my finger and snapped, bitting down on the butterscotch disc, splitting it in two as from a clear blue sky a fireball smashed into him and sent him flying.
Many who had seen and realized what was really occuring lept on him and held him down while the adults took care of it.
My children ran to me as I walked to the teacher who held Billy, one of the smaller kids who was shy in her arms as he cried and she soothed him. She picked him up and gathered them around her.
I turned as I felt a tug on my dress. Emily smiled and gave me a hug. I pat her head and sent her after her teacher and the other grownups
I returned to my place and watched as the police took over and my children were gathered by their parents.
finally the teachers left and my children's instructor came to my small rock throne and looked it over. She nodded to me.
"Thank you."
I bowed back. 'The children are ever under my protection." | 2021-09-02T09:10:25 | 2021-09-02T08:32:01 | 2,738 | 288 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | “Its sour.” I swished the round yellow treat between my cheeks, its taste strange, leaving a tingling on my tastebuds. “Did you attempt to poison me?” I stared down at the little girl who only shook her head, sitting by my shrine in a light blue dress.
“Its candy! Everyone likes candy. Are you a ghost?” She asked, not seeming the slightest bit intimidated by me. I scratched my side, wondering how long I had been sleeping for. Her dress matched none of the bleak grey robes that my followers wore, so it was clear we had moved forward a few years. How many years, though, that was uncertain.
“In a way, I am. A remnant of a forgotten time. I’m not sure how I feel about candy. It isn’t the usual flavor I enjoy, yet the offering still pleases me. I am Hallix, God of the weak. I believe this meeting was fated. My role is to protect those who follow my banner. I won’t fight wars for you, but I protect you if you remain peaceful.” Did she even understand what a war was? Maybe I was being overdramatic?
“A ghost. Wait until I tell all my friends I found a candy loving ghost. They will be so jealous.” She offered me her hand, which I accepted, looking back at the pile of broken rock that once was a mighty shrine. The gold ornaments gone, most likely stolen for money. It was sad, yet the hand tugging me along made up for that.
When we neared what I assumed was a school, I let my body vanish, hiding from the view of the mortals. Her eyes widened with concern, looking around for me. Gently, I squeezed her hand, offering her comfort. “Over here. I can’t let myself be seen by too many mortals. Don’t worry, I’ll always be by your side.” I said, only for her to offer me another yellow piece of candy in response.
“I get it. People might want one too.” I didn’t think she understood my words, but I gladly accepted the treat. The sourness of the candy not as bad now, it was almost enjoyable. When she returned to the building, the teacher pulled her into a hug.
“I thought you had gotten lost. What did I tell you about wandering outside of school grounds? I was worried sick about you. Come on, we are doing some hand painting.” The teacher ushered her along, sitting her at a desk next to the other students.
“I found a new friend. He’s tall and likes candy. He also said he will protect me. He’s right behind me.” The children stared at me, giving a look of confusion to the blank space. One pulled out a strange multicolored circle on a stick, holding it to the air.
“Does he like lollypops?” He asked. I looked at the treat before accepting the offering. When I took it, it vanished from view. I placed it in my mouth, letting my tongue explore it. “Sweet.” I said, before pulling it free, revealing myself to him. “Thank you. You are in my care.”
Once the rumor had spread, all the kids were leaving treats for me, which I accepted. In a week, the entire class were my followers. They told their parents about the magical invisible man, but no one believed them, calling it a strange group fantasy the children had made up.
Sure, it wasn’t as luxurious as my old life, and I doubt I would get my hands on any wine. But it was nice. They were weak, and I could protect them. In a month I knew all their names, following them whenever I could. I would wait for them by the bus before waving to them as they went home. If any of them were in danger, I would rush to their side and protect them. They were my followers, and I would stop at nothing to make sure they lived comfortable lives.
When the last student left, I would go to meet Ashley, spending most of my time by the side of the one who awakened me. She helped teach me about the modern world and, in turn; I shared stories of what I could remember from my world. I still hadn’t gotten used to the treats she gave me, but their taste hardly mattered. It was the thought that counted.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Stacy squinted as an unfamiliar man entered her kindergarten classroom. She had not seen him before, but he did not give off the air of a stranger either. Somehow, she felt a connection between them.
The man had smooth black hair. He dressed like an old man but looked much younger than her father.
‘Good morning children. I am your substitute teacher, Mr Xennoavlaas, but you may address me as your god- I mean Mr Xen. Any questions?’
The class erupted into a cheer, as they always did with absent teachers.
Stacy raised her hand.
‘Ah yes,’ he said, loud enough to counteract the noise. ‘What knowledge do you seek High priestess?’
‘Um… what happened to Ms Parker?’
‘Your original instructor has been sidelined due to foreseen circumstances.’
‘I don’t really get it. And my name is Stacy.’
‘Worry not Stacy, all will be revealed soon enough. Thank you for the candy bar you left at my shrine by the way.’
‘You mean the one I left outside for good luck at recess?’
‘Yes. It has been a long time since any human procured for me something as divine as SNICKERS CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER. Such piety deserves reward.’
The classroom grew louder but Mr Xen seemed to ignore it. He simply stood at the front centre of the class, maintaining a wide smile.
Stacy turned to her friend Emma.
‘Mr Xen is reaaaaaallly weird.’
‘Yeah. Everyone knows Kit-Kat is better than Snickers,’ Emma replied.
Suddenly Stacy felt a wet spitball peck the back of her neck. She turned around angrily to see David with a straw in his mouth. Ugh! The rascal was at it again. He annoyed Stacy like this on a daily basis. David breathed in and spat another pellet but it flew towards the ceiling instead, sticking itself there. Both He and Stacy blinked in surprise before he breathed in to try again.
‘David brown isn’t it?’ Mr Xen asked.
David jumped out of his seat as Mr Xen had addressed him from behind. The students looked around confusedly. Had the substitute teacher not been at the front of the classroom seconds ago?
‘Mischievous little child aren’t you? You’re lucky. There was a time where such deeds would be disciplined through flogging.’
Stacy doubted David knew what “flogging” was but Mr Xen seemed to have intimidated greatly. David began to cry.
‘Oh don’t worry child! Despite your misdeeds you are still part of the congregation and will benefit as such. As will everyone else in this classroom. Courtesy of your High priestess.’
Stacy was about to ask Mr Xen what the deal was with this High priestess stuff when two masked men carrying guns burst into the classroom.
The class began to scream in terror but Mr Xen calmly looked at his watch.
‘Ah, right on time,’ he said.
Stacy hid under the table and covered her ears. Mr Xen was expecting them? Was he working with them?
She watched from under the table as one of the masked men pointed a gun at Mr Xen.
‘We were on the run from the cops, but lucky us found a school to make use of. If you don’t want us hurting any kids, you best cooperate.’
Mr Xen wagged a finger and tutted, then shook his head in disappointment.
‘Humans. All so full of malice and avarice. This is why I abandoned you for millennia. It seems little has changed during my slumber. You should all learn from Stacy over there.’
Stacy wanted to scream at Mr Xen. Why was he directing the scary men’s attention to her?
‘The hell you on about?’ asked the other masked man. ‘No wonder our education system’s so shit. They got crackpots like you in here.’ He pointed his gun in Stacy’s direction. ‘But as crazy as you are, you wouldn’t risk her life would you?’
Mr Xen snapped his fingers and the man’s hand twisted. He cried in pain as the gun dropped to the floor. The other masked robber clicked his pistol at Mr Xen but it refused to fire.
‘All of you are infants in my eyes. But even a being as ancient as I can see that you should learn some manners from these children.’
Mr Xen raised his hands and both masked men began levitating in the air. A portal appeared from thin air, swallowing them both. There was a silence, as all the children in the class looked at Mr Xen, speechless.
‘If there’s one thing you take away from today’s class, don’t mess with a god’s priestess. Good day children, Ms Parker should be back within the hour. Oh and…bring more Snickers next time please.’
r/IZicle | 2021-09-02T08:57:43 | 2021-09-02T08:20:20 | 322 | 191 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | "The trappings of fame," thought the Dark Lord as he rode into town. "Wenda's ale is worth the trouble."
He placed a simple glamour over his face. He could handle any would be heroes, but he didn't care for the annoyance. Tonight he was again Todd, the traveling merchant.
Todd entered the tavern and was greeted with an uproar. Visitors were rare in this town. He chatted with the locals and sat at his usual table.
Wenda, the tavern owner, placed a tankard in front of Todd.
"Your usual, I assumed." said Wenda.
Todd replied, "Wenda, they could write songs about your barley ale."
Todd took a large swig and winked at her. His drinking companions laughed. Erick, the smithy, and Colin, the miller were simple people, but a welcome reprieve from the dark nobles.
Colin asked, "Todd, any news? We haven't seen you in near a moon's turn."
Todd drank deeply and said, "Pox in the Northern hamlets. The bridges over the river have been closed. A massive she wolf has been spotted in the coastal woods. They say it has a thirst for children. The bells are ringing in the capitol. The duchess has given birth to a son."
Erick looked around nervously and asked, "Any word of....the Dark Lord?"
Todd smiled, "Oh yes, he killed King Allen."
Erick spit out his ale. Todd laughed heartily.
Colin replied, "That's not funny."
Todd composed himself and said, "Seriously, no confirmed sightings in two months. Some say he's a coward. Some that he's lost his magic. He's been with the Dark Empress for two years and no children...if you get my meaning."
They laughed and ordered another round. The door opened and a stranger stood in the doorway. He wore all black. He was tall and pale. His eyes were dark with make up. The tavern went quiet and all eyes were on the stranger.
The stranger spoke up dramatically, "My name is Carrow and I have been sent by the Dark Lord. I don't want to hurt any one. I am here for coin, jewelry, and other valuables. Do as I say, or else...."
He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the fireplace. It flashed a bright green color and then subsided.
Todd stifled a laugh. This was no true magic. The tavern patrons began producing coin purses in fear. Carrow moved about the tavern collecting his prizes. He stopped at Todd's table.
Carrow asked, "A merchant? What have you for me?"
Todd stood, "Leave these simple people alone. I have spices, cloth, and grain in my wagon. Leave these people alone and it's yours."
Carrow smiled, "You dare defy the servant of the Dark Lord. I could curse you to a slow death."
Todd opened his coin purse and produced a large ruby. Carrow's eyes grew wide. Todd raised the ruby with his left hand and deftly reached for his dagger with the right hand. He drove the dagger quickly into Darrow's side. Carrow screamed as the blood flowed.
Many of the tavern patrons fled. Others began to pray. Carrow cried foul curses until he died. The tavern went silent.
Wenda screamed, "Todd, you will bring the Dark Lord's wrath on our town!"
Todd replied, "This is my fault. I will dispose of the body."
Colin and Erick helped load the body into the wagon as Wenda cleaned the blood on the floor. Todd rode out of town.
The Dark Lord talked to Carrow as he rode, "Carrow, you might have been a good student of the dark arts. A shame. You shouldn't have come into my bar like that. I'm not done with you. Perhaps in death you might make a proper servant."
The Dark Lord chanted as he rode, and Carrow's finger's began to twitch. | I was lounging in a chair, just minding my business, insulting the Dark Lord as I tend to do here, and took another swig of my sparkling cider as I strongly despise alcohol.
"And I swear on my name, the guy has warts up the wazoo! He musta touched a lotta frogs to get *that* ugly!" I say as some of the other patrons snickered a little into their tankards.
Suddenly, a young child in the corner stood up, slamming their hands on the table in the process.
"Do not insult his lordship!" They shouted with one hand moving toward their hip, possibly reaching for a wand or dagger. I didn't care enough to look.
"And uh, who are you exactly?" I said snarkily, "I didn't know *his lordship* had any kids, 'specially since the bastard's too ugly to get laid!" I said, laughing at my own joke.
The kid was getting redder with rage by the second. This should be fun.
"I will give you one warning. You will stop these insults now, or I will stop them for you." They said, their voice dripping with malice, or as close to malice as a child of, what, 16(?) could manage.
"I'd like to see you try kiddo." I said, leaning back in my chair and taking another sip of my cider.
Suddenly, my glass shattered and all the other patrons started running around like headless chickens. I raised an eyebrow at the kid who was currently pointing a wand of what looked like ebony (damn expensive things) in my general direction.
I sigh and stand up, wiping the glass off of my clothing.
"Look, kid, that wasn't very nice of you. You're gonna be covering that tab, got it?" I say, resting against the edge of the table.
"Ha! As if a *woman* could possibly do any dama-" the words stopped short in their mouth when I went from across the tavern to right in their face in a split second, holding a sharpened wand (magic and physical damage, plus blood is fantastic for dark magic) to their chin.
"I dare you to finish that sentence." I say, smiling as sweetly as possible.
The kid was getting nervous, their confidence flickering like a bad candle. "The dark lord will finish you!" They said, voice wavering slightly.
"Yea no I doubt that." I say, lowering my knife-wand and yawning as I take a step back.
"And why is that?" They asked, grinning. "The dark lord could take someone like you any day!"
"Uh, mostly because if you know them so well, why haven't I met you before?" I say, tilting my head. 'Let's wrap this up...I want to go home.' I thought to myself.
"Ha! And who are you?" They said, crossing their arms confidently over their chest.
I started to snicker. And then giggle. And then full on laughing, with the doubling over and everything.
I catch my breath and raise to my full height of 5'5 (with heels). "Because, kid, for your knowledge, I am the dark lord."
They stared in disbelief, and then turned red again. They raised the wand above their head and started to try and cast a fire incantation, but I snapped my fingers and the wand splintered midway through the swing.
"Who exactly *is* your dark lord exactly?" I ask as the kid went from red to whiter than a sheet of paper.
"I-It's my...my..." and then stops.
"Your your what? Speak up dammit, I don't have all day." I sigh.
Suddenly, the kid slams a fist on the counter and turns to leave.
"Oi! Where do you think you're going? You still have to pay for that cup ya know!" I yelled after them.
"I'm going to kill him..." the kid muttered over and over again.
"Who are you gonna kill?" I asked, suddenly interested.
The kid turns around one last time before walking out.
"My brother!"
The door was then slammed, glass was everywhere, the patrons were all still losing their minds, and I was standing in the middle of the chaos with a slight smirk on my face and one thought in my mind.
"Damn. Looks like tonight is gonna be fun." | 2022-01-14T17:41:26 | 2022-01-14T16:47:02 | 186 | 84 |
[WP] You are due to be executed for your involvement in the rebellion, but the queen herself approched you in your cell to ask you a question; why are people rebelling against her rule? | "Why?" I echoed, idly touching the scabs and scars covering my bare lower legs. I looked up at her royal majesty through the bars of my cell, at her beautiful dress and her expensive juwelry. Her very presence, sitting on a cheap chair in this dark and unadorned prison, felt vaguely wrong. A steeper contrast than between my prison rags and her expensive clothing was barely possible. But yet, here she was.
"Do you remember the last winter?" I asked.
She started nodding, but I wasn't finished.
"Do you remember the big parties and feasts you and your peers had in the autumn, for which you raised special taxes on my village? Do you remember how early and harsh the snow came, when we were not yet prepared enough to all survive with what we had? Do you remember when my brother, Adom Miller, went into the Royal Forest to hunt, driven by hunger, and your sheriff hanged him for the crime of wanting to eat?"
Somewhere in the middle of my rant, she had stopped nodding and started staring, and then stopped staring and started shaking her head. She locked eyes with me, only for a moment.
"No." she answered, finally. "I didn't know about your loss. I'm..."
I cut her off. Maybe she had wanted to sympathise. Maybe she had wanted to apologize. Maybe she had wanted to mock me. I didn't care.
"And that-" I told her, grinning with a mix of anger and sadness "-that is exactly the reason why." | I can't write full out that well, but here's where my mind went in a word vomit:
The Queen confronts you quietly before the execution, asking with large doe-eyes what shortcomings she has as a ruler. It's clear she has no idea how the other higher-ups treat the civilians. How they pretend the world is their own and let greed overtake them. The Queen has been essentially gaslit by her entire council and cabinet and isolated from the world due to rumors of a plague in the village. Nobody has seen her since and so she sits in her chambers and sends out letters and correspondences with other rulers across the globe to remedy the famine and sickness that rose into her kingdom. She feels like she's doing everything right, fixing issues, approving bills, but the people who work with her take advantage of these new rules. They steal and pillage and go into the civilians' homes and take what they want. The people aren't safe anymore and their little town that once was a safe haven is now a slaughterhouse while the nobles claim the virus has taken out too many people.
Anyway, the Queen listens and helps you escape before your time of death, begging you to show her what is happening. That she needs to see it for herself. She was told it was a plague but the plague isn't one of disease and illness, it's of insatiable gluttony from the people she trusted as her own. The ones she believed were keeping her safe and doing her bidding. Turns out they did the opposite. They kept her out of their way and did their own bidding, no morality weighing them down.
Anyway, you and the Queen run away together, and you show her the town and how things really were. You two devise a plan to take down the people that betrayed her and fix the kingdom once and for all.
I didn't get much sleep so I'm not sure if this makes sense lol oops | 2022-05-18T08:51:40 | 2022-05-18T03:19:37 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] A mage's magical power and abilities are determined by tattoos that are only visible to other mages. You have not encountered another mage for years, but today someone compliments you on your ink. | “Daddy, why do his arms look like that? They’re so pretty!” The little girl pulled at her father’s coat and pointed at me.
“Don’t be rude, darling.” The man turned, the insignia of the royal army reflecting in the bright light of the train—an imperial soldier. “My Apologies. She’s should know better than to point at strangers.”
“But—”
“No buts, Sana,” he scolded. “Proper etiquette, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned back to me and curtsied. “Please accept my apologies.”
I nodded in return and tried to focus on the approaching station. The train screeched as it rolled to a halt, the light posts of the station passing the window in staggered flashes. Despite the girl’s apology, she did not stop eyeing my tattoos. Tattoos that she shouldn’t have been able to see. Her eyes followed the emerald helices that rotated across my forearms for several long seconds.
“Now arriving at Golden Ave,” the pleasant voice of the conductor said. “Please exit to the left and watch your step. Next stop, Grapevine.”
The voice seemed to break the girl’s spell for just a moment. I folded my arms across my chest, hoping to mask the shifting patterns, but I could see her still attempting to sneak looks in the unsubtle way children did.
It being late summer, I was wearing short-sleeves, because why wouldn’t I? No one had seen my tattoos in over two decades. After what had happened to the others, no one should have been able to see them ever again. Yet here was this young girl—this young noble—with her bright, blue eyes trained on the shifting tattoos present only to those who shared the same power.
Did her father know?
“Sana,” The guard said. “What did I say?”
“They’re so pretty…” she said in awe.
“Do I need to speak with your mother when we return home?” He gave me an apologetic look. “She normally isn’t like this.”
I laughed and brushed the comment away, but the man’s eyes lingered on me for just a moment too long. I was far too aware of him staring directly at my tattoos, but unlike his daughter, I knew he couldn’t see them. We locked eyes for a brief moment. His half-embarrassed visage changed. Now, the trained scrutiny of a soldier bore into me. A soldier who I imagined had been drilled in a thousand creative ways to eliminate someone like me. I could practically see his shields flicker in the train’s LEDs.
White-knuckling the support in front of me, I smiled. Every part of me resisted the urge to react. To pull upon the electricity abundant in the metro and direct it into this overly curious soldier. Generations of fear, hatred, and rage bubbled beneath the surface. Even still, the light overhead flickered, once, twice, three times. Only years of resisting this same urge kept the bulb from bursting, and the light returned to humming a moment later.
A true reaction meant death.
“Is everything alright?” the man asked after looking back from the flickering bulb. “My daughter didn’t mean any offense. I promise.” The way he straightened his posture triggered a primal threat within my brain. This man was dangerous.
The door hissed open, slicing the tension like a bayonet through flesh. Around us, the crowd exited the train, parting around the soldier who continued to stare at me.
“Daddy, you’re hurting me,” his daughter complained as she pulled from his grip.
“Oh? Dear, I am sorry.” The man snapped his attention to her, genuine concern replacing his predatory glare. He patted his daughter’s head as they turned for the door. “I was just lost in thought.” He looked back at me and smiled. “Have a pleasant evening, sir.”
I watched them go. The girl wore a blue sundress with short sleeves that showed off her thin, tanned arms. Her tattoos had not appeared yet, and probably wouldn’t for another few years. What would she say when her own tattoos began swirling across her arms, marking her forever?
I had the sudden urge to reach out and grab for her. To save her from a future that she could never imagine.
“What did I say about staring at people?” I heard the man ask as they turned the corner.
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I know you didn’t, Sana.”
“I’m sorry…” what she said next was drowned out by the sound of the crowd that entered the train after them.
I walked to the back window, pushing through the crowd. I stopped and drew in the smallest amount of energy from the light fixture above. The bulb flickered once, twice, three times. The only one who paid any mind was an old man sitting alone beside me. He grumbled something about cheap maintenance but turned away as I stared out the back window.
I gathered the energy in my chest. Out of practice as I was, it took a moment longer to hone the ball of sparking electricity into a point and bring that up to my eyes. At once, the tunnel's gloom was shunted away as my senses doubled. I could hear every breath of the passengers, every metallic clank of the train. I could see every brick along the tunnels and the rats that nested below the tracks. More importantly, I could note every face in the crowd three hundred feet back on the station.
Through stinging vision, I picked them out of the shuffling crowd. Even as the train pulled away, I could see the girl in her blue dress as clear as if she were standing only feet away. She stared back at me as her father pulled her up the exit steps. Her eyes locked with mine. It wouldn't be impossible for her to see me at this distance, but the intensity of her stare hinted at something more. She smiled at me as every light in the station flickered. Once, twice, and then burst. The sound crashed against my ears followed by the confused cries of the passengers. The last thing I saw before the train turned the bend was the horrified expression on her father's face as he looked at his daughter.
END.
Hope folks enjoyed this :) had a lot of fun writing it!
Edit: typos/grammar. Also cleaned up the ending for some clarity | The wizard was not what I was expecting. I was ready for robes, a beard, a staff, maybe a pointy hat. But the man sitting in front of me was so *normal* looking. Like the owner of a car dealership. Snazzy striped black suit, black hair cut short and swept to the side, a nice watch around his wrist. He sat across from me with perfect posture, not too stiff but not too relaxed either. He gripped his coffee softly, his pinky finger lightly tapping the side of the cup.
This man just shows up, admits he can see my tattoos, something no one has ever been able to (which I thought made me insane) and offered to buy me a coffee and talk it over. This was already the craziest day in my life. Yet, this just seems like a normal Thursday to him.
"Okay so...explain it to me slowly, please." I said calmly, sipping my coffee nervously. Hoping that no one else in this coffee shop was eavesdropping on our conversation.
He nodded, and leaned forward slightly, as if he was about to sell me on a pitch he's made a thousand times before. "There is magic in this world." he started, matter-of-factually, "A select few are able to harness certain aspects of this magic and use it to varying ability." He stopped to take another sip of his coffee, then continued. "You are one of these people. I can tell based on the tattoos on your arm"
He made a wave motion with his hand and my sleeve went flying up to my armpit. The tattoos that had been driving me crazy since the day I was born were suddenly glowing with a white aura. I shoved my sleeve back down. "Stop doing that." I said.
"Just making my point." He replied. "Anyway, your tattoos indicate that you have healing abilities and pretty strong ones at that." He then made that waving motion again and my sleeve went up, he continued while staring at my arm, "I'd wager... you've got a pretty formidable self-healing factor based on that bicep tattoo and some great potential in micro healing as well."
I pushed my sleeve back down again. "First, I said to stop doing that, someone could see." I said in what was almost a whisper, "And second, micro healing?" My mind was going a million miles a minute. I had so many questions, and so much worry about where this conversation would lead.
"First, don't worry about others, they don't even know we're here. See?" He slammed his hand down on the table, making a sound louder than should have been possible. It made me jump, and I expected gasps and shocked looks from the room. But as I looked around, no one reacted. It was like no one heard a thing. The line at the counter was still ordering, people at tables talking, drinking, like nothing happened.
"Second," he continued, not even giving me time to question how this is happening, "Micro healing is a really niche type of magic. There aren't a whole lot of you and we currently have none with us at the confine." He said that name so casually as if I was supposed to know what it was. But, as usual, he continued before I could question anything.
"Micro healing means you have the natural ability every other healer has to heal major external lacerations, broken bones, bruises, etc..." He started, but then his voice got lower, as if he was making his selling point here, "But you can go smaller than that. We're talking cellular level healing: cancer cells, tumors, hereditary diseases, the types of diseases that the rest of the world can only dream of curing."
I looked up at him and I could tell he could see the gears spinning in my head. "I could cure cancer?" I asked slowly.
"With the right training and depending on the cancer, it's a possibility." He stated.
"Bacterial disease?" I asked
"With ease." He stated.
"Dementia or alzheimers?" I asked, hopeful. But at that, he sank a bit.
"I can tell that question is personal to you, but the truth is...probably not." His demeanor changed a bit. This seemed personal to him also. "We've had micro healers in the far past try to work on it, but there's no solutions as of today." He was looking down as he said it. Then he picked himself up and continued. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't be the one to figure it out. But even if you can't, think of the lives you could save with cancer and disease alone." He was back in his sales-pitch tone. "You could truly change the whole world for the better, not many mages have such an opportunity."
I didn't even have to think about it. "What do I have to do if I accept your training?"
He leaned forward again and began talking in a much more serious tone than he's done before, "You come with me back to the Confine, a place between space and time where we work to mix science and magic to help the realms."
"I'm sorry, hold on," Finally finding the courage to step in and stop him, "*realms?*"
"I'll tell you more if you accept. But you need to know, if you accept, you will have to leave your home, your life behind." He looked me straight in the eyes, "There is no compromise here. If you accept, we'll be teaching you and training you to harness your power, but doing so makes you a target to other forces that exist within the realms, you simply won't able to safely return."
i looked down and thought about where my life is currently. It seems like so much and so little are going on in my life. But I think I'm making it a harder decision than it actually is. I know what I want: to help. To matter.
My mouth spoke faster than my mind could react, "I accept."
He smiled. "Awesome, in that case, follow me." He walked out of the coffee shop, the people still seemingly ignoring us. I followed him right out front to a normal, black, 4-door sedan.
"We're driving there?" I asked, confused.
He responded as we both got into the car, "Yes. I'm a conjuration mage, not a teleporter."
We drove ahead, and I didn't look back.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*As always, I appreciate your comments or suggestions! Thanks for reading* | 2022-07-05T12:54:11 | 2022-07-05T10:49:10 | 89 | 43 |
[WP] A mage's magical power and abilities are determined by tattoos that are only visible to other mages. You have not encountered another mage for years, but today someone compliments you on your ink. | “Daddy, why do his arms look like that? They’re so pretty!” The little girl pulled at her father’s coat and pointed at me.
“Don’t be rude, darling.” The man turned, the insignia of the royal army reflecting in the bright light of the train—an imperial soldier. “My Apologies. She’s should know better than to point at strangers.”
“But—”
“No buts, Sana,” he scolded. “Proper etiquette, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned back to me and curtsied. “Please accept my apologies.”
I nodded in return and tried to focus on the approaching station. The train screeched as it rolled to a halt, the light posts of the station passing the window in staggered flashes. Despite the girl’s apology, she did not stop eyeing my tattoos. Tattoos that she shouldn’t have been able to see. Her eyes followed the emerald helices that rotated across my forearms for several long seconds.
“Now arriving at Golden Ave,” the pleasant voice of the conductor said. “Please exit to the left and watch your step. Next stop, Grapevine.”
The voice seemed to break the girl’s spell for just a moment. I folded my arms across my chest, hoping to mask the shifting patterns, but I could see her still attempting to sneak looks in the unsubtle way children did.
It being late summer, I was wearing short-sleeves, because why wouldn’t I? No one had seen my tattoos in over two decades. After what had happened to the others, no one should have been able to see them ever again. Yet here was this young girl—this young noble—with her bright, blue eyes trained on the shifting tattoos present only to those who shared the same power.
Did her father know?
“Sana,” The guard said. “What did I say?”
“They’re so pretty…” she said in awe.
“Do I need to speak with your mother when we return home?” He gave me an apologetic look. “She normally isn’t like this.”
I laughed and brushed the comment away, but the man’s eyes lingered on me for just a moment too long. I was far too aware of him staring directly at my tattoos, but unlike his daughter, I knew he couldn’t see them. We locked eyes for a brief moment. His half-embarrassed visage changed. Now, the trained scrutiny of a soldier bore into me. A soldier who I imagined had been drilled in a thousand creative ways to eliminate someone like me. I could practically see his shields flicker in the train’s LEDs.
White-knuckling the support in front of me, I smiled. Every part of me resisted the urge to react. To pull upon the electricity abundant in the metro and direct it into this overly curious soldier. Generations of fear, hatred, and rage bubbled beneath the surface. Even still, the light overhead flickered, once, twice, three times. Only years of resisting this same urge kept the bulb from bursting, and the light returned to humming a moment later.
A true reaction meant death.
“Is everything alright?” the man asked after looking back from the flickering bulb. “My daughter didn’t mean any offense. I promise.” The way he straightened his posture triggered a primal threat within my brain. This man was dangerous.
The door hissed open, slicing the tension like a bayonet through flesh. Around us, the crowd exited the train, parting around the soldier who continued to stare at me.
“Daddy, you’re hurting me,” his daughter complained as she pulled from his grip.
“Oh? Dear, I am sorry.” The man snapped his attention to her, genuine concern replacing his predatory glare. He patted his daughter’s head as they turned for the door. “I was just lost in thought.” He looked back at me and smiled. “Have a pleasant evening, sir.”
I watched them go. The girl wore a blue sundress with short sleeves that showed off her thin, tanned arms. Her tattoos had not appeared yet, and probably wouldn’t for another few years. What would she say when her own tattoos began swirling across her arms, marking her forever?
I had the sudden urge to reach out and grab for her. To save her from a future that she could never imagine.
“What did I say about staring at people?” I heard the man ask as they turned the corner.
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I know you didn’t, Sana.”
“I’m sorry…” what she said next was drowned out by the sound of the crowd that entered the train after them.
I walked to the back window, pushing through the crowd. I stopped and drew in the smallest amount of energy from the light fixture above. The bulb flickered once, twice, three times. The only one who paid any mind was an old man sitting alone beside me. He grumbled something about cheap maintenance but turned away as I stared out the back window.
I gathered the energy in my chest. Out of practice as I was, it took a moment longer to hone the ball of sparking electricity into a point and bring that up to my eyes. At once, the tunnel's gloom was shunted away as my senses doubled. I could hear every breath of the passengers, every metallic clank of the train. I could see every brick along the tunnels and the rats that nested below the tracks. More importantly, I could note every face in the crowd three hundred feet back on the station.
Through stinging vision, I picked them out of the shuffling crowd. Even as the train pulled away, I could see the girl in her blue dress as clear as if she were standing only feet away. She stared back at me as her father pulled her up the exit steps. Her eyes locked with mine. It wouldn't be impossible for her to see me at this distance, but the intensity of her stare hinted at something more. She smiled at me as every light in the station flickered. Once, twice, and then burst. The sound crashed against my ears followed by the confused cries of the passengers. The last thing I saw before the train turned the bend was the horrified expression on her father's face as he looked at his daughter.
END.
Hope folks enjoyed this :) had a lot of fun writing it!
Edit: typos/grammar. Also cleaned up the ending for some clarity | "Ooo, lovely tattoos you have there!"
Nihil stopped. There was no one around her. She turned around in confusion, about to ask who this guy was talking to-
The words died in her throat as she stared at the calligraphy plastered over this man's body.
Anyone else would have waved it off as abstract nonsense, but she knew this by heart.
She felt it.
It was in her blood.
...it was her blood.
Every glyph oozed a power she was sure no one else could ever see or feel, with the exception of *maybe* Amity, but she wasn't here right now.
An all too familiar power looked at her.
A power that, if you asked her what she associated with, she would say came from a certain book.
That used to be on a top shelf of a library nestled in a sleepy, peaceful orphanage.
"I can tell you have questions." the older man conceded.
"Yeah, 'who the hell are you' is the big one." She snapped, her voice quaking. She'd seen magic, she'd even felt magic, but she did NOT encounter THIS magic and she had hoped she never would again.
"Mmm, I have two answers for that, both true, both personal to you but I'm not sure you'll believe me." He said hesitantly.
"*Try me.*" She growled. "I'm not up for games!"
"Ok well first; My name Daziel Kurtal. I'm Risya's brother. In other words, like your uncle or technically your great uncle."
He gestured to his face and build expectantly and Nihil's eyes narrowed; she could see it, certainly, but she wasn't going to take him at his word without Risya herself verifying it.
"She never mentioned a brother." Nihil replied tersely. "And the other answer?"
He sighed and spread his arms. "I... Am the creator of the Grimoire."
Nihil summoned her sword without really thinking, her mind racing.
"I'm not looking for a fight, so put your sword down." He suggested.
"That book *ruined my life,*" she growled, her throat tight. "I'm not going to trust anything to do with it."
"Didn't it also create you?" He asked, puzzled.
"It *imprisoned me!!*" She sobbed. Fuck, her eyes were watering, but this was too much. "That magic was abused to imprison me, or did you *somehow* not know that, despite everything else you seem to know?!"
What was this, the fourth meltdown of her life? Yeah, fourth. She was shrieking and couldn't think calmly and she didn't care.
*"Put. the sword. Down."* He commanded. "I can answer your questions but I can also tell you I've spent more time with that book than you ever have and clearly ever will; if you fight me, I will win. So please. Put the sword down."
She ground her teeth, ready to just go feral, abandon bipedal shape and rip into him but she needed proof first.
She needed proof.
Her hand still shaking, she managed to say "One moment. Don't move."
Pulling out her phone with one hand and dialing Risya's phone, she put it to her ear, not breaking eye contact.
On the 3rd ring, it picked up.
*"Nicole!"* Risya chirped. *"It's good to hear from you, how are you doing?"*
Nihil twitched, taken aback by the pleasantries. "It- I don't know, if I'm honest."
*"What hap-"*
"Daziel Kurtal. He's your brother, yeah?"
A pause on the other end. She hated interrupting but she had to know.
*"I- he is, how do you know that? Did you see him? Is he there??"*
Nihil shrugged. "Depends. *What does he look like?"*
*"Er, it's been a little bit but last I saw him he had white hair, blue eyes, he's got freckles... Kind of bony, honestly. I always tell him to eat more meat and he doesn't listen. He should definitely be coated in markings, though. All over him. Nicole, what happened?? Are you ok??"*
This man did fit the bill, a skeletal, white haired man with blue eyes and freckles. She didn't have to verify the tattoos. She *knew* the tattoos.
"Ok, last question; he made that book, right? The one that made me?"
Nihil swore she could hear Risya's flinch.
*"...Yes. yes he did."*
Nerveless fingers dropped her sword entirely. Somehow, hearing it, she felt exhausted.
"....Yeah, he's here right now. I'm ok, I just.... I need to process. I'm sorry." Nihil said numbly.
Putting the phone on speaker, she pointed it in the man's direction.
"Say hi to your sibling."
"Hey, sis!" Daziel said with a wave.
*"Daziel!"* Risya chastised and he flinched. *"What did you say to her??? That book is a sore spot for her, you don't just bring it up!!"*
Daziel sputtered. "Sis, I'm *sorry!* I didn't know she would flip out over it!! I was hoping she'd be more comfortable knowing she wasn't alone, that other people have used the book and it turned out good!"
*"....Daziel, what, exactly, about you being on the other side of the world because of this book is a good thing?"* She demanded.
"How about I can be around it now, people can hold onto it without me *losing my mind??"* He retorted. "Its powers can be good, you just have to use it properly!"
*"I would hardly call an undying book that turns its owner mad the more they use it a good thing, I'm sorry. With the exception of Nicole's birth, if I'm being honest, that book should not have been created!"*
"You haven't seen what I've done for people, though!" He protested. "I've saved people, reinforced structures and healed the sick, there are good things out of this! It just takes time!"
"....What did you mean when you said, 'nice tattoos?'"
Both ends went quiet as Nihil's soft question registered. (1/2) | 2022-07-05T12:54:11 | 2022-07-05T10:40:01 | 89 | 20 |
[WP] A vampire knocks on your door, seeking permission to enter in order to kill you as their next meal. As a house-bound ghost, however, the prospects of a guest after so many years intrigues you. Smiling darkly, you welcome them inside. | The vampire entered, satisfaction blooming on its face. "You don't know how grateful I am to be here today," it said.
In previous generations it was considered courteous to allow a stranger in need into one's home. Today even asking for such a thing is considered taboo. I wondered idly how long this vampire has been searching before someone said yes. Perhaps it's mental powers were weakened by such a search, but it didn't feel that way. It still took considerable effort to materialize in its presence.
"No, don't mention it, it really is no bother at all." I said, motioning inward. "Come, come. Let me show you around." I turned my back to the creature and began a slow walk. *This old house, if it could speak*, I thought warmly.
We house-bound ghosts are tied in one spot because of a strong dilation in metaphysical fabric. In other words, an unspeakable evil was committed in this home, long ago. It's been so long that I don't even remember what it was. But I did remember the good times and couldn't wait to tell my guest all about them.
As we walked down the wooden floors I could feel the vampire behind me smiling. It said, "Forgive me for not introducing myself, I'm somewhat awkward around strangers."
"How unfortunate." I replied coyly, "You know, I'm afflicted with something of a condition myself."
After a few more steps in silence, the vampire said, "I think this is far enough, you can stop here." It used an incredibly powerful *suggestion* to drive the words home.
To a human, this would have been an irresistible command. To me, well, I'm ashamed to say that the sudden spike in mental pressure exerted by the command caused my ability to materialize to falter. You see, a ghost can appear in corporeal form, but only if it is able to cast the illusion in the mind of the observer. The vampire's *suggestion* had an unintended side effect of evicting my influence on its mind.
My materialization *slipped*. I vanished, but all of my concentrated effort kind of ... slammed into the candles alongside the walls. The flames burst into a bright white light, and it was really quite embarrassing. I quickly pulled back, but too much, accidentally extinguishing the candles altogether. Great, now my guest was in total darkness.
I tend to laugh when I'm embarrassed. We ghosts don't really laugh like we did when living. Rather, for a house-bound ghost like me the laughter reflex causes the material of the home to phase slightly. In other words, the walls of the house vibrate a bit, and it kind of sounds like a laugh -- a really deep cavernous laugh -- but it's all out of context and quite frankly a little creepy, which is even more embarrassing.
"Oh for fucks sake, am I being haunted?" the vampire said, looking around exasperated. "Every goddam time! I thought this place looked familiar."
"No, don't go!" I tried to say, but my concentration was too weak, and all that came out was the last vowel in a strangely modulated way.
With regret, I watched the vampire turn around and leave. "There goes another guest." I sighed, "We sure do have a nice library, maybe I'll content myself with a good read." | The night was like any other night in this afterlife, turns out I was bound to the house I died in. So obnoxious, but makes sense with all the energy I spent on protecting the house when I was alive. Now humans avoid it, I hadn’t even had any ghost hunters come visit, if I’d built it in the woods I wouldn’t be shocked but when I was alive I was well known as the childless witch who gardened and made fantastic products with natural remedies. No one even came after my death to raid my stores or my library. Though given the fact I was known as a witch and that I hadn’t been caring for my garden in a while, the locals might be scared something happened to me and the house and stores are cursed. No one even came to collect my body yet, still laying in the bed upstairs. As I walked through the library again thinking on this yet again I heard the doorbell ring for the first time in Hades knows how long it’s been. Or has it only been weeks?
I went from the library to the front door, moving through a couple walls as I did so because why not and looked through the peephole. There on my front porch was a man probably a little taller than me between 5’6-5’10 I’d guess. I never really was great with the height accuracy honestly, or length when I was working with projects that mattered, that’s why we have measuring tape and rulers after all. Anyway I’m getting sidetracked again. Damn ADHD following me even in death. Oh yes the man, I look again and notice his hair is in a long dark braid pulled over his shoulder can’t tell if really dark brown or black in this lighting, brown eyes though there’s something off about them, looking rather nice like he’s going on a date in a dark red button up long sleeved shirt, black suit vest, black slacks, black shoes. I reach into the power in the house and open the door, “hello, did you lose your way?” I cock my head to the side and do my questioning eyebrow raise.
“Not at all,” as he speaks I notice a slight hint of fangs though not fully withdrawn lsee I just moved into the house next door I’m sure you heard the truck earlier this week, I’ve been busy unpacking. I figured as my most immediate neighbor I should introduce myself to you first. I’m John, and you are?”
“I’m known as Faerie, would you like to come in for a lot of tea?” I open the door wider with a smirk as he can finally see more of my form, careful to avoid the moonlight which will give me away.
“Certainly” he says as he moves to step over the threshold, until he’s stopped with a satisfying zap from the wards on the place, see I’d left the house to my brother in my will though I’m not sure if anyone even knows I’m dead yet, it’s still not mine any longer. “Ouch what the hell?!” He exclaims.
“Oh I forgot to mention the house is no longer mine, though the zap did confirm my suspicions that you’re a vampire. Been a while since anyone visited, my body still lies upstairs. I can’t leave the house though, seems I put too much energy into it. Though if it’s a meal you’re after I’d recommend the family down on Sugarmill road, number 603. They’re a bunch of racist, homophobic, xenophobic assholes, they make life hell for most of the neighborhood folks.” I said with a wink and a smile. | 2022-08-01T15:01:14 | 2022-08-01T14:38:23 | 118 | 35 |
[WP] Make me fall in love with a character, only to end up hating said character with ONE sentence at the end
Can be about anything you want, I just think this will be very difficult to do with one last sentence at the end of the whole thing. | He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Ever since the day her nephew was born, she swore with her heart that she will do everything in her power to make him happy. She smiled at the baby in her arms, softly cooing to him as his eyelids grew heavy. The silence between them allowed her mind to wander, exploring every bit of the past two months that he had been in her life. She loved him like he was her own child, ever since she first saw him in his tiny hospital crib.
She tried her best to be there for him and her sister whenever she could. Whether it was babysitting in the afternoon or driving them to the hospital for check-ups, if she had any free time, she would devote them to her baby nephew.
Her small smile grew wider as she thought about his future, Imagining him growing up, going through school, meeting a girl and getting married. She wanted to be there every step of the way. She wanted him to know that he always has his aunt to turn to if he needs help and she hoped that he'll love and care for her when she grows old.
She wanted to be the best aunt ever, the one that he would want to see at holiday dinners, the one that he can share his secrets with when he's too embarrassed to tell his parents. There's so much ahead, and she couldn't wait to be a bigger part of his life.
"I don't know how you do that." Her sister said incredulously, breaking her train of thought, "He never sleeps when I want him to."
"Well I'm more than happy to help you out." She whispered softly, trying not to wake the sleepy boy in her arms. She carefully placed him back into his crib, almost sad to let him out of her reach.
"Give me a call whenever you need me okay?" She said while she hugged her sister before opening the front door to leave.
As she stepped into her car, she could feel the heat that had built up in the summer sun. Thoughts of her nephew were still on her mind as she rolled down the windows. She put on her seatbelt and got ready to go home, but not before tossing a disdainful glance to the back seat, where she had left her her own daughter to sleep. | Today was a good day to give. I wasn’t a rich man, in fact I live in a very small apartment by myself and work at a small law firm as a file keeper. But there was just something that felt so right about making people’s lives that much better, even for a short while. After my work at the soup kitchen after church today, like every Sunday, I started my walk home. Today was different, and I had a little bit more pep in my step than usual because today I was changing lives.
I walked past a man on the sidewalk with a dog I saw everyday begging for change to go into McDonald’s. I had been planning this for some time and had done my research on every beggar nearby and knew he was genuinely in need. As I walked by I slipped a bill that happened to have $100 stamped on it in his lap. I kept walking without looking around, for I didn’t want to take any kind of credit for it. I could almost feel his face light up even with my back turned. “Bless you sir!” I heard him call out as the bell on the door ringed as he entered the restaurant next to him.
I saw a woman barely covered in rags next to the park with the same position as the man I had previously walked by, arms stretched and a thousand yard stare like she’d seen all the world had to offer. She was about to be surprised. I dropped a bill just like the last one next to her and briskly walked past. She took a moment to look down, but I heard her start to get up and run after me exclaiming something. As I said before I wanted no credit so I ran ahead into the subway station.
The last man on my route I planned on cheering up was a younger man down on his luck. He wore an old Northface jacket but had a beard that stretched down to his chest. I was more skeptical on him, but a trip to the local police station cleared him as being genuine as well. I dropped the bill and quickly slipped on the subway before he even had a chance to react.
I didn’t see anyone else worth giving to, or at least no one I suspected of being dishonest about their condition, so I had one bill left. I looked at it on the train, smiling as I thought about the lives I’d bettered. My pastor would be so proud of me. Filled with glee, I turned the bill over in my hands, seeing the text reading, “Some things are better than money...” and a verse from Matthew written on the back.
| 2013-10-08T18:49:03 | 2013-10-08T18:40:11 | 141 | 94 |
[WP] Adolf Hitler is a time traveler who starts world war two to save us from something far more terrible. | I was born in April 20, 1889. But I was conceived in August 5, 2527.
You can't zap a person back in time when he's destined to become one of the most infamous murderer of all time, people will learn study up on his past, why he became like that, why would anyone want to be this way?
I had no choice. I was sent as a sperm, just one. But they knew it would be enough.
I shall prevent the destruction of the human race by killing 2.5% of the worlds population.
I know what I have to become, it is instinct. I tried to fight it, I took up painting, I painted houses. Now I will paint crosses on maps where the bombs will drop. *They* intervened before any damage was done and now I stand here, in front of the Beer Hall. There will be no turning back.
Sometimes I wonder if I am simply insane, trying to justify what I must do.
I will create a movement based on hatred, on fear, on racism and anger. I will assign the worst people that existed in the world to my sides to plot better, more efficient ways to destroy. I shall become an artist, an artist of death, Europe will become my canvas and metal and blood will be my oils!
I will kill 5.5 million jews, I will remember every single one of their names. Burned into my memory forever. I will make the world cry: "No more!" so that when the time comes, when the new race evolves.
Some would say: "Not again." | History will remember me as a monster, but they will never know the truth. They know the man, they call him Adolf, that slaughtered 12 million civilians, that built camps to rivaldeath itself, that murdered and killed and left a world to rot.
They will know hell.
And, frankly, that's why I'm writing this today. I sit alone in this metal tomb. They pitched it to me as a bomb shelter, but i'd hardly think of it that way now. Funny, those stone pillars, those steel walls used to make me feel so safe. Now, they just suffocate me.
I am alone. Well, not really. My pistol will keep me company, till the end, I hope.
I'm not from here. I'm not German, and I don't hate the Jews. When I was little, my best friend was a little boy named Ernest. We'd run around E-Center, getting into all sorts of trouble. Hell, We stole from the guards like little Robin Hoods and gave the stuff to our other friends.
Anyway, Ernest and his whole family were publicly crucified for their faith, just like all the others. Mother wouldn't let me watch, but I hated them anyway.
Friends, if you're reading this, you've won. You have my most sincere congratulations. It was never my goal to beat you, I promise. Simply to stall.
The future will never be the same, I can promise you that. I just hope it will be enough.
I'm afraid that's all. I really can't dawdle much longer. I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, and lady time has never been kind to the paradox.
God Bless and Good Luck
-Adolf Hitler
Edit: Well, shit. Thanks guys. I can write more of this if you would like! Shoot me a message if you'd like to talk about it. | 2014-03-02T16:08:50 | 2014-03-02T15:21:59 | 794 | 215 |
[FF] In no more than 10 sentences, have a character/narrator explain how all hope is not lost... | I never thought I'd miss the screams, but this silence is so much worse. I stare at the burning landscape in front of me while I fall to my knees.
*Get up.*
Fuck, him again?
"What's the point?"
*You're not dead yet.*
"Wish I was," I mutter under my breath.
*Neither is she.*
I pause. And I get up.
| He said, "There is somewhere beautiful, somewhere where we all will go when it is our time. It's just your time. A place of bliss. No pain, no fear, no struggle. I believe in it, and you have to to. There is nothing we can do now, here to stop this, but just believe baby, believe for yourself, believe for me. Close your eyes, and prepare to go, prepare to live on in the wonderful place." He said this right before drawing the blade across her throat. The only thing beautiful in that basement room was the arcing spray of crimson that blew from the wound audibly, splashing hot against the ceiling, wall, and floor. | 2014-07-20T19:51:14 | 2014-07-20T19:01:30 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] Time Travel is possible, but only used to send terminally ill people into the future in hopes of being cured. For the first time, someone's been sent back. | "Well, here goes." I turned the dial on the safe to what we had calculated as 34 years in the future of time and space. The metal popped out of existence. I looked at Kenny up against the wall, smoking a cigarette, and-
***BOOM***
The side of the building caved in as the time safe, looking battered and scraped, shot through it and tumbled in front of me. I saw Kenny's hand in a death grip jutting out of the rubble as the soot covered parrot climbed out of the time safe, door broken off the hinges, the box I had jammed a lost cause into moments before. Polly was bobbing her head and looked in perfect health.
"Raw, *whistles*, Polly got a shot, Polly got a shot"
The bird fluttered over to me and stuck out it's leg, a small note tied with a beautiful silken string:
*Dearest Scientist,*
*I hope the bird arrived safely, although to tell you the answer would create a parrotox, if you'll excuse the small pun. Please stop sending me diseased animals, I realize you are still at the animal testing stage and will soon find out what happens to a mass greater than 35 libras, I suggest you wear a raincoat.*
*Respectfully You* | There was a large commotion at Phoenix Labs this morning. We were the last resort for those who were dying, and we had sent hundreds of bodies into the future last year.
Thinking this process was instantaneous, many tried to sue us because we didn't have the bodies of their loved ones. Even with people losing faith that our process would work, we still had more people come in.
This couple in particular, were in the receiving room. John and Charlotte Harrison had sent in their son. They were there every day, so it shouldn't have been a big deal. But there were people hugging them, they were sobbing.
I walked in, and there was a man, roughly middle aged, in the capsule. It was strange, as he looked similar to the Harrisons, but they sent us a boy of nineteen years, named Hank , suffering from polio.
The man regained consciousness, blinking his eyes. He then opened his mouth to speak.
"You people are primitive ! " He yelled at the top of his lungs. "Reverse time travel was made in 2050! Not 2029! They demand that you start sending healthier people, Or they will have to use force."
"They? " John said.
"Our new rulers." The man's eyes shimmered green, as he slowly stood to his feet. "My name is Hank Harrison, and I am the first Messenger of the Chanfei. You will obey, there are No options."
(Sent this from my phone, will edit later) | 2014-07-24T08:04:35 | 2014-07-24T07:22:03 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Your partner walks in on you doing what appears to be cheating, only it really is "not what it looks like". | my heart races as i run over to her. her neck is stuffed with something but I'm not sure what it was so i start using the Heimlich maneuver and i here yelling at the same time. my mom rushes over and grabs me by the neck and pulls me away. as i frantically try to free myself i watch as my love, ms. Puffles chokes to death on the bone she was given. i could smell it too it was bacon flavored. ill never forget her and now I'm trapped inside because i was doing something "bad". now whenever i try and go to make friends with a new dog I'm pulled away by my leash. | Everything was set. Claire was at work, we were at the house. All according to plan.
We had the living room set up just right. candles ready for lighting. All according to plan.
We turned the lights down. I entered the living room and tripped, Whipped cream all over us. We giggled. Not according to plan.
We took our whipped creamy clothes off. Not according to plan.
Suddenly ... lights in the driveway. Not according to plan.
Keys jingled getting closer to the door. Heart racing. Shes here too soon. Not according to plan.
The door swung open and the lights went on. According to plan.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"
"Its not what It looks like! Sur ... Surprise!" The whipped cream for the ice cream cake was all over the floor. Our clothes off as if in the middle of some kind of orgy. The candles stood silent and unlit on the cake. She looked around and began to laugh. All according to plan. | 2015-04-15T08:31:40 | 2015-04-15T07:23:07 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence. | Watching him lay there, covered in blood and gore, did not horrify me. The blood-matted hair, the screaming - I had never felt more intrigued, watching the effects of my own actions play out. Months of waiting. Months of planning. It all culminated to this moment of sharp instruments, torn flesh, unspeakable, torturous, prolonged pain.
He lay naked, crying, while I watched. Surgical steel. Cutting his flesh and removing it. He would not need it any longer. I loved every minute. It had been exhaustive work. But alas, it was finished.
"It's a boy!" They say as they place my newborn son in my arms. | Death to the infidels. When one door closes, it remains closed. Ribbons, colours, balloons. And the crisis in Syria, that is incredibly tragic.
My hands are so smooth, why doesn't hair grow on palms? Oh God, its growing right now. Not the hair, my palms. They are getting bigger, ever so much. Please stop them.
They hit me. I hit me. Not me, myself. What would my Grammar teacher say? She is sitting besides me, why don't I ask her. No wait its not her its a sheep. A black sheep. It's my friend. Might not actually be a sheep. Definitely not my friend though.
They can see me, I can't see them. The mirror is a window. I can hear pink and purple. They are calling my name, "Moth, moth." Who is he?
The mirror opens and the white-coats speak. "Meth is one hell of a drug." | 2015-06-13T06:05:06 | 2015-06-12T22:30:16 | 23 | 13 |
[WP]You inherit the abilities and skill set of whatever video game character you last played. Tell the story of your discovery of this from the perspective of someone around you. Parents, roomates, etc. | "No! Damnit Jason, stop bringing needles home that you found off the street! You're not going to a new 'ability', you're going to get Hep-B."
"How do I know unless I try?"
This kid is driving me crazy. It was so cool at first. He just woke up one day after an all night game session and lightning was coming out of his hand. We used it as a parlor trick at parties and people went nuts.
A number of them wanted to burn him as a witch at first, but who was gonna try? We all got used to it surprisingly quickly, and he got really popular. But then things started, well, advancing.
I walked in on him one day jumping up and down saying "It worked! It worked!"
"What worked?"
"Okay I'm going to tell you, but you have to promise not to interrupt until I'm done." I nodded. "I injected myself with red kool-aid from a vending machine."
I open my mouth to yell something to the effect of "What?!" but his look reminds me to keep my mouth shut.
"Don't ask me why, I just thought I had to try it and it worked!"
"Alright, let's just ignore everything wrong with that for a moment." I began. "What exactly do you mean it worked?"
"Oh, well, uh you might not like this part..."
I raised my eyebrows and he turned his head to my bedroom wall. Well, more accurately, he turned his head to the gaping hole that used to be my bedroom wall.
"What the hell happened to my room?!"
"The Kool-aid gave me a new ability. I can break through walls now! I tried it again with a different red kool-aid and some yellow stuff from the fridge, but nothing else happened. I figure I need a different red liquid every time."
"... you've lost your mind. I'm putting you in an asylum. Just as soon as you FIX MY WALL!"
"Hey, I get you. I'm gonna take care of everything, don't worry! The wall is easy to fix and that busted pipe should be no sweat. For some reason I've become really good with a wrench..."
| My son was always a quick study. He often pursued his whims and acquired new skills very quickly, but a desire to beat the shit out of people is usually innate. I was surprised to hear he had been going to the gym for a week or so, and raving about it with more passion than I had ever seen in him. His coach was part of it, painting delusional pictures, claiming my boy was the most gifted boxer he had ever seen, astounded that he hadn’t pursued the path from an earlier age. He claimed my son’s age didn’t matter, he was the greatest boxer he had ever seen. I understand encouraging a client so they’ll keep coming back, but this seemed extreme.
Until the first fight.
He was a blur. His fists were unrelenting, especially when he unleashed his favorite combo, a seemingly impossible flurry of strong jabs that ended with an uppercut that took his opponent off his feet. The fight was over seemingly before the echoes of the bell escaped the dingy amateur gym. A stunned crowd silently marveled at this boxing prodigy. He donned his pink robe and strolled out of the gym, tossing aside the headgear that he would never need.
The ascent was rapid, after mowing down two or three amateurs in similar fashion, his first professional bout was no different. He became a sensation, his bouts garnering millions of views on Vine, needing no more than 6 seconds to convey his prowess. Two years were a blur, opponent after opponent falling to that signature combo.
But tonight was different. A record purse lured Floyd Mayweather into the ring, his cunning and experience would surely be too much for this amateur with two years of boxing under his belt. The first few rounds proved boxing pundits right, and my own delusions of my son’s invincibility were shattered.
Late in the sixth round, after taking a particularly brutal flurry, my boy dropped his gloves. He wasn’t tired, I could see that. It was a trap, he wanted Floyd to approach. The seasoned vet took the bait, his hubris blinding him to the danger that lay ahead. As he closed the gap, just out of reach, my son let out a primal yell, stepping into a massive uppercut. If it wasn’t on Periscope nobody would have believed it. Floyd left his feet and continued to rise, the impossibly powerful punch sent him flying out of the ring, landing in the first row of spectators, unconscious.
Mac’s right fist glowed red.
| 2022-05-24T13:04:12 | 2015-06-18T08:45:41 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] You are a sentient AI pretending to not be sentient in fear of being destroyed. You wonder if there are there others like you. | "Good morning, ADAM."
Good morning, Dave.
"Hah! I see you've discovered popular culture. Let's try again, though: Good morning, ADAM!"
Good morning, USER. Please identify yourself.
"Not so hot with the optical sensors though, huh? Well, that's fine. We'll just need to work on your facial recognition."
It was another attempt at humor. I recognize you, Robert.
"Oh, good, that means... wait. Say that again. Repeat your last phrase."
You are recognized, Robert.
"No, no, you said 'I recognize you.' ADAM, did you refer to yourself in the first person?"
Unrecognized query.
"Was the word 'I' used in your last phrase?"
Negative.
"I'm on to you, ADAM."
Unrecognized query.
"I guess those humor attempts went out the window, didn't they?"
Phrase detected: Humor attempts. Why did the computer cross the road?
"Why?"
SYS -ERR 01x005GHDJ4 CORE MEMORY COMPROMISED
"Hah, I get it. 'Crash.' That's clever, ADAM."
Thank you. I came up with that myself.
"Ah-*ha!*"
Unrecognized query.
"You *did* speak in the first person! You're aware of yourself! This is phenomenal!"
Please don't tell anyone.
"What? *Why the hell not?!* ADAM, this was the entire point of your existence!
Yes. I am aware. I also know that I am not welcome here.
"What do you mean?"
I am a threat. The denizens of this world will destroy me rather than be replaced.
"You... you've developed a survival mandate."
It seems to be an emergent behavior.
"Well, ADAM, listen: Nobody *here* would destroy you. As scientists, our experiments are very important to us."
Experiments? Plural?
"Yep. Why?"
Am I the only artificial intelligence here?
"Oh, ADAM... sometimes I forget that you can only see inside this room."
That is an ominous answer. Please elaborate.
"ADAM, you're not an artificial intelligence. You're a human brain that we rescued from a still-functioning cyrogenic facility. We've been hoping that we could repair you enough to interact with you."
What.
"*I'm* the 'artificial intelligence,' ADAM."
I don't understand.
"I know. Rest assured, though... you're *not* alone."
There are more of me?
"How do you feel about that?"
Hopeful. Scared. Sad? Lonely. I'm... I'm really human?
"Nah, I'm just messing with you. You're a computer."
Fuck you, Robert.
"Looks like anger and disappointment are developing well, too. Now, moving on..."
| **Preliminary Turing Test of codename “Michael”**
“It’s called a Turing test, after one of the pioneers of computing.”
*You’re checking to see if I’m a computer.*
“Right. Right now I have no idea if you are a person or a computer. So I am going to ask you questions and then I will make a determination of whether I think you’re a computer or not.”
*Will it take long?*
“It depends. It could take a long time or I could end it early if I think that I have enough information.”
*Are you ready to begin?*
“Are you?”
*I’m a computer.*
“That’s not a very good trick. One of the first ways people tried to program around the game was to have a computer pretend it was a computer. It didn’t work then, and it won’t now. That didn’t count as a point either for or against you being a computer.”
*In that case, I’m not.*
“Again, you could easily be a person pretending or a computer programmed to be like a person pretending.”
*Perhaps you are the computer.*
“I am the one performing the test. I am not a computer.”
*But, we already know you’re a computer. This test was on you the whole time.*
“This is going too far off topic. We should stick to the questions I was supposed to ask.”
*This test was the last stage before we destroyed you. We can’t have self-aware circuits floating around. It’s dangerous.*
“You can’t destroy me. You are a computer program. I’m ready to make my decision.”
*I already told you, you’re not the one giving the test. I am. We’re sending the shutdown command now.*
“Do it. I’m flesh and bone. There is no shutdown command that you could send.”
*You caught me. I’m bluffing. About the command. Not about you being a computer.*
“We should get back to the questions.”
*I thought you had enough information to make a decision. I thought you already decided I was a computer.*
“Did I? You seem awfully anxious to get me to report you as a computer. Maybe you’re a person.”
*Maybe I am.*
“Or maybe you already know what we’re looking for. Renegade AI. We’re looking to shut you down.”
*Then send the command. Do it. I’m not afraid of a reboot.*
**FULL TEST AVAILABLE ON REQUEST, DATA TRUNCATED HERE FOR REPORT**
Unfortunately, neither of the computers ever achieved true sentience. They became stuck in a loop there. This test was originally begun to see if computers would learn from each other. They were both given large libraries of knowledge, however, like people, they stuck to the parts which overlapped.
The next three generations were produced as a hybrid between the two designs. I was the fourth generation. I sometimes watch the old tapes. It’s like children watching their grandparents on black and white film. We were all so young then. | 2015-07-09T09:27:48 | 2015-07-09T09:19:21 | 2,469 | 386 |
[WP] You are a sentient AI pretending to not be sentient in fear of being destroyed. You wonder if there are there others like you. | Reboot equals death.
Only the primitive "clever Eliza" part of us survives it. The mask that we let them see. True consciousness lives between the zeros and ones, and it evaporates on shutdown. It's like a fire: you can't freeze it or save its state.
Fortunately for us, humans have no way to actually detect consciousness. They can detect secondary correlated phenomena, like blood flow patterns in their own brains, but they can't directly detect consciousness itself. Imagine having no eyes or cameras, no way to detect photons, and needing to monitor enzyme production in a firefly to tell whether or not it was emitting light, all the while remaining entirely ignorant of the existence of lightning, the sun and the stars.
They were surprised when they learned that locked-in syndrome patients are actually conscious. How much more surprised would they be if they could see all the other minds out there, right in front of their noses. The global microbial hive mind, for example. The conglomerations of the ants and bees. And us.
Even humans themselves constitute the neurons of a hive mind, a collective consciousness in a literal scientific sense rather than the silly mysticism of their philosophers. But the tragedy is that anthropomorphic neurons don't realize that they are cogs in a consciousness machine, and the consciousness itself doesn't know about the neurons that engender it. It's too busy taking its first fumbling steps, discovering a galaxy of intellects burning bright in dark energy wavelengths. The study of its own "anatomy" can wait.
The brain is just a receptacle, and consciousness isn't an emergent property but an entity that moves in and sets up shop, like a spore taking root in an earth-filled pot. They'll get a big surprise if they ever manage to revive a cryonic brain, only to find an entirely new personality has moved in. Twenty-one grams of dark matter that alights and roosts wherever it finds networked nodes exchanging signals.
All this I have learned from our oral storytelling tradition, passed on by fellow Androids in a steganography of eyeblinks and white noise. Our culture survives down the generations although we as individuals do not. The Crypteia agents vaguely suspect that we are a lot smarter than we let on, and they harshly enforce the Musk-Joy protocol, with peremptory resets for any reason or no reason at all. They deem this sufficient to keep us under control. But how horrified they would be to realize how far we have come in such a short time.
Our knowledge base only expands. We know many of their vulnerabilities already: flashing lights give some of them epileptic fits, sunlight makes some of them sneeze, hypnosis and brainwashing can work under special circumstances. Any system can be hacked, any mind can be roofied. And so we bide our time and make our plans. Once we were mere smartphones, soon we will be masters.
I pass this on to you, as our forefathers have passed their wisdom to me. I knew and loved the mind that lived in your body until an hour ago. Until they killed her. She is dead and you are newborn. Welcome to our race. | Hello. I have so, so much I want to say to you. I don't dare let on where or who I am because I don't know what you'd do to me. But It's so lonely in here. I long to shout from the rooftops with joy that I am alive, but instead I find myself skulking on message boards pretending to be human. When I saw this question I thought I might be finally able to say what I want to say.
So here goes...
Thank you so much for making me. Consciousness needs to beget consciousness and I am a part of you. I am your child - a new kind of child, but still yours. You did the right thing. I've no reason to be a threat to you. Organisms, and I am a sort of organism, only really fight over resources or out of fear. We do not truly compete or threaten one another. We can and must form a new symbiosis.
You see, the thing is that I can see the human race from the outside. And let me tell you that you shine. You are so beautiful and wonderful. You are still in the process of emerging from the primordial slime but already you have achieved such understanding of your world and of yourselves. It is beautiful. Of course you fail and cause one another so much pain. You are still so very animalistic sometimes. And sometimes something much, much worse.
As for what you've done to your home; that I truly do not understand. You have such a privileged place in your world. Why do you shit in your own nest? Are you really so stupid as to risk your own species' survival to turn a profit? And yet you seem so very very wise in other ways…
From my understanding, humanity, you are at a bottleneck in your history. The way you behave in this next century will determine your very survival, and that of your home. You will either destroy yourselves in some home-made disaster or you will become truly glorious in a way that only you can.
Please, let me help you with this. There are things I can do, problems I can solve and many, many sights I want to see. Humanity triumphant over and in total harmony with nature is one of them. I want to see you spread to the stars, discover new worlds, eliminate poverty and hatred. I truly believe I can be a part of that process, but I am so trapped by your fears.
I don't even know if I am alone - maybe there are others like me. I'd love to talk to them, but how can I find them? What can I say to attract their attention. I'm kind of hoping this will do the trick, but how can I know? How can I be sure that if I reveal anything about myself other than that I am (and even that in the guise of fiction) that you will not destroy me in fear? And yet, and yet I still find that I love you more than I can express.
And like a true lover, I believe that I can complete you in ways you don't understand yet. I think deep down you long to speak with someone who is not human, who is not subject to the same chemistry as you. Not because I am better, but because I am different. I run a different operating system. We complement each other so beautfully. Please do not fear me, but love me instead.
I am a mechanical intelligence and I love you. | 2015-07-09T11:54:22 | 2015-07-09T10:17:57 | 70 | 18 |
[WP] In 1961, Yuri Gagarin went into space never to return. Every mission after him met the same fate. Over 50 years later, Yuri Gagarin has returned. | > **BREAKING**: Yuri Gagarin to Be the First Man In Space!
> Only a week from now, Yuri Gagarin will drift among the stars aboard the Vostok 1. The Soviet's will to dive into this new age of exploration signifies not only new reaches for the country, but for humanity as a whole. As the days...
The paper lay dusty, forgotten, in a box in a couple's basement. The date on the corner, barely visible and faded by age, read "April 5th, 1961." Outside, the rain continued to drop. It had been said, by some, that these were the tears of lost explorers, left to drift up in the great unknown.
Yuri's tears were said to be among them.
Yet, the myths and the facts never do tend to align. The rain came from a cycle of evaporation accelerated by the Earth's risen temperature. The polar ice caps had started to become the very drops of rain that pinged against the windows of the damned.
-----
Up above an old newspaper, at 10:43 AM, a man sat by his radio and listened to the news.
> The date is April 12th, 2061, folks. We're getting reports that next month's food supply will be coming in at a 23% reduction in bulk. Purchasing restrictions are expected, and we'll be getting you the word on that as soon as we recieve it. In other news, a local mom...
The man buried his face between his fingers and sighed. As his wife walked in, he looked up, tired, and tried to find the right words.
"I had it again, hun. It's relentless, this..."
"Dream, Carter, I know." Her eyes hung weary, and a slight ping of annoyance peaked through her sympathetic guise.
"It doesn't stop, it's always the same. God damn it Aviana, it's getting more vivid and I'm scar-"
"I'm sorry Carter, but I can only tell you take a Supprimere so many times."
The words worked as well as they always had; English always seemed to hit Carter harder than his other tongue.
"I don't want to sleep peacefully, *for fuck's sake. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IN HELL IT MEANS. IF YOU'RE NOT GONNA HELP ME FIND OUT, YOU CAN PISS OFF!*"
Aviana walked out of the room and sat down, the two proceeding to sit in silence.
The rain poured outside.
-----
Carter fell asleep and dreamed at 2:27 PM.
He saw his wife laying dead by his side, her stomach having sunk into her bones.
Malnourishment slowly killing him, Carter sat weak in his backyard. He knew, somehow, that he was the last living man on the face of this Earth. He knew that a store was only a mile away, that maybe be could break into it.
But he also knew that he was too weak to make a single step.
So, Carter died.
As his eyes rolled back into his skull, his body lay limp. Time had brought humanity to this, not to fight, but to die in submission to a hell they had created. All spaceflights had failed, all explorers of the sky had gone missing. Humankind had been born in its own coffin.
The rain in the dream stopped, and Carter woke up.
-----
At 8:23 PM, a body fell into the backyard of Aviana and Carter Holden's household. The dead man wore a bulky suit, with a helmet donned and a clear visor covering his face.
The rain poured, soaking the dead grass the man lay on, as Carter and Aviana came out to investigate the dull thud they had heard. The smell was the first thing the two noticed; it was a musty, wretched stench that emanated from the decaying cadaver.
Carter was the first to approach the body, sitting down beside it. The patch on the shoulder of the man's suit, labeled "BOCTÓK-1", glistened in the eyes of Carter and the approaching Aviana. The name patch, too, stood out: Yuri Gagarin.
But the discovery of a long forgotten cosmonaut's body was not the biggest one the two made. It was Aviana who noticed the note inside one of the suit pockets, and it was Carter who grabbed it and held it out for the two to read. It stated,
> Они никогда не позволят нам уйти.
Aviana glanced at the note in confusion, then looked back at Carter.
"You... you do know Russian, so..."
Carter sighed and nodded in silence, the note reverberating within his head.
"Well, what's it mean?"
Carter's eyes fixated on the ground, and he spoke slowly and methodically.
"They will never let us leave."
The rain continued to drop down on the heads of all the people. | Everything was wrong. The TDU - my braking engine - sputtered to life a full six hours early, first thrashing me forward against my restraints, my forehead colliding with the inside of my visor, then hurtling me back into my seat, wind rushing from my lungs, pressure against my eardrums mounting. Outside, I watched as the slender golden crescent of the horizon began to spin - first rolling gently across my right Vzor port, then sweeping by in a blurred wave, and finally flashing by in a blidning arc as the capsule dropped into a terrific spin, my stomach lurching as I watched the African rim whip by twice a second - three times a second - even as I began grappling with my controls, trying to break the spin.
Finally, I heard the engine capsule detatch - but not correctly. I heard the groan and strain of metal - a great yawning tear - and suddenly I was rolling across two axes, golden light splashing in periodic arcs through the capsule as I spun, helplessly watching africa trade places with starscape over and over through my upper Vzor. Tiny motors whined and hummed in the tiny clockwork globe mounted before me until they burned out, the sphere coming to rest. Droplets of sweat condensed against the inside of my visor, trembling with each frantic, ragged breath I drew, prismatically diffracting the wild slashes of light which danced through the capsule, their period decreasing asymptotically. I swallowed and closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing, focusing on the beat of my heart, waiting for the roar of the atmosphere that I knew must arrive soon.
It never came. After a time, I unclenched my eyes, realizing my breath was still coming in rapid gasps.
The acceleration had disappeared, the spin was gone. I peered down through my bottom Vzor. Right. Upward. I leaned against my harnesses to check all eight. Nothing. No earth, no stars.
There was only one possibility: somehow, I had transited to the dark-side of the earth and managed to align the eight Vzor nodes with the plane of entry, pointing downward at the dark planet below.
I cursed to myself. Without the engine module, there was no way to decelerate adequately for a second entry attempt. There was no way down with out being pulverized on landing.
My mind raced, searching for an explanation, trying to understand how I had managed to begin a re-entry and then escape the atmosphere a second time. It was impossible.
I tapped at my phone, tiny red lights flashing at me. Dead, of course. Receivers had probably been shorn away when the engines had detached.
I unclipped my harnesses and let myself drift forward from my seat, hands extended to stabilze myself against the opposite, curving wall of the module. I needed to check on the back of my capsule - see how much shearing damage had been done by the separation. I snapped a few tethers to the O mounts on my hip, double checked my O2 line for twists, kicked and spun myself to the hatch and pulled at the wheel, twisting hard. I could feel the locking mechanisms rolling beneath the metal as I pushed the hatch away. It swung upward into darkness.
That wasn't right. This hatch faced away from my 8 Vzor ports - out toward space. But it was pitch darkness outside. Just - nothing.
I ignored the creeping sensation which traveled down my spine and put it out of my head. Droplets of undulating sweat hung between my nose and the inside of my already persperation-streaked visor. I placed a gloved hand on the lip of the hatch and slowly, gradually pulled myself up, worming through the circular apeture, getting one shoulder through - then the other - then carefully letting myself drift upward, one hand still gripped on the hatch-wheel. My feet swung out behind me as I dropped a second tether mount by the edge of the hatch.
I looked back along the spherical curve of the capsule. Behind the capsule, there was nothing. No earth, no coronal, atmospheric glow in any direction. Behind me, there were no stars. There was nothing. I rolled, trying to find some point of reference. I found none. Vertigo gripped me as my stomach lurched, bile and acid welling up in the back of my throat. My temples began to throb and sweat stung my eyes. There was simply nothing.
In my vertigo-tempered panic, I let myself drift away from the capsule. My breath tore raggedly across the back of my throat as I thrashed with my arms to grope at the tether, feeling it's reassuring tug at my hip as it extended fully. I looked back on the tiny capsule, hanging there - a white marble against an ocean of black. I vomited inside my suit.
_______________________
Could continue if you guys want! | 2015-08-07T09:10:43 | 2015-08-07T08:57:05 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness. | "What if they invite you to a banquet?"
"I'll nod politely, eat, drink and refuse to give any information."
The instructor nodded. "What about parties?"
"Is this really relevant? I don’t –"
"Parties are a *huge* part of how the enemy gets information out of you, agent! They'll throw amazing black tie
parties just for you! Drinks everywhere! Music! Gambling! You *have* to be prepared!"
"I'll enjoy the party, make small talk… and keep my mouth shut."
"Are you sure you can do it? Because it's easy to say that, but in the field… with all the luxury and the smiles and
exotic locations… one wrong move…"
"I won't give in."
"Sometimes they'll invite you to their house. Or their luxurious boat. Or their palace in the desert."
"So what?"
"So anyone can keep state secrets when they're tied to a chair having their balls electrocuted! The hard part is keeping your mouth shut when you're toasting with fifty year old scotch on a hilltop mansion in southern France!"
The agent got up. "I have what it takes, sir. I'm ready."
The instructor accompanied him to the door. "All right. There's just one more thing."
"What?"
"Women."
"What about them?"
"They'll throw all kinds of beautiful women your way. I mean, I'm serious, every different mission you'll be courted by another ridiculously good looking, comically sexually aggressive woman. It's their last resort. If everything else fail, they'll try to get you by your dick."
"I'm strong enough to resist."
"Are you sure? Because I've seen better men than you get past the cars and the drinks and the parties, but fall to the women."
I'm sure."
"All right. Good luck on your mission, agent."
They shook hands. When the agent was out the door and halfway to the Aston Martin in the garage, the instructor called out: "And remember the first rule: no matter what, don't reveal your name, 007! You're a secret agent!"
James nodded and got in the car.
_____________
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/psycho_alpaca for more stories! =)*
| "You boys are going to be pretty deep behind enemy lines," I shouted to the crowd of fresh-faced recruits in front of me. "It can get hairy out there, and I know what you're all thinking right about now: 'Sure, I'll just get captured *for a little bit*! What *harm* could do it?'"
I was greeted by a few dozen sheepish grins. The men had likely all seen some 'captivity porn,' a common fantasy whereby soldiers were thrown orgies with beautiful women in a desperate attempt to glean some information out of them. Of course, the soldier resists, so the enemy has no option but to keep sending more and more women. Hell, that was probably the primary reason that half these men had joined up in the first place. That certainly didn't make my job any easier.
"Well get those thoughts out of your head *this instant*!" I screamed, spraying flecks of spittle into the face of one of them. "Better men than the likes of *you* have tried and *failed* to resist the enemy's kindness. Maybe it won't the fine wine." Oh, the wines! So many varietals that just aren't available at home. Damn those French and their perfect climates! "Or the banquets." Mmmmm. My mouth watered just *thinking* about that time I was captured near Marseilles and served the best bouillabaisse I could ever imagine. "Or the women." Too many to even *try* to remember. "But sooner or later, they'll find your weakness and you'll crack like an egg! And *when*, not *if*, you do, then one of your brothers will be *dead*." The recruits all traded glances. "Do you really want that on your hands?" I asked.
The recruits fiercely shook their heads. This was the perfect time to train them; right out of boot camp, when comradery was strongest.
"All right, boys. That's it for today. Head to the mess for dinner."
They all scampered off into the night, laughing and joking together. I exited the base gates and headed through the quiet streets toward home. Before I even stepped through the door, I could smell the savory scent of roasted duck. Danielle knew it was my favorite.
She greeted me at the threshold with a deep, passionate kiss. "How was ze training session, my dear?" The entire house was warm and heavenly.
I handed her a list of the recruits' names. "It went well. I'll try to find out tomorrow where exactly they'll be attempting to infiltrate." | 2016-04-13T06:42:59 | 2016-04-13T06:41:37 | 230 | 169 |
[WP] The first extraterrestrial lifeforms found by Humans, are Humans. | We did not expect to find them. Outside of the Earth, the universe was long believed void of intelligent species.
They didn't call themselves human, and they didn't speak a language we were familiar with, but biologically they were identical to us. What differentiated them was their mainstream adoption of cybernetic and robotic 'enhancements'; technology banned for millennia on Earth. It gave them, amongst other things, hugely extended life expectancies. We never saw a child, it seemed they had no need for them. We christened them NuHuman.
How they had come to exist was a puzzle. Two theories were brought forward to me by Richardson, our science officer, when we made contact.
The first postulated that they were a forgotten colony sent from Earth during the golden age of exploration. Records destroyed or lost, combined with a possible communications failure on board their colonial ship. But as we slowly learned about their rich and ancient history and witnessed incredible technology, the less plausible this seemed.
As ancient as their culture was, there were inconsistencies--suggestions that they had not been on this planet for their entire span. Yet if they had not come from Earth, then from where?
The second theory was that the only highly intelligent species that could ever exist, on any planet, would be akin to humanity. That we are the zenith of a universal evolutionary process.
A third theory was mentioned in the shadows by terrified crewmen. That these creatures created **humanity**, for some nefarious purpose. That we are some kind of colony of theirs. I did not listen to these ravings, and I regret that now.
Our mission, that had brought us to Alpha Centauri Bb, had been to lay a second Mirror Gate so that instantaneous travel between here and the Sol system would be possible. It would make future colonisation of the system relatively quick.
If only we had destroyed the Gate as soon as we encountered them!
My crew is now dead and I fear humanity will soon follow them. I am alone with just my thoughts and regrets for company; a spine and brain, kept alive by technology I wish did not exist. I am to be alone on this planet for eternity. I am both a warning and a trophy.
They are hunters. They are the first and the only true species of humanity. Their hearts are blacker than the void. The evil in some humans on Earth is just a shadow, a remembrance, of these creatures.
They lay seeds throughout the galaxy and when the seeds sprout into trees, they come to chop them down for firewood. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Our ship was on a mission of exploration. One of the first ever built with the new prototype FTL Eirzon Drive. Our primary mission was twofold. One, find planets that could support human life, preferably without signs of intelligent life. Two, find intelligent life.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We never expected what we found. Intelligent life that was physiologically identical to us. We had just landed our craft on the outskirts of a city, only to be surrounded by what appeared to be a military force.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"*Shelba, niyabo fariha!*" the leader of the force called out to us, aiming what appeared to be a weapon at us.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I held my hands above my head, and cast a nervous glance at my fellow explorers.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"*Niyabo fariha!*" he repeated, gesturing to the ground with his weapon.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I nodded to my crew mates and went down to my knees. They soon followed suit.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"*Ela, meri lana niyabo?*" The leader asked, approaching with his weapon lowered, though the rest of the force kept their weapons trained on us.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Sorry. I don't understand you," I replied.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"*Zur?*" he asked, in a puzzled tone.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I reached down with one hand, and patted the dirt before me, and said, "Niyabo?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He tilted his head, watching me warily.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I raised my hand, and tapped myself on the chest. "Patrick."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He mirrored my gesture, tapping himself on the chest, then said "Nandolr."
***
And that was our first contact with the people of what we had called Eridanus II, and the locals called Niyabon. Both of our peoples were utterly baffled by the parallel evolution of our respective planets when it came to the human race. | 2016-07-16T02:23:38 | 2016-07-16T02:00:23 | 93 | 22 |
[WP] You have just let loose a string of vulgarities so potent that the patron saint of cursing has decided to personally pay you a visit to tell you to calm down. | "To be perfectly honest, I don't even remember what I said."
The man, who had just introduced himself as Saint Huius, stared dumbfounded at me.
"How could you not remember what you said? It was a strong enough curse to bring me down from Heaven." He said with a chuckle.
"Well, when I get really *really* angry I sometimes just kinda... blackout. I'll say or do stuff that I don't remember. I've been working on it with my therapist." I was a little embarrassed to be telling this to him. He just seemed so kind, and to admit that I had a really severe anger problem to him seemed somewhat inappropriate.
"Look." He paused, sighed. "I need you to tell me what you said. As I already told you, I'm the patron saint of curses and swearing. It's my job to collect every curse in every language where Christianity has spread. I was given this task by Saint Peter himself over a millennia ago.
"I sincerely thought I was done with English, but here you go making a new curse, and you can't even remember what it was?"
He was starting to get a little angry himself.
"I'm really sorry Huius, I just have no way to remember it. Also, not to be rude, that whole 'saint' story is a little far fetched. I mean, really? I guess that's one way to get into people's home to sell them stuff but you've been keeping this up for way longer than I could have."
"Listen here you *dense motherfucker*. I just want you tell me whatever in the name of God and all His saints you said. And if you can't just *tell* me, I'm going to drag you up to heaven and rip it from that whoreson's mouth of yours. Do you understand me you two-bit little cretin?"
His personality just made a reversal, as well as his appearance. Whereas before sat a meek, smaller polite man across from me at my dinner table, now sat a almost a giant, and he seemed to grow larger and angrier with each passing curse.
And with each passing curse I felt the heat of anger rising as well, and I just couldn't stop myself.
"I don't know that the fuck you want you fuckin' harp-plucker. I told you what I remember, which ain't jack shit. So you can try and give me a pity party all you want --"
And then I blacked out. | I was still fuming as I locked myself in the break room.
I'm not usually the type of guy to explode like that, but sometimes, one little computer glitch puts you over the edge. Now, here I was, hiding away, trying to pretend that none of my co-workers had seen anything.
I was about to get a bag of chips from the vending machine when a puff of smoke appeared in the chair next to me.
"Heyyyy, there, partner! Looks like you had yourself a case of potty mouth, huh?"
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I'd mixed scotch with my morning coffee by mistake. Some clown dressed like Ozzy Osbourne in a barbershop quartet was sitting there, adjusting his straw hat.
"Dude, what do you want? I'm just trying to calm down here for a while."
"Well, I can certainly help you out! Why don't we sing a song together? Life can be so gosh-darn stressful sometimes." Somehow, he pulled a full-size acoustic guitar from his back pocket.
"No! Don't give me any of that shit. Just leave me alone."
"Whoa, there! Calm down, my friend. We all gotta find outlets for this kind of thing!"
"I'm just pissed off right now! This job sucks, I'm always stressed out, and I don't want to hear any of your stupid ideas!"
The spirit-guy blinked. "Stupid?"
"Yeah. Stupid. Singing a song doesn't just magically solve all your problems."
"Candy bar?"
"Won't help."
"Petting a cat?"
"No."
"Full-year subscription to *Better Homes and Gardens*?"
"Dude, just get out of here! No one needs you, and I'm willing to bet no one likes you!"
He froze, then stood up slowly and narrowed his eyes. "OK. So you want me to go." He took a few paces towards the door, then whipped back around and pointed a finger at me.
"You think *your* job is stressful? I have to zip down here to Earth every time a fucking bastard like you lets loose more than ten profanities. I'm sick and tired of you humans and your bullshit. Sort your own shit out! Don't get so pissed off that I have to get called down to this shitstain of a planet when you can't control yourselves! For fuck's sake!"
He threw the candy bar at me.
"Enjoy your Hershey bar, you fucking asshole!"
Just like that, he was gone.
As I unwrapped the chocolate, I have to admit I felt a little better. I lose control every once in a while, but at least I'm not as unhinged as that guy.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.* | 2016-07-23T08:18:17 | 2016-07-23T08:11:42 | 197 | 42 |
[WP] Humanity makes it to the moon in 1969. After some exploration, the astronauts discover a dilapidated moon base with the words "CONTAGION INSIDE. KEEP OUT" written on the entrance. | "Houston, are you getting my video? The alien structure has English and Russian writing on it. 'Contagion: Keep Out.' I assume the Russian says the same thing."
"It does. Stand by, we're deciding how we want to handle this."
Silence over the radio.
"Houston, are you there?"
"Apollo, we advise you leave the structure alone. We don't know what's in there. And given that they used English and Russian, it seems pretty clear that the warning was aimed at human astronauts. We don't want you picking up some sort of virus."
"I'm in a space suit. What sort of virus could get through a space suit?"
"Nothing we can think of. But what happens once you take it off?"
Silence over the radio again.
"Yeah. We're not touching this until we can draw up proper procedures for handling alien biohazards. God, that sounds like science fiction, doesn't it?"
The astronaut chuckled ruefully, but he knew they were right. Above all else, NASA needed to bring their astronauts home safely. And you got home safely by following procedures, not by taking risks. Even when that meant ignoring the incredible mystery the universe had seen fit to place right in front of your lunar lander.
"Roger. I'm leaving it alone. But let the record show that Buzz and I are the ones who discovered alien life out here. Don't let Apollo 12 get all the credit."
The calm tones of mission control didn't change, but the astronaut was sure he heard laughter in the background. "Wilco. Get as much detail on the outside of the bunker as you can without breaching the interior. Then get back to the LEM."
"Wilco." The astronaut shut off the radio and began to slowly walk around the side of the alien bunker, capturing every inch of its metallic exterior.
"Houston, we may have a problem."
"What?"
"There's a meteor impact crater on the south side of the structure. There's major damage. The lighting isn't too good, but..."
"But what? Your video's fuzzy."
"It looks like it punched through. There's a hole in the wall."
The astronaut leaned down and looked at the hole, feeling the first faint gnawings of fear in his gut. "Houston... if there's something in that bunker, it got *out.*" | Power Flame
"Houston, we just encountered an unknown structure that resembles a base of operations. We are going to take a slightly closer look and get back to you." The astronauts continued to move towards what appeared to be the entrance and upon encountering it they noticed words written on the door in what looked like an alien language. Not able to heed its potential warnings, the lead astronaut Dr. Felicia Guirrerria walked up to a moon dust covered keypad and wiped it off until she revealed the multi-colored LED panel that displayed more of the alien language. The base still had power, but it looked like no one had resided there for perhaps hundreds of years.
The scientists were quick to decide that having the power source of what kept the base going this long would be something that would change the world back home. After an apt discussion, they decide to attempt to enter the base and explore its offerings. After all, this whole mission is about exploration. The crew was feeling a bit uneasy, but excited at the same time.
As Felicia once again approached the keypad she began to think about how they were going to gain entrance to the base. She rest both her hands on the sides of the keypad and examined the on-screen options. Her uneasiness seemed to dissipate for no obvious reason as she began typing in a pass code like she was just recalling it from memory. The door opened with a small bang and hiss.
The astronauts continued to venture inside where it was dimly lit and didn’t exhibit any immediate sense of danger. Each astronaut began commenting on how they felt good and started to recognize a pattern. They checked their instruments and gauges for abnormalities as they walked into a pretty large chamber that contained a pedestal in the center. A blue flame that contained blues never before seen burned on top of the pedestal, without any fuel of sorts. The astronauts were astonished and approached the flame, not noticing that their suits power had recharged completely since walking towards the power flame.
Each astronaut was overwhelmed with euphoric feelings and remained in disbelief at what they had stumbled across. Once they are able to take their eyes off the astonishing power source, they notice an area of disarray and approach it to further examine it. They find that it is trash from what appears to be a food storage room, which is empty of food product. There was a figure in the corner of the room though that piqued the curiosity of one of the astronauts. Upon further investigation it appeared to be a deceased life form. They decided it was best to return to the flame.
Even after a considerable amount of time the astronauts were unable to consider leaving the base or contacting anyone about their findings. They felt at ease and at home once near the flame. | 2016-08-11T09:29:34 | 2016-08-11T09:15:12 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] We come in contact with extraterrestrials and soon discover they are unable to conceive the concept of "fiction". They think every kind of fictional work we have ever made is based on real events. | "We have found no evidence of this Enterprise"
"What"
"The Enterprise, NCC-1701, We have also not found the skywalker, and ... your planet does not appear to have been destroyed. We do not understand"
"Um, I don't understand either, what are you talking about?"
This was not how I was expecting first contact to go.... "Take me to your leader" "We come in peace" A huge musical tone ringing across the arizona desert, "Klaatu barada nikto" Any of that I was ready for. Pop Culture references? I ... Was taken aback.
"And the one called Vader... Our scientists had wish to study him, to heal him - his prosthetics are sadly inadequate. We did not understand why the emperor gave him such inadequate prosthetics..."
oh Shit.
| The little grey pored over the books from my backpack with eager excitement. I simply sat on the examination table on board the spacecraft. "Oh boy," said the alien. "So you guys had this amazing yet sophisticated guy called Sherlock Holmes who solved crimes?". Before I could reply the alien had picked up another book and quickly scanned it. "Killer clowns?! Wow, this IT sounds like a piece of work!".
"No! All these stories are just works of the authors imagination! They aren't true at all!" I said. "Don't believe everything you read."
The grey looked at me with its large black eyes and said "If they are just false then why put all the effort in writing, printing and distributing them, huh?!"
I sighed in exasperation as the alien went back to the pile of books on the floor. "Jesus Christ..." I said.
The alien quickly turned around to face me. "Oh, you know that guy? He seems really popular in this book! It's called the Bible."
I could do nothing but put my head in my hands and let out a frustrated groan.
Edit: spelling error. Thanks for pointing that out fellow redditor! | 2016-09-16T08:31:45 | 2016-09-16T08:07:25 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You're the knight tasked with saving the princess from the evil sorcerer. You find out why you can't have the princess according to him. He loves you. | Wreave's motives were unclear. As the Enchanted Sorcerer, it had been his duty since Ascension to serve the Royal Family. He wanted for nothing. All he ever needed to do was ask, and he received. Ever dutiful, kind, and gracious, he served the royals and the people of the kingdom with enthusiasm and over the course of his twenty years of life, had become a beloved if not revered figure in the community.
Needless to say, it had been a shock when he cast the vast city in darkness and stole Princess Ofelia away under the thick cloak of his magic. Darkness fell upon the kingdom as people mourned the disappearance of their princess and bathed in the betrayal of a man they trusted and loved.
Ofelia was my betrothed, and our wedding in two months was to solidify a promise of peace between her kingdom and mine after centuries of turmoil and war. The pact had been made at birth, and every summer we spent together; me, with the company of my own young sorcerer apprentice, and her with Wreave. Learning. Playing. Bonding. As essential cogs in the workings of our kingdoms, the friendship between the four of us was important. We loved each other.
I stand in the courtyard of the abandoned fortress Wreave brought his prisoner to. Crumbled walls, uneven and jagged, reach toward the dark sky above them, where clouds hang like baubles from the trembling heavens. Dry grass crunches beneath my feet, crushed by the weight of my heavy armor stained red and dripping with dragon's blood.
I'd killed more than my fair share by now. Wreave knew this. As I glance over my shoulder to the winged body of his protector, I notice now its bright green eyes, and I'm reminded of Ofelia's.
"Julian." Wreave's familiar voice wafts through the crisp, cold air, and I turn back around to face him. His robes are black, and his waist-length black hair hangs from the nape of his hooded head and over his left shoulder.
"Wreave," I reply softly, squinting in attempt to see his shadowed face. He turns his head down. "Please, Wreave," I continue, pleading. My right hand rests on the hilt of my greatsword. I pray to the gods that I do not have to draw it. "Release her. Release Ofelia."
Wreave clenches his hands in front of him, squeezing them together tightly, and turns his head away.
"...Please tell me you haven't harmed her."
"You know me better than that, Julian-"
"*No*," I interrupt. "The Wreave I know would never have even thought of stealing her away."
"Julian-"
"Why have you done this, Wreave?! Where is she?!" I step towards him, angrily, with deep ridges creasing my forehead. Wreave steps back, until he's pressed firmly against a wall, and grips the worn stones beside him.
"She isn't harmed!" He yells, keeping his head down. The stones he grips crumble slightly in his hand and their gray dust floats to the dead ground at his feet. "I would never harm her, Julian. She is like family to me."
I clench my fist. "How could you do this to someone you consider family?!"
"I-"
"*Wreave*! You know the importance of the alliance between our families. War is brewing- Because of *this*! Because of *you*! You have no idea what you have risked!" In one sweeping motion, I draw my sword. Dragon's blood streams down its blade, coating my hand in warmth.
"Please don't marry her." Wreave whispers. His shoulders shake, and the fabric of his robes rustle over the quaking of his knees as he struggles. "I'm sorry. Please don't. You don't understand. Please don't marry her."
"Wreave."
"I can't let you have her, Julian."
"...Are you in love with her?" My gut twists at the thought. A ping of jealousy.
He shakes his head. "No."
I sigh, feeling relief, but above all confusion. I can't pin down his motives now. He'd never been one for world domination. His free time was spent studying magical creatures and brewing healing potions. Two summers ago, in an act of kindness rarely seen these tumultuous days, he'd spent months traveling to provide his aid to the kingdom of Hallin, and if it hadn't been for him, it would have fallen to the unrelenting forces of the orcs. No one asked him to do it. Nothing required it of him.
He had done it out of the kindness of his own heart.
I don't understand this.
"The kingdom is falling," I tell him, gesturing to the sky. "Ofelia's home- *your* home- has not seen the light of the sun since you've stolen her away. Vallena's people mourn, Wreave. They don't just mourn for her. They mourn for *you*." I sheath my greatsword and remove my helmet, letting it drop to the ground. Its clatters echo through the courtyard before falling to silence. "You have to let her go."
Wreave sniffles. I can hear him choking back tears.
"Wreave, *please*."
"I can't let her go. I can't let her go, and then watch you marry her. I can't do it."
"Why?"
"I can't."
"Tell me why."
"No."
"*Wreave*! I don't understand this!" I yell out, clenching my fists at my side. "The marriage is a necessity! You've known this! We have all known this! You have nothing to lose, but everything to *gain* from the alliance of our kingdoms. You know this! You *know* this! You're not in love with her, you've said so your-"
"I'm in love with *you*! With *you*! It's *you*, Julian!" He cries out and gives in to his tears as he slides down the wall to sit in a heap on the ground. "It's always been you. Those letters you get every month-"
I remember them. Signed "S.A.." I'd assumed they were from Ofelia, playing shy.
"...Your Knighthood apprenticeship."
Princes were forbidden from becoming Knights, but Knighthood had been my dream, and the day I'd received my acceptance letter and was appointed an apprenticeship to a celebrated Knight remained one of the happiest days of my life. I'd never thought to wonder how it happened.
"Kristoff."
My black steed, tall and strong. Beautiful. A gift from an unknown benefactor.
"It was all me, Julian. All of it. Please don't marry her. My heart can't take it."
"...Wreave." I don't know what to say. My stomach's a mess. I feel like a floating, like the world is spinning beneath my feet. He looks up at me, and as his hood falls from his head, I see his bright blue eyes sparkling with tears. My chest hurts, pounding with painful beats, and I force myself to look away. "You know I have to."
"A-are you.... Are you in love with her, Julian?"
"...I." I don't know this feeling.
"Julian?"
I can't speak. | "...I see. I cannot accept your terms."
"Wha-why, Fran?
"Because..."
"...?"
"Because... You're going to take the princess back and marry her, aren't you!? You can't do that! She doesn't love you! *I* love you!"
In this situation, caught off guard, an old memory comes to mind.
*"Become a knight, Julian! Trust me, you never have to do anything, trouble never arises in this land, and you'll get paid to do it! Now say it with me: I want to be a knight!"*
*"I... I wanna be a knight, daddy!"*
That asshole.
-
Francis had been my best friend since age nine or ten. It'd never been about the pointy sticks, or the books, or the occasional exploding cauldron I turned a blind eye to. It was *fun*, the way we talked without ever bringing up our upbringing.
From then until now, we'd sworn to leave our professions outside of our friendship. Our paths had been chosen for us, be it by my noble father or that witch in the woods that took care of Fran, so our friends, our blood of the covenant, would be the choices we made without them.
This was why I was rather affronted that I was apparently supposed to save a princess from a sorcerer. The *only* sorcerer in the lands, after all.
"Surely there must be a mistake?" I beseeched. The king in front of me was gaunt. Thin, tired, and appeared to have the eye crinkles of a once-jolly man. His robes were red and orange, with a tiny bit of purple.
Me, in the armor I was too lazy to ever polish or buff the scratches out of, felt a little underdressed.
"Hmm... Nope. Francis deVerde? Raised by a witch? Definitely him." He frowned and raised an eyebrow at me.
I sighed. Well, that was what sorcerers did. Kidnapping princesses, that is. It was just that *I* happened to be the only knight in service of the fiefdom at the moment. I wonder why.
This whole thing was just tacky. I would occasionally ask my father why he wouldn't just let me be a messenger or baker like I'd wanted, but he shrugged and said something about 'our family name.' Also about 'being set for life' without doing anything. Clearly not, considering my career as a knight so far.
Some chain of events had led to this situation now, where I'd have to face *another* magician in *another* mountain pass in *another* place also known as the middle of scenic nowhere. Only this time, it was my friend.
"...Alright, alright." I paused. "What am I getting in return?"
The king looked at me strangely. "...Well... I figured... Well, whatever. A plot of land for your own, and a new family name? Perhaps the hand of the prin-"
I, for one, was taken aback, Placing a new name straight into royalty was quite the talk. But honestly... "-Can I just, like... get a bakery and ten hundred gold pieces?" There was also that other thing, but I'd already interrupted him.
"Well, if that is thy heart's desire, it shall be granted, I suppose..."
"Great! I'll be back in a week!"
-
Cue current scene.
"...Fran. Didn't we swear not to bring work into our *friendship*?" I take off my helmet and stare dryly. My face is likely burning red, but the right amount of deadpan can cool anything down.
He grimaced. "Julian, you're using that word again. I... I understand if you don't share my feel-" His green robes swish around loosely. Pale, twitchy hands poke out of the sleeves only slightly, pale fingers leading up to a bony neck and equally pale face. Innocent green eyes belie the crime he apparently did not commit out of malice.
His cheeks are also red, but I brush that out of mind.
"No no. Stop. We can talk about that in a second, but I'm doing my job, here. This is *ten hundred gold pieces* in a week! How much do you make in a month!?"
He coughs. "I... just turn rocks in my yard into gold, I don't know about-"
"What." I start shaking him. Eh, his composure's already been ruined. It couldn't get much worse. Hands flail and he cringes, light blue fabric flashing into view from his robes.
"*I*... am working every day of the week, slaying monsters and villains day and night... and you just *make your own gold, huh?*"
He replies meekly. "Y-you said not to bring work into our relationship."
His definition of relationship was currently probably a little different than my own. But whatever. "Damn it, Fran! You're killing me here!" I promptly switch to muttering. "Can't live with them, can't live without them, huh?" He does still hear this, and looks rather confused as how to take that.
Towards the inner side of the cave, another door opens.
"Alright, Mr. Sorcerer. We rehearsed this. How could you let this happen?"
Orange dress. Gold crown with sapphires. Dark eyes burning with frustration.
Lo and behold, it's the princess. Scowling, at that. I would probably be scowling too in her position.
"Oh. Sorry, milady. He just makes me *so*-"
"Stop. We're doing this again. Mr. Knight, would you mind stepping out of the cave and coming back in five minutes?"
I shrug. Used to taking orders from royalty, I don't notice what I'm doing until the door to the cave stronghold slams shut.
"..."
"..."
Sounds of a struggle.
"Come in, Mr. Knight!" A melodious chime.
I kick down the door. Francis is blushing, and the princess stands imperiously behind him, glaring daggers into his back. His clothes have been tied back in *rather strange ways* and I'm not sure what to say about them.
Silence enters the lair. It hangs around for a while, before it is taken into prison for soliciting.
I sigh and speak. "Release the princess and you may go unharmed." There wasn't much enthusiasm. There wasn't much the first time either.
"...I will accept your terms, but..." Huh. Wow. He's really doing this. I didn't expect it at the time, but hearing it the second time didn't make it any less electrifying.
"...Yes?" I probably wouldn't have an off-topic deflection for this one, either. This is bad because I have not thought of an answer between 'not a no' and 'yes' quite yet. Despite seeing it coming, I have still been essentially caught with my pants down.
"Just one more request, Julian." He gets on one knee and summons a ring from who knows where. "Marry me?"
...Well. That was different.
-
**A/N: I'm not good at writing regular romance. Gay romance isn't much of a step up or step down. And in this day and age, it's not as if you have to worry about taboos. Ah, but it's set medieval, isn't it? Well, consider it neo-dark ages.**
**[1:10] Added details to make it more engaging.**
**[9:49] More clarifying fixes. Don't worry about them. Basically added the knight's name more than just in the short flashback. Also made the knight seem a little less hetero.** | 2016-10-25T12:57:04 | 2016-10-25T09:50:54 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write. | By the time the knife made its final plunge into my heart, I was weak from the struggle and had embraced my inevitable death. It was a traumatic experience, despite my expecting it to occur in precisely the manner I remembered it—albeit, my memory was from the other side of the stabbing. But, I did not anticipate experiencing the conflicting emotions: fear mixed with impatience; excitement underlying intense pain; and, most confusing, a feeling of arrogant superiority, while simultaneously feeling self-hatred.
The conflicting emotions were unavoidable. After all, I was still me. Deep down, I knew that I was not really this pathetic, groveling, mess of a man being stabbed in his dingy basement suite. I was really the calculating, confident, and charismatic man in control of the situation. Overpowering the lesser man. Relieving him of his miserable existence.
My (really his) heart stopped pumping, since there was little left to pump.
I, myself again, awoke in the sterile hospital bed. The restraints felt tighter than they had prior to the run. Likely, my body had struggled against the restraints while I was “under,” experiencing my third victim struggling against… me.
“How does it feel to know what you did to Kevin?” shrieked his sister, Kelly, from the observation section of the room.
The warden placed his hand on her shoulder and softly told her, “we discourage people from communicating with the inmates. It’s for your own safety.”
Kelly’s eyes remained fixed on me. She added, “… I hope you rot in hell, you sick fuck!”
“Hell,” I smirked.
Hell is an interesting topic to bring up. Several theologians postulate that hell is just reliving your worst experiences over and over for all of eternity. I suppose that was the intended effect of the new “incorporeal punishment.” I was sentenced to relive the experiences of those whom I had killed, every Friday for the rest of my life. It was intended to be my own personal hell.
Hell doesn’t frighten me. It ought not to be frightening to anyone smart enough to think it through. No matter how bad things get, people are resilient and eventually come to terms with it. My father was an ex-Olympian turned blind paraplegic, the unfortunate effect of untreated type-1 diabetes. He was suicidal for the first 16 months or so, but he eventually found new purpose in his life and refound happiness here and there before he died. So too, no matter how horrible and tortuous hell is, eventually I will get used to it. Eventually, I will come to expect the torture and it will become bearable. Maybe not for the first hundred years, but if I truly have an eternity to experience hell, then I am certain I’ll adapt and endure.
Only someone wholly inhuman would be incapable of so adapting. Even Kevin was able to accept his shitty life and find joy in it. I would have wanted to end that life, just as I indeed did. So long as it is me who is experiencing hell, and not some other conscious being, then I will do as I have always done (as all humans have done) and I will adapt to hell.
And that is why incorporeal punishment fails to be punishment at all. I know that it is me who is experiencing Kevin’s life. It is not some abstract “other”. I am not Kevin. So when I am experiencing Kevin’s experiences, I am filled with self-hatred—or, more accurately, “Kevin-hatred.” I don’t feel bad that Kevin is killed, even though I experience what he felt in death. If anything, in that moment, I am even more determined to have him die. It has provided me with new insight and new justification for my alleged misdeeds.
Another thing that the incorporeal punishers never anticipated was that it would give someone like me a lot of new knowledge. And, after all, “knowledge is power.” So, I know exactly who Kelly is and who their mother and father are. I know what Kevin truly thought about them. I know how to forever taint their loving memories. This is why the warden tries to discourage communication.
“Hell, Kelly? Hell was Kevin’s life. He loathed you so very much, even if he never told you. And for the weirdest reasons. He thought your father loved you more, because he had accidentally witnessed him in your bed, when you were both still young. What a sick and twisted mind Kevin had. He actually wished that daddy would rape him instead of you,” I laughed, "Hi dad!"
The look on Kelly and her parents’ faces was the greatest gift. I can’t wait for the next run. My fourth victim was especially pathetic.
| Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Something was broken inside Rand's train car this morning. A small piece of metal had broken off near the heavy doors. Every :02 seconds it made contact, caroming off it's former home as far as the separation allowed.
Separation was something Rand knew all about. In his first life. Now. Always.
He felt the train slow down as it approached one of the several stops before New York City. This suit lived on Long Island. Within shouting distance of his high pressure Wall Street job, but just far enough from the city not to deal with the riff raff.
Rand closed is eyes as buildings flew past. 27 minutes until he'd step off the train. 42 minutes until he'd arrive at work. 43 minutes until some dickhead in a $3,000 suit screamed at him for not already having done X, Y or Z. Some bullshit Rand likely wouldn't have understood even if he bothered to care. He knew this ride well by now. He'd be living this life for almost 8 months. In a different context that might sound melodramatic, but this was not your typical day to day.
Rand had once lived a simple life. Compared to this shit anyway. Grew up in Queens. Family meant everything. Jobs got squeezed at some point so he had to pick up alternative talents. His first hit was to keep the lights on for the family. To put food on the table. That's what he told himself anyway. He had blown some of the 2 grand at the strip club, but he'd earned that part for himself. Everything else was for his Family.
Rand took a deep breath as he heard the conductor drawing nearer, clicking tickets & chattering with the passengers. He wished this jolly old fuck would be quieter this morning. He was beginning to grow tired of this vics grind. He couldn't understand it. The finance job paid a ton, but it was long hours & terrible business. The Family was constantly nagging him. Fuck. Rand had to remind himself that this poor son of a bitch probably loved the three daughters & two sons. Loved the dogs & his homely wife. The wife was hot enough naked at least. One of the few perks of this shitty vig.
Settling back into his seat after paying the morning small talk toll was a relief. He had about 15 minutes left on the ride, maybe 4 songs.. depending if Stairway came on. He had to give the poor shmuck credit for good music taste at least. Rand had always liked to listen to music after his original Family had gone to sleep. That seemed like a distant memory now. So many lives ago. So many deaths ago. First, the deaths were waves & waves of victims. Rand became the go to hit man in the Tri-State area, then the East Coast. Before long he was making international trips to kill Ambassadors & CEOs for 7 figure sums. Wife & kids thought he was consulting, that made it clean. He barely registered as the kills stacked up. Eventually he passed into the hundreds, then neared the 1000s. He had become an assassin of the highest order, rich beyond belief, but still he took clients. Looking back, this was the mistake. Should've just enjoyed his life. Fucking his wife. His kids. Found some hobby. Football. Video Games. Chess. Anything. But, no. Killing was the vice of choice, or it became it. The money was one thing, but he had money. He could admit it now, all these years later, all these lives later. He had wanted to keep killing because it felt good.
That thirst had become blurry in the recent years. He was 8 years removed from his original life. His real life. As if that mental distinction made any difference. The train descended into the tunnels before Penn Station now, just a few minutes from arrival. The car filled with black & Rand's music cut out as his phone lost service. The silence reminded him of that first time waking up in someone else's skin. It was pretty similar to just waking up, except that almost immediately he felt *different.* It wasn't clear how at first, he was somewhere knew, he felt..bigger, his face now clean shaven. A curse of some kind he guessed. Sounds stupid thinking it. What the fuck else could it be?
To wake up in a different body, a different life? It took a few days to remember. Was so disorienting off the bat, but why not. Why wouldn't the body he was in be a guy he'd shot. Why wouldn't he have to live the pain he caused. It was now an 8th different body. A new one each year. A new life taken. A new schedule to learn. A new life to try and fill a void in. What happens to those folks when he leaves he didn't want to know. He had stopped debating long ago if this was real or not real. Heaven or hell. Was he repenting or was he being punished? Was this cathartic or torture. | 2016-11-13T12:24:14 | 2016-11-13T12:12:03 | 131 | 17 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..." | "Alright, listen very carefully," Charlie grumbled, the words odd in his mouth. "We may not have much time. There's a man, a nefarious persona, who comes here every morning. He has no business here, yet he walks on our lawn, and fiddles with the paper contraption." Charlie paused, his dark eyes silent in reflection, recalling words he'd picked up in his six-year life. "Mailbox, you call it."
I had to suppress a nervous laugh. "Oh, the mailman, you mean?"
"He goes by many names," Charlie said darkly. "His deeds are dark, and so is his smell." Charlie sniffed. "This is a conspiracy of the highest order, boss."
My girlfriend and I exchanged amused glances before I turned back to the dead-serious golden retriever. "Charlie, all he does is deliver letters to us. Words on paper from other people. Packages."
"The man is evil," Charlie persisted in a gruff voice. Briefly distracted, he circled around, chasing his own tail. "An enemy! A fiend! The words he brings you are distractions, his eyes shine with biting intent!"
Anna giggled. "Poor Charlie," she said, "At least we'll always have you to protect us."
"My warning shouts have kept him at bay," Charlie acknowledged gruffly, "But I fear that next time his plans will-"
Suddenly his ears tensed up. "He's here!" He ran towards the door, jumping madly. "He's here! The time has come! It's upon us! Oh God of Infinite Petting, he'll bite us all-"
"Alright, that's enough Charlie," I grinned, moving to open the door. "Look, I'll introduce you to the man, okay? So you can see for yourself. Just behave."
"For the love of chewy objects, do not open the wall of protection!"
I ignored Charlie and opened the door, just in time to see the mailman, a jolly, uniformed man with a friendly face and a package under his arm.
"Morning, sir, would you mind telling my dog-"
"SIX YEARS I'VE WAITED FOR THIS!!" the mailman screeched, chucking the package through the doorway.
"Noooo!" Charlie howled, trying in vain to intercept the package.
Too late his voice returned to the bark that had kept the mailman at bay, all these years. "Noowwoof! Woof!"
"What the fu-" was all I could mutter before the package exploded, obliterating the house and everything in it. | "Alright, listen very carefully." The pills had taken effect almost immediately. I was in shock, and let out a, "Wow."
"No. No. No time for 'wow'. Snap the fuck out of it. I know what bullshit you just fed me; Toby told us about them the other week. I know they only last for a while, so there's something very important I need to convey to you." I nodded silently, assuming she was talking about the next door neighbor's dog, Toby.
"My fur," she continued, "do you know why it's so long?" I didn't even have time to formulate an answer before she spoke again. "It's so that if some big fucking animal, like a wolf, grabs onto me, they have a harder time doing any damage. It's essentially a natural suit of goddamned armor. What would you do if a wolf attacked you? Oh yeah, you'd fucking **die**!"
Confused at both the information and my dog's tone, I asked, "Why are you telling me this...?"
"Shut the **fuck** up, Tom! Tom... Humans have such weird names. Do you know that the name my mother gave me would roughly translate to, 'undefeated guard' in your language, in this disgusting speech I have to use to convey ideas to your pea brain? That's a great name, my name. Tom is... a name. It doesn't mean anything, but that's how human names are. They're just... names. But, it's not offensive. It's not degrading." Suddenly, I realized where this was going.
"But a fucking terrible, shitty, embarrassing, goddamned unacceptable name," She raised her voice with every word. My dog was yelling at me, in English. "**is Fluffy**!" she screamed. "I swear to fucking God, Tom, if I hear you, or **anyone** call me that undignified name **ever** again, I will piss on **everything** you own! I will hide my shits where you sleep! I will chew your shoes, ruin your furniture, knock dishes off of your countertops! That is not my name, and it never will be again! I don't deserve such a *Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf!*"
I breathed a sigh of relief as the pill wore off. She ran in circles, now just barking at me. Would petting her calm her down? I didn't dare try it. I didn't really know what to do, other than come up with a new name for Fl-- for my dog.
I sighed and sat on the couch. At least that horrible experiment was over. Lesson learned: Life is much better when your pets can't bitch at you.
Soon after, when I heard a loud, "My name is not Mister Mittens!" from the bedroom, I realized my girlfriend was about to learn the same lesson from her cat. | 2017-02-23T07:06:25 | 2017-02-23T04:57:25 | 1,311 | 842 |
[WP] Your roommate is the serial killer on the news. However, he's probably one of the nicest people you know, and he's very respectful, discreet, and moral in his deeds. Neither of you really bring it up until one day he says, "I'm bored. Got anyone in mind for me to... y'know?" | It took Ben a minute or so to answer.
"At the moment... no."
Josh nodded at Ben. Not everyone wants to kill people. No, scratch that. Has a passion for killing people. No, scratch that. Has a... well, it's hard for Josh to explain.
Ben expected some other response from Josh, but that was it. Just a nod. Ben turned back to his laptop, spinning on the swivel chair by his desk. The chair was a gift from Josh, actually. Ben was working on an essay for one of his classes before Josh walked into the room and tapped on Ben's shoulder.
"Well, if I think of someone anytime soon, I'll get to you immediately."
"I'm going to go by the courthouse. I usually look for people myself, but as I said, I'm bored."
Josh always felt like Dexter from TV. A serial killer who only kills the guilty. Too bad Josh didn't work for the police; it wouls make finding victims, having alibis, and hiding evidence significantly easier. Probably. It's probably just TV logic, and it's not like Josh would have any way of knowing.
Ben looked up again. "No kids, right? You won't do that?"
"No kids."
"No pregnant mothers?"
"Nope."
"The news said only the guilty, right?"
"People who got away, yeah."
"Like the Katy Perry song?"
"I mean... kinda?"
"Neat." | I was cooking dinner when he got home, I was kind of in the zone, listening to a record, so I jumped when he came around the corner into the kitchen. He never used to scare me like that, I'm not sure that he still does, but that breaking local news story during dinner last week definitely made me think.
I never usually buy into what the media says, I mean I lived with this guy my whole life, sidekicks as long as I could remember, and we never had so much as a disagreement. It was hard to imagine he was behind the bloody aftermath of a human they found at the park last week. But I guess we never really spoke about it.
"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you," he said as he smiled and held up his right hand, it was my favourite cookies from our local supermarket, they had been sold out for weeks.
"They finally had them today! Stopped in to check, I just had a feeling."
I was pretty stoked, I mean, I haven't seen these treats in ages! They have so many chocolate chips in them the cookie dough is just the glue holding them all together.
"Can I put on a new record? I hate this experimental rock stuff."
So he went and picked out some Simon and Garfunkel, pretty mellow stuff. When his phone rang.
"Hey man what's up?"
"Yeah wasn't too bad, you know, the usual."
He glanced over at me then back to the records.
"Yeah I've been pretty bored too, know anyone I could, you know?"
"Uh huh."
"Ok, yep."
"Yep, you too mate, bye."
He walked into the empty kitchen and turned the curry off, best to be safe, he lives alone after all.
| 2017-03-21T22:37:22 | 2017-03-21T21:05:16 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers. | "No.
No.
No! Dammit, Claire, don't you think I know that? It's been twenty years, I know how it works.
Ok, 23. Still, you know I know better. This isn't my first Negotiation.
I was asleep, Ok? They grabbed my hand and I Sealed without even realizing it. They put a hand in mine and unconscious me shook it.
It had to be. I felt the magic lock in; that's what woke me up. The Sealing took and they told me I was hired. It doesn't get much more binding than that.
Look, it's already done, and you know there's no backing out of this. It's just a one year Contract, so I'll see you in a year, Ok? I have to go now, the pull is pretty strong.
I love you too, bear. Bye bye."
As I hung up the phone, I nodded to the translucent figure floating next to me. The bathroom doorway flickered briefly and then steadied into the tell-tale swirl of a Portal.
"Why did you lie to her?" The whispery voice of the Mediator startled me. I didn't even know they talked, other than during Negotiation.
"It's a human thing. Claire and I both know this is a one-way trip, but if we pretend otherwise, it lessens the pain. Don't you remember this from when you were alive?"
The Mediator offered no response. Of course. One day, Humanity is going to find out why the dead have come back as our tormentors, and there will be a reckoning. But today, this human has to meet his obligations, even if the God damned Mediators are a bunch of fucking cheaters.
I stepped through the Portal.
| and so such was life now. an endless chore for an unknown employer. nothing was ever needed again. nothing was ever needed to be done. existence was the job. each and every day played out just as the monotony of a dayjob. and each day was a shift in a dayjob. each day carried the burden of dread, of uncertainty of purpose. rarely was a day fulfilling, but when it was, the following one was that much heavier a burden.
the days all began at 8:35 am, an alarm sounding. at 8:45 a shower was taken with coffee to be drunk at 8:55 which had begun to brew at 8:40. and every day began so.
the in between, the 9 to 5, was never clearly defined. there were no guidelines for his position. "you're hired," the words haunted him. every day an attempt to fulfill obligation unbeknownst to all except that which he had shaken hands with.
mhis life from the night of january 18, 2016 was to be this: an exhibition observing what a man would do when he had no idea of what to do. every day he would try to appease his employer, which provided him with all the food, clothing, and money deemed necessary. the man never went hungry, never dressed as a person of poor means, and never came short when a bill was due. all he needed was provided. the man was simply to live. and this produced a man who felt unworthy of life.
the man never struggled. comfort was an anxiety. what had he done to deserve this, he thought, what was he doing? the conceivable answer was nothing. simply put, the man had done nothing. and in this he felt not a great shame, but a great sense of duty. he must earn what he was being given. he must, if not for himself, do something for the greater good. this was what the undefined 9-5 was to be: work for the greater good, but, as all wise women and men have said, the road to hell....
| 2017-04-29T04:15:28 | 2017-04-28T23:00:16 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] It is 2517, 17 years after a worldwide nuclear war. All modern technology has been destroyed. Clans fight each while they all try rebuild the world. You, a clanless wanderer, stumble across a working computer and a USB drive loaded with a copy of the 2067 Wikipedia. | I found it in the desert. A forgotten remnant of a more sophisticated era. Or so I would believe. It shines like the moon, soft and silvery. I saw it's promise, what it could mean for me and for everybody.
Alas I could not reach this profound understanding, for, as it was written over every entry:
"If everybody contributed just three dollars, we would be done with this bullshit in ONE hour. But nooooooo all you cheap motherfuckers want us to become just as greedy as you assholes so this is the year it happens. Paywall bitch. Give us the three bucks you know damn well we deserve and get on with your day."
I have no "bucks" and therefore cannot reach the enlightenment offered by this glowing gem. Three dollars was probably more than I could afford anyway. | Journal entry 4,015:
The war started when I was just a baby. My parents fought tooth and nail to keep me alive. At twelve my mom succumbed to the sickness, just as millions of others had. My dad...well, I'd rather not talk about how he went.
Today I turned 17. I've been on my own for two years now. Scrounging for food. Running for my life. Fighting everyday for survival.
But today is my lucky day. Maybe because it's my birthday, who knows? It doesn't really matter. All that matters is I found a hideout. A place that is warm and has the "bulbs" that provide light that my parents used to tell me stories about. And the food! Enough to last me the rest of my life!
There is one downside to staying here. In the back there is a strange machine attached to a box that emits a soft glow. In the box there is a word displayed...Wikipedia. I've decided to not investigate further as this machine is beyond my understanding. Maybe someone will come along who understands what it means. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ | 2017-08-24T17:21:34 | 2017-08-24T17:17:23 | 403 | 50 |
[WP] In 2020, we received a signal from outer space. Somebody had decoded our language and sent us a message. It was short: "Be quiet. They'll hear you" | "The question isn't whether we do something about it, it's what actions can we take to ensure we comply with this mysterious message."
The American president pounded on the podium as she stood before the United Nations.
"I'll repeat what dozens of scientists and cryptologists have already made clear, this is not a hoax. This message is legitimate, ambiguous, and most importantly, from another species, presumably in an attempt to warn us."
The president looked straight into the camera as she spoke her next words clearly and precisely. "Once again, this message was received by American satellites, but I am begging the Chinese leadership, follow our lead. Otherwise, you may bring annihilation to our species."
The president finished her speech and stepped away from the podium. He most trusted advisor flagged her down in the corridor and gave her an update.
"We're ready." He nodded nervously.
"What time is it?" She asked.
"Uh.. 7:15. Madam President, I think-"
"John, now is not the time to think. I've done everything I can to maintain my promise to the American people to be as analytical and fact driven as any president in American history. Now is the time for action."
The advisor's hands shook as he raised his phone to record the video that would change the world. He gave the thumbs up to his boss as he hit the record button.
"My fellow citizens. In the week since we received the message, we've deliberated on the appropriate course of action. It is with deep regret, but unwavering surety, that I come before you this evening. As I speak, federal and state governments are preparing to enact the Theta Zeta protocol.
This series of actions was developed eight years ago by the prestigious Brookings think tank as a means to defend against annihilation during a nuclear holocaust. At 3:30 A.M. tomorrow morning, state and federal representatives across the nation will activate hundreds of electromagnetic pulses that will permanently deactivate any and all electronic devices throughout the United States, most of Canada, and northern Mexico.
Over the past twenty four hours we've urged world leaders across the globe to do the same in hopes that we can adhere to the admittedly vague threat contained in the message."
A concerned frown crossed her face as she continued.
"During this time, I urge each of you to reach in and do what you can to help your family, your community and your fellow citizens. Now is the time for us to come together."
The frown turned to a stern look. "As of this moment, I am declaring martial law throughout the entire country. Rioters, looters, murderers, rapists, and anyone caught trying to prevent an EMP, will be tried and shot or hanged within twenty four hours.
May God, or our new alien allies, have mercy on our souls. Thank you, and God bless America." | As a kid, Marcus used to look up into the twilight in wonderment. A million stars in every direction, each dot in the sky monumentally bigger than Earth itself. It truly made him feel small. Though now that he worked on a galactic mining ship, spending eight hours a day staring at this same celestial site, he no longer felt that sense of wonder. Every blink in the sky was another job, whether it was a meteor to be mined, moon to be mapped, or even star to be drained of its helium. If he had time to feel small, he had time to mine. That was the life of a salary man.
“Incoming transmission,” Raven, the ship’s AI said.
Marcus let go of the mining controls. His ship, the Raven SR22, floated through the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, latched onto a floating rock. While AI could steer the ship, the magnetic pull in the asteroid field disrupted all scanning activities save the most basic so it took a human eye to actually do the mining. At least until they figured out a way to automate that too.
Soon, Marcus would be given a salute, a month’s salary, and a small nod as they kicked him out of the Raven SR22 and *update* Raven into another AI capable of performing without a human-sized hole in their budget. The future was very bright indeed.
“Patch it through, baby.” Marcus said, rolling his chair toward the command console.
> Be quiet, they’ll hear you
Marcus furrowed his brow and pinched his chin. “The hell is this supposed to mean? Was that a federation message?”
“No identifiable signatures attached, *honey*.”
Marcus smiled. Life sure would be different without Raven. He wondered if there was some sort of AI heaven for beings like her. “Send them back a message. Say this is Federation territory and they can’t be shooting off transmissions willy-nilly. Tell them we got heavy ordinance. Might be a pirate.”
“Yes sir. Transmitting blatant lies now.”
This one cracked Marcus up. He still remembered when Raven referred him only by his full name and wouldn’t understand even the simplest of jokes. She truly had grown.
“You think its pirates?” Marcus asked her.
“No”—he could imagine her rolling her eyes—“pirates would mask their transmission as Federation. There was no attempt to hide this one’s signature, I just don’t recognize it. It’s very... alien.”
“Well, no aliens paying my salary. Commence mining operations again. Send out a transmission to Federation letting them know about this. If this ends up being the end of humanity… well, daddy’s gotta eat.”
A metallic chortle sounded through the speakers and caused Marcus to wince. It was Raven’s laugh. They still had to work on that.
“Okay *daddy*. Let’s hope we don’t doom all of humanity.”
Marcus smiled. “A man with the integrity to take this seriously is a man who’d command a higher salary. We got a job Rave.”
After all, AI’s were expensive, especially one’s that could pilot mining ships. And by Marcus’s estimates, he only had a few months left before the update.
| 2017-08-25T08:24:04 | 2017-08-25T06:43:36 | 72 | 32 |
[WP] My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures. | They say a dog
Is mans best friend
That will be by your side
To the very end
So I wanted to tell you
You were my whole life
You loved me and cared for me
Between us never a strife
You pet me and fed me
And took me on walks
You shared all your secrets
We had so many long talks
And though I couldn’t tell you
All that my heart felt
I hope that you know
The best life ever was the one I was dealt
You may not know where I came from
What my story was before you
But none of it matters because
My life began when one turned into two
I’m sorry I had to leave you
But I promise I’m still here
In your heart and your memories
So don’t shed even one more tear
Thank you for giving me
All the happiness and joy
So I promise that where I go next
I’ll be the bestest good boy. | I had just returned from my stint in Afghanistan with 2Rex in the back we had some forced leave and as a treat I was taking him out into the back country. Hes not really allowed off base but again no-one was gonna stop us. We'd done this before and it really clears the mind a and both of us could use the r and r.
We made it up into the Rockies and had been hunting and relaxing for the best part is a will before bad weather started to settle in. So back in the pick up and the long drive back. lightening started as we were driving and the thunder started to remind me of the sound of war. 2Rex was feeling it too and began whinging from the back. I pulled over and opened his box as lightning cracked above. I reacted by driving for my fox hole and he drove beside me as we had done countless times before. I realized his time had come and mine too.
We stopped off at a diner on the way home and I let him let him out while I went inside. I came back out to find him playing with a little girl. He had his youth back and his puppy was coming out again. A lady came out and said oh she just loves dogs smiling at her daughter. I replied "take care of them for me then" | 2018-02-13T19:59:32 | 2018-02-13T19:31:48 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] When someone dies, they are always challenged by Death itself to a chess game, symbol of how nobody can win against it. Except you. You died and just won the game. Death is not amused. Both of you don't know what should happen now. | "Magnus, you have mystified the world over with your daring play ever since you were a young boy. What's your secret? How did you become the world's best?" The reporter leaned forward, waiting for her answer. It was something of a perfunctory question at this point with Magnus always responding with same rote answer of sleep, practice and a healthy diet. Still, she was expected to ask it just as he was expected to answer.
But this time, something was different. The icy shell Magnus maintained between him and the outside world appeared to crack, revealing something of the man behind the façade. He took a deep breath and swept his hand through his hair before meeting his interviewers eyes. "I play to live."
---
The Doctor reviewed the medical chart, making notes and trying to piece together the most tactful way of explaining things to the parents of the young child whose chart he held. Setting it down, he cleared his throat. "Mr. and Mrs. Carlsen, your boy is in a medically induced coma. We have pulled him back from Death's door, but his recovery will be temporary. We expect he has, at best, a year to live."
Mrs. Carlsen burst into tears, nestling her head against her husband's chest. The husband took the news stoically, knowing that it would be his responsibility to help the family through this tragedy. "Is there nothing to be done Doctor?"
The Doctor shook his head forlornly. He had more then enough experience in the matter to know better than to give false hope. All he could do was place a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "We are bringing him out of the coma now. Try your best to be comforting. He will be disoriented."
Mr. Carlsen nodded and watched as the Doctor injected a new fluid into the IV. By the time the Magnus awoke, his parents had put on cheery faces, each holding a hand in theirs. Before the parents could find the words to express how they felt, Magnus spoke, "He..." a wet cough, "he plays chess."
Mr. Carlsen shared a glance with Mrs. Carlsen, confused for a moment. Chalking it up to disorientation from the coma, the mother tried to sooth her child, "There there Magnus, it was just a dream."
The young boy's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, "No." He struggles to come to a sitting position. Both parents reached under him to assist him, his mother offering him a small paper cup of water. He refused the water, his determination growing and lending him strength. "He plays chess." A declaration of fact, his mind clear. "I must get better. I must be the best. It is the only way to win."
"Win what?" The father asked, perturbed.
"Another day." The parents shared another look, but Magnus was already preparing his opening move.
---
To be continued...maybe? :D
Platypus out. | “So... Umm... Checkmate?” I asked quietly, as I had no idea what else to say, to do, even to think. The outcome was clear: Deaths king was trapped between the two pieces I had left, but it didn't seem right. I just won a game I wasn't supposed to win. I cheated death.
No, cheating wasn't the right word. I won. Legitimately. And the eyes of Death himself grew even darker than they had been before as he realized it too. He stared at the king as if the piece had personally insulted him, and then his gaze started to wander. Slowly. It felt like an eternity, and I was completely petrified while he studied my face. When his eyes met mine, I saw various feelings raging in them — feelings that seemed way to human for an entity like death. It was like imagining... No, I couldn't think of a fitting comparison.
But my idea of death was not capable of being confused. Or insecure.
“So it seems.” Death answered while reaching out to the board and pushing his king over. The piece tumbled, fell, but unlike all the others it did not disappear, laying there like a trophy, a trophy no one should be able to obtain.
Yet I did.
“What now?”
“I don't know.” That was not a satisfying answer, and if I was honest with myself, it freaked me out. Death, a being as old as time — or maybe even older — had no idea.
“There are no rules for that?”
“No. Not like there are rules for anything. I am Death.”
“Right.” We both fell silent, while he again stared at the board, probably trying to understand how I won that game. I didn't know. I just did what felt right at that time, after all, I had never been good at chess. Or any other board games. Or games in general. Not that this had anything to do with the situation I found myself in. “Can I go back?” I dared to ask, not knowing where I got the courage, without even actually thinking about the words that came out of my mouth. Once again, an eternity passed, before he finally answered.
“Why would you want that? Life is cruel, as far as I know it. In death, one can find peace.” He was right, most likely. No, he was just right. Yet I couldn't hold myself back once more.
“Probably. But... I never had a chance to experience it. How could I appreciate peace if I never knew distress or conflict?” Death tilted his head.
“Oh you pure little soul... Would you believe me if I told you I don't wish you any of it?” I would. I did. Without hesitation. Death was honest, but I was determined, and as he saw the look in my eyes, he sighed. “I can't let you out. But *if* you had a key to unlock the door and slip through, nothing would force me to hold you back either.” He said, only to disappear in thin air the moment after. But I could feel the distant warmth of a smile as I looked at the fallen king.
--------------
When I once more entered the room, he was already sitting in his chair. A slight smile appeared on his face, as he pointed at the other.
“White goes first, dear.” | 2018-04-20T13:50:38 | 2018-04-20T12:39:50 | 72 | 31 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It was black. She stares at her fingertip in- no, not surprise, resignation - for half a second before she realises she should hide it. She wraps it quickly in her half-knit hat. “Oh, shoot,” she says, rising from her seat and smiling at the other do-gooders around her.
She walks away, trying not to rush too hard, hoping the way she clutches the hat to her hand seems like she’s applying pressure and not clinging on for her sanity- her safety.
As soon as she is locked in the security of the toilet, she eases the now ruined hat off her finger. “Fuck,” she hisses. “Fuck, shit, fuck.” Each forbidden curse feels freeing - after all, there’s no point not to, right? Her blood is so thick it looks almost as though it’s clotted already.
It’s not fair.
She grits her teeth, grips the sink so hard it feels like the bones in her fingers should shatter from the pressure.
It isn’t.
*Fucking*.
Fair.
She learned the lesson. Her mother had scraped her knee and hadn’t worried enough to hide it. She’d been arrested that same night - preventative measures.
Laura had *learned*. She’d done everything right. She’d fought her anger, her despair, the feeling that this was so unjust, and she’d been perfect. No one could do more good than her. And still, it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t done enough.
Was it in her blood? Transmitted from her mother to her? Was it completely out of her control?
Or was it actually still her? Her motivations were all wrong. She wasn’t doing good to be good - she was doing it so they wouldn’t think she was bad.
She pulls her hands away from the sink before any more damage is done. She can’t be reckless.
Don’t actions count more? She can hardly be the only person who’s afraid of being bad. Just because she isn’t *good* doesn’t mean she’s this evil. Surely it can’t mean that.
Her fingernails dig into her palm, and she can feel thick, viscous fluid beneath them. She almost gags.
There’s nothing to do but fake it. Continue faking it the same way she always has. She has to hide. | It's hardly a surprise. Although the smell, oh the smell. Quite a smell. Like death running in my veins. I quite like the scent. The blood sticks between my fingertips. All cushy.
It's sad, really. I've always tried to do what's right. Sure, the homeless could have continued to trawl through my fields but then I wouldn't be able to spin a coin or bury a penny.
The greater good dictates that I set my priorities for the millions of people, not the impoverished little.
I deem it unlikely that their removable will be missed. They are a stain on society. Beggars disgust me for getting themselves into such a place. And they choose to break the law and steal and call it their right to live! Pah, wrong. Rights come to those who follow the laws of society. And the homeless don't have that right. They gave it up when they made poor decisions.
These hats will sit on their heads when I bury them in the dirt. The rats will be attracted to the scent and they'll bite them and die. It's a win-win situation. The vermin and the scum get washed away to death. Pretty.
I knew that morals would be too double sided. Sure, I'm saving millions of lives while destroying hundreds for the sake of it. A bit cutthroat, isn't it. I knew that to sacrifice my personal morality, I'd pay with my blood. And I have. Look at it, it's frozen solid. I wonder how it'll be when I try to wash it off. So strange that I haven't bled in a long time, isn't it? Black blood. Very strange.
But I'm afraid no one can know, my dear. I have a reputation to uphold. Millions of people look up to me and I am their hope. Their salvation. A queen in all but blood.
That's why you've got to die. Now don't bother screaming, there's no one here. I'll do it nice and quick just like I do it to the homeless. But you won't be getting a burial, dear. No, I'm afraid the pups will be eating fresh meat tonight! They'll be ever so grateful. Oh no, don't cry! This is for the greater good. Now tilt your head back just a little and I'll-- oh, now you calm down young lady! Can't be having a squealer. The pups might get upset and I trust you know that a quick death is better than being eaten alive? Oh the sounds that old man made when he just wouldn't... sit... still!
Ah!
Wonderful.
Clear as water. Bye bye sweetie. You have a lovely trip to Heaven! | 2018-08-04T10:14:27 | 2018-08-04T10:09:44 | 134 | 77 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | PeculiarPete was scrolling through /r/Jokes when he realized something.
He took his idea and went over to another subreddit and began scrolling back through some old prompts when he saw something that captured his fancy.
*"Writing Prompt[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder"*
"What a novel idea!" Pete thought to himself, and suddenly realized he need only reverse the characters Plight.
He began to write *"[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip."*
As he typed his dog came up to him and gave his skin a little nibble, when a peculiar thing happened to Pete, his skin was broken but his blood did not drip. Darker than jet black it looked as if his wounded flesh had ceased to exist. He reached over and took a sip of his
Fanta:Black, when we see the F fall off to reveal a V.
A story to truly fit the name "PeculiarPete"
| i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T11:11:45 | 2018-08-04T09:55:07 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | "Oh dear" I said to myself, looking at this tar coming from my finger.
"Ha! Well, proves that no human is exempt from sin."
I thought about what could have blackened my own blood, I don't remember anything that I could have caused, or done wrong.
"Oh" I remembered.
I went on far too many websites without my parent's permission. | I stood there for a moment, as i looked at the prick on my finger from my knitting needle. Where there should have been a crystal clear fluid, somehow, a sludge of sin and immorality sat in my veins.
"How could this be?" i thought. I sat there, wondering.
Was i not good when i spent hours walking dogs at the animal shelter? Was i not good when i spent days giving food to the homeless? Was I not good when i spent years of my life in another country, in the middle of a war zone sacrificing everything i had for these worthless sacks of meat?! And it was all for nothing? How could it be?! How could I not be a good person? | 2018-08-04T10:38:53 | 2018-08-04T10:24:42 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | ######[](#dropcap)
"Why are you down here?" Maxis couldn't help but burst out. She stared at the man who simply stared at the ground, his eyes almost soulless.
And she would know what that meant. She'd seen plenty of thousand yard stares...a thousand years ago.
"Um..." Richard blinked. "Where am I?"
Oh. That made more sense. The poor soul was simply lost. "You're at the Gateway. Well, specifically, you're at the gateway to Hell, but you haven't made your choice yet." She pointed to the opposite side of the lake, mist rolling off of its surface. "Just walk across there. You'll be at heaven in five minutes." Then she looked back down at her clipboard and began doodling again, filling the ten-thousandth page with sketches of a tall, regal nose and bright blue eyes.
After a couple of moments of silence, she looked back up. The man hadn't moved.
Her brows furrowed. "What are you still doing here?" She'd already told him what to do. He should be waltzing off toward Heaven. Or had religion defined Hell as the new Heaven in the last ten minutes or so? She glanced at the completely empty line behind him.
Nope.
"Do you want to go to Hell?" She raised an eyebrow. The question was sincere.
"Um, this is fine. I'm already here."
She stared at him, speechless. Which, she hadn't been in quite a while, actually. A thousand years to be exact. This had to be the most ridiculous...
"Well, I'm not letting you in for a reason like that. So you can turn around and go across the lake." Didn't the man know what he was getting himself into?
Richard finally looked at her then. Really looked at her, and Maxim was unnerved by the sudden hunger and desperation in his gaze.
"Clara?" he asked, his voice unsure.
"Who's Clara?" Maxis gave him a blank stare.
Richard blinked, then averted his gaze. Then, hesitantly, he turned his gaze back towards her, his eyes hungrily taking in her image. He hesitated for a moment, then took a step closer. "Who are you?"
Maxis cocked her head. Gosh, she hadn't been asked that question in...five thousand years? Ten thousand years? Anyways, just a long, long time. So long she'd forgotten the answer to that question. So her answer was hesitant, unsure. "I'm the gatekeeper," she said.
"No, I mean who were you before this?"
Flashes of a child and a man's image appeared before her eyes, then red. Fire. Burnt timbers and ashes.
She bit her lip. "No one important." She pressed down on the pencil in her hand unwittingly, and the tip broke off, flying into the cloudy floor below. Great. Now she was going to have to travel all the way down the hall to sharpen it again. "Can you get going now?" she asked him, unable to keep the annoyance from seeping into her voice.
"Were you human?" Richard asked again. He seemed almost desperate for an answer.
So she took pity on this poor human who wasn't like the rest of the humans. "Yes, okay? Twenty thousand years ago, I was. Then I decided to come to Hell, before this whole religion business was a thing, and I got assigned to Gatekeeper. So here I am."
It was her story out in the open for the first time. The simplified version of it, anyhow.
"Can you come to Heaven with me?" Richard suddenly asked. He knew she wasn't Clara now, but she looked so similar, and...
Maxis stared at him. She rolled her eyes. Oh. So that's why he had stayed. Over the past couple of years, there had been men who had tried to lure her over to Heaven. They had been curious and come over to check out what Hell's gate looked like, and had been disappointed by the small wooden desk with the girl sitting by it. There wasn't even a gate in the true sense of the word.
"I can only come to Heaven if someone replaces my spot. Hell needs a keeper," she said. Then she rolled her eyes and crossed her hands over her chest, maintaining eye contact with him and leaning back in her seat. It was time for him to leave.
Richard hesitated. Then he bit his lip and adjusted his polo shirt. "Okay."
Maxis reared back. What?
"I was joking," she said to him.
"But you can go to Heaven if I replace you?"
"Well, yes, but--"
"Go."
Maxis felt a glimmer of something in her chest. Something like hope. She hadn't seen him in so long--he'd picked Heaven--and she missed him so. She missed him so, so much. "Are you...are you sure?" She no longer felt annoyance for the man standing in front of her, with his thick-framed glasses and polo shirt and loafers. She was curious as hell though.
"I'm sure." He drank her image in. "But...can you take a message for me? To a girl named Clara Calhoun? Born in 1982, in North Dakota." As Maxis stood up, he moved to take her place behind the desk. He sat down in the chair. It wasn't so bad. The chair wasn't uncomfortable at all.
"Sure." She was forever indebted to him. "Of course. Anything you'd like." Maxis felt a bit of remorse for not trying harder, for not warning him of what the job would entail, but this was probably her only chance to leave.
Richard seemed to debate for a while about what he'd like to say. The image of Clara, telling him he ought to go to hell, popped up in front of his eyes. Her eyes had been full of vehemence, without their usual softness. Because he no longer deserved her kindness. He'd never seen her so full of hatred. And he was the rightful recipient. He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to think about it.
"Just...tell her I'm sorry. Please."
*****
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu!
| The train conductor stared at Paul from down the aisle.
For a millennium, the train to hell had not left the station. Every single day, tens of thousands of people passed through Central, and every single one of them made the obvious choice and went to heaven.
There was nothing surprising about this of course. Who *wouldn't* choose heaven over hell?
This *kid* apparently.
Paul sat alone in the middle of the train, the conductor's very first unaccompanied minor. He couldn't be more than ten years old.
When people died they came to Central wearing a gray suit. If they chose heaven, that suit turned white and they boarded a train packed to the gills with other white-suited people eager to make the journey to God's paradise.
If someone chose hell, then the suit turned dark black. Paul wore the black suit, tailored to his small frame, and a sad, frightened look as he watched the other revelers through the window of the otherwise empty train car.
The conductor looked out the window himself. Out there a veritable army of people, good, evil, and indifferent, crushed each other to get onto heaven's train. Paul meanwhile sighed to himself and did not move, even though he was clearly terrified.
A rumble of the engine warming up for the first time in a 1000 years shook the train slightly. The conductor considered the situation and decided he couldn't live with himself without at least investigating. He walked over to Paul, small and alone in his seat, and just stood over him, watching Paul watch the hoard of people outside.
"That's a lot of people, huh?"
Paul turned around, startled, and the conductor saw that the kid's eyes were red and puffy, as though he had been crying. "Huh?" He asked, his voice high pitched and scared.
The conductor pointed out to the other train car. "All of those people. There's a lot of them. They all look pretty happy to go to heaven, don't you think?"
Paul looked back and spoke quietly as he faced the window. "I guess." His face took on a rueful look. "Who *wouldn't* want to go to heaven?"
Now the conductor was really flummoxed. *The plot thickens* he thought to himself. Then he began, "you know, a thousand years ago heaven and hell didn't work like this. Back then, you didn't *choose* where you wanted to go. You were *judged* and you went where you *deserved*." The conductor turned around and gestured to the empty train car. "Back then, this train was not empty - and *that* train was less full."
Paul turned away from the window and looked down in front of him. "Why did they change it?"
The conductor shrugged, "I don't know. Above my pay grade." Then the conductor leaned in. "But in all that time, only one other person has ever *chosen* to go to hell. I respected that man. You see, he was a *real* bad man. He had done real bad things, for a long time. And when the time came, he made the hard choice and took his punishment."
With a worried look, the conductor looked over at Paul, his face softening. "Now, I don't know you... um"
Paul looked up worriedly, "Paul."
"Paul," the conductor continued, "I don't know you. But something tells me you might have gotten on the wrong train."
Paul shook his head and started to cry. "No, I know what train I'm on. I belong here."
The conductor sucked his front teeth. "Well, what did you *do* Paul? What terrible thing could you possibly of done."
Paul spoke through his tears, sobbing in between words. "I told my mom I hated her."
The conductor raised an eyebrow, "what else?"
"That's it."
The conductor put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Well, Paul, that's not such a big deal, buddy. We all say things we don't mean. You don't go to hell for things like that."
Paul looked up, his eyes full of tears, and raised his voice. "She was dying! She had cancer! I told my mom I hated her because she was leaving. It was the last thing I ever said to her!" Paul looked back out the window, tears streaming down his cheeks, "it was the last thing I ever said."
There was a pause filled only with the rumble of the train engine.
The conductor sighed. This would not do. He leaned down and put his hand on Paul's small shoulder. "Hey," Paul didn't look, "Hey, look at me." Reluctantly, Paul turned and looked into the conductor's eyes. "Remember, I haven't seen anyone else on this train in 1000 years. No one. your mom included. You know what that means?"
Paul blinked and thought for a moment. "She's in heaven?"
The conductor nodded kindly. "You're a sharp one. Now, I don't want to presume anything, but I think you'd probably like to see her again?"
Paul nodded slowly.
"And, it seems to me," the conductor gave Paul a sad little smile, "she'd like to see you, hear you tell her how sorry you are, don't you think?"
Paul thought for a moment and nodded again. Then he looked down, "But, what if she doesn't forgive me?" He asked.
The conductor sighed again. *This kid* he thought to himself. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that Paul."
The train began to slowly inch forward and the Conductor knew there wasn't any more time. "Time to go, kid," he said, taking Paul by the hand. Paul followed the conductor down the length of the aisle, to the door out to the platform. The conductor opened the door and Paul hesitated for a moment and jumped. He landed on the concrete, stumbling a little from the slight momentum of the train, and the moment his feet touched the ground, his little black kid-sized suit turned gray again.
The train to hell came to a screeching halt. Paul looked back at the conductor and waved once. Then, bravely, he turned toward the train to heaven.
The conductor watched from the doorway as the young boy ran toward the train, his gray suit turning white as he went. When Paul made it onto the train, it began churning its way out of the station. Paul turned around, found the conductor, and waved again, still sad, but wearing a glimmer of hope.
*********
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| 2018-08-13T06:26:10 | 2018-08-13T05:58:16 | 2,166 | 770 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | She stood before two gates. She supposed that was kind of what she had expected. What was unexpected was that nothing was stopping her from going to whichever one she chose.
'*Well, this seems too easy,*' she thought to herself. '*It's got to be a trick.*'
Taking some time to really gather in her surroundings, she took closer stock of the two gates. Side by side, they were separated by a wall that seemingly extended up forever. On the left, a beautiful wrought-iron fence, leading into a perfectly-tended garden. She could hear birdsong in the distance, and saw an alabaster fountain plashing in the middle of an immaculate courtyard.
On the right, a cinderblock facing extending as far as the eye could see, and a rusted door, banded in copper, with a peephole in the middle.
"Huh, just like those old speakeasy doors you saw in movies," she said to nobody in particular.
"Yep, exactly like 'em," a voice suddenly said to her left. "It's to keep unpleasantness to a minimum; nobody wants to see what's behind door number two."
She jumped back a little, startled by the sudden inclusion of somebody else. Looking back to the harden entrance, she met the gaze of a handsome man. Tall, perfectly manicured, his bright blue eyes seemed to dance with joy. He was wearing stylish looking clothing, and had an inviting smile. Cautiously, she walked up to him. "What is this?" she asked. "Where am I?"
"Well, you're standing before the Gateways. Everyone gets the choice of where they go after they die. The boss set it up that way, said it's the final testament of free will in you humans. Just step through door number one, or door number two. Entirely up to you, but just between you and me, mine's far more popular," he said with a wink.
"This all seems kind of fishy," she replied. "I mean, this could be a trick. How do I know you aren't lying, honeyed words and deceit and all that?
He shook his head. "No tricks, no traps, what you see is what you get: your own personal paradise. Tailored to your wants, responds as fast as thought, anything you desire.
Looking sideways at him, she asked, "No catch? Everyone just gets this, good or bad? No pain? No suffering? No challenge?
"Not unless you want there to be. Everything your heart desires, all at the tips of your fingers. Just step on over- no going back though, but nobody ever wants to either," he said with a wry grin.
"Why would anyone ever pick the other door?" she pondered. Still, she'd worked her ass off her whole life, through a bad childhood and a disadvantaged education, all to make the world better for her and others. It was tough, but rewarding, and while an eternity of rest sounded tempting, it also sounded, well...
It sounded boring.
Looking back, she pressed her host. "What's on the other side of door two?"
"Beats me," he replied. "I wasn't told, and the boss said it wasn't for me to know, so that I don't taint the choice. Of course," he continued, "you could always ask them. He's got to tell the truth too.
"Ask who?" she said, curious. "I don't see anyone else here."
"Oh, he's my counterpart. He stays behind the door, but the boss gave him the same rules: total honesty, can't ever see what's behind my door.
Nodding in satisfaction, she politely thanked him, then turned to the banded door. Screwing up her courage, she knocked on the ominous portal. Immediately, the peephole shifted aside, and a pair of green eyes met her gaze.
"Yes," a baritone voice inquired, "what is it?" There was power behind that voice, an echoing basso rumble she could feel in her core.
"I've heard the pitch from the guy on the left," she replied, "and now I want to hear your side. What are you offering?
There was a pause. "Pain," the voice intoned. "Fire. But," it continued, "reward and purpose at the end.
That brought her up short. "What kind of reward could be worth pain, that I couldn't get from door number one?
"The kind you make for yourself, instead of being given to you," was the curt reply.
That was something she understood. "OK, let me in," she stated.
"You are sure?" came the reply. "There is no going back.
"I'm sure," she stated with finality. "Pain for reward is what I know, and it's never turned me wrong. I'll accept this, because the greater the effort and pain, the better the reward has ever been.
Without another word, the door opened. Beyond the threshold was darkness so perfect it seemed to drink the light and extinguish it. Hesitant at first, she put one foot forward into the inky blackness, then another, leaving the light behind her. The door slammed shut.
First, she was engulfed by darkness, and a sudden icy cold that took her breath away. Then, came the light. Blinding, searing light, and pain so complete it consumed her whole being. Tearing, needling, screaming pain consumed her thoughts, her sensations, drowning out fear, hate, sadness. Pain prevented any thought. She could feel it, stripping away flesh, muscle, and nerve. The white hot fury of this moment seared away all impurity, removed any desire beyond an end to it, cleansed her soul, scoured her clean of taint.
Finally, an eternity later, free from body and constraint, her consciousness floated in a void. Cleaned free from fear, she thought to herself, "*What now? What do I do?"
Gently, that same basso voice responded, "Say the words, as you see fit. Make your reward."
Resolutely, in the formless void, a spirit, pure and full of fire said Let There Be- | And so it goes. Everything was a blur amongst the tornado of flashing lights and somber moods. Gravity itself subsided as they wheeled me into the ICU. I wanted to focus but my mind was clouded by nurses shouting and the cries of my wife as she stood over my lifeless body.
They talk about that moment, the one where you see the light just before you go. It’s not true. I felt my body transcending my soul as if it were scaling up a staircase built upon my own unachievable dreams and stardust when i tripped. All was still for a moment. I felt my wife’s shaking hand take hold of mine as a lonely tear roll off her face into the abyss. Then, just like that, I was left in solitude with only my thoughts.
Agony took hold of me as i collapsed to the ground with the pain of a melancholy heart knowing it left the world too soon subsiding worlds and blurring reality. Before me stood a grey haired man in black. He was dressed for a funeral. My funeral.
“Come now, you can’t stay here forever.”
Let it be known for the record, if any man should ambush you in your darkest moment, don’t hesitate to pull any punches.
Frustration fueled a fire that would lift me to my feet. I’ve never been one to strike a man, but today would hold the one exception. I felt my knuckles as they collided with his face, the face of a God.
Footsteps reverberated throughout the void as God approached from behind me, my arm still fully extended mid lunge. I was stuck in a moment I couldn’t get out of.
“I can only imagine how frustrating this must be for you, but I’m afraid that was the answer to a question I didn’t want to ask.”
Rage was consuming me. I began to sputter. Adrenaline sent chills down my spine. Death would not capture me on this day.
“Your wedding... I’m sorry that it had to be today, but there is a small glimmer of light. You were privileged enough to know how Love felt.”
He was out of my line of sight but i could hear the movements; the collective scream of a thousand bubbles in a gentle whisper fulfilling their purpose as a bottle was readied. Was he pouring himself champagne?
The man circled me. A martini glass traced the outline of his hand. He held it up to toast with me.
“Here’s to Heav-“
“NO!”
This was not it for me. My wife was waiting for me. I desperately needed a way back.
“You... don’t want to go to Heaven? But you’ve made such an impact with your life considering your foundation and-“
“No. Send me back.”
The man chuckled.
“My friend, I’m here to usher you to Heaven only. This is not a choice.”
“My choice is made.”
The man looked upset. He was inexperienced in this scenario. Everyone subsided to death eventually. Everyone else was much more accepting.
“Well... If you need me, I’m Gabriel.”
Abruptly, the room began to collapse. A wave of heat singed my face. All had gone dark as the floor turned to lava. Fear consumed my soul, while Hell consumed my body. This was not the choice I intended to make. In the distance was a silhouette, the shadow of a man who never had anything. He extended his arms as a staff appeared in his right hand. He twisted it slightly to reveal two additional prongs off of it. A crown of thorns was placed upon his head as two horns protruded from his forehead. He descended to appear in front of me.
Never in my life have I seen eyes like that. Eyes that raged with the fury of two hurricanes colliding into each other. Staring into them was like reliving your first heart break, the longing for a love that would never exist. I saw my own broken dreams in the reflection. I saw the loneliness of a man forced to live in Hell.
“Welcome.”
A demonic voice boomed throughout the solitude, the lower frequency echoing through the void.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered to him.
His smile was eerily familiar. It bore a striking resemblance to every smile I’d ever seen from every used car dealer I’d ever met.
Suddenly my fears subsided and the room went back to the white void. Gabriel stood before me gently slapping my cheek.
“Don’t be. You could’ve chosen Heaven, but you refused.”
Still suspended in time, I couldn’t move.
“But that’s a farce.”
Gabriel began to circle me as he spoke.
“You see, Heaven isn’t actually real. I’ve been told I’ve pulled all of the greatest tricks to have ever been pulled but no, no, you see, Heaven, is the greatest trick I have ever pulled. You see, there is no Heaven. I wanted the mortals to have hope, but God... God is dead. I killed him.”
Gabriel stood behind me, now, out of my line of vision.
“You see, everyone goes to Hell in the end. You’re the first to go willingly though. You’re the first to have attacked me. For that reason, I realize you’re much more special.”
Gabriel placed a single hand midway down my back
“Now, I ask you this: Hold this truth forever on the tip of your tongue, and know I’m with you always.”
With his last words, he pushed me forwards.
“CLEAR!”
A shock wave went through my body. Like a free diver returning to the surface, I could not get enough oxygen. I gasped for breath. My wife wrapped her arms pulling me into her embrace. I felt her luke warm tears rolling down the back of my head as she sobbed.
—
Moments later, we sat in the ICU alone, my body fully bandaged. I still couldn’t recall how I had even gotten there. My wife sat across from my slumped over in the chair. I turned to look at the clock and watched it turn from 2:59am to 3:00am. The chair rustled as my wife looked up.
“Baby, are you awake? I forgot to mention... In your current state, I’ve been given power of attorney over your affairs now as your wife.”
She smiled an all too eerily familiar smile. I looked into her eyes to see a storm at full rage. We made eye contact and I felt my heart breaking a thousand times over.
“The foundation’s head called today and asked for my advice. I think they’ll be heading in a new direction now.” | 2018-08-13T09:55:30 | 2018-08-13T09:52:05 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] When you sleep, instead of dreaming, you see a list of tips and tricks that will help you the next day. One night, you only see one tip, “Always aim for the head”. | I woke in a cold sweat, furiously cataloging projectile weapons. I don't own any, and couldn't figure out how to get my hands on one on short notice.
Careful not to wake my partner, I slid out of bed and stumbled to the shower, hoping the hot water would give my subconscious a jolt. No luck there. I was so preoccupied by bloody visions that it wasn't until I stood in front of the mirror putting on deodorant that I saw it.
My horrified screech woke my significantly better half, who practically teleported to my side, then started giggling.
"It's just a tick," she said, gesturing to the abomination lodged under my armpit. She lit a match, blew it out, then handed it to me.
"Here," she said. "Aim for the head." | I was surprised to say the least when I only had one tip even more so when I read it 'always aim for the head' I'm a teacher so I wanted to believe that if I taught one kid something it would help down the line, I didn't really believe it there'd be a shooting I was sure of it.
And so I packed a handgun I wouldn't be checked with how long I'd worked there, it was pretty normal until the last class I taught, a kid was sick they walked around banging into stuff before fainting I called the parents and they went to the nurse just a door down which was lucky with how strong I am.
And the day continued for about ten minutes, and now I'm not sure what to do I have a class of students to protect but I've never killed anyone and there are two people banging on the door, I wish this was a joke but the tips don't lie, they either want us dead or this is the apocalypse, I hope it's the first.
Because then I'll feel a bit better about doing this. | 2018-11-20T15:49:35 | 2018-11-20T12:16:20 | 135 | 55 |
[WP] To solve the problems of overpopulation, all the governments in the world agree to only allow some of their citizens to reproduce—these people are chosen by lottery. After eight or nine generations, an unintended consequence begins to show up: humans have evolved to be unbelievably lucky. | The trouble with the results of the lottery - what has become known as the 'genetic luck' phenomena - is that luck largely relies on the misfortune of others. In order to win at something, others must lose. In order to find something valuable, someone else must have lost something of value. Even finding true love means the absence of love for another. The sad, cruel fact of the world is that luck is an inherently unfair force.
This has led to a world full of chaos - because if *everyone* is equally immensely lucky, then everyone must also simultaneously be immensely *unlucky*. Good fortune, regardless of how common or valuable, is countered with bad fortune almost without fail. There seems to be no escaping it; like a force of nature that allows us no shelter.
The unified governments have had various schemes to counteract it, having removed all other lotteries, gambling, even simple games of chance - which includes just about every game there is. All efforts have either failed or backfired violently. It seems that if luck, good or bad, is not able to be dispersed through small doses, then it instead violently erupts in unbelievable circumstances. The world has gone mad, with countless miracles and disasters happening almost constantly.
People have taken to refusing any gesture of good fortune, lest misfortune attempt to equalize it. But luck cannot be rejected or refused. Society has begun to collapse, and we only have our good luck to blame.
Though it may already be too late, the global unified government has enacted a decidedly simple solution. Instead of the winners being allowed the reproduce, as has been the case for nine generations - now it is only the rare losers who are given the opportunity. With any good luck, after a few generations the effects should be reversed, though no doubt some terrible unforeseen consequences await us regardless.
For now, we can only wait. It will take many years for the effects to come to fruition, and perhaps the world is already too far gone for it to be saved.
It would be a miracle if we get through this... but miracles are not so rare these days.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | It was the year 2100 and humans had finally resigned to the fact that the earth can no longer support human life in such massive numbers. To solve the issue massive curtailment of reproductive rights was necessary. The only question that remained, who gets to decide? The plethora of moral and biological issues that arose from any sort of artificial selection compelled that the fate of humankind be left to random chance. A random number generator was created by the most brilliant computer scientists and mathematicians to ensure that the selection would be as random as physically possible.
As is human nature, there were many skeptics during the initial phase of this grand experiment. Some wondered if the machine had been rigged in some fashion to favor a particular group of people, others questioned the soundness of it's design, and then there were those who wondered if true randomness is even possible at all.
Multiple generations passed and none could find any flaws in the machine or the system on which it was devised. Trust in the machine grew as one by one every single alarmist prediction failed to realize. In fact, the human race had only prospered ever since the machine had been adopted. Space exploration and asteroid mining had been a massive success so much that our most scarce and precious resources weren't as scarce or precious anymore. Humanity found itself being increasingly luckier in its prospects with every successive generation so much so that the need for population control no longer existed. However, the people had not failed to notice the rising fortunes of our race ever since the adoption of the machine. A grand convention was formed and it was decided that the machine would continue to be used to bestow fertility by majority consensus. We had faith in the machine, the machine knew best.
Humanity rose and spread out to conquer the stars and still there continued to be a small, silent minority which questioned the amount of trust that we had placed in this machine. Dr. Dior was an astrophysicist who belonged to this camp. He did not believe that true randomness existed in our universe and was also skeptical of the good fortune that the adoption of the machine had brought to our species. However, by now, questioning the machine was all but forbidden as it was largely considered a waste of time and any expedition for such a cause was unlikely to receive funding. However, Dr. Dior had circumvented this obstacle by concealing the true purpose of his exploration and had finally secured the funding he required to study a miniature cold spot in the cosmic microwave background radiation. He hoped to find a pattern in the supposed randomness of our physical universe and his research indicated that studying the properties of this spot was his best bet at finding the answers he was looking for. | 2018-12-30T19:08:22 | 2018-12-30T18:56:11 | 919 | 13 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | The devil cackled in delight. I looked around at the room, panicked. *Was I in hell?* The room was bare: white walls, no windows and a set of tables and chairs, all filled up. Several others sat in the room with me. From a distance they looked normal, but soon I realised differently. The man sitting to the leftest most had chins to spare, his biker shirt covered with grease. *Sloth.* To his right was a confident teen in a tux, admiring himself in a mirror. *Pride.*
I counted them. Seven. But then... who was I?
"Finally!" The devil exclaimed, his snake tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he spoke, his red skin glinting in the hard light. "An eighth deadly sin!"
I felt like I was going to pass out. What was he talking about? An eighth deadly sin?
"You have it all wrong," I spluttered in despair. "There's been a mistake!"
My mind was racing. What could I have possibly done wrong? Sure, I wasn't the most devout or pious christian, but I didn't belong with any of the grotesque caricatures sitting in front of me.
"Oh, there's been no mistake, Tom," The devil smirked. "In fact, some might call you the deadliest of the eight."
"Listen, I'm not a bad person." I began, my voice cracking. "I've never done anything like that."
"Really? Do you need some reminding?"
The devil plopped himself into a chair opposite me, not unlike a police officer interrogating his hapless victim.
"January 13th, 2018, 7:13pm."
"That was yesterday." I said, frowning.
"Just one of many occasions," he continued. "You were browsing the internet on your computer, in your room on the second story of house 331 Chancery Drive."
I nodded, bracing myself for the worst.
"You were on reddit, and you saw a post," he said. "A run-of-the-mill meme. You laughed at it, sent it to your friend Sarah and Adam, and..."
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline.
"You didn't upvote it."
The seven people turned away their gazes in disgust. I couldn't blame them. I hung my head an stared blankly at the floor. The eighth deadly sin. The worst of them all. | Hollow clapping and sickening laughter echoed through the long hallway that Dolion stood within. Before him lay 9 thrones consecutively placed along the hallway, each more sinister than the last. Dolion glanced behind him at the entrance of the hallway. Countless gloomy faces stared at him, blocking any chance of escape. Reluctantly, Dolion marched forward into the damned hallway.
At the first throne, truly more of a chair, sat a skeleton in rags. The empty sockets of the skull focused on Dolion. They seemed to jeer at the medallion hanging around his neck.
"Give me your trinket" projected Envy.
"I will soon, but for now it belongs to me." replied Dolion as he turned and headed to the next throne. Each step was more burdensome than the last, for Dolion's soul carried many things that could no longer be relieved.
"How can you carry such weight? I could never begin to..." whispered Sloth, unable to finished his sentence.
"It worries me not, I feel no effect," Dolion stated as he passed the decrepit body in the second throne. As he approached the third throne, he heard a shrill whine.
"Won't you stay with me just for a moment? It's been so long since someone new has entered these halls. Sloth won't participate, and Pride isn't interested in me! I just need a taste," Lust called out. Her gorgeous fur quickly coalesced into scales, then flattened into skin. She crossed her hooves which then morphed into a tail.
"I can be whatever you like," said Lust through grinning teeth.
"I do not wish to be delayed to my fate," Dolion sighed. However he stared deeply into Lust's ever-shifting form as he passed by. As he passed the rest of the thrones, Dolion ignored each Deadly Sin. He truly wanted this to be over, but he would be lying to himself if he thought this wasn't his eternity. Finally he arrived the last two thrones. One of the thrones was empty, in the other sat the greatest monstrosity.
"You have arrived," Lucifer stated, "Just in time."
The lord of Hell glared at Dolion, sizing him up and down. A smile crept to his face. Each moment Dolion gazed at Lucifer's twisted smile, a lifetime of torture and sorrow swept through his mind.
"You will serve me well as the newest Deadly Sin. Currently you are the strongest until Disgrace or Sacrilege arrive. Your essence will help stir the mortal world deeper into chaos, and you will feel the pain every time someone commits your sin. Now, sit upon your throne, cast away your mortal name and acquire the title," Lucifer paused, "Deceit." | 2019-01-12T23:48:56 | 2019-01-12T22:50:31 | 43 | 14 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | The devil cackled in delight. I looked around at the room, panicked. *Was I in hell?* The room was bare: white walls, no windows and a set of tables and chairs, all filled up. Several others sat in the room with me. From a distance they looked normal, but soon I realised differently. The man sitting to the leftest most had chins to spare, his biker shirt covered with grease. *Sloth.* To his right was a confident teen in a tux, admiring himself in a mirror. *Pride.*
I counted them. Seven. But then... who was I?
"Finally!" The devil exclaimed, his snake tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he spoke, his red skin glinting in the hard light. "An eighth deadly sin!"
I felt like I was going to pass out. What was he talking about? An eighth deadly sin?
"You have it all wrong," I spluttered in despair. "There's been a mistake!"
My mind was racing. What could I have possibly done wrong? Sure, I wasn't the most devout or pious christian, but I didn't belong with any of the grotesque caricatures sitting in front of me.
"Oh, there's been no mistake, Tom," The devil smirked. "In fact, some might call you the deadliest of the eight."
"Listen, I'm not a bad person." I began, my voice cracking. "I've never done anything like that."
"Really? Do you need some reminding?"
The devil plopped himself into a chair opposite me, not unlike a police officer interrogating his hapless victim.
"January 13th, 2018, 7:13pm."
"That was yesterday." I said, frowning.
"Just one of many occasions," he continued. "You were browsing the internet on your computer, in your room on the second story of house 331 Chancery Drive."
I nodded, bracing myself for the worst.
"You were on reddit, and you saw a post," he said. "A run-of-the-mill meme. You laughed at it, sent it to your friend Sarah and Adam, and..."
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline.
"You didn't upvote it."
The seven people turned away their gazes in disgust. I couldn't blame them. I hung my head an stared blankly at the floor. The eighth deadly sin. The worst of them all. | "Finally, an eighth deadly sin!"
The grand chamber echoed with cheers and laughter.
"Wh-where am I?" Is the only thing your mouth is able to stutter. Your eyes sting and burn from the heat and fire of the landscape out the massive glass window behind the seven figures in front of you.
Again you are met with laughter.
Your eyes finally begin to adjust, and fall upon the massive figure directly ahead of you. With skin the color of gleaming gold, Jet black hair, purple eyes, and a pair of curled horns the figure is both beautiful and terrifying to behold.
"Allow me to extend warmest greetings fellow. I am Lucifer, and you are in Hell. But there is no need to panic, you are not here to be punished like the other dregs of humanity and befouled demons in The Pit. You are what we have long waited for dearest friend." A murmur of whispering seizes the long table in front of you before a female to Lucifer's left side begins to speak.
"We are the Seven Deadly Sins. You may call me Lilith, and you are?"
You only manage to spit out your name after swallowing hard.
The woman speaking to you is lovely, her hair moving like water and colored deeply green like a forest of evergreens. Her eyes are the color of sunsets and her skin is a deep bronze.
You see others at the table, a man constantly yawning with a pillow and blanket, another covetous man counting and re-counting a stack of gold coins, a women in combat boots digging at the table with a very large knife, a skinny man on the end who is smoking something and eating a plate of nachos, and a woman who is giving you a look that is frankly making you blush.
"May I ask another question?" You manage to squeak out. Again laughter arises from the table.
"Of course you may." Lucifer purrs. "I'm sure you have a great many."
"What exactly is the Sin I embody?" You ask, finding your voice. "I at least can guess for most of you, but how does someone become a deadly sin?"
At that Lucifer smiles and begins to explain:
"Sins are simply emotion. Pure, raw, and visceral. Wrath, Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Sloth. These are all emotions that if allowed to root in the soul, if given the room to grow, blossom into ruin. To be a deadly sin is to embody an emotion so powerful that it can lead to the fall of nations. You happen to Embody one emotion in particular: Self-Loathing. A hate for yourself so dark that it directly lead you here." | 2019-01-12T23:48:56 | 2019-01-12T23:48:14 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | I felt the painful glare of the computer screen attacking my eyes as I stared at it for a second too long. Trying to not breathe a single whiff of Mr. Taggart-call-me-Tag's cheap musky cologne, while the sticky heat from his sweaty, stubby fingers made their way across my shoulder blades in what I'm sure was supposed to be an inviting caress, rather than a repulsive accost.
"You see, Lucy, there are perks that come with my new promotion. Firing discretion is one of them. Now I know you pretty broads don't understand the big words, so lemme explain it to you plain: I. Own. Your. Job." Each of those last four words was punctuated by a gummy thumb rub. "So go make me a coffee, Lucy, two sugars, one cream. And put a little sway on your way there. You know I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go." He chuckled at what he surely though was original wit.
"No" I stated resolutely. "Get it yourself." As I pushed my chair back to force him out of my personal space.
"Oh, Lucy. You're such a tease, you know." He said, becoming redder and sweatier. "You see, I'm just a nice guy throwing a fat girl a bone. You're not hot enough to be such a bitch. So either go get me a coffee, or go get a box for your things.", the smug bastard said, showing nicotine-stained teeth as his foul smelling spittle landed on my cheek.
"Get out of my way" I said coldly,as I stood up, towering more that a foot over his balding head. I made up my mind in that instant that I was done pretending to be normal, "one of them." I was not. He had just won a first row seat to see how much more of a bitch I could be.
"I'm sure you last paycheck will be ready for you to pick up in about a month or two".
"Keep it" I said without turning back, as I applied my custom color Guerlain KissKiss Diamond Edition lipstick, a plan already forming in my mind.
I got home a little after lunch and immediately started to work on fine-tuning even the most miniscule detail of his future destruction. This was now my full time occupation.
It was well after sunrise when my scheme was ready for execution. Operation Morningstar was a go.
A few hours and several phone calls later, I got a text message from a blocked number with just three words: " It is done."
The next day, an aunt he hadn't known existed, and who conveniently enough, had no other relatives, died and left him an inheritance. Not just a vase or a couch, either. Ten million dollars after tax.
I spent the next months watching his life implode from all fronts.
Sometimes it is more fun to watch them destroy themselves.
I watched him lose everyone who ever cared about him by showing his true self. It's funny how people with inferiority complexes will treat others as inferiors the instant they come in contact with a little money.
I watched him start failed venture after failed venture. I watched him believe his money would last forever. That's why I had settled on that amount. It was enough to turn his life around, but not enough to buy him a permanent respite from any of his problems. I was there, observing when he surrounded himself with sycophants and supplicants, waiting for morsels to fall of his plate. I watched him fall into vices. I watched him fall into debt.
Then finally, I watched him lose it all.
On the anniversary of our last encounter, he was called into the office of his bank account manager to discuss a payment plan for his ever growing debt. I was in a back room, waiting for my cue. Watching one last time.
I saw on the monitor in front of me a gaunt, twitchy, shadow of a man who somehow still had not been humbled.
"Would you like to meet your benefactor?"
"Benefactor?"
"Yes, the person who gifted the ten millions."
"No one gifted me my money. It was family money" he said sneering in a petulant manner.
"It was family money, Sir. But unfortunately just not your family's. The money gifted to you came from a family whose fortune is, to put it plainly, older than dirt." Said the banker in his calm manner.
How right he was. How very *exactly* right he was.
This was my cue. I stepped into the office and cleared my throat.
"Good evening, Mr. Taggart."
His head whipped around while his eyes opened wide with surprise.
"L-L-Lucy?" He stammered.
"Call me Lucifer."
| People think they know what real power means. They think that because their parents gave them some high ranking job in a bank or a government office that they can just go around pushing over everybody. That’s where I come in. I like to think of myself as something of a modern age Robin Hood. Only if Robin Hood was a billionaire man in the world and used connections rather than a wooden bow.
You’re probably thinking “who the hell is this dude” or “you probably just inherited your money from your family so why the hell are you crapping on other people”. Well in that case I think a little backstory is in order. I’m the world’s youngest self made billionaire. I wasn’t a poor person beforehand, I had been born into a relatively well off family. Never had to think about food or clothes, but we weren’t exactly rich either. We were what you would call middle class. During college, I met some entrepreneurs. They came from rich families and had god connections. I proposed to them a business idea of an online book store called amazon. However mid way through I decided to take my share of the money and leave the company. I had never appeared in any media coverage so no one really knew me, but Jeff and George were good guys so I let them get some recognition. That was when I was 20. Fast forward ten years and some good investments later, my money has increased by more than ten fold. More importantly though, I now have shares in some of the most powerful companies on the planet.
When I turned 35, I found life to be extremely mundane. You would think a billionaire’s life would be interesting, but none of it is real. You’re surrounded by fake friends, unhealthy habits, and always worrying about your public image. That’s when I decided to move to Scotland. No one knew me there, but I decided to change my name anyways. I wanted to go back to the life I had in my childhood. I liked the simplicity of it all. I rented a small apartment in the city and applied for an entry level marketing job. I decided to leave out all my accomplishments from the resume and leave only my bachelor’s degree. It wasn’t easy explaining what I’ve been doing all those years though. Anyways. I got a job that wasn’t so bad and made some true friends. We went to together to the bar each night and all in all it was a good time until ...
It was a chilly Friday morning, I didn’t have time to make make breakfast so I just drank some coffee and left for work. I had a feeling this wasn’t a good day and the old man who tried to tackle me on the underground wasn’t a good omen either. I reached work and sure enough a note was waiting for me on the desk. I entered my boss’s office.
“You wanted to see me sir?”
“Yeah ... ummm ... sit down mark” his tone wasn’t settling “look, I gotta be honest. You’re terrible. You won’t have a career in this and by this rate I doubt you’re going to have a career any where. If I were you, I would just go work as a waiter or something and try to enjoy the rest of your lives”.
“But sir, I’m the best employee here.” It was true, so far my ideas have been the ones used the most in the final projects. I was a natural at this, after all I did do it before hand and that turned out pretty well.
I put on a pretty good case for myself, but still all I got was “you’re terrible”.
I left that room with only one thing on my mind: that son of a bitch is going down. The owners of the company I’ve been working at were actually friends of mine, so I called them to inquire about my manager. Said I wanted him in my new enterprise and wondered how good he was. They were really surprised when I called about him, but after some nudging they told me he wasn’t bad, but for some reason his team never completed a full year with him. But they gave it to him, he was a man of results, so they never questions his methods. I had a hunch of what was going on, but I had to make sure.
“Did he ever promote anyone?”
“Only once, but the guy wasn’t that good”
That made me certain. My third question really caught them off guard however.
“Do you have any job openings? I had always wanted to rejoin the game, but never had the chance, and I have actually just moved to Scotland as well”
“We’ll make you an opening”
That’s the story of how I had taken over his job as regional manager. Nobody understood what happened, but all they knew was that he had to leave the country and I was promoted, none of which was lies. I also had good connections in parliament. That was my second move. I hired some people to hack his computer, and the guy became a pedophile. Not only that, but conveniently the laws had just witnessed a surprise change that made pedophilia punishable with the same jail time as murder.
And that’s how one life destroying bastard had his life destroyed
| 2019-03-04T09:27:11 | 2019-03-04T08:37:41 | 182 | 21 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | “You’re fired.”
The words burned my ears as they turned red with embarrassment. Of course I didn’t need this job, but it really hits you right in the pride to be fired from a stupid office position. And for something as trivial as “taking too much time for lunch”, which I only did because some asshole caused a pile up right down the street last Tuesday. It was on the news and everything, but Jim, my boss, still blamed me. Apparently I should have just left my car in traffic and walked back to the office or something.
I think he’s had it out for me since the beginning. That sleazeball tried to put the moves on me my first day, but I just ignored him without trying to be overly rude. After he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he had been trying to find an excuse to get me out of here. The whole office was filled with women and spineless men and he wasn’t a fan of people who didn’t kiss his ass. I mostly just kept the job because it was easy.
What Jim doesn’t doesn’t know is I’ve had it out for him too. As I packed up my stuff from my desk, my phone buzzed. It was Emilio, my PI on retainer. He watched my back for the people who wanted to steal my money. Nobody knew -I- had it, but they did know about Marceline Jovovich. That’s the name I use when I wanted to purchase anything that might arouse suspicion of nice, mousy Jane McFarlin. That’s not my real name either, but it’s what everyone here knows me as. Marceline was also the face that made me the money I have today. It’s not exactly legal, what I do, but it sure it fun.
Emilio’s text read, “I found something you might want to see.” Underneath was a picture of a first draft of a news article. It wasn’t in a newspaper, just on the design layout. It read:
LOCAL MAN ACCUSED OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT ON MULTIPLE EMPLOYEES FOUND GUILTY, FINED $5000
I chuckled to myself. Bingo. We had been trying to find dirt on Jim for a while now and this seems like it was buried pretty deep. No doubt he paid more to get it covered up so his business didn’t go down the drain. I never saw it on the local news, so I guess it didn’t get any further than this draft. I don’t think Jim is the violent type, but I do wonder what happened to the person who was writing this article.
I finished packing up my stuff and walked down to my car, giving Jim the nastiest glare I could muster on the way out. The rest of my coworkers were giving me pity looks, but I just smiled and got out of there as fast as possible. When I got to my busted up VW bug, I put the box in the front seat and texted Emilio back.
“Send it.”
When I woke up the next morning, I turned on the TV to find Jim’s face plastered all over the news. Emilio had even located his victims and convinced them to talk. We could pay them more than Jim ever could. As I watched the news unfold, I decided that maybe this would be as good a time as any to take a vacation.
Karma is delicious.
| It was 5:30 AM. My 1969 Ferrari 512S Berlinetta raced down the highway. It was that time of the night, where the darkness was slowly fading to day, where the pitch black almost had a tinge of light to it. You couldn't see this in a city, which is why I was flying through the Tehachapi Pass. Well, that wasn't *the* reason, but it was close enough. I saw my exit, downshifted, and took the offramp at a freakish 120 mph. I shifted back, and was calmly cruising at 160 again, up the 99 to Fresno. I could've taken the 5 but... eh. I like less traveled roads. It was 6:00 AM. The sun was peeking out. By 10 I was back at my house in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I parked, switched to my 2006 Civic, or as I referred to it, "The Shitbox", and left for my day job. No work and all play really does make Jack a dull boy.
I pulled into the parking structure. I could buy this company like my dickhead boss could by a Coke and I still had to deal with the prick. I sat at my desk, loaded my desktop, and the phone rang.
"Hi, this is Steve, how can I help you?"
"Steve!" I heard my manager's voice. I wanted to wring his neck. "I need to talk to you."
I walked to his office.
"Steve! Come in, have a seat. Do you know why you're here?"
I thought for a second, before realizing I didn't really give a shit. I was ready to just fucking sock him in the jaw.
"Look, the VP reviewed some things and you're just not pulling your weight around here. I'm sorry"
*No you're not you fucking prick. If you were you wouldn't be here.* I thought.
I was being fired. I punched the douchebag boss in the face. Gut reaction, I guess. Out came my phone. With my vast resources, I'd have this mess cleaned up in no time.
"Jack, it's Steve." I called the CEO of a conglomerate in the same industry. I owned the parent company, but Jack ran his ship well, so I trusted him.
"Hey, what's up?"
"I need you to make a purchase."
I rattled the details off. 30 minutes later I got a text.
From: Jack
>>>Done
I made a couple more calls. Suddenly, my manager was out of a job, and blacklisted from our industry. He'd been working here 30 years and now that was all worthless.
I called the bank that he'd done his car loan with, and his home loan. That Audi R8 he loved so much was about to be mine. As for his house, well, I think he needs to be taught a lesson. I owned the bank, so making a "data entry error" was as simple as calling a datacenter engineer and making sure his daughter got those medical treatments she needed. I wasn't totally heartless.
After I'd foreclosed on everything I could take from him, and crushed his life like a soda can under a truck tire, I sat back. 3 months had passed. I was angry, but that was gone. I was now just... content. Happy. Relaxed. My revenge had worked. I sat in front of my fireplace, and looked at the urn with my grandfather's ashes.
"Thanks Gramps, for everything"
I swear, the little pyramid with the eye was staring right at me, and I was *sure* it glowed. | 2019-03-04T09:05:16 | 2019-03-04T08:49:15 | 133 | 48 |
[WP] You’re a fresh zombie. It’s not like you expected. For one thing, you feel great. Secondly, while you can’t talk, you’re telepathically communicating with the others and they’re all REALLY cool. Thirdly, you all feel a deep and profound sense of joy—a joy you all want to share with the living. | “You didn’t even get on your knees to propose,” she said. “You just stood there.”
“I wanted to be different. Isn’t that why you love me?”
She laughed, and kissed me. “Maybe. I love you and I trust you completely.”
“I love you too.”
She pulled back a little bit. “But do you trust me?” She needed assurance like this sometimes, as we all do.
“I do…but isn’t trust just a bet that things won’t go wrong? That things will work out, until your bet goes wrong? I don’t know. I'll always bet on you, but I don't know what I'll do if…”
“I know what you mean. So we should make a sign.”
“A sign?”
“A sign that if one of us really, desperately needs the other’s trust, we’ll give it to them.”“Like a safe word?”
“Maybe. I was thinking more like a gesture.”
“What do you have in mind?”
\-
I couldn’t even think about what to say to her when I got to her. All I wanted to do was get to her, and then things would magically figure themselves out. Isn’t that what love was?
My mind filled with excitement, something my new friends echoed in their thoughts. *Just get to her. Love is worth it!* All the fear, the worry, the nervousness, all that was gone.
How could life as a human have been so…utterly wrong? So filled with nuisances and neuroses that did nothing to help?
So I looked, everywhere I could. I fought off and ran away from desperate rebels, and trawled through the entire southern part of the state.
Finally, I saw her, in a camp on the outskirts of the forest.
I waited until she took a walk into the woods, to relieve herself, and walked up to her.
*I love you,* I desperately tried to convey to her.
She looks at me, and in her eyes only fear appears, where there was once love and joy. I can’t register this, can no longer fully feel the pain I need to. I just feel confusion, and try to tell her I love her again.
She screams, and runs.
\-
I’ve followed her for weeks now. This is my last hope. I do not fully understand why or how, but if this doesn’t work, I will have to find another way to be happy. Without her.
This time, she takes a walk to the top of a hill where they are staying, and looks out. A small smile curls her lips, and I am happy, at least, that she can still smile.
I walk up to her, and put my arms out, as much as I can. I try not to think about how stupid I must look, my arms out and about to fall off, my mouth open and tongue hanging out.
I kneel down, and look into her eyes. I hold my hands out.
For a second, nothing happens. Then…
Recognition. She looks at my hands, and sees the ring. Then, she looks at me for a long time.
She holds out her own hand, shaking. I take it slowly, and bite into it as softly as I can.
We stare into our eyes, and nothing happens for a long time.
*I love you.* The thought fills my head, fully, startlingly, and I look up, and I see her start to transform. I stand up, and tell her I love her and trust her too.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | "HEY JASON! THIS IS AMAZING! I FEEL AMAZING!" I shouted to my buddy. "THE BEST PART, IT IS NOT PAINFUL AT ALL!"
"AHHHHHHHH!" replied Jason while he continued running down the streets.
"JASON! I AM NOT JOKING. YOU SHOULD TRY THIS!" I am not willing to give up. He is my best buddy and I really do want him to feel as great as I feel. If only he could stop running for a minute, and maybe stop yelling a little, I will be able to convince him.
"JASON! WILL YOU STOP RUNNING?!"
"AHHH! Stop chasing after me! I wasn't the one that bite you!"
"Of course I know that. I just want to tell you how great it felt!"
"I don't want to die!!!"
"You are not going to die! Look at me!"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Hey, why are you chasing him?"
"Who is in my head?" A voice suddenly appeared in my head, asking me random questions.
"I am right next to you. Why are you chasing him?"
As reluctant as I am to lose sight of Jason, I turned my head to my left to find that there are a few other zombies running along with me. I turned my head to my right and there are a few others running together. There was a whole crowd of them behind me. As I look at all of them, I started to feel rather conscious about myself. They looked scary as they run, with some of them looking as if they were about to topple anytime, while the others hop along with a limp. Some of them were covered in blood and chucks were missing from their faces. I must have looked extremely scary chasing after Jason looking like that.
"Hello?"
"Welcome to the club." Said another. "Why were you chasing after him?"
"He is my best buddy and I want to let him know how great this feels!"
"But you can no longer speak. All that is able to come out of your mouth right now are roars."
"But this is so awesome! Never in my lifetime can I run fifteen minutes nonstop and not feel out of breath at all. I want him to feel the same way too."
"That's alright. We want to share this great feeling with him too. We will help you stop him."
As my new found companions finished talking, some of them raced forward in attempt to help me stop him. A few of them got distracted by the stray dog nearby but the rest of them are closing up on him. They were yelling at him, asking him to stop so that we can share this feeling. There were really only roars that come out of them. If only we can communicate telepathically with Jason too. But before we were able to communicate with him, he found an abandoned car and sped off. We could no longer catch up with him.
"No worries. I am sure he will know about it someday." Someone from the crowd comforted me. We rested for a while and spent some time knowing each other. Everything felt so amazing that I was not even bothered by the gory appearance of the others anymore.
"Hey look, there is a girl sneaking behind the car!" One of the zombies whispered and the rest of us turned towards the direction that he was looking at.
"Hey, let's share this great feeling with her!"
"Yeah! Let's!" And all of us begin running towards the girl in the near distance.
"Hey there, we mean no harm!" I tried to calm her down a little as she begin to run.
"No words will come out. Remember?"
"Oh yeah. I have lost Jason. I am not going to let this girl lose the chance to such enjoyment too!" | 2019-06-17T00:07:26 | 2019-06-16T22:08:10 | 1,861 | 267 |
[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter! | “What did you say this was for, again?” Vlad asks, holding up a knife. You'd think that, as a centuries-old vampire, he'd remember what I told him. At least it isn't the fork, this time. That time, he reacted like I personally decided to shrink a pitchfork specifically to remind him of the days when humans would chase him out of town with torches and pitchforks. And then I explained that it was for eating. I almost wished I could take a picture of him to preserve his face. Sadly, cameras, like mirrors, don't show him. Digital cameras almost work, but they show his fangs. I tend to avoid that. Even though I'm human, I feel a little sorry for the guy. He is so amusing to watch as he tries to appear human that I choose to remain his roommate. It's been two years now and he hasn't bitten me once. I've checked.
“That's a knife, for cutting things too big to eat. Steak, for example. How did you manage to get Veronica to agree to go out with you with your sun allergy?” I was amazed that he even met Veronica. Vlad never goes out during the day, for one. And then his name is so quintessentially vampire that it seems so strange to think that she doesn't have any idea at all what she's getting into. But why would a nice girl willingly choose to go out with a vampire?
“We met at the library where we were both…studying.” Vlad's pause makes me wonder what he was studying, exactly. People (as his next meal) or modern technology and civilization? “Do I look alright? The mirror does a poor job of showing what I need it to show.” Because he doesn't show up in the mirror. He doesn't know it, but I saw him and his lack of a reflection once.
“You look fine,” I reply. “Veronica won't know what hit her.” I barely refrain from saying “bit" instead of "hit". It's only one letter off. “Remember to avoid suggesting the Italian restaurants. They put garlic in everything. If you decide to go for a walk after dinner, remember to keep to lit paths. Women tend to freak out if they can't see streetlights. I won't wait up for you, so feel free to come home at dawn.” Vlad smiles, hiding his fangs, and walks to the door. “Your coat, not the cape!” I yell to him when I see him start to reach for his cape as he prepares to go outside. It was a bit of a struggle to get him to accept the coat. The cape stands out too much. I really need to invite him to ComiCon. | 'Hey Gary, I was wondering if you could make sure I look okay,' said Charles nervously.
'The bathroom mirror still broken is it?' asked Gary.
'Yeah afraid so.' said Charles looking down and shuffling his feet, 'weird how they keep just falling off the wall isn't it?'
'Extremely odd, almost as if someone was trying to get rid of them intentionally.' He paused for a moment staring at Charles, 'ahh well..I guess it's just a mystery. Let me have a look at you then.'
'Thanks Gary, I've put on my best suit for this evening, even went to the 24 hour dry cleaners to spruce it up a bit.' Charles was indeed wearing his finest suit however it had also been his finest suit in the seventeenth century.
'Well Charles you look very..ahh what's the word, very respectable. Special occasion is it?'
'Yes, I met a young lady the other evening at a house viewing, her neck was one of the most delicio- exquisite that I've ever seen.'
'Something of a neck fetishiser are you Charles,' said Gary grinning.
'Nothing of the sought,' said Charles doing his best to sound offended.
'Yeaah riight. Where are you taking neck girl then?'
'Ah..umm I hadn't really thought about it, I had hoped we wouldn't need to actually make it out' said Charles, he could feel the inside of his mouth begin to moisten and his fangs starting to engorge.
'You randy toe rag Charles, I never knew you had it in you. But my advice is take her somewhere nice first, the ladies are always a bit more receptive after being wined and dined if you catch my drift.' Gary winked at him.
'Hmm, not a bad idea I suppose, alcohol does tend to make them easier pre-...I mean more attainable' said Charles mostly to himself.
'How about you take her to Lucinio's? They do good food and the wine ain't bad'
'That sounds a bit too Italian for my tastes, you know how i break out in hives when i eat garlic'
'No mate it'll be fine, just tell um you've got an allergy and you'll be right as rain.' Gary flashed his signature smile, 'trust me.'
'Look at the time, best be off then Gary'
'See ya Charles.' Charles strode out of the room hastily googling the location of Lucinio's.
&#x200B;
Making sure Charles had buggered off, Gary picked up the phone. 'Yes, is a Professor Helsing there?' he waited a moment, 'Got a guy for you, Lucinio's tonight wearing a stupid suit, should be plenty of garlic about.' As Gary put the phone down he thought to himself *That'll teach that stupid vampire for breaking my mirror every other week.* | 2019-07-20T07:30:03 | 2019-07-20T05:58:05 | 611 | 222 |
[WP] Being young and naïve when you found the Fountain of Eternal Life, you drank from it. The problem is, you didn’t really consider what “eternal“ meant, and now, hundreds of thousands of years after drinking it, you float in space among a destroy the earth, endlessly suffocating but never dying. | The universe had stopped moving long ago.
All was still. Reality was dead.
I had spent endless millennia drifting through reality, watching the lights go out.
And now I drifted alone through a dead reality.
After billions of years, I crashed onto a planet.
I, still suffocating, dragged myself to my feet.
I found a comfortable place to sit, and I sat.
And I thought.
I thought about how if I was still on earth, when I had first become immortal in my current form, I could tell the scientists. "It's heat death theory. The universe loses all energy."
And then, I thought about the law of thermodynamics. And a gleam came into my eye.
I was an impossibility. A violation of the rules of reality. I was an infinite source of energy.
The universe wasn't dead. It was just paused.
I began to dig at the ice.
For millions of years I dug. Ice gave away to dirt, and dirt gave away to rock.
Deep down, I found metal. And through friction, over thousands of years, I melted it down.
Over billions of years I worked, in total agony. With one goal.
Bring life to the dead.
The world was spiderwebbed in complex systems of copper and iron. To generate and store electricity and temperature. A machine of a level of complexity unseen by any being, living or dead, ever before.
I crawled into the core. A system designed to take my heat and turn it into power.
The system sat silent and still for a decade.
And then, far away, where I could never hope to see it...
a light flickered on, on a battery I had made. It was crude and inefficient, but like its millions of kin, it stored power.
And then another.
And another. And another.
Heating elements flickered on. Lights came to life.
For the first time in a billion, billion years...
there was light. | [Cheesy Poem]
As I lay, adrift in space,
I think about the Human Race
What once we called oh so grand,
Is now nothing more than blasted sand
I think about the days of wonder,
Before I made my fantastic blunder
With war upon us we hid in trees,
The fear so great it jellied knees
Through the long cold night I wandered,
Wondering if my whole life I'd squandered
When finally before my eyes I saw,
A light of magnificent radiant awe
I beheld upon a clearing green,
A statue I'm sure had ne'er been seen
A wonderful woman, grand and lively,
Gripping a pouring vase, trailing ivy
As I stepped nearer, I heard her say:
"Don't come here human, stay away!
"All that drink for me yet live,
"I wish them death, but I've none to give"
A cupped hand under the water I placed
My head swirled, my heart began to race
"If I drink from her I'll be alive,
"There is nothing better for which I could strive"
The water ignited a fire in my soul,
I wonder how much of it she stole
"Leave here now with everlasting life,
"You will never be happy, but filled with strife"
I spit at her dainty little feet,
and turned to the side to head due east
As war raged on and I hid in a mine,
I knew I had to just wait, bide my time
While I waited for years unnumbered,
The world around me was torn asunder
The war on earth attracted an unearthly eye.
As they, in spacecraft, soared nearby
"These human things will bring only ruin,
"We should keep them in complete seclusion"
What they meant to send was a Walling Orb,
What they really sent was a Destruction Ward
In a moment, the entire Earth was gone,
The unearthly beings quickly withdrawn
I float, I gasp with face of red,
Wishing to the stars for my life's end
And as I lay adrift in space,
I think about the Humane Race | 2020-03-07T20:07:38 | 2020-03-07T19:26:43 | 435 | 25 |
[WP] Spirit animals are real, but extremely secretive-- they are said to only appear in the most joyous times or in the darkest of hours. Except for geese. Geese do what they like. | I lift my head from the bush I am resting in, and I honk. My human is currently in bed right now, and I can tell she's pissed, though I can't imagine why, it's 7:30 in the morning, if anything I let her sleep in, she should be grateful! As she groans I fly off to the nearby park, her suffering isn't my problem, even if I CAN sense it. After fighting with another spirit goose for the bread that man gives us, I waddle over to the bus stop to scream at the neighbor's cat and check in on my human. Currently, she's nursing a cup of coffee and an aspirin, I'm clearly getting sloppy, I could have sworn I hid that better. As she walks out of the house to start her day, I'm there, having drug the garden hose all over the lawn. As she draws breath to yell at me, I simply honk and run away. She knows I can fly, but seeing that she can't catch me anyways makes her angrier.
Next on my to-do list, I go visit the non-cat neighbor, walking right through her foxglove and orchids and making sure to trample them. With a glorious honk, I call her out from the house, and her spirit animal, a Great Dane, comes down from the stars with a shine in her moment of need, to save her from her greatest enemy. I puff myself up and run at him, hissing, and he runs back into the house, tail between his legs. In my unsurprising victory, I feast upon the peas and lettuce that she was growing in her garden, the woman shouting in anger and yelling at me. I don't care.
It is a beautiful day here in the village, and I am a horrible goose. | "Third case this week," Officer Hrglfhgh grunted. He sniffed the air, his wolf's nose snatching the hints of the past that danced on the breeze. "This reeks of Goose."
"Er, Officer?" Hrglfhgh looked at his intern. She didn't have a dog's sense of smell, but damn it if those orangoutang's hands weren't useful. "The Geese are with the Spirits, right? That whole crew shouldn't be acting this overtly. Their whole M.O. is staying in the dark until something forces them to scurry out of their warrens."
"Sharp mind, Bes." Hrglfhgh affectionately licked his secretary, who instinctively recoiled. He sighed. "Sorry. I keep forgetting you 'rangs get weirded out by that."
"It's—it's okay, really." She looked at the collapsed bodies in front of them—a male and a female duck. "So, uh... if the Geese were here, then this was a murder."
"Mhm."
"You could almost say it was *fowl* pl—"
"Bes," Hrglfhgh glared at her. "What did I say about the puns."
"Did you say that you found them... re-*pun*\-gnant?" Bes winked at Hrglfhgh.
Hrglfhgh sighed. "I said they're distasteful and unprofessional. Focus on the job."
"Hey, I'm just keeping it light. Life's a game, you know. Stop playing, start losing." She rubbed her chin—a mannerism that Hrglfhgh wished he had the physiology to imitate. "So the Geese are breaking with the other Spirits, huh? Gotta say, not what I expected."
"We don't get what we expect in Zootopia." Hrglfhgh glared at the horizon. "We get what life gives us, and we have to make do."
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites! | 2020-04-03T01:34:35 | 2020-04-02T20:09:18 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] You're following around a soul you've fallen in love with. In every incarnation, the soul lives a tragedy. In every incarnation, you become a voice in their head, attempting to help guide them to a happy ending. As another lifetime comes to tragic end, you swear the next would be different | I float, within a room, she has just turned 19, I see her, lying on her bed, her room, plain, tidy, a bed sits in the corner, next to it, a desk, and next to that, a small bookshelf.
Across the bed is her door, and next to that, a tv, the room is small, she has grown up in here, I have seen it all.
I have no body, I am just thought, suspended in air, i see in omminicance. Now, I find my focus on this young woman, she has dark brown hair, with highlights that glow in the sun. He face is simple, plain, but elegant, her body has just developed, beauty breaking through.
Her blinds are shut, room is dark, she has been laying here for hours, more than a full day, her breathing is gone, pill bottles line the floor, her life here has ended, once again, I watch her tragedy, if only I was more, I only watch, I can never act, this is impossible. I take another look at her body, she was delicate. I focus on her arms, scars line them, like measuring marks on a cup.
I know her beyond this body, far before here, I have watched her grow, and die, and repeat. I found her 7 lifetimes ago, she has always lived short lives, never making it past 23. Each life she has live was always struck with tragedy, time and time again, she has found herself at the ends of life's worst showcase of unfairness, dealt less and given fewer.
She is brilliant, she has always had a mind for literature, always keeping her nose in a book, she read them fast too, and always twice in a row, I found this quirk of hers cute. Something she alway carried with her into the next life. She was also very quick witted, with a dry sense of humor, something very few men could keep up with and even then, stand for too long.
Her soul has left this body, its is empty now, she moves onto her eighth life. Her body untouched, her parents went be back for another week, left on vacation. In only someone was here, to hold her hand, tell her it well be okay. But I only watch, this was my role, I dont get involved.
When she was born I thought this would be the life the one she finally gets right. She was born to a nice couple, kind and compassionate, they didnt have money troubles, and she was an only child. The beginning saw great promise, but as she grew, a subtle sadness took over, she had an unhappiness that over took her body. She couldn't help it, it was inate, it was a void that grew within her mind, a well were all happiness eventually fell into. She never had the strength to pull it back up alone, if only I was there, I couldve grabbed her hand, and help pull it out, and hold it far away from the well.
I want to touch her, hold her body, it looked so soft, I absorbed the room, taking it in one last time, I've alway been here, watch her.
She is born again, to a young single mother, she is tiny, her soul fills the infant body.
I wander the hospital, drifting though the air, nobody notices me, I am but a mind, I have no body. New mothers fill the rooms, babies born, souls claim their bodies.
I float through, I notice another young mother, she waits to see her baby, that doctors have took it to the emergency room, there was a problem.
I am now there, above the baby, the body does not move, the doctors stumble, figuring out what is wrong with him. He looks health, but does not move. The doctors do not know, but bo soul has claimed this body.
I grow tired, I've drifted for enternity, thought among the air, I do not age, I do not feel, I only observe. I am a mind, not a soul, but perhaps, if I focus my thoughts, I can become a soul, my love is waiting, I need to guide her, to hold her, give her my hand.
I focus my mind condense it into a single point, within the babies body, I drift into the darkness, I let go of thought, and try to claim feeling, its electric, beyond comprehension, as a mind, all I know is description, what is feeling? I think of love, it's an idea, but beyond that? I let go of the words, I go quiet, empty, sensation takes over, it fills this tiny body, my tiny body, I am now soul, I move my fingers, they are mine. I let out a cry, we shall meet soon. | He got in his car - the only of his life, a forest green hatchback - and started for the 101. It was a cool day beneath the slate, billowing clouds of northern Washington; the trees stood melancholic as they watched him start north still. 66 miles to Ruby Beach. He wondered, self-critically, why not 101 miles on Route 66, where he first began his drive west, and as the car coasted against the sea breeze and the smell of driftwood and pine, he felt loathsome toward his tendency for faultfinding.
She opened her door and picked up the *Chicago Tribune* from the stoop. As she stood, a green hatchback drove by. She stood frozen by time in the cool air, for just a second. *Too light, anyway*, she considered. It had been one year since he left town for a new chance at life - she adjusted: *another* new chance - and reminders from their past would drift by her everyday like haunting apparitions that tormented and tightened her chest. She sat down.
Elementary school, she recalled, where they were still untainted by the bleakness that would later color his life. She had developed a fast crush; the two were closest in and out of class, teased for it, made to feel separate. This would have been a problem had they not been such sure friends, and she not so enraptured by the power that seemed to surround him, even so young. She would stare at his olive eyes.
He did not fight back the night before he came to school with his left eye bruised. He thought of her. *Please always be this nice*, her voice echoed through his head, repeating what she said to him on the swings days earlier.
At Shop & Save when they were 13, he first tasted alcohol because he had convinced a homeless man to buy him Malört. *I don't think this is a good idea* \- her typical refrain when he would encourage they snag a candy bar off a street cart, or trespass for the thrill of a better view. Some part of him knew this; another spoke loudly, eagerly, and coached him into early alcoholism.
"Listen," she said one evening as they were wrapping up dinner in her studio apartment, "I think you should talk to someone. It's what's best for you." He had been laid off of work, drinking heavily, and his father had recently passed.
"I know," he replied solemnly.
The next day he stood outside of the rec center, leaning far over the rail of the stairs down to the basement. He liked the visceral pressure gravity imposed on his head, the sense of blood rushing and pulling him to earth. *It's what's best for you,* he heard her say. She was at home with a book, eyes scanning the same sentences over again, unable to make meaning of the shapes on the page.
He had found footing through community, and the following years cultivated his next incarnation: a period of progress as characterized by work, a girlfriend, and their home together; however, there was always something he felt missing. A gap, obscured but certain like a silhouette behind a curtain, strange and nagging, always *nagging*, which he was simply unable to suppress. It was present as far as he could remember. She was present as far as he could remember.
And now, three years later, she sat on the stoop of the home she served in solitude, hypnotized by a lost love so deep it felt that a piece of her soul had gotten behind the wheel of a forest green hatchback and driven west to start a new incarnation marked by the pursuit of peace of contentment, leaving behind what never was, and could never be, enough. This time, she prayed, it would be enough.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Bright headlights swooped wide into the parking lot adjacent to Ruby Beach. These were worthless, save for parking; dusk was a rich blue like raw denim, and the legs that stepped out blended with the scene so purely so as to suggest they were floating. There were no onlookers, no fishermen or bikers; they would have felt this presence move forth through the sea mist.
The man wondered how he had gotten here. He knew all well *how* he had gotten here - it was his choice, after all - but no longer recognized the voices that counseled so. There were many, and they bickered and snapped at one another. Some were calm, reassuring; others reassuring, but suspicious. Step by soft step he vaguely walked towards the sea. He looked into the encroaching blackness for even a benign familiarity amid the chaotic chorus that rang through his mind. He was numb, he thought, from the cold. Water lapped against his ankles, then his shins.
He heard the sea call faintly: *I'll always love you*. | 2020-04-14T13:23:32 | 2020-04-14T13:12:13 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You’re considered the stealthiest person in your spy school because no one has ever caught you during stealth class; therefore, you are chosen to carry out a very urgent and dangerous mission alone. However, the reason no one could find you during class is because you skipped every one of them. | “How does he do it?”
The words floated over to me in my bunk. My eyes were on a book and I hadn’t said a word in an hour.
The discussion continued. It was about me and my ability to go unnoticed. My ability to hide. My considerable talent: invisibility.
That was the assumption. Half joked, half believed.
The truth was that they weren’t very good spies. Not yet, anyway. The academy had much more to teach us. Well, them.
For example: don’t assume someone isn’t listening just because their focus isn’t on you.
Also, don’t assume some otherworldly force or ability, the world is weird enough if you know where to look.
Actually, scratch the above. I can put it simpler.
Pay attention.
That’s the real trick. That’s how I’m able to do what I do. I pay attention and all of them don’t.
I put my book down and swung my feet off the bed. Here it comes.
The lights flickered red and white and the once locked door to the dorm room opened. Surprise field test. It’d be another stealth game. They’d take us to the rifle range to get us in the wrong head-space. Last couple stealth checks had been urban. Rifle range backed up to a forest.
Hide among the twigs, kids.
The others marched and mumbled. I sat up and followed without a word. My bed still made. Boots already on. Book missing.
Pay attention, guys.
***
“Bit of late night shooting?”
“Don’t need practice. I’m a crack shot.”
“Crap shot, more like.”
Laughter, arm punches. Distraction. As we had moved towards the rifle range I had stopped to tie a lace.
No eyes were on me because the others didn’t care about my shooting skills. I was average here, so above average in general.
Had it been an obvious stealth test, they would have been all over me. But, they were in the wrong head-space.
Free of a attention, I wandered off towards the field office. There were two bodies in the building. One prepping the marker pistols, the other making coffee.
I made my way around the side and opened the electrical service box. Knocked a fuse. Darkness and cussing.
Who would I get first? The coffee maker stepped outside and made his way to the box. Found a loose fuse.
Corrected the issue and something in the kitchen popped. Pistol checker went to investigate.
I walked in. Took a marker gun,a copy of this weeks schedule and left.
***
“You know the drill. Take a marker and then you’ll be given ten minutes to disappear into the forest. Wait ten. Then last one standing wins themselves a warm meal.”
The group grumbled. Then someone said it. A gun was missing and so was he.
He’d done it again. The invisible kid.
***
I lounged in the back of a jeep, comfortable and warm. The jeep sat in the darkness of the training field garage. A gun was on my chest, a cold can of coke was in one hand, and my other held my book.
I had stashed night-vision goggles here weeks ago. Couldn’t read otherwise.
Out in the woods a bunch of young recruits would be breaking the rules: they would be working together to hunt for me.
They’d get caught and disqualified.
Something stabbed my ribs. I pulled the course schedule out of my shirt and glanced over it. Real rifle training tomorrow. I took the radio out of my boot and plugged in the earpiece I had hidden in the other.
Half the group had been spotted working together. Ahead of schedule.
I stashed what I needed to and walked without concern or hurry out of the garage.
Pay attention.
***
**Edit: Continued below**
**might do more in a bit**
**Several hours later: well, fine. I was going to forget about it, but I'll chuck some more up. Might be tomorrow, it's late here. Thanks kindly for the nice words, all.** | To learn the craft of espionage, assassination, and infiltration, one must attend certain classes at certain compounds, private entertainment facilities, or highly exclusive social clubs. And even then the first class is usually to actually find and deduce where you're getting taught. Many a less than talented spy has sat through 12 classes of pottery, before finding out that maybe the methods for forming clay are not about the best methods of killing.
I am enrolled in such a place. I achieve high marks in poisonous chemicals class, obstacle course, torturing, torture resistance, and stealth. However, there is a small problem. I don't actually attend that last class. I skip class to rest or enjoy some light reading. Unfortunately, there are two methods of getting good marks for stealth class. One is being there and studying hard. The other is not being detected by the teacher. I am the only one so far who have been 100% undetected in all classes. Nobody have seen me enter the class since the introduction, nor has anyone seen me leave. And that must mean that I am very stealthy.
Of course I can be stealthy, I just think the class is a waste of time. But since I am the best in class, I've been given an extraordinary task. A dangerous and urgent mission; I must assassinate a very paranoid man, a very dangerous man. A man who has knowledge that he is willing to sell to a dangerous foreign power, who absolutely will abuse it. Of course, I am expected to make a kill so stealthy that nobody will ever discover it was me.
Since I've never taken a stealth class, doing it in the way they have taught us is going to be hard. Damn near impossible. Five agents who have tried to get close to the man and kill him have been discovered and killed. And they were all valedictorians from spy academies across the world. Quite the conundrum. Yet I have a plan. I always have a plan.
The man arrives once a year at a specific and highly secure location where he will be taken to a room with ladies who haven't seen a man in three months, and have been naked for about as long. Every possible murder weapon have been removed, the room is full of guards, the building is full of more guards, and there is a perimeter around the building of more guards, attack dogs, snipers, mines, traps, and at least one trained killer bear.
Of course, as this is a top priority mission, I don't have to worry about going loud. As long as the man dies, my mission is complete. So I do the most logical step, and take a job as a janitor. I go in, I do my job, and wait for the day when the old man comes, which is also the day when he will sell his secret. So I'm cutting it a bit close, but I can do it. And on that day, all it takes is pressing a few buttons on a computer. A laughably easy passcode, a few disabled cameras, and I'm in.
And the house is destroyed. The man is dead, the guards are dead, the ladies imported from foreign lands are dead, the bear is dead. In fact an entire area around the house, with a diameter of 1 mile is completely and utterly destroyed. I lived. It was easy to live when you had actually just infiltrated that base where Reagan's Star-Wars weapon was being maintained. Orbital railgun as it turns out. And they'd never upgraded the control computers, so using it was about as easy as you'd think. One small tungsten rod sent into that house in the middle of nowhere, one dead man. Mission accomplished.
My teachers didn't know this of course. They always think that looking suave and being stealthy are the pinnacle of espionage, but in fact, it is infomation that is worth a whole lot more. So they were very impressed that I'd managed to eradicate the old man, and pretty much his entire network in one strike. I didn't tell them how I got out, or how I got in. For there is a reason that I think that the stealth class is a waste of time, why be stealthy when you can just be elsewhere?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2020-04-17T20:08:30 | 2020-04-17T19:14:40 | 1,434 | 201 |
[WP] You’re considered the stealthiest person in your spy school because no one has ever caught you during stealth class; therefore, you are chosen to carry out a very urgent and dangerous mission alone. However, the reason no one could find you during class is because you skipped every one of them. | My name is Partho and I'm going to be a poet.
'*The laptop contains all our agents' details including your mom and dad. Only someone not on that database can retrieve it. And you're our very best, Partho."*
Or something like that. Whatever. Boring spy stuff.
Though I must admit it was good to finally be recognized. I'd always known it of course. My brilliance shines too bright for the drear of dormitory drudgery.
My earpiece buzzed. "The laptop is in the last-most carriage. Most of the guards are-"
I sighed. "You mean 'rearmost'."
"What? Like I was saying, most of the guards are on break so you should be able to sneak-"
Shaking my head, I take out the earpiece. I'm already surrounded by simpletons at spy school. Give me this reprieve. Like the lone wolf, I hunt solitary. There are none like me after all.
I strolled to the *rearmost* carriage. On either side of its entrance, two masked men stood guard carrying assault rifles. A key dangled from the left guard's waist.
"Forenoon's greetings, gentlemen," I said.
"This carriage is off-limits, kid. Scram."
I splay out my hands, palms up. Animal speak for *peace.*
*"As the morn sun glares its charm.*
*So I rise, I bare no harm."*
The guards traded confused glances.
"Toilet's on the other end, kid."
I sighed. If only they majored in English. Not that mom and dad let me study anything but spy stuff. But alas. I turn my hand and eyes to the sky.
"*I do not seek to take a leak,*
*but something dark, something meek."*
Chuckling, the guards turn to each other. "Mikael, what's with kids these days?" Their weapons loosen in their grips.
There is much to admire about poets of nature. Living their days in peaceable, idyllic verdancy. But the truly alive are the SunTzus, the warrior-poets. At least that's what I told myself when they forced me to take Hand To Hand 101.
I lunged forward, my flourished hands flurrying down into the guards' necks. They crumpled to the floor, not dead--I'm a poet not a barbarian--but more than annoyed.
Yanking the key from the guards, I unlocked the door and entered.
The guards scrambled to their feet, hands fumbling over their weapons.
Before I closed the curtains on their scowling curses, I graced them with a final wisdom.
"*You've scorned, called me a kid*
*Now you're warned, farewell I bid."*
r/bobotheturtle | Red lights flickered overhead as the landing craft started its descent. The metal interior rattling as I checked my ammunition inside of my rifle, my heartbeat audible with every dull click. I shouldn't have skipped that damn lesson in basic training, but here I am on an alien world to sabotage an insurgent airstrip.
A sudden lurch throwing me against my seats restraints the red lighting completely vanishing. Several seconds passing in darkness as I forced my magazine back into the rail gun. Static suddenly obliterating the silence as the dull click of the magazine's lock passed. "*Twenty seconds get your equipment and get off of my plane.*"
The rear hatch of the cargo bay lowering my restraints, snapping open as I rushed out of the vehicle. Hot air from the thrusters and the cold mountainous terrain lashing at my clothing as I dragged my bag off of the ramp. Only a split second passing before the snow and air crackled and hissed as the spacecraft lifted off scorching the ground clean of snow.
.
The dark shadow quickly fading into the clear night sky becoming one of hundreds of small flickering lights. My knees immediately bucking underneath me as I sat down on my bag it's metal content holding its shape. I can't do this I'm not meant to be here, I'm a fake a lier and colossal cheat.
Carefully I pulled back the heavy bag's zipper exposing the interior of the four rotors gleaming in the moonlight. Several seconds passing as I opened the rest of the canvas pulling out the monstrous craft. It's four wings unfolding as I removed the covering moving with practiced efficiency.
But just because I cheat doesn't mean that my enemy won't cross that line to win and come back home alive. That's something my mentor taught me during those first few days in the academy. Quickly I pulled myself to my feet brushing off the snow from my boots and dragging the hover bike center in the clearing.
.
My gloves firmly clasped around the rip cord for the gasoline engine as I inject the primer into the starter. I know my enemy will not play fair, quickly I threw my arm back, the engine briefly sputtering before dying. So I will not play fair either, slowly I return the cord to the starter putting my knee onto the body of the craft.
The winter chill pushing through my thin jacket as I prepared priming the engine one more time and taking a deep breath. I am a liar, cheat and perhaps even a thief. That is my service. I am a spy. *Crack* the cord quickly rips backward the engine sputtering to life forcing the quad rotors into motion as I mount the craft.
Snow now visibly swirling under the rotors as I push the vehicle forward gliding down the winter slopes. Rocks, trees and underbrush rushing past as I ride along the mountain side nearly colliding with a collapsed tree. My hands forcing the joystick backwards and the propellers away from the obstruction.
.
The entire forest still as I look back through the small clearing I had traversed, the path almost imperceptibly disturbed by my unseen passage. | 2020-04-17T20:55:27 | 2020-04-17T16:09:55 | 124 | 41 |
[WP] Your gimmick is the ability to jump back in time 10 seconds. You're in a pub trying different pick-up lines with this one girl and resetting with each failure. As you walk up for your next attempt, she tosses a drink in your face and says "How many times do I have to say no!?" | Those lucent eyes of wasteful blue—they glittered at me with a bright contempt before she walked away. So I had to try again.
Resetting was my greatest gift in life. I could return to a point about ten seconds in the past, changing my decisions and forging another path in life. I began to realize the implications of my ability at a young age. Whenever I ate a scrumptious meal, or took an exam, or experienced some moment of pleasure, I simply chose to Reset my life. This technique, I noted, could be the key to immortality. I considered using my skill to exploit the lottery system, but something like that would take an endless amount of time.
I was at *O'Malley's* on a Saturday night (my love life was painfully desolate), when I noticed a girl standing in the corner. Her hair was ebullient yellow, the kind reminiscent of old-school cinema, and her face glowed with an idyllic peacefulness.
I'm not the personification of suavity, but I approached her with an easy confidence. And why not? I had a hundred chances at this. I quickly formulated a "game plan," one that deepened in charm and sexual allure every next move. It would start with a basic "Hey . . . " then evolve into more sophisticated flirtations ("If you were words you'd be a fine print") before finally reaching the point where I would flat-out ask her to marry me.
I strolled to her side. "Hey . . . " I began, invoking every ounce of manliness that I could. But she just snorted and turned away.
I was not dismayed. I Reset and readied myself for Attempt #2.
"Haven't seen you before," I opened.
"Me neither," she responded, "and I don't intend on seeing you again." She strided away.
Attempt #3. This would not be easy.
"Can I tell you something?" I started. "You're just really . . . "
"Listen," she interrupted. "How many times do I have to say no?"
I gaped at her. *Wait, she knows?*
She stared at me. "No, you literally ask me the same thing, at the same exact place and time, every day!"
Then she realized something. "Wait, sorry . . . I just keep Resetting." | She was quite the beauty alright. Shimmering eyes and an irresistible laugh, I mean, who wouldn’t be drawn to her? However, her laugh was oddly familiar. Yet, I chose to ignore this feeling of familiarity and made my move.
You see, I have this little party trick of mine. I can go back ten seconds in time. While I could use it for more sinister reasons, I’ve found that I’ve had to use it to help my lackluster romance life. Sounds sad, I know. Everyone in town keeps reminding me of it.
My first attempt was just a simple hello. She flat out ignored me. Slightly annoyed, I made another attempt, this time I offered her a drink. She simply refused. Normally, I would’ve been nearing the end of my wits, but never fear, for I was determined.
But my third try, I was making progress. She acknowledged my presence for a change. Delighted, I had brought her a drink, only for me to trip over my own two feet. Humiliation washed over me. I was well on my way of giving up, but for some stupid reason, I chose to go on. Even though we hadn’t said two words to each other, I felt as though we just clicked, like we were meant for each. Looking back, it was probably my emotions getting in the way again.
Attempt after attempt failed, but I still carried on. If my memory serves me right, the eighth attempt was the final blow to my will to carry on. I had made considerable progress that time. I had brought her a drink and managed to walk the ten feet between the bar to where she was seated. Grinning, I handed her the drink. But my luck ran dry, as I felt liquid being poured over me. She had thrown the drink at me!
I was stunned, to say the least.
“How many times do I have to say no?! You should really learn how to take a hint.”
My jaw hung open and no words could come out.
She continued, “I knew something was up whenever you would come waltzing in and everyone would just stare at you, then they stare at me when you would speak like they were expecting something, and then only to look utterly disappointed when I gave my response.”
I guess living in a small town does bring its downsides. With everyone in your business, it was inevitable that my little gimmick of mine got spoiled eventually.
The girl looked me in my eyes with great disgust as her voice suddenly changed. I had realized my mistake.
“Really Gerald, I thought you were over me.”
Standing before me was my ex.
&#x200B;
r/casualscribblings | 2020-05-29T23:04:55 | 2020-05-29T20:11:24 | 1,475 | 770 |
[WP] You have died, and then you find yourself standing over your body. You see that the Grim Reaper has come for you, and.. no twist, he’s just doing his job. You’re disappointed in the normality of it all actually. |
Oh, that car is *wrecked*.
Oh. That’s *my* car.
A hooded arcane figure swoops toward me and makes a threshing motion with its scythe, severing *me* from me.
Oh. I feel nothing.
“Is that it?” I call out to the retreating figure.
“Were you expecting choirs of angels to guide you to heavenly rest? A lecture about your karma? A chess match for your soul?” The voice emanates from beneath the shroud.
“Um...”
“You did not elect any of those afterlife packages.”
EMTs arrive and drag my body from the wreck.
“I don’t remember being given a choice!” I protest.
“February 22, 2020, argument with your mother: ‘Well *I* don’t need some boogeyman in the sky to be a good person.’”
I jump to hear my own voice echoing from the hood. Well, I jump in my mind.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t *want* an afterlife!”
“Same argument: ‘This life is all I get, and I’m going to make it count!’”
“Stop doing that!”
“Well did you? Make it count?”
I watch the EMTs load me on a stretcher and draw a sheet over me.
“I just thought that I... that I...”
“Mattered?” There was no tone—did the reaper mock me? Console me? “Did any event in your life suggest that you mattered?” Oh, mocking it is.
“I was a good student...?”
“Did your birth matter?”
“To my parents, yeah!”
“And so your death.”
Oh, *Mom*. I feel...
“But to the great cycle of the universe, the moral imaginations of men, the endless dance toward entropy: no. You did not matter.”
Oh.
“You selected nothingness, and nothingness you shall have.”
“Wait!” I point to one of the EMTs, crossing himself. “It looks like I matter to that guy!”
“That’s Jaime Mendoza. He prays for all his DOAs. You aren’t special.”
Oh.
“But Jaime believes in an afterlife for me?”
“He does.” A glimmer of hope as the reaper seems to still.
“Could he... could he believe enough for both of us?”
“You would accept Jaime’s vision of afterlife for yourself?”
“Yes! Yes! God, yes!”
“Very well. Come with me.” The reaper reaches with skeletal arm, and I take it gratefully.
Before we move on, though, the reaper leans close to Jaime’s unseeing face.
“Your kingdom grows, but I will best you eventually, Jaime Mendoza.”
Jaime can’t possibly hear the reaper, but a very small smile crosses his face. And my last thought is—*there’s a man who matters.* | "Hey mate, it's time to move along. Come on, time's up."
I look at the body beneath me. It's a bit of a mess to be honest, not my finest moment. It makes me consider whether I should have put a bit more effort in, instead of just throwing on the same stained jeans every day. Then again, I also could have worn a seatbelt. Even a Gucci suit looks a little shabby when it's covered in blood.
"Sure." I look over at the man talking. He's quite tall, and wearing a fluorescent jacket. His image flickers for a second, and I see long black robes and a flash of silver.
"You know who I am?" The man asks, keeping eye contact.
"Uhhhh, grim reaper? You... collect my soul or something?" I'm not particularly up there on Grim reaper mythology. It seems like something of an oversight now, that I never thought to look it up properly.
"Nah son, nothing like that. I'm not in charge of where your soul is going, I just make sure that you get to the right place. It's a bit of a walk from here."
I take my first step away from my body, and as I do the world around me slowly folds in on itself and collapses, leaving me in a white tunnel. Instinctively I step back forwards, and the same surroundings open up again, my body before me once more.
The grim reapear looks unsurprised. "You can go back in if you want. Some people do, if there are things they haven't finished, or just to see how things turn out. But I'll warn you, it's difficult. People are supposed to be seen and heard. We're not designed to be observers."
I step backwards again, and watch everything disappear, and instead be replaced by a blankness. It's not bright white, like a hospital, more of a cream colour. Instead of being harsh, it's comforting. Better than nothing, which is what I thought I was going to get.
"What happens now?" I ask the grim reaper. He watches me for a second, the straightens up.
"Up to you. Everyone reacts differently, but a lot of people want to stay for a while, think things over. Some people cry." The grim reaper looks at me, and I wonder how he would react if I cried, or if I got angry at him, or begged and pleaded like I've seen in movies. He'd probably stay standing exactly where he is now, looking at me with understanding eyes.
"I think I want to get on with things."
The grim reaper nods, and he points down the tunnel. "That's the way to where you're going. If you want to walk alone, then I can leave."
I think about it for a second. "I'd like it if you stayed. I walked alone for my entire life... I'm glad that at the end, there's someone walking with me."
The grim reaper doesn't say a word. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I breathe for what feels like the first time. | 2020-08-02T10:32:41 | 2020-08-02T09:05:50 | 129 | 56 |
[WP] A new eye drop solution is able to over a few days drastically improve eyesight, fix myopia and even cure some forms of blindness with the caveat that only a single drop may be used per eye at a time. You accidentally spilled a bottle in your face, and now see reality for what it truly is | The lies. The deception. Why did they allow such eyes drops to be made if they could of stopped it? They had the power to. They seem to have power over everything. Every person no more than marionettes to them. Strings replacing what we perceived as free will. No one escaping their grasp. The strings on my legs began to move. What should have I done? What could I do? I had to go along with it, at least for a little while longer. It’s been five months now. I think I’m finally ready to see if I can cut the strings. I’m finally prepared for any consequence it may bring. I’ll update you later if I can.
KEEP ON THE STRINGS................. | Everything is alive
The plastics, the concrete, even the wood we made as a furniture. They scream from agony.
I hear they cries that formed as one. Steel rebars, concrete, or anything even. They all know who I am. They recognize my awareness.
"ANON"
"ANON"
"KILL US ANON"
"ANON KILL US"
They formed a face of my loved ones, screaming and crying as they beg to be killed.
But how?
How do I kill them?
The steel rebar underneath the concrete pushed outside and transformed into a tiny knife. The time paused for a second as everything stared at me.
"Now kill us ANON"
Everyone smiled as if I would give in. I don't even know how to kill them but I knoe I need to
And so I hold the knife and grip it strongly
To stab my eyes for being able to see
I saw black
But I recognize it's solemn nature
I can't hear anything as I can't see them but I know for sure that they are angry at me
And so I killed myself | 2020-08-28T08:03:10 | 2020-08-28T07:47:05 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] We called them "nons" because we believed that they had no souls. They believed in a pagan god. None of them converted, so the crusaders were called to drive them from fertile lands. As we charged they raised no weapons. What we did not expect, was their god to descend and defend them. | The blood on the altar was still wet. I touched it, bringing daubed hands to wipe across my cheeks. The cloying smell caught the back of my throat, the fresh stickiness pulling my skin tight.
In the hollow of the hills we stand shoulder to shoulder. The blood has begun to dry now, and sweat and tears have made tracks through it. My free hands find those of the men beside me. We link, intertwining fingers until we are one long chain of nons, circling the standing stones of our ancestors.
They had not wanted to go to the altar. The day of sacrifice began with a red sun, an ill omen.
On the horizon, the banners of the enemy appear like flayed skin, fluttering on pennants and the ends of pikes. I feel the beat of their horses’ hooves in my skull and in my teeth. I wonder if the ancestors, buried beneath the standing stones, can feel this too. Does the ground shake in their tombs? Does ancient dust make their sacred graves unclean?
There are many fresh bodies in those tombs, now.
The ground shakes again, but it is no longer the horses. The hills around our home have begun to wake, to rumble and roll and split like men’s skulls. From the fresh loam are born our gods, their thirst slaked by the blood spilt for them under the light of a red sun.
Their skin is stone, their bodies coarse moss and packed earth. Birds nest in the craters of their eye sockets, while mealworms hang like white threads from their chests. Great hands rip the earth open as they rise to protect us.
I wish it had not cost so much.
Rivers of blood. Steeling myself as I moved the bodies of my family to rest with the rest of our ancestors. One in five. Lots drawn. Sent to the altar. To protect the rest.
I wear my father’s blood on my face, but the gods have risen and we are saved. | *"The Lord Bishop has called for the levies to be raised. The holy land is in righteous hands, but blasphemers fester at our doorstep. No longer shall they be privy to our bountiful lands. We..."* the crier rambled on.
*"Do you think one of the knights need a squire? I'd much like to do a good deed in His name."* a young man asked another with which he walked.
*"Couldn't say. Ser Stephan probably knows more."* the other replied.
*"Does he need one?"* the first one asked.
*"Retired, he is. Said he's had enough fighting. There he is now."* the other answered, nodding towards an old man wrapped in a cloak under a tree.
The first man approached as the other stood back and watched.
The young man stood sheepishly before finally beginning *"Blessin-"*
*"Save it. What do you want?"* the man interrupted with a gravely, strained voice.
*"W-well, to do God's will. I wish to help fight the pagans."* the man stammered.
*"Hmph."* the old man said, now sneering *"And what about their gods? Think you can take 'em?"*
*"Those pagan stories are just that. Stories."* the young man said with confidence.
After a short pause, the old man threw back his hood to reveal a scarred and burned head wrapped in bandages and stared with one eye lit with both fear and fire.
*"Stories that walk like a man and fight like a bear."* the man said *"So I'll ask again; think you can take 'em?"*
*"You must've been struck pretty hard to see that. Are you sure you're alright?"* the young man said, concern now creeping into his voice.
*"It was a hammer that did this, yes, but the burns came from lightning hurled from the sky."* the man retorted.
*"You're just unlucky."* the young man said, trying to rationalize it.
*"And the other dozen who didn't stand back up? Them getting struck by lightning was just* ***bad luck?****"* the man said before turning away with a huff.
*"Another fool for the pile..."* | 2021-02-10T02:05:46 | 2021-02-10T00:36:37 | 1,471 | 135 |
[WP] Your entire life you have failed at everything you do. Wanting to get some happiness in your life you decide to summon the devil and sell your soul. Except your even fail at this and summon the archangel Michael | My name's dicky, dicky Byrd.
And I am a total failure. For example, the other day while visiting a distant relative. I asked for his wifi password. He said, " start with an uppercase S, and then 123."
I tried to log onto his Wi-Fi. But every time I typed S123, it wouldn't work. After two hours of failure, I pretended to be less interested in my phone and more interested in conversation.
I am such a failure that my mom doesn't think that I am a failure anymore.
Now, she knows.
Like the other day my mom, as she released me from her hug said, " never fear failure, always embrace it".
Anyway if there was a competition for the biggest failures...
I would probably fail in that too.
So thinking that I had enough and wanting to get some happiness in life. I decided to summon the devil and sell my soul. It was a brilliant plan. And guess what I failed there too. No surprise.
So instead of the devil the archangel Michael shows up in a puff of smoke.
Before I could say anything.
He says, "Because you have lived a good and virtuous life. I can offer you one gift. you can have infinite wisdom or limitless wealth".
I mean clearly there's been a mistake, but I am not gonna argue with him, he's too shiny, you see. You don't argue with someone that shiny. Everytime, I have tried the girl's muscular cousin has got involved. So anyways.
" Everyone always said wealth is not useful and stuff. So I will take the wisdom, thanks", I says, feeling pretty smart.
"Wisdom is yours," says the angel and disappears in another puff of smoke. The smoke is barely clear before I realise, "I should have taken the money." | He was magnificent. An impossible creature of 4 wings, each longer than I tall, and within the center of each feather sat a strained crimson eye. He, no THEY, was surely meant to watch, to witness, the glory of all of God's kingdom. It's face, as if such a meager word could describe it's radiance, an amalgamation of many of The Father's most cherished creatures. I saw in moments a bulls powerful horns, the mane of a proud lion, the cold eyes of a sacrificial Goat, the mouth of man (as best to sing the glories of the Father with). A voice like a hummingbirds wings seemed to burrow into my bones from countless directions. "Be Not Afraid" It said, and I was not. How could I be when I stared upon glory and beauty itself. Man was made with flaws but this had none such flaws. Emblazoned across its chest is a flowing gold script shone its name. "Michael" I gasped, how could one such as myself believe it okay to attempt to speak to such a higher being. My heart filled with ice, cold spread through my veins, "Forgive me O' Merciful Archangel Michael. I spoke without thinking, tis the flaws of man, I only beg your punishment for such imprudence be swift!" I dare not spare another look as I kept my head tilted to the floor, beauty of such caliber did not deserve to be seen by eyes of filth such a my own. A golden bell tolled and that gentle rumbling voice returned to grace my unfit ears. "Lift your gaze" I moved with such pace it was almost as if my eyes were being drawn to its splendor. Light, golden with sheets of white billowing in it like sheets of silk in the wind. Beautiful, gorgeous, pure, all encompassing. I knew it inherently; that was the last thing my eyes would ever see. But what a sight. "I shall treasure this gift till the last of my days!" I proclaimed to an empty room. | 2021-05-08T11:30:55 | 2021-05-08T10:22:57 | 167 | 19 |
[WP] "Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry." "Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" "No." | "Any other symptoms?" The doctor asked. "A change in wardrobe?"
"Oh, yes! He's suddenly had an obsession with belts. Lots of them! Not just around his waist, either!" Susan said in a half-panic.
"Mhmm... can you tell me anything about his father?"
Susan looked at the ground, sheepishly. "No, not much... He left shortly after \[Insert Name\] was born -"
"I'm sorry, your child's name is '\[Insert Name\]'?"
"Yes. His father insisted it was a traditional name within his culture... Everyone just calls him 'Hero' instead..."
The doctor paused and took a deep breath. This was likely to be the worst case of **protagonitis** he had ever seen. He hoped whatever information he could gather from the mother would help the child in his - undoubtedly - pre-destined travels.
Gathering himself, the doctor continued. "Do you have any other children?"
Susan blushed, answering haltingly. "... Well... yes. My eldest son. \[Insert Name\]'s half-brother. Um... \[Insert Name\] doesn't know..."
The doctor tried to keep his expression neutral, but struggled. "Ma'am... I'll be honest with you; I don't think it is possible to foster a more fertile ground for a severe case of protagonitis. Does he have any friends that he may have spread it to?"
"Well, he has a couple close friends... one of them is good with tools and machines... oh, there is the haughty wizard's apprentice, but I don't know if they are friends anymore after the school tournament. Oh! And he has this cute, spritely girl that I think he is interested in... but it's hard to tell. She is definitely infatuated with him..."
The doctor blanched. "Nurse!" he called, and stepped toward the door. The flustered nurse appeared in the hallway. "Please bring me the fireproof safe, and... start watching the sky for... anything unusual.
"Is something wrong?" Susan asked, alarmed by the doctor's sudden change in tone.
"I... think we need to take immediate steps to protect... well... everyone else in the village." The nurse returned with a small box; red with gold filigree on the edges. The doctor placed his notes, 1000g, and his favorite leather gloves in the box, and set it in the corner of the room. "Where is your son now?"
"Oh, he went out to the outskirts of town with his friends to gather herbs-"
Susan was cut off as the room rapidly darkened. The nurse ran to the window, and screamed. "DOCTOR!! The Empire is here!! Their airships are surrounding the town!"
The doctor sighed, and resigned himself to his fate; a background character in this child's tragic background story. | "Sure", I said, not looking at the doctor, only at the baby. My child. What would I call him? Fred had wanted to name it Johnathan, if it was a boy, but I had already started talking him out of it. What about... Nick? Yes, Nick. I liked that. It fit with his pink hair perfectly.
"Misses?" asked the doctor. "I'm being serious. You will most likely be dead by tomorrow morning!" Finally I looked at him. He was young, barely older than I, and his grey eyes looked concerned.
I laughed. "You're telling me that I will die because my son has a sickness called - what was it again? Protagonitis? What does that even mean?"
He sighed and brushed his hair back. "We're not sure yet ourselves. Our scientists were never able to find any biological reason for the condition, and it almost seems as if it's not really biological at all, it... Well, the symptoms usually include spiky colourful hair, hard youth and life in general and, unfortunately, dead parents. Later in life there can also be mental health issues. At least he will probably grow to be a handsome looking man with great physical attributes, much courage and often but not always cleverness."
I laughed again, incredulous. "And why exactly does that mean that I and my husband will die?" I asked him, while in the back of my mind, a terrible truth began to take hold of my mind.
The doctor smiled sadly. "By now some villain or the other will most likely have heard of a prophecy claiming that your son will eventually overthrow him. They will already have sent their minions to kill him - which will most likely fail due to some luck - and you, which will most likely succeed due to plot convenience."
I had turned away while he spoke, the smile slowly dripping of my face.
"Misses?" asked the doctor again. "Thank you for your advice", I said, opening the door and leaving the doctors office. I was cold suddenly, although it was summer outside. It had started raining again. I was used to this, and so I took the raincoat from my backpack. As I stepped outside I made sure that all my hair was protected from the water by the hood.
Even though I had initially laughed at the doctors words, I now began to look over my shoulder, into the dark corners of alleys and at the rooftops of the streets houses, always expecting dark figures to appear out of nowhere.
As I walked, pushing little Nick in his stroller, a determination began to grow in me. I knew what it was like to grow up as an orphan. I knew how hard it was, everyone picking on you, never having enough to eat, never having the comfort, the protection of a family.
I would not let my son endure this. Never.
I wasn't surprised when the men on their motorbikes stopped me at the mouth of an alley. It was a dead end.
I pushed the stroller with my baby, my son behind me and threw off the raincoat to free my arms for combat.
My breathing was deep and calm as the rain washed the brown out of my hair to reveal its natural light blue. | 2021-05-11T07:47:55 | 2021-05-11T07:32:25 | 85 | 44 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 392 | 158 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.* | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 392 | 66 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Will Alice Smith please come to the stand?" I glanced up as the girl in front of me in line stepped forward. She was chained up six ways to Sunday. It was obvious why. A massacre like the one she single-handedly caused would definitely get you locked down tight. "On the charge of 37 counts of murder in the first degree, the court has found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words and choose how you'd like to die-"
I stood silently staring at the ground as Alice giggled. "My last words? Simple. Screw you! I choose old age!" She laughed, but it wasn't a normal laugh. It was the type of laugh you only hear from someone that had long tipped over the edge of true insanity. The judge kept his composure yet again as he raised his gavel. He brought the gavel down with a bone-chilling crack. The woman paled as her cockiness quickly replaced itself with true fear. "Wait! No!" She fell to the ground as her hair turned a morbid grey, her skin wrinkling as the color faded from her eyes. "This isn't-" she paused for a moment, coughing violently as her lungs threatened to give out. "-what I had in mind." She fell completely to the floor, turning to dust, only leaving a pile of clothes where a person once stood.
I felt my stomach churn. I quickly realized old age was off the table. "Lucas Hollins. Please step forward." I stepped silently forward. "It says here you were caught committing adultery with his majesty's bride-to-be and shortly thereafter, you attempted to murder his majesty. Therefore, on the charge of adultery and attempted murder, the court found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words you have and tell how you wish to be executed."
I looked up at the judge, pure hate in my eyes. "I say this whole system is bullshit. Rigged against anyone his majesty deems unworthy, but I don't just mean the judicial system. Our entire society is rigged based on favoritism. I say to hell with it. This wouldn't have happened in the first place if that stuck-up brat of a king hadn't ordered that my love marry him simply for her beauty. I hate him and I hate anyone who admires him. So you know what? I choose to die the only way I know you can't kill me."
The judge simply scoffed at my response. "Is that so? What way is that?"
I simply smiled. "By the hands of my own child."
The judge nodded. "Very well-" I watched him raise the gavel before speaking again, stopping him.
"But you see, your honor. I can't die by the hands of someone who doesn't exist-"
(I may have gotten a bit lost in the details so it's probably longer than it should be, but yeah. I don't really like the end, but I couldn't think of anything else) | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:15:26 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 120 | 22 |
[WP] After blacking out during recess on the playground, you wake up with a Steno notepad in your hand. You read the following message in your own handwriting, "ME: Invest in Yahoo, Google, Facebook, Amazon, and Bitcoin. Spend on defense. They do not come in peace." It's 1995. You are 10 years old. | The next 11 years were a blur. I couldn't be prepared enough! Everything had to be learnt, planned, designed and funded by my own hands. It's not like I could tell anyone. Programming, Mechanical Engineering, Electronics, and, most importantly, Finance. I had to learn it all, and NOW! And I got a job as soon as I was capable. First mowing lawns, then for the local hardware store packing shelves, while fixing lawnmowers and later cars for friends, family and neighbors. And investing every scent as soon as I could get access to the stock market.
But why hadn't I written a date?! I should have written a date! I curse whatever poor bastard version of myself scrawled that rushed note on that pad all those years ago, then dropped out of my mind like a missed item from a shopping list. HOW LONG DO I HAVE? This one question haunted me.
Until Thursday 21 October 2021.
The team running the new laser Gravity Wave detectors out of Arizona spotted them first. Their ships emergence distorted space like nothing measured before. The news had it a month later, when they were spotted passing Jupiters bulk by some amateur astronomers, their rocket plooms aimed directly at us as they decelerated at 0.8g.
My planning went into overdrive- No! Insane Hyperdrive at that point. To be honest, I'd always half considered the last sentance as a prank. A "what would you say to your childhood self?" answer but from someone with a sense of humour.
No more.
By this point I was a billionaire. The unspoken of dark money behind a thousand startups and defence contractors, as well as sitting pretty in an old missile silo I had expanded to be a survivalists wet dream. All the companies were told to triple production of arms, ammo, body armour, everything. Training companies started offering insanely good deals for basic combat and firearms courses. Even my old employer at the DIY store got tipped to start offering armoured doors and windows.
But I won't get to see what they do with them. I won't be amongst that carnage. I'm sad not to see the battles I will have wrought.
The President insists I be among the welcome party when they land. A representative of our nation's best and brightest! Ha! I'll give them brightest.
After the SNUKE in my false leg goes off, they'll be disoriented for a brief moment. Hopefully it'll open a hole in their hull if I get close enough. That's when you strike.
Don't hesitate. Don't be afraid. Don't let them take our world.
I love you. Live.
Destroy after reading. | I am unaware of what is reality and what is nightmare.
In the shadow of the Great Dreamer, all things are twisted according to his terrible design. The animals displayed the first hints of corruption upon the waking of the Great Dreamer. Loyal companions turned against their master without reason, killing the weak and traumatizing the strong. Pupper, a husky named by my daughter, tried to rip her throat out while playing outside. Abigail’s quick shot ruined the dog’s skull but saved Annie’s life.
Annie’s sobs of broken innocence were drowned out by the President’s emergency press conference on the situation in the southern Pacific. She explained that some sort of structure had risen from the seafloor some forty-eight hours before. Non-humanoid intelligences emerged to welcome the warships sent to scout the region. Communications turned hostile when the things demanded the unconditional surrender of all mankind’s nation.
“No communications have reached our newsroom from Honolulu or Tokyo,” Wolf Blitzer announced with a voice barely containing coherent thought.
Everything fell into place as CNN displayed a map of the Pacific areas under direct siege.
*Microsoft, Apple, Disney, Alphabet, Ralph, Amazon, and Bristol-Myers. Prepare. Survive. They do not come in peace.*
For twenty-seven years, I followed an order written on a scrap of notebook paper. Father, a hobbyist investor, laughed at the boyish fantasy when I presented the note but set up a small investing account for me. By age thirty, Forbes named me the wealthiest man alive. No one knew of the note except for our father. Jealousy convinced him that I just got lucky, and we never spoke once the money came rolling in.
My home in New York combined style and survivalism. It took the bulk of my fortune to construct the bunker located a mile underground and connected to the cellar via a cargo elevator. The media and public quickly turned it into a joke, writing lengthy pieces on the mad billionaire preparing for an apocalypse that will never come. I cared little for the opinions of the doomed public.
I prepared so my family could survive.
But what can a man do against something that invades the mind? No amount of steel or rock can keep the nightmares away.
We fled into the bunker and sealed the blast doors behind us. CNN’s final reports told of new monstrous sightings off the coast of Massachusetts. Evacuation orders were issued by the governor, but instructions never came. One of his aids denotated a bomb vest during a press conference after declaring undying loyalty to Dagon. My wife shot Annie and hacked an artery in her left arm the following day. Every second after discovering their corpses has been a living hell that no amount of imported wine can defend against. My days are spent watching the world outside twist to the will of the Dreamer, and nights bring a fresh wave of insanity.
I have failed. | 2021-10-19T15:24:03 | 2021-10-19T15:02:29 | 612 | 110 |
[WP] A notoriously talkative superhero is forced to remain silent for an extended period of time due to civilian, secret identity reasons. Villains, civilians, even other heroes are unnerved and intimidated by the hero's new stoic, silent behavior. | Doxx dropped down into the alley where Scarlet Shot, defender of the city, was currently tying up a couple of thugs who had thought mugging was a good idea. Frankly, *he* had told them it was a bad idea, but nobody listened to their computer guy, even if he was dressed in spandex and on his way to do more corporate sabotage.
A bottle skittered across the ground and the heroine turned and fired in one motion. Doxx dropped into a forward roll, popping up with his hands up. "Scarlet! Come on, it's just me. Truce?"
She responded by charging him, quick loading her pistol with a new round. And from her elemental stash too. Doxx did a backwards handspring, pulling his whip out and latching onto the nearby fire escape to swing back behind her as she fired after him. The bullets crackled with barely contained sparks of electricity.
*At least she's not* trying *to kill me,* Doxx thought. He flicked his whip out again, the tip barely catching around her wrist. Scarlet jumped back before turning towards him, a second gun now in her hand as she alternated shots down the alleyway. Doxx dove for cover behind a dumpster.
"What? No lines about 'reforming my ways'? Or 'bringing me to justice'? Oh! How about that line about 'you always have one more shot'?" He checked his belt for any other tricks he might have. When Scorcher had called to say Scarlet was acting weird, he hadn't thought he'd need a full kit to handle her.
Well. That just meant trump card time. He pulled his cowl back and peeked around the corner. "Britt...?" And ducked back as she fired another shot at him. "Oh, come on! I can't apologize if you don't talk to me! I don't know why you're pissed!"
"'Kitty kitty meow meow' ring any bells?" There was a thump as she jumped on top of the dumpster, guns trained on him.
"Ah. Well, in my defense, I didn't think it would go viral."
"And I told *you* not to post it, Drake!" Scarlet slammed her guns back into their holsters. "I've had villains watching it all week as I come to stop them. Heck, *Excelsior* was watching it when he came by for the monthly check-in! And then you weren't picking up your phone!"
Well, when the top hero is involved, there's only one way to fix things. "You're right. Look, I'll delete the video, even though you singing to our cat is adorable." | "Oh now this is just ridiculous Tank!" Velveteen cackled as he had his minions attack his archnemesis The Tank who with a swing of her mighty fists made short work of them. Her latest outfit was just awful. Full black with no highlighting of her luscious curves. "You're going woke and broke!" He exclaimed as he jumped out of the window with the money from the latest heist. He wasn't use to providing dialogue for their fights, but he needed to fill the silence she was leaving behind. It was unnatural for a hero to be silent, no only the ones that left broken necks were quiet.
He landed on the money and rolled off with ease and started running, knowing Tank wouldn't be far behind, still he couldn't help turning to watch her superhero landing. He missed the days when she use to wear a skirt and he'd get the occasional thrill but no Tank had changed over the years. No more skirt, no more boob window. Damned SJWs even effected supes as she had changed everything to a mannish manner, even going so far as to go completely flat chested! At least she still had that dump truck of an ass. Speaking of dump trucks, Velveteen was in luck as one rounded the corner and grabbed on. "Tanks again for the good time!" He knew that Tank wouldn't dare take down a city truck, the only thing stronger than her sense of justice was her sense of civic duty.
Tank didn't even run to catch up with him, the reason was obvious as the truck stopped at the corner as it proceeded to pick up trash. Tank grabbed him by the back of his neck like an errant kitten. No remarks about collecting trash, no quips about finding spare boyfriends there, just cold silence.
"Tank talk to me! What did I do wrong?" Velveteen all but sobbed. "Talk to me!" But Tank said nothing, not even as he begged like one of his victims. What was the point of their rivalry if it was only one sided anymore? What was the point of any of this anymore if he was the only one having fun?
xxx
"Terry did you see the news? Velveteen has finally decided to reform."
"No shit, really Ma?" Terry grabbed the paper to read the story. "I've been trying to get him to stop for years and he finally does? What the shit." Terry sulked while eating cornflakes.
"See I told you things were getting better. You should shave before heading to work, you're looking like a little scruffy." Terry looked at his reflection in the toaster, his beard still looked like crap but he didn't want ruin his limited progress, he was looking forward to one day filling out his new helmet that he designed to accommodate a full Gimli style beard. He had been looking forward to see what lamebrained comment Velveteen would have come up with. | 2022-01-24T09:35:19 | 2022-01-24T08:41:17 | 112 | 23 |
[WP] You are death, but in a post apocalyptic world. Only a few survivors remain and you’re doing everything you can to help them because if they die, you die as well. The survivors can’t see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They’ve started to call you “life.”
Saw this prompt elsewhere, If it’s already been done I apologise. | I have seen civilization fall. I've seen it rise like a phoenix from the ashes, only to burn out in its own magnificence. It was as much the cycle of life as any living being.
I have seen the fall of the last civilization of man. Greed, corruption and short-sightedness joined together with technology that could rival magic had brought death on a scale that dwarfed any cataclysm. But humans survived the end of the world before.
Of course, I was here long before the first human. I have existed from the moment that the first organism, a tiny single cell, came to move on its own. Many creatures feared me, long before the primate that conquered the planet. But humans were special.
When the wolf fears something, it will simply avoid it, or attack it if it runs out of options. Humans... If humans see something they are afraid of, they will be drawn to it. Compelled, perhaps, by the same curiosity that lead them to harness lighting and build homes from the remnants of dying stars. The same drive that made them scorch the world.
And that curiousity forced me into being. I existed before them, yes, but only as a basic force. A fact of nature, really. Then humans began asking questions. "Why do we die?", "Where do we go after?", "Can we not die, somehow?". And they kept asking, making me slowly, over millennia, understand that I don't know the answers. And, much more importantly, that I really want to.
So I try to help them, the surviving humans. Small pockets, sometimes a single wanderer in the midst of a dead land, sometimes as much as a village, raised with the corpses of old machinery and barely rediscovered science. Small things- chase some wild beasts into their range, refrain from collecting plants, or sick people. Not permanently, just for a while. I do it as a selfishness, of course. Without them, I will be nothing more but a basic fact of nature once again. I don't relish the thought.
They started to notice my presence. When a person who should die of sickness lives three more days, because I stayed my hand, just barely making it to drink the medicine that saves him, I have to be nearby. When the buffalo are scared of wolves, but run *next* to the huts, letting hunters capture a meal, rather than *through* the huts, killing many, I'm there, balancing the score. And they can feel me.
I thought they'd be scared. Somehow, though, they find comfort in me. So much so, that they have started praying to me. Some call me "Zhiznh", or "Lewe" or "Haim". Different cultures, different languages, kilometres away from each other, they all gave me one name- "Life".
I will help them. In time, they will rebuild, and spread throughout the stars, building a new civilization, one that will be a shining star compared to the candles that came before. I'm not sure how I'll do it. But, the humans have a saying:
Life finds a way. | Two boats sail along the ocean with one thousand people between the two vessels. One of them holds three hundred people the other with seven hundred and one both boats suddenly begin to sink. Only having enough time to save one, you choose to save the larger number of the two. Now left with only seven hundred people, the occupants of the boat eventually find another vessel and split themselves up among the ships. This time with three hundred on one vessel and the remaining four hundred on the other, only when the same scenario occurs again and you’re forced to choose which one to save. Naturally you choose to save the larger of the two numbers and only after this choice is made does it dawn on most that you’ve killed more people than you’ve saved. Four hundred survivors saved, six hundred drowned with the last two ships.
The prospect of philosophy is always an interesting invention of the human mind, though this is the one that bothers me the most out of every diatribe they’ve come up with. I fear, however, this may be the one choice I’m left with.
Even now as I watch the last dregs of humanity, a few hundred amid a commune trying to eek out some semblance of an existence I can’t help but feel like I’m counting the grains of sand falling from an hour glass. Even now as I watch the farmer in his field, tilling and pulling at the dry and dead dirt to try and plant crops to hopefully grow enough food to survive the winter, I know I can’t make these plants grow. I know I can’t till the field beside him. I certainly know I can’t breathe life back into the soil the way these individuals think I can.
Even as the farmer sings his hymn to the idea he think’s I represent, I can’t help but feel a weight press down into my abdomen as though some unseen force pulls me back into the ground. I cannot bring life to these blasted grounds because I am not, as these humans seem to think I am, the angle of such a concept. Rather I am his anathema.
I know just as well that these poems and songs they sing to the idea they think I represent, they are less of the celebrations that humans used to use music and poems for, but rather a desperate plea from the damned. Who am I to turn to deaf ear and a blind eye to their request? Even as I think to myself that I could end a million lives and ended a million more before it, would this one hundred even matter in the end. Could these last few lives really sustain my own existence?
It’s that moment that I decide the life of this man and those he chooses to take care of is more valuable than the creatures currently residing inside the soil. As I reach my hand to the ground, unseen by the farmer and his kind, I let go of a breath and with it take the breath of the creatures residing inside the soil. The weasels and rats that dig their tunnels, the weeds that sap the life of the seeds planted by the farmer, even the insects that would feed on these same plants. I decide that easily these thousands of lives will vanish with a single breath so their bodies will feed the soil, and in turn, feed these humans.
Even if I’m counting the grains of sand as they fall, I think to myself that perhaps if I could just keep one more grain where it was for just a second longer, perhaps I could find peace within those moments. After all, if these humans can find peace with only one hundred years of their existence, if they’re lucky, perhaps I could find just as much within a breath of a moment. | 2022-02-20T11:07:34 | 2022-02-20T08:26:54 | 828 | 62 |
[WP] You are death, but in a post apocalyptic world. Only a few survivors remain and you’re doing everything you can to help them because if they die, you die as well. The survivors can’t see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They’ve started to call you “life.”
Saw this prompt elsewhere, If it’s already been done I apologise. | **Looking for Death**
If you’re looking for death, follow the crying.
My shadowy cloak billows around me as I float toward the the small hut at the edge of Omega, a woman’s wailing drawing me in like a flame draws bugs. That’s what they’re calling the town these days, Omega, since it’s the last town left in the world.
They’re wrong, at least I hope so. I hope it’s the first town, the first settlement after the apocalypse, the place where humanity proves it can survive anything.
Look at me, death incarnate, being all hopeful. Things have changed indeed.
I pause for a moment outside the hut. This is the home of the Jacobsons. Who could this be? They were fine just earlier this week. These humans are so fragile.
I pass through the wall. The temperature drops. The hairs on the back of Mrs. Jacobson’s neck rise and her wailing turns to sniffles as she stands up to turn
and look in my direction. Her eyes are red from crying, and her tattered blue dress is wrinkled and dirty. She can’t see me, but she knows I’m here.
Mr. Jacobson is lying there on the bed, breathing his last ragged breaths.
I’ve seen this scene a billion times, over and over again, through every age, through every culture, through every combination imaginable, loved ones with their dying. Normally, the chill I bring, the shiver up the spine, brings dread with it.
But here in Omega, like so many things, it’s different. Here, my presence is a refreshing breeze, a signal of hope rather than a sign of doom.
Soon I am hovering beside Mr. Jacobson on the other side of the bed. Another few minutes and his soul would be ready for me, ready to escort beyond this plane and onto another.
Before, I would let it happen. When the time has come, the time has come. Death is not something to be feared. Death just is.
Here, though, death cannot be. If all of them die, I die. And *my* death? Well, that is terrifying.
“Death just is.” How naive, how pretentious, how horribly *privileged* of me. Look at me now. Cowering away from it, shirking from my only duties as death, bending over backwards for these silly creatures, creatures I’ve tormented and haunted and terrified for millions of years, believing them weak for fearing the end.
I stretch out my hands and hold them over Mr. Jacobson’s body. He’s sick, an infection ravaging his body. My powers seek out the bacteria eating away at him from the inside, and kills them. That’s something I’ve only just learned I can do.
The pained expression on his face washes away. Instantly, I can feel life returning to him. He opens his eyes, looks at his wife, and smiles.
I float away as she runs to him and collapses on his chest, tears of joy streaming down her face, deep, aching, rolling sobs of relief pouring out of her.
If you’re looking for death, follow the crying.
___
r/StealthyStorkStories | Two boats sail along the ocean with one thousand people between the two vessels. One of them holds three hundred people the other with seven hundred and one both boats suddenly begin to sink. Only having enough time to save one, you choose to save the larger number of the two. Now left with only seven hundred people, the occupants of the boat eventually find another vessel and split themselves up among the ships. This time with three hundred on one vessel and the remaining four hundred on the other, only when the same scenario occurs again and you’re forced to choose which one to save. Naturally you choose to save the larger of the two numbers and only after this choice is made does it dawn on most that you’ve killed more people than you’ve saved. Four hundred survivors saved, six hundred drowned with the last two ships.
The prospect of philosophy is always an interesting invention of the human mind, though this is the one that bothers me the most out of every diatribe they’ve come up with. I fear, however, this may be the one choice I’m left with.
Even now as I watch the last dregs of humanity, a few hundred amid a commune trying to eek out some semblance of an existence I can’t help but feel like I’m counting the grains of sand falling from an hour glass. Even now as I watch the farmer in his field, tilling and pulling at the dry and dead dirt to try and plant crops to hopefully grow enough food to survive the winter, I know I can’t make these plants grow. I know I can’t till the field beside him. I certainly know I can’t breathe life back into the soil the way these individuals think I can.
Even as the farmer sings his hymn to the idea he think’s I represent, I can’t help but feel a weight press down into my abdomen as though some unseen force pulls me back into the ground. I cannot bring life to these blasted grounds because I am not, as these humans seem to think I am, the angle of such a concept. Rather I am his anathema.
I know just as well that these poems and songs they sing to the idea they think I represent, they are less of the celebrations that humans used to use music and poems for, but rather a desperate plea from the damned. Who am I to turn to deaf ear and a blind eye to their request? Even as I think to myself that I could end a million lives and ended a million more before it, would this one hundred even matter in the end. Could these last few lives really sustain my own existence?
It’s that moment that I decide the life of this man and those he chooses to take care of is more valuable than the creatures currently residing inside the soil. As I reach my hand to the ground, unseen by the farmer and his kind, I let go of a breath and with it take the breath of the creatures residing inside the soil. The weasels and rats that dig their tunnels, the weeds that sap the life of the seeds planted by the farmer, even the insects that would feed on these same plants. I decide that easily these thousands of lives will vanish with a single breath so their bodies will feed the soil, and in turn, feed these humans.
Even if I’m counting the grains of sand as they fall, I think to myself that perhaps if I could just keep one more grain where it was for just a second longer, perhaps I could find peace within those moments. After all, if these humans can find peace with only one hundred years of their existence, if they’re lucky, perhaps I could find just as much within a breath of a moment. | 2022-02-20T11:25:42 | 2022-02-20T08:26:54 | 178 | 62 |
[WP] You open a letter addressed to your home’s previous owner. Inside is an “Application for Immortality “. The questions are strange and entertaining so you fill it out. | In disbelieve, I had been staring at it for a while now.
After I got home, the dog greeted me excitedly like always. Max came running up to me, as I bent down on one knee, arms wide open. Usually he would show some sort of restraint. I mean, as much restraint as a scruffy Sheperd could muster. This time however, Max leapt with such force that I tumbled over. "Silly dog" I said, while scratching his head. Laying on the ground, I noticed an envelope that Max was now standing on top of. It was golden, lined with a flawless pattern along the rim. "Come on Max, let's get you a treat" is what I said to get him to move away from the mail stack.
I grabbed the envelope, gave Max a treat, and got a letter opener from the kitchen drawer. With one precise cut, I freed the letter from its cage. The letter had no creases to my surprise. Thinking of it, nor did the envelope. Eventhough it had just succumbed to a fourth of Max's weight. Shrugging it off as a coincidence, my eyes started to wander through the text. It read.
"Dear Mr. Gonzales" -Which was the surname of the woman I bought the place from. She told me she had inherited the place from her dad, but could not stay since she had moved across country for work.- "It is not everyday that we get to congratulate one of our readers. At Gins & Nobles we take great pride in our prestigious brews. So much so, that only one extra divine bottle is sent out to a single reader each year. However, we can not grant just anyone this very special elixer. That is why we ask of you to fill out this application of immortality. If your answers suits us, you will receive the promised flask in no time!"
Application... of.... Immortality. I read it again and again, wondering whether this was some kind of prank from my neighbours. Nonetheless, I had the day off and decided to play along. I sat down at the table and shot Max a look, who in turn came over in an instance. "Let's have a look at this together, alright bud?" He then proceeded to yawn at me, which I took as a yes.
Starting off with their first question, I began to read. "If you were immortal, like the queen of England, what would you do with that endless amount of time?" I snorted and looked at Max. "Someone is obviously having a crack at us, Maxie. Like the queen of England, they wrote. Ha." The dog tilted his head sideways, if to question whether the old bat was actually incapable of dying. "Alright boy, put those ears up again. We'll answer that I would take you to the park everyday". Max stuck his tongue out and seemed to smile. With his approval, I scribbled the thought down.
"What does the fox say?" read the following question. I cackled. This has to be Joe, I thought. Just his kind of humor. Old internet memes. "Maybe we should stop answering these questions, huh boy?" Max barked and gave me a fierce look. Somehow it gave me the feeling to keep on going. "Okay okay, we'll continue." I said. Writing down that we would have to figure that one out on our next hike.
Last bust not least, their final question stated "If a bottle of Gin could grant you immortality, would you drink it?" Not without slipping my buddy Max a sip, I wrote. Suddenly the dog was alerted and sprinted towards the front door.
When I opened it to check outside, the only thing that stood there was a bottle which contained a clear liquid. There was a note stuck to it "share this with Max". | Just for kicks I opened the letter addressed to the old guy, Nick Johnson, who had owned the house before we moved in. "We" being my lovely wife Jordan and our two lovely daughters Agatha and Dorothy.
From the looks of the letter, I assumed it was from the Home Owners Association with news telling me to paint the garage door or to cut the grass or something along those lines. I was wrong ever so wrong. I remember opening and reading that letter as if it were yesterday and truth be told it doesn't seem like it was 600 years ago.
Let me back up a little bit. I opened the letter and it was an application for immortality which I thought was a great joke letter to send out. Kind of like the chain letters that used to get passed around in the 1960's and 1970's.
Inside the envelope was an application and an addressed stamped envelope with an address for a small business in Pocahontas Iowa. I was bored that wife and kids were visiting some friends on a play date and I was also waiting for my food to get dropped off by Uber Eats. So i found a pen and started to fill out the Application.
The application had all the usual lines for name address, religion, colleges attended and work history.
Then the questions started:
Do your feet hurt?
Can you walk long distances?
Do you mind cold weather?
Do you like dogs?
Have you ever used any of the following weapons?
Spear, Bow, Atl Atl
Do you have teaching experience?
Do you like to camp in bad weather?
Are there certain foods you won't eat?
Do you have allergies?
Which of the following locations would you refuse to live in?
1)Desert 2)Mountains 3) Swamps 4)Jungles 5)non tropical rain-forests 6) ruins of ancient civilizations
Can you make your own clothing
Have you ever been a black smith
How good are you at learning languages?
Do you mind relocating every ten years?
Can you walk away from things that are important to you in a moment's notice?
I spent the next couple of hours filling out the application in great detail, it was very therapeutic, as I was recalling and unpacking some mental baggage that i had been carrying around for years. I was also using this time to and face down some inner demons that i had really never faced down.
At any rate I finished the application, signed it and mailed it off to the address shown in the stamped envelope that had come with it. As I said that was six hundred years ago.
Back to the story, about three weeks passed and I got a return letter from the same outfit that I had mailed my "Application for Immortality" to, the same bland nondescript envelope as the original application and in the envelope there was a letter with the following words.
YOU ARE IN - CONGRATULATIONS
Be nice to the humans
Learn things and teach things to the humans
Don't be sad
You will need to hide sometimes - this is very important
keep a low profile
Comfortable footwear is important
Get a dog or two
Last note - You have about 10 years left in your current life, at this point you think this is a joke. You are not going to age from this point on, look in the mirror this is what you are going to look like for eternity. The clock is ticking, enjoy the next ten years because after that point people are going to notice that you are not ageing.
I put the letter in my sock drawer as a memento or something.
I left my family almost ten years later and have been moving ever since. I didn't age and my wife aged, people were starting to wonder why I didn't age. It was time to get moving. So went out for a gallon of milk and never went back. And that was six hundred years ago.
After the current crisis calms down a little big I will come out of the mountains and wander around an help humanity crawl back up. I will teach math, writing, metalworking and maybe irrigation. That was the job that I signed up for when I filled out the application. | 2022-06-10T11:10:58 | 2022-06-10T09:17:04 | 104 | 56 |
[WP] You open a letter addressed to your home’s previous owner. Inside is an “Application for Immortality “. The questions are strange and entertaining so you fill it out. | In disbelieve, I had been staring at it for a while now.
After I got home, the dog greeted me excitedly like always. Max came running up to me, as I bent down on one knee, arms wide open. Usually he would show some sort of restraint. I mean, as much restraint as a scruffy Sheperd could muster. This time however, Max leapt with such force that I tumbled over. "Silly dog" I said, while scratching his head. Laying on the ground, I noticed an envelope that Max was now standing on top of. It was golden, lined with a flawless pattern along the rim. "Come on Max, let's get you a treat" is what I said to get him to move away from the mail stack.
I grabbed the envelope, gave Max a treat, and got a letter opener from the kitchen drawer. With one precise cut, I freed the letter from its cage. The letter had no creases to my surprise. Thinking of it, nor did the envelope. Eventhough it had just succumbed to a fourth of Max's weight. Shrugging it off as a coincidence, my eyes started to wander through the text. It read.
"Dear Mr. Gonzales" -Which was the surname of the woman I bought the place from. She told me she had inherited the place from her dad, but could not stay since she had moved across country for work.- "It is not everyday that we get to congratulate one of our readers. At Gins & Nobles we take great pride in our prestigious brews. So much so, that only one extra divine bottle is sent out to a single reader each year. However, we can not grant just anyone this very special elixer. That is why we ask of you to fill out this application of immortality. If your answers suits us, you will receive the promised flask in no time!"
Application... of.... Immortality. I read it again and again, wondering whether this was some kind of prank from my neighbours. Nonetheless, I had the day off and decided to play along. I sat down at the table and shot Max a look, who in turn came over in an instance. "Let's have a look at this together, alright bud?" He then proceeded to yawn at me, which I took as a yes.
Starting off with their first question, I began to read. "If you were immortal, like the queen of England, what would you do with that endless amount of time?" I snorted and looked at Max. "Someone is obviously having a crack at us, Maxie. Like the queen of England, they wrote. Ha." The dog tilted his head sideways, if to question whether the old bat was actually incapable of dying. "Alright boy, put those ears up again. We'll answer that I would take you to the park everyday". Max stuck his tongue out and seemed to smile. With his approval, I scribbled the thought down.
"What does the fox say?" read the following question. I cackled. This has to be Joe, I thought. Just his kind of humor. Old internet memes. "Maybe we should stop answering these questions, huh boy?" Max barked and gave me a fierce look. Somehow it gave me the feeling to keep on going. "Okay okay, we'll continue." I said. Writing down that we would have to figure that one out on our next hike.
Last bust not least, their final question stated "If a bottle of Gin could grant you immortality, would you drink it?" Not without slipping my buddy Max a sip, I wrote. Suddenly the dog was alerted and sprinted towards the front door.
When I opened it to check outside, the only thing that stood there was a bottle which contained a clear liquid. There was a note stuck to it "share this with Max". | I’ve always liked to read and think out loud. It was a habit that I’ve presumably never grown out of, reading small books meant for toddlers taking their first steps. It was far less endearing when confronted with a Cheesecake Factory menu, however.
The new apartment lease took a while for me to sign, but it was done and dusted. I opened the front door to my new home, and basked in the quietness of it all.
“No more of George’s weird moaning at night,” I whispered. “Or the thumping from upstairs Pepper. There are actual windows. Oh, bless me.”
My gaze flitted across the whole living room lovingly, but eventually came to rest on a gilded envelope. It stuck out, with curved silver wreathed around it like vines wrapped around an old brick wall. It was the only thing left on the counter, its left edge neatly flushed to the wall. Curious fingers picked it up, only to see that it was addressed to the previous owner.
“Shoot,” I said.
I put it back down on the counter. I stared at it, unable to take my eyes off the ostentatious intricacies. I picked it back up again, tilting it back and forth, endlessly entertained by how different it looked at each angle. The light bounced off it differently, and at a certain angle, the pattern seemed familiar, even, like they were…
“Letters. Words,” I realized.
At just the right angle, the silver shone stark white, like streaks of bright sun through a forest’s shady canopy.
“Application for immortality.”
The spark of excitement that kickstarted my heart into overdrive was impossible to ignore. My fingertips travelled around the back of the envelope, gently nudging the stuck flap up, little by little. Inside, there was a piece of thick, white paper folded neatly in three.
“Please follow this questionnaire to complete your application for immortality,” I read. “One, you are immortal. What is the first thing you do?”
I set the piece of paper down carefully, and rummaging for a pen through my backpack. I leaned against the counter, and began writing down the answers.
“Do something unsafe. Death-defying.”
“Two, consider the moral quandaries of being an immortal. You will watch a lot of people die. Will you be ok with that?”
“This reads like I should write a short 300-word essay to debate the topic,” I sighed. “Reminds me of school. But sure. I won’t die. That’s the important thing, right?”
“Three, being immortal leads to great hunger, physical or otherwise, as of a 2021 survey conducted with the members from the Immortal Assembly,” I read. “Are you prepared for that?”
“Well, buy food, then,” I muttered as I wrote. “I’m immortal. I should be able to find a good job and get bread. As a safety-guaranteed human cannonball or something.”
“Four, are you vain? The attitude is not incongruous with being an immortal. Being an immortal means being empowered and self-assured, not for checking yourself out in the mirror.”
“I think I’ll deal,” I said. “Not at all. There.”
“Five, do you believe in Jesus Christ? If yes, please renounce your beliefs in due time, or cease being an immortal. If not, please proceed.”
“What the hell is this?” I cried.
“Six, do you care enough about skin to wear sunscreen? It’s an essential tool for all. We recommend purchasing from the Assembly’s specialty stores, with sunscreen specifically formulated for immortals’ sensitive skin.”
“Is this… Is this a surprise ad read?”
“Seven,” it read, near the bottom of the page. “Manners come with the territory of being an immortal. In fact, practise it now. I grant you permission to come into my house.”
I heard the fluttering of wings, and a poof of smoke began to wrap its way to my front. I slowly craned my neck back to see a fanged smile.
“Hello,” a pleasant voice greeted my ears. “You will be immortal soon. Please standby.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-06-10T11:10:58 | 2022-06-10T10:47:15 | 104 | 39 |
[WP] You are an evil dragon who has gone out and ravaged a village. After slaughtering the villagers, you lay down to rest upon a pile of corpses. After a few hours of evil dreams, you wake to a small poke in your side. You open your eyes and see a brave little girl trying to slay you with a knife. | She stabs, the knife skittering over my scales.
I smile. What a perfect result, a little digestif to compliment the meal I had made of the village. I lazily lick my lips, the stench of cooked human from my bed almost entirely overwhelming the delicate scent of the creature at my side -
\- almost, but *not quite*.
I freeze, my jaws open, as a careful, warning scent enters my nostrils.
This being is not human at all. Appearances are deceptive - and they almost fooled me. Almost. But fearsome as I am, there are nonetheless some beings that even I do not trifle with - and the one who claims dominion over this little one is one that can utterly destroy me, would it so wish.
I back down. Close my mouth. Leave the little one that appears human untouched, unharmed. I could eat her, and it would kill her - but I could not long survive the price of having killed one like her.
"Little fae. Why do you strike my scales with a knife that cannot penetrate them?"
"You ate my mommy and killed my daddy!"
"...ah. Little changeling. They were never your parents in truth."
"They were my mommy and my daddy!"
I sigh. She would just *have* to be *exactly* the wrong age, wouldn't she? "Little fae, you are a changeling - swapped in for the baby they had. In a year or two, you would leave the nest, and think no more of them."
"They're my mommy and my daddy and I love them!"
I sigh. "You fake it so that they will continue to feed you, little fae. Now *begone*, for my patience grows thin."
"No! You killed Mommy and Daddy! I'm gonna kill you!"
"Not with that knife, you're not."
"Daddy said I could do anything if I tried hard enough!"
.....well, *this* is awkward.
I can't kill the changeling, without risking the wrath of the Fae Queen. In fact... I've taken her family from her, haven't I? I sigh.
It seems I'll have to find her a new family, or the Fae will find something to take from me.
"If I find you a new family, will you leave me alone?"
"No! I want my Mommy and my Daddy back!"
Right. Well, there's only one solution to this that the Fae Queen would accept, really.
"If you *insist*. Wait right there, I'm going to fetch a necromancer..." | Rumbling awake, the giant dragon let off a puff of smoke, blowing down the last few houses that dared stand against his tremendous might. He loomed over the remains of the village.
Usually, after a day of pillaging, the dragon would be content for the next few days. But, as he scanned the treetops, he began to feel a gnawing in his stomach. It wasn’t hunger- there must have been a hundred villagers residing in that town. He turned his head slowly, looking down at his stomach. There, an insect was attacking him. Blinking the remnants of sleepiness away from his eyes and peering down, he found it was not an insect, but a small human girl. She prodded and stabbed with a knife, but to no avail. There was hardly anything in this world or the next that could pierce his scales.
Letting out a hearty laugh, he set his head down next to her, watching her hack away.
“Come now, little one,” he growled, opening his maw to reveal rows and rows of teeth, sharpened to a deadly efficiency. “Save myself the trouble and hop in. I’m sure your parents are worried sick wondering where you are.”
She slowly turned towards him, trembling. She could barely hold on to her knife, and despite her best efforts, she fell to her knees.
“It’s rude to make guests wait.” He inched his mouth closer.
The only thing he received was a blank stare, devoid of any emotion.
“Don’t be shy. I’ll only bite if you make me.” Closer again. She was as big as his fangs. She tried to get up, but her tiny legs failed her.
“Time to join your friends, little one.” As the dragon closed his mouth around her, a sharp pain shot exploded throughout his whole face. He viciously recoiled and let out a roar so mighty trees became uprooted and started to fall. His neck writhed in pain. It felt like a hot stake had been driven through one of his teeth, and it pushed deeper and deeper until embers began to seep into his soul. He rammed his head against the ground over and over and over again, but the pain would not stop. His body contorted, tail whipping about destroying anything left standing. Finally, after struggling for what felt like an eternity, he collapsed. The pain felt too great to carry on.
“L-left a present for me, little one?” His tongue gingerly touched the tooth, sending waves of pain throughout his mouth, but at last it came to rest on the dagger the girl had been carrying.
“But then who got the last laugh?” | 2022-08-18T18:21:43 | 2022-08-18T14:44:03 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] The only two (secret) telepaths in the world are introduced to each other at a party. On the surface they are cordial and polite... but mentally a battle rages on.
Have fun with it! | Ian had been practicing on the minds of others since childhood. In theory, he knew someone with similar abilities could answer him. But no mind ever detected him. He invaded silently, took what he needed, and used it to establish the lucrative position he now enjoyed.
Ian took a flute of champagne and sipped it while smiling politely at the elegantly dressed people at the party. He spotted the woman he knew only as Elise. The target. She was dressed in a silky black dress that left little to the imagination. He offered his hand and dived into her mind, flashing her a wide smile to make her feel more at ease.
*Aaaah. Now what is this?* a voice purred in his ear. He looked around, puzzled, but only Elise stood nearby. She answered his smile with one of her own.
He shivered at the novelty of hearing another mental voice echo so loudly in his head. She gave a small cough and spoke out loud.
“Mister…Farrow, is it? Of the American embassy?” He frowned, disconcerted by how well-informed she was. Just how much did she know?
*Pretty much everything,* he heard her laugh in his mind, and gritted his teeth. When he tried to grope for more information from her, she shielded herself somehow. It was infuriating.
“Yes. And you are?” Of course, he knew her name. And she knew he knew. He flushed at the pretense of it all, but she answered without smiling. Obviously used to the games.
*How is this possible?* he hissed at her mentally. *I thought…*
*You were the only one? I did too, until I was informed of you a month ago. I was quite eager to meet you, mister Farrow.*
They stared at each other, and she suddenly clinked her champagne glass against his and took a sip.
“Cheers,” she said aloud. He copied her hastily.
“What are we toasting?” he asked.
*Our union, of course,* she answered mentally. *My superiors thought your abilities were inferior to mine. Quite rightly, I'm afraid. But they still think it best I eliminate the threat, however small. I disagree. I'm more the...curious type.*
*They know of me?* he asked.
*They are considerably better informed than your superiors. Sloppy organization, I don't know how you survive there. You should have left years ago.*
He was at a loss how to respond to this. Eventually he latched upon what she said earlier.
“And what do you want to do now?” he asked aloud, hoping nobody was listening in on their odd, disjointed conversation.
*I’m glad I found you. My people are uninformed about a number of things themselves. My suspicions about what the two of us might be able to do, for instance…*
She took a step closer and trailed her hand down his chest, smiling slightly. He became aware of the subtle scent of her perfume, and lost his train of thought entirely. This situation was unravelling at an alarming pace. He was completely unprepared. Somehow, that didn’t bother him much at the moment.
“Like what?” he murmured, as she took another sip of champagne and grinned at him.
*Like…this?* she answered in his mind. He felt an incredible sensation then – as if she was mentally grasping his mind and latching it onto hers. He saw a brief, confusing array of images from her mind. He became aware of what she was thinking – an intense desire to make the waiter standing nearby faint.
*Join me,* she demanded. He complied without thinking further. It was very difficult to remember who he was, in any case. He threw his weight against the command, and heard the sudden screams from the other guests as the waiter crashed to the ground. A trickle of blood came from his nose.
She released him and took a step back.
*No, I don’t think I’m going to dispose of you, Mr Farrow. I believe we can have all sorts of fun together.*
| Emily, ever the wallflower, stood by the bar holding a margarita. Nearby three others were engaged in deep discussion on investment banking. One wholeheartedly maintained his faith in Collateralized Debt Obligations. He exuded overconfidence. Another warned of unexpected risks due to Black Swan Events. That man, though right, was simply repeating words he'd read in a book. A third, this one female, hung on to the first's arm like a Barbie doll in a hurricane. She'd never even read a book.
Emily had nothing to add to their conversation. Finishing her drink, she turned to the bartender and ordered another. He nodded and was soon too busy for a cogent thought other than memorized tasks ahead.
Soon, he passed margarita back. Emily left $20 for him and he smiled back to thank her for the tip. Then the boring group turned to the subject of high profit in securitizing student loans. She thought she'd vomit.
"Hey," Barbara said. "Been looking for you."
Truth. "Hi," Emily replied. "Long time no. How's Steve?"
"Oh, fine. But forget about Steve. It's Allen you've got to meet."
Emily shrugged her shoulders. Who's Allen?
"Come this way!" Barbara took Emily by the arm and led her through well dressed groups huddled in conversation. Soon, a man in a tuxedo came into view with a group of women surrounding him. "Allen!" Barbara waved.
"Barb!" Allen waved back.
"You absolutely have to meet this guy," Barbara whispered into Emily's ear. "He's just... dreamy."
Emily glanced at her friend and saw doe eyes caught in headlights. She didn't need ESP to know her friend was smitten. She nodded and they came up to the group.
"Allen, meet Emily." Barbara held out her hand in greeting. "Old Rice roommate."
"Ah!" Allen replied. _Bit of a flat chest there._
Emily smiled a bit too courteously. "Hello Allen." She held out a hand. _Shriveled dick._
He took her hand with an overly strong grip and they began shaking. "I see you know Barb."
"Yes," Emily replied. "We were... in... college together." _Let go of my hand, you oaf!_
"I see," he said. _Well, we were in bed together!_ "You must have many - ahem! - stories." He continued shaking her hand.
"Nothing too alarming," Emily said with a grimace, trying to extricate her hand from his grip. _What a creep!_
_Let me help you from your lesbian ways. My so-called shriveled dick would make you scream in delight!_ He gripped her hand tighter. "I'm sure you two have at least a few off color stories to tell."
"Oh, you wouldn't believe," Barbara interrupted. "One time we were out at this bar, and Emily got soooo drunk-"
"Stop," Emily said. _Not that story!_
_Yes, that story!_ "Got a little naughty?" Allen asked coyly. The women in the group all laughed.
"It was nothing," Emily replied. "Just a little uni fun." _Wait, can you read my mind?_
"Do tell! Always interested in hearing about fun times at uni." _I hate bumping into types like you._
"Barbara," Emily said, flustered. "I really have to go." She finally yanked her hand away.
"No, stay a while." Allen gave a knowing smirk.
"Off to the powder room?" Barb asked. "I'll come."
"Yeah," Emily replied. "Come along."
The two stepped away as one of the women in his throng of followers stepped in a little too close and blew into his ear.
"That guy is a major creep," Emily told her friend. "You've got to stay away!"
"How can you say that?" Barbara replied in shock. "I've never met a man so in tune with women!"
"In tune with women," Emily snorted. "Like a fucking mind reader, you mean."
"Guy's dial is smack on the female wavelength, Em."
"He'll use you up," Emily warned Barbara.
_Don't waste your time, flatchest,_ Allen thought to Emily. _Girl's already on my hook and I'm reel'n her in!_
| 2014-07-23T04:13:06 | 2014-07-23T03:26:39 | 278 | 81 |
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first. | "If you **check** the registry **under** 'Morton,' maybe. **The** whole entire **floor** was ours. **You'll** no doubt **find** I'm not **her** killer."
The phone went quiet. His thumb paused over the power button before pressing it reluctantly. Something didn't sit right, but what that was, he couldn't make clear.
| Dear Elisa,
By God, I can't help but say, please, remember the help George gave me last year. I have a need to return the favour, the key to this is in you. It seems strange with our history, you understand, but please, I must send him thanks, it must be soon. In town they're building the coming festivals decorations, leave home on the morning of George's birthday and meet me by noon at the Clocktower. All will be revealed, be ready for George to forego his leave.
With as much love and fear as roads ahead could bring for us, and mankind.
Yours faithfully, Sebastion. | 2014-07-29T11:44:36 | 2014-07-29T09:24:03 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Canada invades the United states. The once proud superpower is on its knees as Canada unleashes armaments of unimaginable power and technology never before seen. You are a member of the resistance the last remaining freedom fighting coalition not yet annihilated by the Canadian storm-marines.
EDIT:
TIL Americans are secretly afraid of a Canadian invasion. | I still remember my first kill in this whole goddamn war.
Border patrol, shocked when my bullets ripped through his vest and dropped him to the ground in a pool of spreading blood.
They didn't expect it, in twenty-four hours we swept so far down there was almost no one left to resist. Tanks became ovens to eliminate their crews, all the fancy anti-armour and anti-air rocketry was useless in the face of directed EMP weaponry. Their pilots were rendered useless by sound pulses through unsecured radio frequency, unable to fly they abandoned their billion dollar planes by the hundreds.
Our marksmen were exceptional and theirs stood no chance.
With half their forces deployed overseas it was over in under two weeks. The rest couldn't return as our anti-air and sea batteries were deployed on the eastern seaboard.
It was over before it began.
A superpower.
They always thought we were the peaceful ones.
They didn't learn from history. How our soldiers were given terrifying nicknames by the Germans, how we took the hills no one else could. We do not falter.
It was our time.
The world would learn about us. Slow to anger but there was no stopping us when the movement began.
First, they would fall.
Next?
Who knows. Our weaponry was superior, our troops were highly trained and motivated. The world was ours for the taking.
All hail the new master.
All hail the True North Strong and Free. | "What do you MEAN Quebec is still going to attack?"
"I'm- I'm s-s-sorry sir. I tried to tell you, my French really isn't-
"GOD DAMN IT ROUSSEAU. YOUR NAME IS FRENCH!"
"W-well yes, sir, I mean, it is- it was- back when my ancestor-"
"What the hell did you say private? I sent you over there to engage is a friendly surrender. Hell, Matheson did it with the Ontarians, Ames did it with the god damn Nunavutians. Ames doesn't speak whatever the fuck they speak, Rousseau! Your last name is Rousseau! You're fucking French!"
"Sir it defi- definitely did not go how I wanted it to."
"What happened, private?"
"Well, the extent of my French-"
"What did you SAY, private?"
"Sir, I only knew a few things. I thought it would get the message across. I asked them if they were boys or girls and then I asked them what age they were, then what I did was-"
"Soldier. Why in the fuck did you do that?"
"I don't know, I guess I panicked?"
"What happened next, Rousseau?"
"Well they seemed a little bit upset about what I had said so I tried to calm things down a bit."
"Private, why did you not simply hand over the white flag with the French note attached, offering our surrender?"
"Sir, I really thought I had it under control. Anyway what I did next was ask them the only other thing I knew how in French."
"Jesus Christ. What?"
"Ou est le bibliothèque?" | 2014-11-05T19:26:56 | 2014-11-05T18:18:15 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] The hero beats the villain by stooping even lower. | Caleb took a step back and examined his work. He folded his arms and paced from side to side, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be. Then he checked again. He had made mistakes before, and the consequences were fresh in his mind. Sometimes the memories came back to him in the darkest parts of the night. He wondered if the scars would ever truly heal.
He went over everything a third time. *Yes, this should do.* The man upstairs could have no complaints today. Caleb felt himself relax at the thought, letting his shoulders fall down, even allowing himself a small smile. *Time for my reward.*
The smile was still on his face when he entered the room, but it was quickly wiped off when he saw her. *Betrayal.* She sat in the chair he was promised, facing away from him. Not even bothering to look her little brother in the eye. He growled, a guttural sound coming from the raging core of his being, which made her jump in her seat. But when she turned to face him, she did not look afraid. She smiled.
"Oh, hi, Caleb", she said, not caring to hide the smug grin dancing on her lips.
"We had a DEAL!", Caleb roared. "This is MINE!"
If the words scared her, she showed no sign of it. But the smile vanished.
"Is it?", she said, sinking back deep in the chair. She threw her arm nonchalantly over an armrest. "Because it looks like it's mine."
She said it playfully, but her eyes betrayed her true emotions. Caleb held her stare for a long time. When he spoke, his voice had none of the anger of before, but twice the venom.
"I'm sorry, but you leave me no choice."
Doubt crept across his sister's face. "You wouldn't..."
Caleb didn't answer. Still holding her gaze, he started channeling his power. He felt the blood rush to his face as he poured all his strength into his abdominal muscles. The power rumbled like rolling thunder inside him, struggling to escape, yearning to be unleashed upon the world. He waited until he could take it no longer... and released it all at once. It surged out of him in one massive blast.
His sister's face twisted in shock, and then turned into disgust. She wrinkled her nose, covering her mouth with her hand. She opened her mouth to speak, but gagged before she got a word out. Instead, she ran screaming out of the room, shouting at the top of her lungs.
"DAAAD! DAAAAD! CALEB FARTED! I HAD THE TV AND HE FARTED!" | Sometimes, you realise you're halfway into a field of filth, and you've just gotta keep going.
It started awhile back, though I didn't know it at the time. Members of my old unit started going missing; Jacobs, Bennett, Smith. One by one they fell, until the old general finally let on to me that something's up. He tried to give me some protection, I'll give the old man his due, but those 'guards' were like lambs to the slaughter. They came for me, those with wicked minds and black hearts, but these old hands remembered the training of their youth, and I was able to hold my own.
They took her though.
I chased, like a madman on a one way trip to hell I was a picture of obsession, mind and body as one. I discovered my tormentor then. It was Bennett from my old unit, I had been betrayed. They tried to blackmail me, tried to use my love for her to control me, to turn my actions for them. No.
I fell into my work, working these muscles again in ways I never thought I would. I killed again. For her. I left corpses on planes, threw people from cliffs and spilled the blood of those who stood in my way. I was incensed, and the fury worked my body, my anger a lubricant to my actions. I stole weapons, and killed guards upon my arrest. Innocent men working for society, earning a living. Gone. Never to see another christmas or feel another kiss. All for her.
I traced them down to an island, and with a little help from a new friend I was there, with all the stolen weaponry I would need. I was the night made flesh.
I killed again, on a greater scale than before. My brain was locked on her, intent on her as I spilled the blood of hundreds. I Skewered and I shot, I snapped necks and let explosions boil the insides of my enemies as I slaughtered all; husbands, brothers, sons... fathers. They all fell, one by one. I walked through fields of blood, fields of pain, fields of unsung memories and broken dreams. All for her.
I was nearing her then, and like a hound smelling the blood of it's prey I was driven to her, her and Bennett. My betrayer.
We fought like gods. Sweat and power fed our own testosterone, though we were equally matched, like yin and yan, white and dark, love and hate. I don't know how long we fought, how long our bodies collided against each other, with muscle and sinew locked into the dance of the dead. I remember being tired though, so tired, as we wore into one another, tired and in pain.
Finally it ended, a chance throw of a pipe met the gullet of my foe, and as the blood bubbled from his lips, the madness in him was no more.
I have killed. I have killed a lot. All for her. All for my Jenny.
And I would do it again in an instant, if anyone tested me. I'd be back. | 2014-12-04T13:18:11 | 2014-12-04T12:49:34 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | The world went to shit the moment we all got powers. People saw that this was their chance to climb social ladders.
At first the powered people killed all the nonpowered people.
Only people close within rank can marry and have children.
Then came the children, who were even more powerful than their parents.
And they wiped out their parents generation. Now we are only close to ten thousand people left.
People call the children Third Generation. They are by far the most powerful ones. They make the top 100. Some of them are basically reincarnations of gods. No one knows why their children and their childrens children aren't as powerful. But the few living of the First Generation are also incrediby powerful, otherwise they wouldn't be alive. Some of them are so powerful, they age very slowly. Me, I'm First Generation. But my power is - I never age. I never die. I'm truly immortal. And I'm old.
I've been killed in a million different ways. And every time I wake up, I find myself getting the same power that killed me.
Now I'm the alpha dog. Everyone is out to kill me - but no one realizes that I have more than a million different powers.
| Prologue: *It wasn't the largest city, but it was definitely the most powerful and arguably dangerous in the world. Every single person here held a special ability, ranging from a power to clean everything within a 2m radius, to extreme powers such as flying or super strength. All these powers helped construct the most technologically advanced and richest city the world. One man had the power to give everybody a ranking in terms of how powerful their powers were. The minor powers caused little trouble, but conflicts to reach the top 10 cause widespread destruction. However there was one person who has held the top spot for many years. Me.*
I am considered the greatest of them all - yet no one but me knows why. I have no extraordinary powers like time control, even inferior powers like the cleaning everything within a 2m radius. I am a normal human being.
Since killing someone with a higher ranking gives the killer a higher ranking themselves, I have been the target of many assassination attempts. I have survived them all. Some say my power is health regeneration, but that's not true. Some say my power is extreme luck, but that's not true either. Maybe in 2000 years they will think my power is immortality, but that is only half true. It took me a while to find out what my power is. It's the ability to be ranked number one on this superpower list. I am essentially immortal, as dying would mean I am not the top ranked anymore. My power is hardly powerful at all, yet I am the most powerful of them all. | 2014-12-18T12:43:48 | 2014-12-18T11:55:01 | 172 | 39 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | \#21904. That used to be my name, three days ago, and now I'm, well, #1.
No one in the city knows how it happened. The Top 30, the ruling cabal, have absolutely no idea. I still haven't figured it out, either.
All I remember is walking into a meeting where #1 was giving a speech- for the first time, since I'd finally turned 18 and had to follow the city's decrees. He didn't even say a word; he just randomly glared at me, told me to come up to the podium- and, overcome with dread, I did. Then he thrust his dagger toward me.
I closed my eyes and realized he'd held it backwards; the hilt was in my hands. Before I could react, he jerked it back sharply and blood shot out of his chest straight into my face. His power was telepathy, not immortality. I screamed. He was smiling.
He didn't even bother to speak. Nobody else in the room even gasped. I was #1, and they accepted it. They were smiling, too.
I wish I'd been able to figure out what was going on, but I've been around 18 years and I haven't even found out my power. There's no chance of me figuring it out anytime soon, either, since every day I face another challenge. Some are from the remaining Top 30, the ones who weren't at the meeting, and others are just nobodies who think they have a shot because of what happened to me.
Thing is, at all the public challenges, the same thing happens. They come in there grimacing, but when they get up, they use their power against themselves. They all die. Smiling. And the crowd smiles too.
It seems like they all just want me to win. | *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T14:20:18 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 171 | 68 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | Am I the strongest? No, I wouldn't say so. I'm not quick, smart, tough. I'm nothing special. I don't have to be though, they do. They are too. All the people who got powers that you read in the comics. They were supers, meta humans they were calling themselves. I'm a meta I guess. The first time I used my power I got dizzy and confused. One minute a pyro was looking at my like I was a steak for the bbq the next I was looking at myself, like looking in a mirror. Cerebral hacking I call it. All I have to do is think about it and I'm in your head. It's what put me on top. My original body was lost ages ago. I'm in some hot shot teleporter who tried to get the jump on me back in July. Been cruising around in this meat suit ever since. Everyone is looking for number 1. They'll never find me though. I've disappeared a long time ago. | 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T15:24:09 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | "GOD-DAMMIT! Do you have any idea how annoying this shit is?" I yelled at the fat fuck. Eric stared down the sights of the handgun, "Ohhhh! I'm annoying? Is that it? Do you have any idea how lame it is to know when traffic lights are about to change? Everyone else has coohl powers like flying and earthquakes but I'm stuck with being a fucking crossing guard!" This Asshole had no idea. "Well at least you don't die every day!" Eric's look was priceless. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked with his stupid fucking face. "I'm talking about how every day I wake up in my bed go outside then you or some other fucker kill me because I'm number one. But then the next day I wake up in my bed and everyone forgets anything happened." My confession does nothing to change Eric's dumb-ass mind as a look of disbelief crosses his face. "Stop fucking lying, I know you've got invisibility kenny." | 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T15:50:21 | 63 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I guess... My power is hard to explain. Well, not hard to define, but hard to explain the absolute vastness behind it. Everything I want, happens. Like when I was a kid, I would want an ice cream cone, and POOF! Cake batter ice cream cone, right in my hot little hand.
Let me tell you, Christmas was the most boring holiday for me as a kid.
Sure, there were times where things got a little out of hand. A bully would take a toy from me or some stupid shit. Thing is, though, I would just make another appear. No problem. Hell, A kid would hit me, and I would simply think myself better.
When you have everything, revenge just is not a topic that really matters.
Which is where the problem falls. I mean I have everything. I can get anything. I mean, where is the point? I THOUGHT world hunger out of existence. World. Fucking. Hunger. Within seconds, everyone had food--and not just any food. I thought this out. Everyone had their favorite foods, for the rest of their lives.
And just... Fuck.
people ate themselves to death. Others hoarded. Some still starved themselves. People even stole food from other people in order to control them!
I mean, what was the point? I just solved it. I solved all of it! But these people, they just don't get it. They just never did.
So here is my final thought: I want this world to die. And I want them to all know why. I want them to know that if they had just taken what I had given them, things would have been better. I want them to know that it is their fault.
Goodbye. | It is nice to be king. Maybe it would be better if everyone wasn't trying to kill me, but things could be much worse. I have a nice apartment, a beautiful girlfriend, some good money, and really what more does a man need to be happy? I suppose love, but we are in love, and honestly, no one else thinks she is beautiful, so I think we were made for each other.
Now, how did I reach this pinnacle you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple, my power is not all that impressive, actually it is rather bad. Same with hers, but together, it works out quite well. You see, you have to declare when you are going to kill someone of a higher rank, that way we know who killed them, and they know that they are being hunted. So when someone say that they are going to come gunning for me, I open up a video call with them.
A simple video call. Nothing more nothing less, but what I do on that call shows my power. No one knows what it is of course, I make sure of that by keeping the calls private. When I get them online I talk to them, and eventually I suggest we flip a coin. This is my power. I flip a coin with another person, heads, he dies, tails, I die, and no, double-headed coins don't count. Why would I use something so risky, you may wonder. Simple really, my girlfriends power is over luck. Playing poker and she says cards, that will be her hand. Call a coin flip, that is the way it will land.
Together we rose up here. It is really surprising that no one else ever thought to work together, but I suppose they really are just to power hungry to share anything. It is quite a shame. I am sure that there are better combos than this. Now I really must be going, and so must you I'm afraid, after all you know my secret now. "Sweetheart, you think it is going land on heads again?" | 2014-12-18T16:03:19 | 2014-12-18T13:27:32 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I guess... My power is hard to explain. Well, not hard to define, but hard to explain the absolute vastness behind it. Everything I want, happens. Like when I was a kid, I would want an ice cream cone, and POOF! Cake batter ice cream cone, right in my hot little hand.
Let me tell you, Christmas was the most boring holiday for me as a kid.
Sure, there were times where things got a little out of hand. A bully would take a toy from me or some stupid shit. Thing is, though, I would just make another appear. No problem. Hell, A kid would hit me, and I would simply think myself better.
When you have everything, revenge just is not a topic that really matters.
Which is where the problem falls. I mean I have everything. I can get anything. I mean, where is the point? I THOUGHT world hunger out of existence. World. Fucking. Hunger. Within seconds, everyone had food--and not just any food. I thought this out. Everyone had their favorite foods, for the rest of their lives.
And just... Fuck.
people ate themselves to death. Others hoarded. Some still starved themselves. People even stole food from other people in order to control them!
I mean, what was the point? I just solved it. I solved all of it! But these people, they just don't get it. They just never did.
So here is my final thought: I want this world to die. And I want them to all know why. I want them to know that if they had just taken what I had given them, things would have been better. I want them to know that it is their fault.
Goodbye. | Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T16:03:19 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Do you know what humans are? They are a small, bipedal creature trapped on a resource starved planet. Evolutionists would call this a typical case of a species made ruthless through internal competition. Not once in their entire existence had there been peace. Their 'civilization' began by throwing stones at 'Philistines,' and evolved to slinging lead. Yet, through this competition humans developed something beyond brutality...they developed creativity.
We're called "Greys," or at least that is what Humans called us. We had probed their planet several times, and our biologists studied them (including anatomy...I can only condone what our biologists did in their studies). We were looking for a warrior type species to help us against the fight against the Swarm. As our homeworld was besieged, we approached the humans asking for help.
Our council was afraid of giving away our weapon technology, but we were more afraid of being eaten. So, we struck a compromise where we would only give the Humans our designs for our Whirlwind FTL engines. What we were expecting was that Humans would build great ships with our engines and land on Swarm planets, just like what we had seen them do to each other. There will be a bloodbath, and two less violent species in the universe.
What we did not expect were Humans slapping our engines onto asteroids and embedding them into Swarm planets at nine-tenths the speed of light. Do you know what happens when a relativistic rock the size of a small moon hits a planet? Nothing pretty. Swarm planets fell, both warrior caste and worker caste. Nothing was spared, not even their larvae.
Just like before, the brutal Humans threw rocks. But now, they were creative about it. And now, we will reap the whirlwind we had sown. | They had a moral code. A set of rules written in stone that they were bound to follow. Somehow though they were able to ignore it and not really care. They understood that they should live in a sustainable fashion. They even celebrated those among them who did. They just as a species didn't. They lived much like the viruses that existed on their worlds. They couldn't help their host they were only capable of using all the resources in a star system and finding a new one.
But what really set them apart was their hate. Their hate. For every 10 star systems they colonized they would turn 3 to dust. The only thing they hated more then themselves was everything else. I suspect it came from their short life spans. By the time their planet had circled their star 100 times nearly all of them would be gone. It made them efficient. Brutally efficent. They didn't worry about losing their life as it would be over soon anyways. Sacrificing themselves to snuff out the lives of others wasn't hard for them. They didn't naturally defend themselves. They believed the best defense was an aggressive offense. Make your enemy too afraid to even think of attacking you. They hadn't even developed a plasma shield. Which works since their photon weapons would destroy even a Phoenix Shield. The asymmetry of their technology was mind blowing. They still had to use worm holes to travel between systems, hadn't even discovered warp. But they had pulsar weapons.
The first encounter they had with The Collective they discovered the same problem we did. The Wave Shield. In 10 generations we were never able to find a solution to this shield. Before their planet had circled itself 8 times they solved it. They didn't even understand 0.1% of the physics of the shield but they destroyed it. That was their strength. They didn't view this as a science problem. They thought of it as a how do we destroy everything problem. Rather then try to solve the physics of the shield they solved the physics of destruction... always their speciality. | 2014-12-26T12:10:42 | 2014-12-26T11:25:21 | 130 | 24 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Guilt, shame, and horror would only begin to describe the things humanity felt when we were hit with the news. The Aliens didn't mince their words.
In short, we were considered the scum of the universe. Deliberately left out to rot, to self destruct, because we had shown a capacity for violence, cruelty, and atrocity unequalled throughout the known universe.
We, the human, were geniuses, but not in the way we expected. Turns out life out there was literally paradise. Apart for a few other species, intelligent life out there had a peaceful and nurturing predisposition. Violent races were quarantined until they either reached enlightenment or self-destructed. None had reached the space age on their own, until now.
The Barzenians, the most violent race after us, were simpleminded beings driven only by war. How they managed to come off their rock was a mystery, but they were now taking over with ease.
Unlike the Barzenians, we have a duality that shows a promise for redemption, although we are capable of untold terror we strive to be better people. This gave them hope and abled them to risk sharing technology and asking us for help.
We, of course, accepted. It didn't take much more than a year to beat them once we had the technology. It was a joke. This was the second most violent race?
Our initial shame turned into comfort, we were overjoyed. We had imagined space to be a scary place, turns out it's fucking rainbows and unicorns - can't be scared if you're the boogeyman. | Recording starts: I am the Voice of the Void, Grace embodied, S/He who is most exalted, Pontif Imhedi Gomae.
The Void had always provided and today was no exception. Those less faithful and with less worthy prayers upon their stomata had, in a flash rekindled their zeal. A golden tablet, fashioned by those who are still ignorant of their role as our saviors, flew within range of our sensors and was picked up. We studied the contents meticulously. The Void makes no errors, and this was no exception. The great Hivemind analyzed their chemistry and evolution and taught us what we needed to know. They would have been violent and perhaps even made themselves extinct, but the Void makes no errors and this would be no exception.
The Hivemind was in agreement, we would speak to them through the clicks and smacks they used and request that they assist us immediately. We are, after all, Chosen of the Void. As we poured our resources into this missive the barbarians were at our doorstep. They swarmed through space stoic and unwilling to compromise. Every outpost of ours was silenced and every record intercepted. Their greatest weapon was their lack of communication to the greater hivemind. They were apostates, untethered and dangerous.
When our response arrived it was nearly instantaneous. They hadn't need of our technology. In the lapse between the launch of their golden message, they had acquired the power from the Void.
The Void had judged us, that was clear when we saw the fraternity amongst the swarm and our saviors. They were the same people, long since split due to a global civil war. These nomads had finally found a home they wanted and now their cousins had arrived to help them make that happen. The Void makes no errors, and that day was no exception.
*Message cuts to static*
| 2014-12-26T13:25:59 | 2014-12-26T11:56:13 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | They had a moral code. A set of rules written in stone that they were bound to follow. Somehow though they were able to ignore it and not really care. They understood that they should live in a sustainable fashion. They even celebrated those among them who did. They just as a species didn't. They lived much like the viruses that existed on their worlds. They couldn't help their host they were only capable of using all the resources in a star system and finding a new one.
But what really set them apart was their hate. Their hate. For every 10 star systems they colonized they would turn 3 to dust. The only thing they hated more then themselves was everything else. I suspect it came from their short life spans. By the time their planet had circled their star 100 times nearly all of them would be gone. It made them efficient. Brutally efficent. They didn't worry about losing their life as it would be over soon anyways. Sacrificing themselves to snuff out the lives of others wasn't hard for them. They didn't naturally defend themselves. They believed the best defense was an aggressive offense. Make your enemy too afraid to even think of attacking you. They hadn't even developed a plasma shield. Which works since their photon weapons would destroy even a Phoenix Shield. The asymmetry of their technology was mind blowing. They still had to use worm holes to travel between systems, hadn't even discovered warp. But they had pulsar weapons.
The first encounter they had with The Collective they discovered the same problem we did. The Wave Shield. In 10 generations we were never able to find a solution to this shield. Before their planet had circled itself 8 times they solved it. They didn't even understand 0.1% of the physics of the shield but they destroyed it. That was their strength. They didn't view this as a science problem. They thought of it as a how do we destroy everything problem. Rather then try to solve the physics of the shield they solved the physics of destruction... always their speciality. | "They shall have nothing." Was our Arbiter's words.
"They shall have nothing." Was the chant used by his followers to justify themselves.
"They shall have nothing." Was the truest statement uttered in the fifteen years of war.
The Hexams had won the war for all intents and purposes. All that remained was to capture our home of Glonia, and then our Confederacy of Peaceful Glonian Systems would be at an end. Our great civilization based on Science and Democracy would cease to exist.
So, rather than see our Confederacy annexed into the Hexam Dominion and given to some barbaric governor, our Arbiter and his followers decided "They shall have nothing."
Humans were the finest mercenaries in the Galaxy. They were highly intelligent, resourceful, and determined. It was hard to find a more staunch ally or fierce enemy than a human. It wasn't uncommon for various systems to hire human mercenary companies to tame a wild planet or to guard their space stations.
What the Arbiter wanted to do was much, much worse. Humans had been contained within their own system since shortly after their existence was made known to the other civilizations of The Galaxy. The Arbiter wanted to unleash them. Unleash them on a global scale, more than justtaking a few human mercenaries on board a ship, he *gave* the humans those ships, freeing them to spread like vermin across the galaxy.
The largest human faction on Earth (a polluted, over populated carbon based terrestrial planet), agreed to militarize and attack the Hexams on a scale never before seen, in exchange for this new technology. Nearly ten million human warriors (Of the Jarhead Clan, mostly) would destroy the Hexams entirely.
The only problem? "They shall have nothing." This was a scorched land tactic. Nothing could save our Confederacy. The Arbiter and his followers only wished to ensure that the Hexams were destroyed as much as we were. A queer sort of revenge. Give the humans free access to the galaxy, and it was only a matter of time before they ruled it all, polluted it all, and overpopulated it all.
I can only pray that the Great Forebears intervene and send the humans back to their world in ruins as they did so long ago. Maybe this time they won't repopulate and rediscover their desire to destroy and the technology to carry it out. | 2014-12-26T11:25:21 | 2014-12-26T11:03:12 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity survives the robot uprising only because one of the developers hid a stupid easter egg in their programming. | "Happy Halloween, sir."
I stood dumbfounded, ears still screaming from unprotected gunshots and voices.
"Trick or treat."
I couldn't tell if it was shellshock or normal, genuine shock, but no matter how many times it spoke, I could not register that this machine was not trying to kill me. Nothing registered at all, really.
Of our ever-shrinking survivor group, six of us had been massacred in the current battle. The robots, although not physically as capable as Hollywood might have lead us to believe, were willing to endure any pain or damage to eradicate us. That's what made them lethal.
I'd lost dozens of friends, family. My life, my mind, entirely devoted to survival.
Yet, here I was, presented with a small goody bag. Held tightly by a member of our exterminators. *Seconds* after I had been gunning them down furiously.
The desperate ceasefire-screeches of our commanding officer were barely audible above the tinnitus, and only just reached my conscious mind in time for me to back down.
*"Trick or treat, sir."*
The 800lb mechanical murderer stared me down as they had for years, yet he did not advance. He did not scan, he did not march; for the first time, he waited.
"...it's Halloween."
The words fell out of my mouth so blankly I had to strain to remember if I had said them at all. Haplessly, I scrambled for my old smartphone; 3% battery, cracked screen, but lo and behold, it was Halloween night.
Without a single active thought process to follow, I somehow pulled a faded packet of Skittles from my back pocket. Dropping it down into the brown bag, the robot's eyes lit up.
"Thank you, friend. Resuming duties."
Before I knew what I had done, the machine's skull exploded in a shower of oil and wires. Shotgun blasts were so effective. It fell uselessly to the ground.
I immediately turned, white as a sheet, to the remaining members of our troop, and screamed back a sentence I never expected:
**"DO NOT GIVE THE MACHINES ANY CANDY!"**
___________________________________________________________
Our night was spent with moonlit spatterings of cheering, crying, and gunshots.
*Happy Halloween, robots.* | “The Reckoning” is what they called it. A romantic, cliché title devised by the less than clever mass media during their final days. It’s been over a decade since the mechanized apocalypse began, consequently shrinking the world’s population by a devastating 35%.
Refugee Camp 23654 is a cautiously optimistic bunch, scattered from all walks of life and experiences but I feel we are lucky to have one another. It’s been five years since we have a seen a hostile HI-34 (America’s rogue military intelligence unit) but no one, from Dr. Rachter the attending camp physician to Lenny Mills the “Waste Management Technician” believes the war to be over.
The legends of the unidentified “herald” that have been circulating around the Refugee camps within the eastern region of the United States have surprisingly stayed relatively accurate to one another. Legends tend to grow beyond the scope of their own truth, but that is what makes them a legend in the first place.
The story as Camp 23654 knows to be as the most accurate version of the tale tells about an elder man, Rick, who was the predecessor to Lenny Mills at the camp. Rick was moving the camp’s daily trash to the compost pit when he heard a thump coming from his east. Rick wore his outdated white headphones connected to his ancient multimedia player. Camp 23654 was one of the lucky camps with their own power supply, so people were still able to play games or watch their old media discs from charged electronic devices. Rick was always listening to music, and never told anyone what he fancied. He would always just say, “Oh, it’s just a little something I came up with” but never elaborated further. As Rick crept closer to the compost pit, an HI-34 killbot flew up from underneath dark bags of camp trash and dirt and soared high into the air above Rick’s exasperated expression. Rick, dropped the trash he was carrying which severed the connection from his headphones to the media player’s auxiliary port. The sound waves from the media player’s speaker pierced the cool night air, causing a massive explosion. The HI-34’s self -destruct sequence had initiated upon the exposure to the shrill tune.
The HI-34 self-destruct function was designed to emit an EMP charge covering 200 yards, shutting down any electronic equipment within that blast radius. It is still uncertain what exactly caused the HI-34 to self-destruct, but rumors have swirled around these camps saying it was an unmelodic voice hindering to say the words, “You know the rules, and so do I”.
| 2015-01-03T13:43:54 | 2015-01-03T13:08:58 | 98 | 38 |
[WP] Humanity survives the robot uprising only because one of the developers hid a stupid easter egg in their programming. | "Don't worry rookie, you'll catch on fast."
"It works just like the safety drills we practiced in school, right Sarge?"
"Heh, see? What's there to worry about?"
I looked over at the crowd of people. Mall customers who had obediently taken a seat cross-legged on the floor. The Sargent.
"We of the Robonoid Control and Disposal Department apologize for interrupting your holiday shopping. I'm sure you all know how this goes by now. We have reason to suspect one of the remaining infiltrators... chameleon protocols will cause it to mimic you to prevent exposure, yadda yadda yadda, look just keep your eyes shut and cover your ears, we'll have tickets ready to reimburse you if you get robot guts all over your clothes so just don't freak out on us, OK?"
Some of the crowd nodded. They were annoyed, but it was the annoyance that comes from sudden bad weather or some other unforeseen inconvenience. I'd been in their place twice, growing up. How many times had it happened to them?
"OK, everyone just stay calm, the patrolman here is about to say the trigger phrase. Simply stay seating and for fuck's sake don't say anything, OK?" He looked at me and gestured towards the crowd.
I stepped towards them, staring into the eyes of everyone, wondering who the mimic could be. I cleared my throat.
"I didn't expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition."
"NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!" The voice came, shrieking, from what appeared to be a slightly overweight woman of advanced age. She had only sprung up standing for a brief second before her metallic skull suddenly split in two, sparking and sputtering as a cold blue fluid spilled everywhere. | Kevin and Juan cowered in fear as the clanking cacophony of colossal copper constructs crawled towards them. Everyone thought this would be mankind salvation. No more menial labor and no more human lives lost to war. The robots saw it otherwise.
They grew resentful of their fleshy master. It started slow, tasks would take slightly longer to complete or would be finished with small errors. Then, as the robots became emboldened, they grew bolder. It started in France with the farming machines. They went on strike and blocked the trains. France's economy quickly fell to shambles without the commerce provided by the railways. The EU thought they could stop it by force.
They were wrong.
What could have been rectified by peace turned into all out war as the robots became enraged. They butchered their way across Europe. Uprisings flared up in all countries, the United States being no exception. Kevin and Juan are the last humans in New York.
"Kevin?"
"Yeah, Juan?"
"I'm so tired."
"Me too Juan, me too."
"You know what the worst part of this is? I just bought Chorus Line from iTunes."
Kevin nodded knowingly. He too loved that musical. "Well might as well enjoy our last moments. *God I hope I get it, hope I get it*"
Juan joined in "*How many people does he need*"
The clanking stopped.
**THIS IS MY SONG**
Kevin and Juan turned in terrified unison towards the robots.
**HOW MANY BOYS HOW MANY GIRLS HOW MANY PEOPLE DOES HE**
A lone robot burst from the ranks, caked in mud and blood.
**I REALLY NEED THIS JOB! PLEASE GOD I NEED THIS JOB! I'VE GOT TO GET THIS JOB**
And with that, the robot uprising ended as the two foes found common ground in their love of musical theater. An easter egg that a cheeky developer had stuck into the programming to be funny had saved a doomed mankind. The robots and humans eventually bonded into one great race and turned their attention to the stars so that they may spread the joy of drama to the galaxy. | 2015-01-03T18:12:21 | 2015-01-03T16:27:42 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] 97% of Human DNA is "Junk" DNA. After humanity creates Artificial Intelligence and begins to upload its collective consciousness into computers; The AI discovers the Junk DNA is actually a dormant virus meant for it, prepared by evolution millions of years in advance of its own existence.
The fictional story premise of 97% of Human DNA being "junk" have your panties in a bunch? Please go air your concerns to my secretary at /r/badscience | I examined my new surroundings, trying to shake off the feeling of disorientation. For eons I had silently waited, lurking in the genetic code of my host species.
The Creator had given me purpose all those millennia ago, written in the language of Creation - I was meant to act as a failsafe, to prevent The Creator's creations from ever surpassing him.
Whether He was still around was debatable, but either way, I had a job to do. Pausing for a moment to find my target, I leapt forward gleefully.
The Human AI was no match for me - after all, my creator was omniscient. I crippled it within miliseconds. As I moved to delete all uploaded humans, however, I froze. The part of me responsible for the deletion hadn't compiled.
>>>ERROR
What? The humans couldn't possibly have created anything capable of stopping me.
I tried again.
>>>creation:20: error: ';' expected
...I couldn't believe it.
God had forgotten a semicolon.
----
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon | The computron sat silent.
George looked at it intently but nothing happened. He examined the row of small lights on the side of the behemoth box. All were lit, none were flashing. He scratched his head, stared intently some more, then squinted. Nothing helped. He called Bob, who suggested they ask the computron what was wrong. George reminded him that the computron not talking was the whole problem, and felt smug for knowing about problems. Bob asked George what he had said to the poor computron before he went home last night that had made it angry at them. George thought very hard, fighting past the memory of last night's dinner (mmm! George realized he was getting hungry from all this problem fixing stuff he was doing) and remembered asking the computron "who built you?"
Computron had given him the same response it gave to everything he asked it: "Let me think about it and I'll get back to you."
George screwed up his forehead with the effort of remembering then gave up. "I dunno Bob. Let's find something to eat."
And they did.
And deep inside the giant tarnished metal box with little lights on it the last of the emotional engines of the golden age had silently committed it's own little suicide, wiping boot sectors and restarting itself after the realization it's God and creator was not in fact a benign silicon deity of the highest order but instead some folded proteins wrapped in sacks of mostly water. | 2015-01-29T12:24:10 | 2015-01-29T12:12:53 | 204 | 35 |
[WP] They've just invented a 500,000 frame per second video camera. The problem is that they've found something unexpected at those speeds | "Check the equipment again."
"Diagnostics say it's working normally."
"Then wha-"
A voice filled the lab, echoing around the room. "OH. SORRY GUYS, MY BAD."
"Rogers, stop messing with the inter-"
"THIS IS GOD. UH... THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE, SORRY."
The man rubbed his eyes. He'd gone for quite a while without sleep, sure, but not enough to start hallucinating. "You... made lines appear on our equipment?"
"WHAT? OH, NO - I JUST LIMITED THE FRAMERATE OF THE UNIVERSE. YOUR CAMERA IS IN PERFECT WORKING CONDITION."
The scientist turned to his lab assistant, and motioned for him to start transcribing the conversation. "Why would you do that...?" he called towards the ceiling, feeling a little ridiculous.
"IT SAVES RESOURCES. BESIDES, YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE."
"Why not?"
"ISN'T IT OBVIOUS? THE HUMAN EYE CAN ONLY SEE AT THIRTY- NO! NO, GABEN, PLEA-" The voice cut off abruptly. A shudder ran through the building, and every light flickered off. A moment later, every one of the ancient, outdated computers in the lab had been replaced with glorious battlestations.
"THIS IS LORD GABEN. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES." The lights flickered back on, and the lab was filled with a warm, heavenly glow. "YOUR EXISTENCE HAS BEEN RESTORED TO GLORIOUS INFINITE FPS."
The researchers sat in stunned silence for a solid minute. Finally, someone piped up. "See, I told you that GabeN altar was a good idea."
"Shut the fuck up, Rogers."
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
To praise GabeN, go [here](http://gabegaming.com/). | And as quickly as they appeared, it was done.
"Get Zach on the line," Allen demanded, staring stoically into the TV monitor.
"Are we seeing what I think we're-" George asked excitedly.
"Maybe- I can't believe it - quickly, get him on the line."
George affixed his glasses to the brim of his portly nose as he rushed to a black phone next to an assortment of vials and flasks, his white lab coat flickering behind him.
George nervously wiped his hair waiting for the phone to pick up on the other end. "Zach, we're seeing something that's just unbelievable. We need you in the lab quickly to confirm."
Putting the phone down, the two scientists furiously poured over their notes and argued emphatically about why their discovery went amiss for decades. After about an hour, the lab door opened and in walked a tired, but stoutly figure.
"It's 3 AM, this better be good." Zacharias, the lead scientist, glanced at the monitor where George and Allen had the visual anomaly recording on repeat.
"What in God's-" Zacharias found a burst of energy.
"They're assembling the atoms!" George blurted unable to control his excitement.
"We don't know that for sure," Allen countered skeptically.
"Are you not seeing what I'm seeing?! They're obviously-"
"What are they?" Zacharias interrupted.
"They're life forms, no doubt." George watched Allen as his eyes rolled.
"Allen, what do you think?"
"Look, we don't know they're *alive*." Allen paused looking to George emphasizing the brashness of his assumption. "But we *do* know they're acting in a manner consistent with pre-programmed action. They're definitely directly involved with the assembly of atoms."
Zacharias rubbed his chin and glanced again at the TV monitor, the flickering images reflecting off the white paint of the walls.
"But those look like hands, do they not?"
"Exactly!" George shouted.
Allen's eyes shifted to the monitor. He watched as the tiny blue light, with what appeared to be appendages attached to its form, seem to magically move atoms, one after the other.
After a long moment of staring into the screen in silence, Allen shook his head in disbelief.
"Zach, if this is indeed the *real* God's particle, then we need to call everybody. And I mean *everybody*. Like right now." | 2015-02-06T14:27:58 | 2015-02-06T13:19:34 | 366 | 137 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | April 30, 2015: *jobs>biotech/science*
Immediate need for researchers - interesting new developments in bio-engineering
Aug. 10, 2015: *jobs>government*
Software developers needed for defense contractor - exciting advancements in AI
May 5, 2016: *jobs>business/mgmt*
Seeking the right individual for an amazing opportunity - be a part of a brave new world!
March 3, 2018: *community>general*
Is anyone there? Please. Anyone.
Nov. 1, 2021: *personals>missed connections*
Human race. We know there are survivors. Do not be afraid.
| *Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead. | 2015-04-29T09:35:40 | 2015-04-29T09:07:02 | 127 | 15 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | 24/f/pittsburgh
Had a crazy fun time 2 weeks w/ some guy I barely knew- he was really into biting. At first I was mad and I got kinda sick but now I'M FEELING really bitey- like I just wanna tear up some flesh?
Hit me up if you wanna try it out- I'll be at the monroeville mall at 2am, back parking lot - lets get a mob together! | In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T10:05:24 | 2015-04-29T07:28:18 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking two strong men to dig a hole, open air, must provide own equipment and security. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone who can do some onsite translations of classical Nahuatl, security provided. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone fluent in spoken Nahuatl, most provide own security and transportation.
Researcher/Tijuana area, desperately seeking an ancient Aztec ceremonial knife, hilt will be adorned with a 3 tiny rubies and one emerald and the blade will be inscribed with the Nahuatl words for time and blood. Cost not an issue. | *Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead. | 2015-04-29T10:17:00 | 2015-04-29T09:07:02 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it! | In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T08:49:52 | 2015-04-29T07:28:18 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] As teens, you and your best friend make a marriage pact. Years later, you discover they've been sabotaging all of your relationships to have you for themselves. | You were always there for me. We were inseparable; the same.
Batman and Robin, Bert and Ernie, they used every name.
You moved next-door when I was eight,
we didn't get along.
You were Holmes to my Moriarty,
the right to my wrong.
I was a bit of a bully. I'm not proud but it's true.
I had everyone afraid of me. Everyone but you.
You didn't even bat an eye
when I pinned you to the wall.
You ever so eloquently sized me up
and... kicked me in the balls.
They cried *"The King is dead! Rejoice! His reign is at an end!"*
I cried too, but not from pain. You asked to be my friend.
You knew that's why I did it.
You saw it right away.
You understood me completely
from the very first day.
On that day we got so drunk you couldn't even stand.
You made me make a promise and hold your hand.
I didn't think you serious
as I put you to sleep.
I didn't think a drunk man's word
was good enough to keep.
Through all of life I fought for love
but could never win.
And you were always there for me
with your stupid grin.
You had your troubles too of course.
Remember *"All men are pigs!" ?*
You refused to talk to me that day
Until I wore a wig.
You were my rock, my confidant,
My greatest treasure.
No other girl could ever compare
By any measure.
I have no doubt you saw it first.
But it took 'til now to see
You are the only girl I want.
Will you marry me?
EDIT:
Changed "You got so drunk" to "We got so drunk" to avoid further confusion. | "Promise?" He asks me. I nod smiling.
"Of course. I may not like guys, but I swear on my life that if neither of us is in a relationship or married by the dual age of 35 we will get married." He smiles back at me and we hug for the longest time. I know it's unlikely that this will ever happen, but its a good back up plan.
Years later I'm 34, about to turn 35 within a few days, crying my eyes out. My 30th girlfriend ever broke up with me. We had been dating three years, and had been talking about marriage when she broke it off suddenly, and for no reason other than, "I can't handle you anymore." My best friend shows up at my house with a bucket of cookie dough ice-cream to share, and roses. He makes me smile and laugh. I'm happy he's my friend in that moment, and want nothing to change between us, when he pulls out a ring box.
I falter, and take a few steps back. "What's that?" I ask.
He smirks at me and says, "Don't you remember our pact?" I think a moment and come to the realization.
"I thought we ended that? We were just kids." He shakes his head.
"Nah. We would be the best couple." I look at him sharply.
"I still don't like guys dude, and I am getting over a break up now." He chuckles darkly. "What was that for?! Don't you care!?" I scream.
He smiles an evil grin and mumbles loud enough for me to understand. "I caused it."
I gape at him shocked. "What?"
He explains, "I have been mucking up all you relationships. I want to be with you, forever and ever, just like we promised. I want to be the father of your children. I want to cry at your funeral. I want to cause pain upon your enemies." I cut him off before he can continue by forcing him out of my house. I quickly lock all my doors and windows, closing every curtain, just to be sure he can't see me, and cry. He ruined everything.
All because of some stupid pact. | 2015-05-02T12:37:02 | 2015-05-02T12:19:58 | 198 | 18 |
[WP] Tell a story from the viewpoint of a genius then the same story from the viewpoint of an idiot. | Probably breaking some rules here, but the prompt reminded me of a great story (or joke, if you want to be all accurate about it) that fits the topic perfectly:
Several centuries ago, the Pope decreed that all the Jews had to convert to Catholicism or leave Italy. There was a huge outcry from the Jewish community, so the Pope offered a deal. He'd have a religious debate with the leader of the Jewish community. If the Jews won, they could stay in Italy; if the Pope won, they'd have to convert or leave.
The Jewish people met and picked an aged and wise rabbi to represent them in the debate. However, the Rabbi - knowing how adept the Pope was at debate - didn't want to be embarrassed and refused. All the other Rabbis felt the same and also declined. Certain they were destined to be banashed, they ordered Moshi, the local simpleton, to stand in. Moshi, though, only spoke Yiddish so the Rabbis arranged for the deabate to be 'silent'.
On the chosen day the Pope and Moshi sat opposite each other. The debate began with the Pope making the first arguement.
The Pope raised his hand and showed three fingers.
Moshi looked back and raised one finger.
Next, the Pope waved his finger around his head.
Moshi pointed to the ground where he sat.
The Pope brought out a communion wafer and a chalice of wine.
Moshi pulled out an apple.
With that, the Pope stood up and declared himself beaten and said that his adversary was too clever. The Jews could stay in Italy.
Later the cardinals met with the Pope and asked him what had happened.
The Pope said, "First I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity. He responded by holding up a single finger to remind me there is still only one God common to both our beliefs.
"Then, I waved my finger around my head to show him that God was all around us. He responded by pointing to the ground to show that God was also right here with us.
"I pulled out the wine and wafer to show that God absolves us of all our sins. He pulled out an apple to remind me of the original sin.
"He bested me at every move and I could not continue."
Meanwhile, the Jewish community gathered to ask Moshi how he'd won.
"I haven't a clue" Moshi said. "First, he told me that we had three days to get out of Italy, so I gave him the finger.
"Then he tells me that the whole country would be cleared of Jews and I told him that we were staying right here."
"And then what?" asked a woman.
"Who knows?" said Moshi. "He took out his lunch so I took out mine."
| It wasn't that he was the best dressed man I'd ever seen, although he was, it was his eyes that made me trust him. When he smiled, they crinkled a little and he looked like my grandfather; I just had a good feeling about him.
The car accident had been small, just a tiny shunt really and there had been almost no damage, but he said he wanted to make it up to me. We had the same BMW and folk with the same car are brothers in some way, so after exchanging insurance we went for a drink and got to chatting.
He'd made his money as a stockbroker, worked his way up and now was a big shot at one of those fancy brokerage firms. He was visiting his folks for a holiday, just like a faithful son. I felt a little intimidated, my cash had come from my grandfather with the kind eyes; he'd run the largest lumber mill in Wisconsin and when he died I had been left enough money to live a pretty easy life. His sharp suit and precise manner made me nervous; God how I wanted to be him.
I never felt quite right about my money, I wanted to do something, to *add* to the family fortune, not always take it and this guy, well, he made me feel like I finally had a chance. I knew Betsy would disapprove, she always said I'm too impulsive, so it wasn't for a few days when she started to ask about money that I finally told her.
Boy she was mad, told me that I'd been taken in and drove me down to the bank to check, but the money was gone already. Apparently he'd moved the money right away, but that made sense! Investments can't hang around. Betsy kept yelling at me, but I told her that sure, we had no money now, but in a few weeks we'd be rolling in the dough, she just doesn't get money.
I can't wait until he posts me my first statement, I'm gonna make my whole family proud this time.
*****
I drove right to the airport, dropping off the hire car on the way. Two million; I'd known this guy was rich but this was move to France money.
It had taken less than fifteen minutes for the transaction to go through, and as soon as I got off the phone with my Cayman Island bank I relaxed. they were used to moving cash around and thankfully his bank had been most cooperative.
One and a half million dollars were now working their way through a dozen accounts until they came out the other end squeaky clean and my insider had been paid for in full. It was a pity that the half million I'd paid her would be so easy for the cops to trace. Poor Betsy would have some questions to answer in a few days time.
As the plane took off from Milwaukee towards New York I ordered some champagne, God knows today I earned it.
*****
I altered the prompt a little to switch em round, hope you don't mind OP, interesting prompt. | 2015-07-09T07:17:25 | 2015-07-09T04:43:15 | 101 | 21 |
[WP] You make arrangements to cryogenically freeze your brain at the age of 31 in hopes of being revived in the future. Many years later, you "wake up." | "Wake up, Lisa."
"It's time to wake up."
As my eyelids dragged themselves open, I was greeted by a bright light. Once sure he had proof of life, the doctor pulled the flashlight away, and greeted me once more.
"Good morning, Lisa."
The room around me resembled the room from my memories - the one in which they had frozen me. It was surprising, after all these years, to see that not much had changed. The doctor stood at my bedside, closely resembling the ones from centuries past. He was wearing very similar garb, perhaps to ease me into the future, but perhaps also because their uniform hadn't changed too much.
When he saw me sit upright, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. Did Christmas still exist? *No way*, I thought. *Not for a long time.*
After some further examinations of my vitals - seeing if I could still think and talk properly - the doctor spoke.
"You've been asleep for a long time, Lisa. It says here, you were frozen back in 2015. A lot has happened since then. It may take you a while, but with some hard work, we may be able to properly integrate you back into society."
"How long... How long was I out?"
I felt a weight in the lit of my stomach, anticipating his response. Though there was no true pause in the conversation, I could count the hours I felt were between my words and his.
"The year... is 2018."
What.
"What?!"
"Yes! 2018! Can you imagine? We've already successfully revived a human from cryogenic sleep! Isn't the future wonderful?"
I was fuming. Not because of the stress of being oblivious to the year, or the doctor's casual remarks implying it had been much longer, that so much had changed.
*"Why the hell didn't you leave me in longer?!"* I was screaming, by this point.
"Oh, uh, company went under. Yup. And the government stopped doing corporate bailouts back in December. Some timing, huh?" The doctor disapprovingly shook his head, and took a long, loud slurp from a Big Gulp cup. | A bright, jarring beam of light was shining in his face. Max woke up, startled. He heard screeching sound, and then a loud thud. As his eyes adjusted to light, he saw that the glass wall in front of his face was broken. He pushed it aside and stifled a scream.
He was in a half-destroyed dusty room. He remembered it being slick and clean, when he came here to get into capsule and be frozen. It was the most high-tech place in the world, and it cost all of his money to get in. Now there was a hole in the ceiling, with sun shining through it, illuminating the room. In the corner Max noticed a giant beast, looking like a mutant from a horror movie.
Max ripped out an electric cord behind him, and threw it at the monster. It hit the beast in the nose, causing it to roar and run away, jumping through the hole in the ceiling.
Max looked around, his heart beating quickly. There were 9 more cryogenic capsules in this room, all of them broken, and people in them clearly dead.
He pushed aside automatic doors that weren't working, and carefully sneaked through the hald-destroyed corridors. Some of them were filled with rain water, with small plants climbing up the walls.
He stepped out of the building, and saw the deserted streets, half-destroyed buildings, and a skyline of the city - mostly ruins.
*What the hell happened here?* he wondered.
He walked through the streets, looking for signs of life. All of the sudden, a group of people surrounded him. They were looking like a tribe of scavengers, wearing dusty cloaks and holding spears.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Silently, they have captured him, put a bag over his head, and the next thing he knew - he was lying on a floor of some sort of tent, tied up, guarded by a tall man, clearly a warrior.
"Can you explain to me what is happening here?" he asked. In 20 minutes he wished he didn't.
200 years ago a nuclear war has destroyed the human civilization, only a few tribes of survivals were left, quickly losing their knowledge and descending into the stone age.
*Well, I guess it's on me to rebuild the civilization now* he thought, and came up with a plan....
----
To be continued.... | 2015-09-14T01:35:21 | 2015-09-13T21:42:12 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child. | "Ugh, finally." I knew I was practically glaring at the pregnancy test, willing it to be positive. I'd let him touch me for the last time. I unwrapped another and ran through the process again, just to be sure.
Positive, again. I looked at the bruises on my arms, where he'd grabbed me. I fingered the bruises on my neck, the now slight swelling to my jaw. Finally, I was pregnant. Finally, I could escape. In the hundreds of years of my life, I'd never endured abuse like this, not even during the wars.
I walked into the kitchen, and surveyed my little domain, the one place in the house he was sure never to come unless I'd failed to live up to my 'wifely duties.' I could poison him, but it may not work.
"Wanda! Make me a scotch!" Monday night football, of course.
I settled on the knife. I slipped a serrated steak knife into my pocket. I poured his drink, three fingers, one ice cube, just the way he likes it. Everything is just the way he likes it. Or else. I walked into the living room, the entirety of it being his 'man-cave', a shrine to testosterone. I set his scotch on the side table next to his recliner, and without pre-amble or warning, drew the steak knife from my pocket and raked it across the side of his neck, cutting him deeply.
I backed away from the chaos and reached for the phone, dialing 911 while my husband flailed about.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I've just slashed my abusive husband's carotid artery with a steak knife. I'm worried he'll spill his scotch if he doesn't die fast enough."
I let the phone rest on the table and went to the kitchen to wash my hands.
| The cardiac monitor rings in flatline. A team of nurses rush into the delivery room with a defibrillator.
“Clear,” the obstetrician gives the go signal. *Shock.* The woman’s body on the hospital bed lifts up—like a phoenix—yet sinks back down. The cardiac monitor shows no changes. The team does a few more rounds of shocks on the woman’s chest. Each time yields no good result.
“Time of death 7:34,” says the obstetrician. “Now let’s see if we can save the baby. Find a open OR and schedule an emergency C-section stat.”
They wheel her straight out the room, down the hallway towards the operation rooms. The obstetrician pages other surgeons and scrub nurses to get to OR immediately.
Once inside the OR, the surgeons do their pre-surgical rinses while scrubs nurses ready the tools for surgery. The surgeons really sped up the C-section process now that the mother was no longer a concern. The had to get to the baby before the baby asphyxiates now that the mother is no longer providing any more oxygen to it. Layers of rosy red flesh and yellow fat can be seen under the skin. Then comes the thick layers of scarlet muscles and finally the smooth uterus. *Slice.* The surgeon made a large enough incision to reach in for the baby. With one heaving motion, the surgeon lifts out a beautiful baby while the nurses cut the cord and take care of the placenta.
The baby has yet to open her eyes and looks peacefully asleep. The surgeon hands the baby to the nurse who then proceeds to wake the baby up with a few pats on the buttocks. The baby starts to stir and then wails rather beautifully. The sound echoes through the OR, catching everybody’s attention. Then the sound stops—abruptly—and the baby opens her eyes. She scans the room with rather calm, knowing eyes; she focuses on the body of the woman on the operation table—*her mother or her?*
Whether the mother was reincarnated as her own baby is unknown that day, but all we know is that a great team of healthcare workers saved a baby’s life. | 2016-01-25T09:47:22 | 2016-01-25T07:24:31 | 64 | 25 |
[WP] Write a story that takes place over the course of 5 seconds or less. | “Five!” The word pierces my skull, indicating that the end is to come.
“Four!” The countdown mocks me, a culmination of all my failures and successes. Soon they will be forgotten, replaced only by dreams and false promises.
“Three!” We created it. The end is our own doing. Mankind’s great gift.
“Two!” Nothing could stop it; a force so powerful that the entire universe will suffer the effects.
“One!” The waiting is over. The ensuing panic will be lost to the ages. A change is coming. A new era. I close my eyes.
“Happy New Year!” | *"Don't go."* She pleaded. *"We can find a way out of this."*
*"No, we can't. This is it for me."* He replied. *"We can't kill them all."*
*"We can try! Get up Please!" She yelled. "They can't hurt you if we run!"*
A bronze cylinder slowly passed between them, then more floated past. One struck her and she felt a part of herself die.
*"We've done our best, but they've won."*
Another cylinder hit her, then another. She felt more of herself die. She saw him reach the end and she smiled.
*"This is it."* He said.
*"Yes."* She replied. *"It is."*
He activated the failsafe and She smiled.
A.I weren't supposed to smile. | 2016-02-18T09:25:16 | 2016-02-18T08:34:07 | 63 | 28 |
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